Nathan Jones - Determination

Lewis waited, feeling equal parts guilty and hopeful, until Davis swore. “Yeah, I’ll cut your guys loose, Halsson. If nothing else it’ll be nice to know we have people holding these mountains in case the blockheads are interested in making another try. And anyway we’ll be leaving plenty of troops behind to look over the civilians we’ve gathered.”

The sergeant offered his hand, and Lewis returned his crushing grip. Then Davis led the way outside, looking around to see if any more leaders had shown up. “I’ve got to say,” he began, looking around the canyon, “I’m actually going to miss this place. Fire damage and all those trees dead from beetles aside, you’ve got some amazing views around here. I actually wouldn’t mind coming back and just—”

He abruptly cut off as a thumping noise reached their ears, at the same time as Lewis’s headset crackled with a panicked voice. “Helicopter coming in from the south!”

Davis cursed and looked around. “One last word from our enemies? I can’t believe Command never sent us those anti-air missiles like I requested!” He swore again. “I guess we’ll just have to bring it down with small arms fire or die trying.”

“Hold on.” Lewis grabbed the man’s shoulder, pointing. The helicopter had just come into view from the south, moving fast towards the northeast. It was far out of range and getting farther by the second. “Looks like it’s leaving like the rest of the blockheads.”

He felt the sergeant relax. “Looks like it.” Davis shook his hand off and sighed. “Too bad, in a way. I wouldn’t have minded being the one to bring that sucker down.”

Together they watched the chopper shrink to a black speck and disappear. Then Davis turned to him and offered his hand. “Well, I imagine your people want to celebrate. Or maybe just immediately pack up to head home, like we’ll be packing up to go after the enemy. Either way it’s been a pleasure, Halsson.”

“It has, Sarge,” Lewis shook again. “Good hunting.”

“Same to you. If you would, ask Smith to come around before either of us leaves so I can say goodbye.” Davis turned and ducked back into the command tent, leaving Lewis to make his way back to his volunteers.

The mood of the camp was slightly tense when Lewis arrived, with everyone waiting for him: Ben’s and Gutierrez’s squads had rejoined them once they were sure the blockheads were leaving for good.

“So?” Rick demanded, a few others murmuring their agreement of the question.

“The military plans to follow the blockheads and harass them from here to the Canadian border if they have to.” Lewis waited, seeing the tense looks on his friends’ faces. They were as tired of fighting as he was, and while everyone was glad the Gold Bloc was retreating he doubted many were eager to follow them and keep up this war.

He didn’t want to keep them in suspense too long. “However, the military is cutting loose a lot of the volunteers. They want their experienced soldiers waging this guerrilla war, so we’re free to go home with his thanks for our service.”

The squads erupted in cheers, nearly as exuberant as when they’d seen the Gold Bloc forces leaving earlier, which quickly became handshakes and backslaps, and even hugs as the tense mood vanished in a spontaneous celebration. Lewis finally let his own grin escape and headed over to join them, mobbed with his own share of handshakes and backslaps.

They were going home.

Of all his celebrating squad mates, Trev noticed that Deb and Grant weren’t taking part. Grant had always been a bit reserved and was off on his own, obviously still mentally recovering from what they’d just been through, but Deb was sitting near the others looking troubled and ignoring the nearby conversations.

He’d expected her to be with Alice, but the blond young woman was with Rick and the two were in a world of their own. Whatever Alice had shared with Pete, it looked as if she’d made her choice now.

Trev made his way over to Deb, dropping onto the other end of the log she was sitting on. “Hey.”

She looked up and tried to smile. “Oh, hey.”

“Everything okay?”

The brown-haired woman nodded unconvincingly. “We won. The blockheads are running with their tails between their legs. Everything couldn’t be better.” Trev nodded, unconvinced, and waited. Sure enough after about half a minute of silence she continued in a quiet voice. “I just wish I knew what to do now.”

He wasn’t quite sure what she meant. “Are you thinking of going with the military to harry the retreating armies?”

Deb turned to eye him, almost looking hurt. “I’ve considered it,” she admitted. “I wouldn’t mind getting a bit more payback for what they did to me and the others, and the people from Newtown they killed.” She sighed and looked away. “But that’s just a small part of me. I’m mostly just tired. Now that it’s over I want it to stay over, even if I don’t know what else to do.”

Ah. Trev had been thinking of her as part of the squad, to the point that he’d assumed she’d come back to Aspen Hill with them. If that was what she wanted. But he’d never actually told her that, so he supposed she wouldn’t know. “You know we’re all heading back to rejoin our people and prepare for the winter,” he said quietly.

She nodded, giving him another slightly hurt look. “Yeah. I heard.”

“You’re part of the squad, you and Grant. I’d sort of assumed you’d come with us, if that’s what you want.”

Deb’s face lit up, a lot of her worry vanishing beneath a sheepish smile. “I’d hoped you’d invite me, but I was too afraid to ask.”

Trev smiled back. “It’s a good community. Good people. You’ve earned that.” He stood up and started to rest a friendly hand on her shoulder, then hesitated.

Noticing it, Deb covered by reaching up to shake his hand. “Thank you, Trev. For everything.”

He nodded and moved to rejoin the others.

He wanted to talk to Chauncey. Ostensibly to get his opinion on inviting the non-Aspen Hill volunteers in their squads to come home with them, but mostly just because it had been a long time since he’d really had a chance to have a conversation with the retired teacher, and now they had plenty of time.

He found the man sitting on a rock, amidst a forest of the AK-47s and MP-443 Grachs they’d collected from the dead blockheads at the base of the slope. He was carefully cleaning a rifle that he’d taken apart and set on a clean cloth at his feet.

Trev supposed it was generous of the man to do the task so everyone else could celebrate, but he kind of wished Chauncey had taken a chance to relax himself. He came over to crouch beside the older man. “What’s the verdict? Did our new weapons survive their tumble cycle down the hill with tons and tons of rocks?”

“Fewer than I’d hoped, but still enough to arm half the townspeople that don’t already have weapons. On the plus side we’ve also got plenty of replacement parts.” His friend grimaced. “I’m more worried about our ammo distribution. We’ve got tons of .762 and 9mm rounds for all these AK-47s and Grachs, not to mention more spare magazines than we know what to do with, but yesterday’s fighting used up pretty much the last of our .556 and .45.”

“Yeah.” Trev frowned. “I guess we swap over to the blockhead guns, then. Davis would probably love to have our M16s and 1911s anyway, since the military will want to use standardized weapons where possible. I’m guessing Lassiter and Erikson probably still have enough 5.56 and .45 that the weapons will get some use.”

Chauncey nodded thoughtfully. “That could work. Although you realize that Aspen Hill probably still has a bit of ammo.”