Уильям Дитц - Battle Hymn

Mac accepted a hot mug of coffee from Duke before circling around to look over the drone operator’s shoulder. And sure enough, four rebel soldiers were crossing the open area where two dozen of their comrades had been killed the previous day, and where their bodies still lay.

Two of the enemy soldiers were carrying flags. One was white, and the other bore the iconic blue X, on a field of red. Mac assumed that the others were officers. Once the party arrived at the edge of the bloodied ground, they came to a stop. “I have a reb on the horn,” Duke said. “They want a meeting.”

Mac was surprised. Very surprised. She’d been expecting an assault rather than a chat. But if the rebs wanted to talk, she was happy to accommodate them. The longer Mac could run the clock, the better. She turned to Duke. “Tell them that I’m on my way. Where’s Sergeant Bader? We need flags. A Union flag and Old Glory.”

It took five minutes to round up the flags and depart. Bader carried one of the flags and Duke had the other. Mac couldn’t ask Munson to accompany her on the off chance that the rebs planned to kill her, so she asked Bravo Company’s commander to go instead. His name was Bruce Holly, and he was the officer that Forbes reported to. None of them were armed with anything other than pistols.

In order to reach the meeting point, the Union soldiers had to pass through their own minefield. And as they did so, Mac knew there was the distinct possibility that the enemy was watching via a drone and mapping their route. There was no way to fully counter such an effort. But Mac was careful to pursue the most complicated path possible, hoping to make things difficult for the enemy.

It felt strange to cross a battlefield in order to attend the sort of meeting that had been a common occurrence during the first civil war. A lot of things had changed since then, yet in many ways, war remained the same. Especially the dying part.

As the parties came together, Mac saw that two officers were waiting for her, a colonel and a major. She saluted the colonel. “Major Macintyre, sir… And Captain Holly.”

The colonel appeared to be fortysomething. He had the long, lean body of a runner. “I’m Colonel Oxley, and this is Major Boyington. Macintyre you say… Not the Major Macintyre by any chance? Meaning the officer who rescued President Sloan from Richton?”

There was no point in denying it. “Yes, sir.”

“Well, well,” Oxley said. “I worked for your father until recently, and it might interest you to know that your sister reported to me prior to her death. She was an excellent officer. It’s too bad that you chose to murder her.”

“I didn’t murder Victoria,” Mac replied stiffly. “She was killed by a rebel deserter, not that it matters, since dead is dead. Is there something you wish to discuss, Colonel? I hope so, because I have better things to do than stand around and shoot the shit.”

Oxley’s anger was plain to see. “We want to recover our dead.”

Mac nodded. “That’s a good idea. I like a tidy battlefield. How much time do you need?”

“An hour.”

“Perfect… That’ll give me time to eat breakfast. Is there anything else?”

“You are holding Confederate prisoners.”

“That’s correct, I am,” Mac conceded. “I’ll tell you what… Once you’re done hauling bodies away—I’ll send the POWs out ten at a time, every hour on the hour, until all of them have been released.”

Oxley squinted. “You’re stalling for time.”

Mac smiled. “Yup.”

“It won’t help you,” Oxley told her. “The Mexicans will roll over this area soon. Then they’ll push farther east, throw your forces back into New Orleans, and establish a new front. So you can surrender to me or die. Which would you prefer?”

Mac was floored. Mexicans? What Mexicans? And her astonishment must have been visible on her face because Oxley laughed. “Oh, my! You didn’t know, did you? Our government cut a deal with Mexico—and they’re sending sixty thousand soldiers to fight alongside us! I wonder why your commanding officer failed to mention it. Will your superiors leave you here to die? That’s how it appears to me. I will restate my offer. Surrender now or die here. I have a battalion of troops waiting ten minutes away—plus two Abrams tanks. You know what that means. Your Strykers won’t stand a chance.”

Mac looked him in the eye. “Fuck you, sir… And your tanks. This meeting is over.”

And with that, Mac turned and walked away. The rest of her party hurried to catch up. “I think he’s pissed,” Holly said. “ Real pissed.”

“I hope so,” Mac replied. “Angry people make mistakes.”

“It’s going to be battalion on battalion,” Holly observed. “But they have the edge.”

“That’s what Oxley believes,” Mac allowed. “But we’ll see.”

They had to wind their way between the dead bodies on the way back. Crows had been feasting on them. They lumbered into the air.

Mac felt guilty about leaving the corpses to rot. But Oxley had left her with no other option. If Mac gave Oxley the bodies, and the POWs, he would win a psychological victory. And that was a piss-poor way to start a battle. No, it was better to make Oxley’s troops advance through an obstacle course comprised of their own dead as they attacked the compound.

Something was eating away at Mac, however… And that was the fact that Trenton had chosen to leave her in the dark. Was Oxley correct? Had JSOC written the battalion off? Doing so might be advantageous. Mac could imagine Sloan’s press secretary putting some top spin on it. “We’re sorry to announce that Major Robin Macintyre, and her entire battalion, were lost in a desperate battle to control the strategic oil reserve located in Hackberry, Louisiana. This was a particular blow to the president, who has made no secret of his admiration for Major Macintyre and commissioned the battalion that bore her name.”

Would Sloan allow the battalion to die? Mac didn’t think so. But did Sam know ? He’d gone to considerable lengths to stay clear of operational matters, both as a matter of policy and good politics. Holly must have been harboring similar thoughts. “What do you think, ma’am?” he inquired, as they jumped a trench. “ Did the rebs cut a deal with Mexico?”

“They must have,” Mac allowed. “That shit is too weird to make up.”

“So why haven’t we heard anything from JSOC?”

Mac glanced at him. “I don’t know. But we have our orders—and people to shoot at. What more does a soldier need?”

Holly grinned. Mac knew he would pass the comment on. “Nothing, ma’am. Nothing at all. You can count on Bravo Company.”

“I will,” Mac replied. “I certainly will.”

Captain Cassidy was waiting for Mac in the command bunker. She looked tired. “I requested two A-10s,” the air force JTAC said. “But it doesn’t look good. It sounds like something big is in the works—and everything that can fly has been assigned to that.”

Mac took the news in. Something big? Like the arrival of sixty thousand Mexican soldiers? Yeah, that made sense. “No problem,” Mac lied. “We’ll take care of the M-1s ourselves. Duke, find out where Lieutenant Burns is. I want to speak with him.”

“Here they come,” Sergeant Evans warned, as his drone circled to the south. “They’re sending the tanks in first.”

No sooner had the words left the noncom’s mouth, than Mac heard a dull thump and knew that a 105mm round had exploded nearby. “All right,” Mac said, as she turned to face Captain Holly. “Get in touch with the truck commanders on the Stryker 1128s. Tell them to start their engines and prepare for Operation Pop-Up. I’m going to rely on you to direct their fire.”