Kyle Pratt - Through Many Fires

“I just wanted to say that I liked what you said, and not just the comment about me. I think it helped.”

He smiled and turned to face Brooks. “Thanks. I hope it did.”

The radio crackled and then a frightened, hurried voice was heard. “Company HQ this is second squad.” From the small speaker the sound of gunfire and metal scraping metal seemed to fill the room. “We’re under fire.”

One of the privates in the office grabbed the mic. “Roger Second Squad, we read that you’re taking fire.” He looked to Brooks expectantly.

Brooks turned to Caden. “Fourth squad is the duty rapid response unit.”

“Deploy them.”

While the private relayed word that help was coming, Brooks grabbed the mic for the building intercom then slammed it down apparently remembering the power was out. Pointing to a PFC he said, “Find Corporal Sanchez and have his team reinforce second squad.”

Helmet in hand, Brooks headed for the door.

“XO,” Caden said, “I’m coming with you.” Brooks started to protest, but he insisted. “I need to see the situation.”

He nodded and left at a jog. Caden hobbled along behind cursing his throbbing leg and ankle. As they hustled out the building two Humvees sped out the gate.

“Here,” Brooks called, “We’ll go in my truck.” He pointed to a red Ford pickup.

Jogging toward it Caden said, “I didn’t figure you for a pickup kind of guy.”

“It was abandoned and I thought it would be useful.”

Sliding in Caden noticed a shotgun behind the seat.

Brooks turned the key and the trucked lurched forward, shot out the gate, and down the hill. Then turning right he sped toward the fight.

Caden had rarely driven out this way, but he knew they were only a minute or two from the bridge. “Isn’t there a power plant a few miles up the North Road?”

“Yes, beyond the refugee camp, but it was closed last year. It’s a coal-fired plant and couldn’t meet the new environmental regulations.”

“That’s right and the mine is next to it.”

“The coal from that old pit is high in sulfur so they closed it down about five years ago. These last few years they brought coal in from out of state.”

Caden thought for a moment. “I wonder if we could get the plant back up and running?”

“We could try. That might solve our power problems.”

“That’s what I’m thinking. And is the city hydroelectric dam functioning?”

“Just barely. We drive out with a couple of workers every other day to check on it.”

He could hear shots now. Brooks pulled off on a simple dirt lane. Fifty yards up he stopped beside a green tent.

Strapping the helmet to his head and staying low, Brooks moved forward. “We can see the bridge from over there.” He reached the position first and, picking up binoculars, he said, “Those civilians are either desperate or drunk.”

Caden hobbled up to the sandbagged and camouflaged observation post a moment later. Borrowing the binoculars he looked down at the fire fight. It was clear what happened. Some of the refugees got a dump truck, sped it across the bridge and slammed it into the bulldozer the soldiers used to barricade the road. Apparently they hoped to smash through the blockade, but the dozer won. The front of the truck was crumpled and twisted. The bulldozer had been moved a foot or two or perhaps the soldiers had parked it at a slight angle, either way, it still blocked the bridge.

The windshield of the truck had been shattered. Looking through binoculars, Caden saw several bullet holes in the remaining glass. The body of the driver was slumped against the door. About half-a-dozen refugees with rifles were behind the dump truck firing on the soldiers. Caden shook his head. We’re engaged in a fire fight with our own people.

Hundreds of refugees remained on the far side of the river, huddled behind cars and trees, trying not to get shot. “We’ve got good firing angles on the shooters, better cover and more men.” The guys on the bridge aren’t going to break through the barricade; they’re going to get themselves killed. Caden said, “I need to talk to the First Sergeant.”

Brooks led the way down the dirt lane to the main road. Staying low and following the gully he led Caden toward the fight. Bullets flew past them hitting the embankment and trees a few feet above where they stood in the ditch.

Caden leaned to the left to get a better view of the soldiers ahead.

Brooks turned. Their eyes met for a moment, and then he slammed to the ground at Caden’s feet.

“Brooks…David, are you okay?” Caden dragged the lieutenant to the lowest point of the ditch then dropped beside him as blood flowed down his face. Caden struggled to get the helmet off the wounded man, afraid of what he might see. Finally tossing it aside he looked for the wound, but all he could see was blood. He struggled to wipe away the flow with his hand and sleeve. Where is the wound? “David can you hear me?”

His eyes popped open. “What happened?”

“You’ve been hit. Stay still while I find the wound.”

“Shot…in the head?” He reached up to the wound and then pulled back with a moan as he gazed at his bloody fingertips.

“Stay still.” Caden moved closer. He pulled a gauze bandage from his ACUs and gently wiped some more. “Oh.”

“What do you see?”

“You know head wounds bleed a lot, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you have a two inch cut in your scalp. It just sliced the skin, but otherwise it looks okay.” He took a clean bandage from David’s ACUs, and placing it on his head, said, “Hold this right here.” He took a roll of gauze and wrapped it around his head and tied it. “All the blood makes it look like some horrid wound, but you’ll live.”

Caden picked up the discarded helmet and examined the bloodstained gash along one side. Handing it to David he grinned, “It has character now. Are you able to walk?”

Brooks nodded.

Staying lower than earlier, they moved toward the barricade with Caden in the lead. The First Sergeant fired from a prone position as the two crawled up. Tapping the soldier on the back Caden said, “Hold your fire.”

The First Sergeant looked at him and then Brooks. “You okay sir?”

“Yes, just a cut. Major Westmore is the new commanding officer. Do as he says.”

“Hold your fire,” the First Sergeant yelled. “Hold your fire.”

Within a few seconds the soldiers ceased firing.

“Have any of the soldiers been wounded?” Caden asked.

The First Sergeant smiled at Brooks, “Just the lieutenant.”

It was a long half-minute before the civilians stopped firing.

When there was silence on the bridge Caden called out. “Your position is hopeless. Retreat off the bridge and you will not be harmed.”

A voice called out. “How do we know we can trust you?”

“You’re just going to have to.”

Another deeper voice said, “We’ve got women and children over here, but no food. There hasn’t been any for days.”

Caden rubbed his forehead in despair.

“We have pregnant women and sick children here. We’re all starving. What have we got to lose?” the deep voice declared.

Caden turned to Brooks, “Get a medic and a deuce and a half down here…and fifty MREs.” Then he shouted, “Don’t shoot I want to talk.”

Both Brooks and the First Sergeant started to object, but Caden shook his head. Eyes fixed forward he rose slowly, spread his hands apart, and stepped over a line of sandbags. “My name is Major…ah, Caden. You, with the deep voice, what’s your name?”

“Neil…Neil Young.”

“Please, come forward and talk to me.”