Richard Herman - The Peacemakers

Round after round tore into the Porter and Jill saw a red mist paint the left side of the aircraft. The Porter pulled up and came back down, bouncing off the runway as it ballooned into the air. The turboprop engine roared as Allston fought for control. He slammed the Porter down and the prop hit Jahel. His head disappeared in a red cloud and the frenzied horse bolted to the right, still carrying its dead rider.

The Porter bounced out of control and tumbled down the runway, finally coming to a halt upside down. Allston hung from his harness as his hands moved automatically, shutting off the battery and twisting the fuel cocks closed. He passed out before he could hit the quick release on his harness.

BermaNur raced for the Porter and reined his horse to a halt. He dismounted and looked down the runway at the disabled Paladin. Men were running towards him but they were too far away to arrive in time, if he acted quickly. His eyes squinted in hate when he saw Jill running towards him. He would deal with her shortly. He jammed a fresh magazine in his AK-47, thumbed it to single-shot, and methodically aimed, firing a single round and hitting Williams in the left shoulder. He turned to the unconscious Allston. “ Insh’ Allah.” He raised his weapon.

He didn’t see Jill as she closed on him. She raised her Colt and fired on the run. “No way!” The slug tore into BermaNur’s back and spun him around. He fell to the ground and she kept pulling the trigger. The Janjaweed jerked violently as she emptied the clip. She reloaded.

“He’s dead, luv,” Allston mumbled.

Jill fired twice more and dropped the Colt. She ripped open the pilot’s door. Allston was still hanging upside down, half out of his harness as blood gushed from wounds in his head, chest, and left leg. She reached inside and applied pressure to the wounds as Rickert ran up. Tears coursed down her cheeks. “Help me!” she shouted.

The early morning light cast a long shadow down the row of beds and makeshift cots in the hospital’s main ward. Allston blinked, getting his bearings. He tried to move, but his body wouldn’t respond. A heavy bandage clamped his chest and his head hurt. He was vaguely aware that his head was bandaged and he could not see with his left eye. He managed to move his head enough to see who was sitting beside him. It was Jill. She was asleep, slumped over her right arm that was stretched out on the bed beside him. His left hand moved ever so slightly and his fingers found her hand.

She woke up. “You’re awake. Water?” She reached for a water bottle but he wouldn’t let go of her hand.

“The Herk?” his voice was barely audible. “Who was it?”

“Marci Jenkins,” she told him. “With Bard, Riley, and MacRay. I didn’t warn them off in time.”

His voice was stronger. “They knew the risks. Don’t go blaming yourself.” He squeezed her hand. “Williams?”

A little smile. “The nurses like him.”

“Casualties?”

“The mortars were terrible before the Paladin finally silenced them. We were lucky, only five cops were wounded, but there are over three hundred dead and wounded at the mission.” She gestured down the ward at the long line of beds. “Toby’s been in surgery for over three days.”

“The Legion?”

“They held and died in front of the minefield. Over half were killed and all but two were wounded. Special Ops is reinforcing the mission. It’s over — for now.”

“Idi?”

A slight shake of her head. “They found Beck’s body in front of a burnt out APC with fifteen dead SA. His rifle was empty. But there’s no trace of Idi. They’re still looking. He’s a true missing in action.”

“He’d want it that way.”

She held his hand and wouldn’t let go.

Arlington National Cemetery

The long cortege of cars wound through the cemetery, following the four horse-drawn caissons, each bearing a flag-draped coffin. Jill glided their car to a stop. “We’ll have to walk from here. Can you make it?” Allston assured her he could as he got out of the rear seat. Ben, his lanky sixteen-year-old stepson, hurried around the car to help him with his crutches. Jill turned to Lynne who was sitting beside her in the front seat. She was still struck by the sheer beauty of Allston’s daughter. “I’ll meet you back here.” She pointed to the large group of Irregulars clustered around Susan Malaby. “I’ll be with them.”

Lynne took her hand. “Thank you for everything. May I ask you a question? It’s very personal and you can tell me to mind my own business.” She lowered her voice. “Are you going to marry him?”

Jill smiled gently. “Maybe. But he’s going to have to work for it.”

Lynne beamed. “Yes!” Jill got out of the car and walked towards the Irregulars while Lynne joined her father and Ben. “I really like her,” Lynne confided in a low voice.

“So do I,” Allston replied.

Ben was much more enthusiastic. “Works for me, Colonel.”

Allston suppressed a laugh at the echo of himself.

Lynne gave Allston her serious look. “Dad, don’t blow it this time, okay?”

They walked slowly to the gravesites. Allston had to stop and catch his breath. He took it all in; the April sky, the ordered rows of crosses, the structured dignity and predictability of a military funeral that bound his universe. They joined the families sitting by the graves and found seats in the second row. A low murmur swept over the mourners when General John Fitzgerald followed the honor guard. He stood with them as Master Sergeant Jerry Malone called the Irregulars to attention. Six Irregulars carried each coffin and they placed their fallen comrades over the open graves. “Parade Rest,” Malone called. The chaplain read the service and stepped aside for Malone. Again, Malone called the Irregulars to attention and asked the mourners to please stand for the rendering of honors. His “Present arms,” echoed in the quiet. The honor guard fired three volleys and the bugler played taps. “Order arms,” he called. “Please be seated.”

The pallbearers stepped forward and folded the flags into the time-honored shape of a tri-cornered cap. The head of Marci’s detail presented the flag to Malone who passed it to Fitzgerald. The general knelt in front of her parents. “On behalf of the President of the United States, the Department of the Air Force, and a grateful nation, we offer this flag for the faithful and dedicated service of Captain Marci Louise Jenkins.” He repeated the presentation three more times and came to attention as three C-130s approached from the east in a V formation.

Allston looked up. “Dick Lane,” was all he said.

Ben responded to his father. “Dad, do you think I could be a trash hauler? Like them?”

“That’s your decision, son. But it would make me very proud.”

Fitzgerald’s eyes followed the C-130s. He slowly turned to the families to offer his condolences. “Thank you for allowing us to join you today. I cannot express how proud the Air Force and all who serve their country are of your loved ones. I know there is little any of us can say to comfort you in your loss but may I offer this: Captain Marci Jenkins, First Lieutenant Bard Green, Technical Sergeant Leroy Riley, and Staff Sergeant James MacRay truly made the ultimate sacrifice, not only for their country but for humanity. They were a crew and they served and died together, and it is entirely fitting and proper that we should inter them together. I want to thank you for your understanding and allowing this day to happen.

“They didn’t hesitate to risk their lives to save others, and helped stop the genocide that has cursed a troubled land. Your children were our conscience as they strove to right a terrible wrong. By fighting and dying for a people they hardly knew, they made it possible for us to create a better peace. They are the true Peacemakers of our world.” He came to attention and saluted the coffins. It was over.