Nathan Jones - Determination

Davis was hard at work coordinating the loading, shouting curses and commands with equal frequency as he pitched in where necessary. Remembering the request the sergeant had relayed through Lewis, Trev made his way over to make his farewells to him. As well as to his friends among the Marines and the volunteers who’d decided to stay in the fight.

Since Davis was hard at work he decided to make his other goodbyes first, starting with Graham. The demolitions specialist was poring over crates of his gear, but he looked as if he wouldn’t mind an interruption.

“Try not to blow yourself up,” Trev called as he approached, offering his hand.

The Marine accepted it with a snort. “And you try not to burn yourself to a cinder. You and your cousin seem to like starting forest fires.”

“Saved your bacon with it.” Trev clapped the man on the shoulder. “You know where you’ll be going?”

“Nah. Wherever it is, though, I’m sure there’ll be things that need to be removed via demolitions.” Graham hesitated. “Listen. I’ve got to get back to work, but I just wanted to thank you for saving me and my people that day Williams died. You stuck your neck out for me when you didn’t need to, and that means a lot.”

“We all owe each other our lives a dozen times over.” Trev gave him a last nod, then walked away seeking other friends as the demolitions specialist got back to work.

He wasn’t the only one offering well wishes, and in many places the packing had ground to a halt in an informal gathering. Davis didn’t look terribly pleased about the interruption, and his glares were hitting Trev as often as anyone else, so Trev broke off his conversation with Abrams to make his way over and offer the sergeant his hand.

“Bet you’re glad to be heading back home to your families,” Davis said, returning the handshake with a crushing grip as they stepped away from the loading efforts. “Think you’ll make it there today?”

Trev shrugged. “We may be underfed but we’re in pretty good shape, although it’s a long way to go over steep terrain.”

The sergeant grunted. “And when you get home?” At Trev’s confused look his dour expression shifted to something else. Sympathy? “I’ve been a soldier for over a decade, Smith. I made it home every now and again during that time.” He hesitated, then fell silent.

“What was it like?” Trev asked quietly.

For an uncomfortable half minute he thought Davis wouldn’t answer. “Everything changes once you become a soldier,” the Marine finally said in an equally quiet voice. “Everyone looks at you different, treats you different. Even the ones celebrating you as a hero. Even family. A lot of the time it’s hard to pin down, but it’ll always be there like a wall.

“People know you’ve been in combat, that you’ve probably seen friends die and had to kill your share of the enemy. No matter how casual they act you can tell it’s always on their minds, like they’re half afraid you’re a ticking time bomb ready to go off. And that’s the polite ones. The impolite ones pry into your experiences for all the wrong reasons, and the downright rotten ones hold it against you.”

The sergeant sucked in a sharp breath and snorted bitterly. “I don’t know. Maybe things are different since the Gulf burned. It sounds like your town’s seen its share of trouble, and defending your home is a different situation than fighting overseas. Maybe being in the middle of all this will give your people some perspective. Still, I thought you should have some idea of what to expect.”

“I appreciate that,” Trev said.

Davis fixed him with a stern look. “Take care of your people, Smith. Whatever homecoming you receive, make sure they know you’re there for them. That somebody’s ready to help them when things get tough. After all you’ve been through you can be sure things will get tough, and often just when there’s nobody willing to lend a helping hand. No one gets through combat without some scars, and the ones you can’t see can be just as bad as the ones you can. Memories that never leave you, that come rushing back at the worst possible times.”

Trev nodded slowly and offered his hand again. “Thank you, Sergeant,” he said. “For getting us through this, for helping us defend our homes. For everything.”

The Marine returned another crushing handshake. “Be grateful you have a home to go back to, Smith. That’s a precious gift these days. Half the reason I’m still fighting is so people like you can enjoy that luxury.” His eyes narrowed with determination. “And I’ll keep fighting this to the end, until every American citizen who’s lost their home has a chance to go back, or at least has the safety to build a new one. There are worse things to die for.”

Davis abruptly began barking orders for his people to get back to work, but as he turned away Trev almost thought he saw tears in the older man’s eyes.

The Marine started to leave, but Trev called him back. “You may have lost your home, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have one. You and your men are welcome in Aspen Hill anytime.”

The sergeant glanced over his shoulder, giving him a half smile. “I appreciate the sentiment,” he said. Then he walked off.

The sentiment. Trev had meant what he’d said, but at the same time he was speaking on his own. He hadn’t consulted the town or even Lewis about the offer. And what if Davis did take him up on it? How many soldiers would he bring back with him? These few dozen, or a few hundred? A few thousand? Would they be able to take care of themselves or would they need at least some food and shelter until they could sort out their situation?

What if the rest of the town didn’t agree with taking them in, and it created a situation like with the refugees last winter? Only this time with heavily armed and well trained refugees, going into a nuclear winter that would be ten times worse?

He was an idiot. Davis had outright said he was willing to throw away his future so towns like Aspen Hill could have one, and all Trev offered in return was a pipe dream. He was glad the man had decided to accept the thought behind it rather than get insulted.

Still, Trev had meant what he’d said. He’d talk to Mayor Tillman and Matt and the other town leaders about taking in any soldiers who returned. After everything those in the military had sacrificed for their sake, they deserved that much.

And who knew, maybe Davis would take him up on his offer after all.

Those going north with the military were ready to leave before the Aspen Hill volunteers.

Although they were parting ways, both groups were heading up Highway 31 to start with. Along the entire stretch of mountains the military had defended, the only two roads still open were one in the south that Lassiter had jealously guarded, and one in the north that Erikson had literally sacrificed lives to hold. The military was even now gathering on that northern road, vehicles and troops on foot trickling through the choke point in a stream that would take hours or possibly even days.

Lewis watched Davis’s convoy disappear up the road as his volunteers made their final preparations to leave, loading up the supplies Trev had picked out. His cousin proved to have a good eye for what the town needed, cloth and canvas that would be useful both for construction and for blankets and warm clothing for the coming winter. They managed to fit a fair amount on the tractor, packing it around the weapons and other supplies to protect them during the trip.

Then it was time for them to go.

Even slow as it was, the loaded tractor easily left them in the dust as it made its way back to the valley refuge. Chauncey had suggested holding its pace back to match the volunteers and stay with them, mostly to protect the supplies it carried, but Lewis had decided that wasn’t worth the waste of fuel.