Darrel Sparkman - After the Fall

After she left, he stood in the darkness and couldn’t complete a single thought. Damn.

Dawn found Trent at the holding area, just outside of base camp. He’d been up before daylight, packing his gear, and cleaning his weapons. This trip he was traveling light, so there wasn’t much to get ready, just some dried jerky for times he couldn’t hunt, a bedroll and ammunition. It would be enough.

Settling in under a tree, he leaned back against the trunk. He didn’t worry about the pack train getting by him. They had to leave camp in this direction, so the unit would probably form up around here somewhere. He automatically scanned the area, saw nothing of interest, then pulled his hat down over his eyes and went to sleep.

A few minutes later, the first of the trainees arrived. The soldiers were in full battle gear, carrying at least sixty pounds per man, their packs piled high on their backs. They had pots on their heads, and clunky boots on their feet. Trent didn’t have to open his eyes to know exactly where each one of them stood. There was the usual complaining and grumbling. Some stomped around asking foolish questions of other men who didn’t know any more than they did.

He could hear the comments of some of the men who kept looking over at him. Apparently they weren’t impressed. Dressed in buckskin leggings and shirt, and brown bush hat that had seen better days, he didn’t dress to impress. Some commented to each other about his single-action revolver in a land of semi-automatics, and his lack of equipment. None came close enough to bother him.

“All right, fall in.” A new voice. The voice of authority. He opened his eyes and sat up. That was a voice he knew.

“Gunny?”

The grizzled Marine noncom turned with a surprised look on his face and strode toward him. The men shook hands, each staring at the other.

“Been awhile, Gunny.”

“It’s been that. Heard you went down, last year. Something up at Caplinger Mills?” The blue eyes of Gunnery Sergeant Melbourne Thomas were brooding and penetrating. His face, though, after the initial surprise, lacked expression.

“It was a near thing.” He was puzzled. Where he expected a more animated reunion, all he got in response was a perfunctory and lukewarm greeting.

And the reunion was short-lived.

“Gunnery Sergeant Thomas.” Another voice of authority had entered the arena. He decided at once that there were too many voices of authority around here.

Gunny turned, waving indolently at the approaching officer. “Over here, Lieutenant.”

“Better get them together, Gunnery Sergeant. We’re ready to move out.” He looked distastefully at Trent. “Is this our scout?” His voice left the impression that he hoped it wasn’t. “Why don’t we have army scouts?”

He stepped forward. “John Trent, Lieutenant. I’ll be going with you, and I know the country. So does she—” He heard the pack horses coming toward them, so he just pointed his thumb back over his shoulder. “I don’t think you’ll get lost.”

“Very well, Trent. I’m Lieutenant Spencer. You’ll take orders from me, and I’ve already been briefed on the woman.” He turned briskly to Gunny. “Gunnery Sergeant, we’ll move out in thirty minutes. I’d like to meet with Miss Stephens, you, and the scout in fifteen. We’ll have a troop meeting in twenty. Understood?” Not waiting for a reply, he walked off in the direction of Katie’s pack train.

“Nice guy, huh?” He stood with his thumbs hooked in his belt.

Gunny didn’t reply, just turned and walked off while Trent looked after him with troubled eyes.

“This is going to be a fun trip.” He muttered. “I can tell.”

Fifteen minutes later, they were standing under the same tree. The pack train was waiting, and the trainees were standing at ease, at least as much as they could with a sixty-pound pack strapped to their backs, sweltering in the heat.

“There are a few things I want to get straight, before we leave.” The lieutenant’s eyes riveted both men. “Chain of command. I’m in charge of this training mission. You both take orders from me. Is that understood?”

The noncom’s affirmative reply dwindled into nothing as Gunny looked at Trent’s retreating back.

“Who gave you permission to leave, Mr. Trent?” Lieutenant Spencer’s voice thundered.

Katie grimaced, and Gunny just rolled his eyes, as they watched Trent stop, hesitate a moment, then slowly retrace his steps.

He stopped with his nose about an inch from Lieutenant Spencer’s face. His voice was purposefully soft. He knew how important it was to keep the trainees from losing faith in their commanding officer. “Spencer, I’m going to say this just once. First, you have no authority over me. I’m a United States Marshal. New, to be sure, but it’s your superiors who gave me that authority. Now, I’ve been around the park a few times, Lieutenant, and you will not run over me. If push comes to shove, according to the articles in my pack signed by Colonel Bonham, you are to assist me.”

“Secondly,” he continued. “I’m leaving this group and going my own way, because you are a walking dead man. The only chance you have for survival in these hills is to do everything your gunny says, when he says, and how he says. Then, if your stupid arrogance doesn’t get everyone killed first, you just might have a chance of coming back. Third, you didn’t have brains enough to get horses and pack animals for your men. Sure, they can walk it, they’re tough kids. That’s not the point. You need to make time, and your men need to be fresh in case you come up against raiders. And Lieutenant, you will come up against them. The fourth thing is this.” His voice got deadly quiet. “If you ever yell at me in that tone of voice again, I will piss on your campfire and ruin your whole day. Now, is that clear?”

The lieutenant tried to respond. “I’m a lieutenant in the—”

“Shove it, Lieutenant . No one cares.” As he left he brushed by Katie. She reached out and caught his arm.

“John, please don’t go. I need you.”

He stopped reluctantly, not wanting her to see his anger. “Why? You’ve got Lieutenant Green Jeans.”

“Do you remember those men you had trouble with, the ones who were outside Charley’s place? They came this morning and offered to herd my pack animals. When I turned them down, they didn’t like it much. John, I can smell raider a mile away. So can you. You know they’ll hit us on the trail, somewhere down the line. It’s just a matter of when.”

He stood, weighing the possibilities. None were any good and he realized she was right. He could imagine what Hobbs’ men would do if she hired them. They would have gone with the pack train, and then when the time was right, tried to take it over. Since that didn’t work out for them, they’d be waiting up in the hills somewhere in ambush, just looking for their chance. A show of force might just keep them away. “What’s in your packs?”

She looked at him steadily. “Guns, ammo, clothing—and toilet paper. Just everything any self-respecting raider would kill for.”

With an exasperated sigh and softly uttered oath, he turned back to the small group who waited for his decision. “Gunny, there’s a good place to camp about twenty miles east of here. On your map it’s the junction of “U” highway and Eleven Point Creek, in grid fourteen. I will see you there tomorrow if you push hard, otherwise I will see you whenever you make it. I’m going to make a side trip first.” At Katie’s questioning look, he said innocently, “I’m going to the library.”

Katie looked after the lieutenant as the man stalked off. He’d just received the worst tongue-lashing he would ever be likely to get. And it was well deserved. Now, she figured his men were going to get one too, if for no other reason than for the lieutenant to let off steam. She almost felt sorry for the man.