Уильям Дитц - Battle Hymn

Mac tore it open and read the note.

Dear Mac,

I am sending you into danger. I do so with a heavy heart because I want to protect you from harm. But our first responsibility is to the 296 prisoners being held in Ascensión, Mexico. Unfortunately, my military advisors believe that you are the best qualified officer to get our people out. As always, my thoughts and prayers will be with you.

Mac read the note again before tucking it away. The message was short but spoke volumes. If only they were normal people, Mac thought to herself. What would it be like to sit across from Sam in a restaurant and share a meal? It was a simple thing for other people but impossible for them.

“So,” McKinney said as he returned to his seat. “Did the president have some advice for you?”

“Yes, he did,” Mac deadpanned. “Drink bottled water.”

McKinney laughed. “He should know. Given his long trip home from Tampico. Grab some sleep, Mac… The moment we land, everyone will want something from you. Attention if nothing else.”

Mac knew that was true and was happy to discover that the Lear’s seats could fold down, offering a narrow bed to sleep on. After throwing a blanket over Mac and dimming the lights, the flight attendant went forward. Mac felt good stretching out, knowing that she was momentarily safe.

Sleep came quickly and ended with a thump as the wheels touched down. Mac glanced at her watch. She’d been asleep for three hours. It would have been nice to have more, but something was better than nothing.

Mac sat up and peered out through a window. She saw a radar installation flash past, followed by tents, then vehicles parked under camo nets. Then the installation disappeared, and a stretch of open desert appeared. The Lear slowed, turned, and taxied back.

“Welcome to Camp Freedom,” McKinney said, from the other side of the aisle. “I hope you like the airstrip. We made it just for you.” Mac had her boots on by the time the plane came to a stop, and the door opened. A shower would have been nice, along with a fresh uniform, but they would have to wait.

It should have been hot outside, but it wasn’t. The globe-spanning high haze was responsible for that. But it was bright, and Mac had to squint as she made her way down the stairs to the point where two people stood waiting. McKinney followed behind her.

A sharp-looking captain stepped forward to offer a salute, which Mac returned. He had deeply sunken eyes, gaunt features, and a rapier-thin body. “Good morning, Major. My name is Alan Roupe. I’m your XO.”

Mac shook his hand. “It’s a pleasure, Captain.”

“This is Command Sergeant Major Lester Deeds,” Roupe added as he stepped to one side. Deeds was wearing a green beret. He had bright blue eyes, high cheekbones, and brown skin. Mac returned his salute and could feel the man’s strength through his handshake. “Tom Lyle claims that you know your shit,” Deeds told her. “And that means it’s true.”

Lyle was a special operator Mac had worked with in the past. She smiled. “I’m glad he’s okay… And I like who you hang out with. So give it to me straight, Command Sergeant Major… What kind of soldiers do we have?”

“The best, ma’am… I chose them myself.”

“Well done,” Mac replied. “I’d like to meet them as soon as possible.”

Mac saw something click behind the bright blue eyes. Approval? Yes, she thought so. All the gear in the world didn’t mean jack shit without good soldiers—so that was something they agreed on. “Okay, I’m sure we have lots to do. What’s up first?”

The last thing Mac wanted to do was step off the plane and walk into a staff meeting. But Roupe and the rest of them were all jacked up and eager to get going. And Mac knew it was important to harness that energy.

Roupe led the way. And as they passed some Strykers, each safe within its own revetment, Mac saw the mobile radar unit in the distance. It consisted of a tan-colored truck, a mast with a rectangular antenna fastened to it, and two boxy trailers. “What’s the radar for?” Mac inquired. “Is there reason to believe that we’ll be attacked by the Mexican Air Force?”

“That’s our cover story,” Roupe explained. “The rebs are sure to spot Camp Freedom from the air and wonder what we’re up to. So we’re doing what we can to make the base look like it’s part of an early-alert detection system.”

“That makes sense,” Mac replied. “Although there is the law of unintended consequences to consider. What if the Mexicans decide to attack it?”

Roupe frowned. “That’s a possibility I guess. But why bother? Unless they’re planning to side with the Confederates.”

It was a reasonable answer, and Mac knew that Roupe was correct. The Confederates would almost certainly spot Camp Freedom from space, a spy plane, or a drone. Or maybe they had.

Mac was on the receiving end of numerous salutes and curious stares as they passed the tents where her soldiers were living. She was pleased to see how organized everything was and wondered who deserved credit for that. Roupe? Deeds? Or had the two of them been working as a team? The third possibility would be best.

The house trailer was long and narrow. The interior was divided into an admin section, a meeting space, and an office for Mac. The meeting area was set up for a briefing. A large map and numerous photographs obscured one of the windows. “I thought we could begin with a sitrep,” Roupe suggested, “and take it from there.”

“This is an excellent time to brief you regarding Captain Roupe,” McKinney interjected. “He’s the only person to escape from Detention Center One and live to tell about it. That’s one of many reasons why he was chosen for this mission. Alan knows everything there is to know about the layout of the prison, the way Carbone runs the place, and the appalling conditions there.”

A faraway look appeared on Roupe’s skull-like face. “I was lucky,” he said. “Better people died trying to escape that hellhole.”

“I’m glad you made it,” Mac said as she approached the bulletin board. “Is this the building you escaped from?” The structure she was referring to was shaped like a square, with a central courtyard located at its center.

Roupe nodded. “Yes, ma’am. It was supposed to be a regional hospital. But after the meteors struck, construction came to a stop. About a month later, Carbone leased the building from the government for $1,000.00 per month. Money changed hands under the table, you can be sure of that, since it’s worth more.

“It isn’t clear whether she had a deal with General Lorenzo at that point,” Roupe added, “or was hoping to get one. Nor does it matter. The building is two stories high, and each of the four wings was designed to accommodate 40 patients, for a total of 160 people max.

“But, since Carbone and her gangbangers chose to occupy all of the east wing, only 120 slots remain. That’s if the structure were used as a hospital. At this point we estimate that 296 POWs are being held there, although the actual head count fluctuates as people die and new prisoners are brought in.”

“Which raises an important question,” Mac put in. “What can we expect? How many prisoners will be able to walk? And how many will need to be carried?”

“If it’s like it was on the day I left, about 80 percent will be able to walk, albeit slowly,” Roupe answered. “The rest will require stretchers.”

Mac looked at Deeds. “That suggests a lot of medics in addition to our combat personnel. Let’s put a number on that.” Deeds nodded and made a note.

Mac turned back to the photo. “Tell me about the central courtyard. Could helicopters land there?”