Уильям Дитц - Battle Hymn

Sleep pulled Bo down. Various people were waiting to speak with him. And all of them were dead.

NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA

As Union troops were forced to retreat to the east, and reinforcements arrived from the north, the city of New Orleans struggled to absorb the sudden influx of people. Mac returned to NAS/JRB to find that another female officer was sharing her room, and there were long lines for almost everything.

And, when it came to locating the soldiers who had been wounded in Hackberry, Mac discovered that they were in three different hospitals. She went to visit each one of them nevertheless—and usually arrived with much-sought-after gifts like candy, spicy food, and magazines.

Meanwhile, it seemed as if her battalion had been relegated to a military never-never land. Though still part of JSOC, it wasn’t clear if the unit was going to remain there. Did JSOC need a battalion of Strykers? Some people said, “yes,” and others said, “no.”

Plus, as Trenton pointed out to Mac, “All of your Strykers were destroyed. And replacements aren’t available. Don’t worry, though… We’ll find something for you to do.”

The “something,” as it turned out, was a slot as the “Recreation Officer,” in a war zone where no one had time to recreate. So Mac was sitting around drinking coffee when a request came down for her to, “coordinate recreational activities in conjunction with the upcoming Southern Command Conference to be held at the New Orleans Hilton Hotel.” And, with nothing else to do, Mac found herself looking forward to the event.

As with all such functions, a committee had been formed to organize the gathering, and the first meeting was to be held in a conference room at the Louis Armstrong International Airport. But when Mac arrived, there was only one person there to greet her. “Hello, Mac,” Sloan said as he rose from a chair. “You look wonderful! I apologize for the misleading invitation… But I know you understand.”

Mac stood and stared. In marked contrast to the last time she’d seen Sloan, his face was drawn and tired. Not only that, but his clothes were loose, as if he’d lost some weight. Mac felt a surge of concern. The war was taking a heavy toll. Sloan offered a smile. “Did you get my letter?”

“Yes,” Mac replied.

“And? Is there any chance that you’ll accept my apology?”

Mac knew the answer should be “no” since Sloan’s actions should have been unforgivable. But the anger she’d felt earlier had dissipated. Because of the passage of time? Because she still felt drawn to him? It didn’t matter. “Yes,” Mac answered. “There’s a chance.”

Sloan’s expression brightened. “Thank you. Although, should I get another chance to kill your father, I’ll be forced to take it.”

The line was delivered with a smile, and dark though the humor was, Mac had to laugh. “Understood. But not while we’re on a date.”

Sloan came forward to place his hands on her shoulders. “You’re alive. Thank God for that. This is like a dream.”

He raised his hands to cup her face. “Can I kiss you? To make sure that you’re real?”

Mac closed her eyes as their lips met, felt his arms take her in, and wanted to cry. She was happy there. But conscious of how fragile life was—and the uncertainties that lay ahead. “Thank you,” Sloan said, as the kiss came to an end.

“For what?” Mac inquired as she looked up at him.

“For being you, for giving me a second chance, and for the kiss.”

“Consider it a down payment,” Mac said. “On the future.”

“Yes,” Sloan replied. “I need something to hope for.”

“The situation is that bad?”

Sloan looked away and back again. “I’m afraid so. The Confederates put a ribbon bridge across the Atchafalaya Spillway yesterday. Then the Mexicans sent a brigade across to protect the bridgehead. We tried to stop them and failed. I failed.”

“That’s bullshit,” Mac replied.

Sloan forced a grin. “Thanks. But, for better or worse, I’m the commander in chief.”

“And a good one,” Mac put in. “Remember where you are, which is deep inside what used to be enemy territory, only 350 miles from Houston.”

Mac saw a flicker of hope in his eyes. “You’re a good cheerleader. Were you one?”

Mac nodded. “Yes.”

“I wish I could have seen that,” Sloan said wistfully. A side door opened, and a man appeared. And, when Sloan raised a hand by way of an acknowledgment, the man disappeared.

“Take care of yourself,” Sloan said. “I’ll be in touch.”

Mac took the initiative, kissed him hard, and turned away. Tears were running down her cheeks as she left. Tears she needed to hide.

With the exception of the Marauders who were in hospitals, the rest had been given five days of leave and sent off to Biloxi, Mississippi, for some R&R. And now, as they returned to duty, Mac had a problem. What should the battalion be focused on? Training seemed like the obvious answer, and Mac was ready to make some specific recommendations, as she went to see Commander Trenton.

But as Mac entered Trenton’s office, everything changed. Because there, seated in one of the guest chairs, was Lieutenant Thomas Lyle! Mac had worked with the young Green Beret on two occasions in the past. The most recent occasion was the mission to grab Confederate Secretary of Energy Oliver Sanders down in Odessa, Texas, and take him north for interrogation.

There was a big grin on Lyle’s face as he came forward to collect a hug. “Good morning, Robin… I heard about Hackberry. I’m glad you’re safe.”

Trenton cleared her throat. “This is sweet. But I have better things to do than watch the two of you play kissy face. Have a seat, Major… We have work to do.”

Mac sat next to Lyle, and Trenton nodded. “Okay, that’s better. Two things… The first concerns Mac’s Marauders. I have some bad news to share. JSOC doesn’t need a Stryker battalion. Especially one that doesn’t have any Strykers. And the army wants its soldiers back. So your unit is being transferred to the 32nd Infantry Brigade. Captain Munson will assume command during your absence.”

The announcement didn’t come as a complete surprise since Mac had been aware of the battalion’s uncertain status, but she still felt a sense of shock. She was a cavalry officer, and that meant something. To her at least. Even if the difference between being an infantry officer and a cavalry officer wasn’t that great. And given the army’s pressing need for troops, Mac knew it made sense to put her people back in the fight.

But Mac could tell that something else was brewing as well. Trenton’s comment had an ominous quality. “During your absence.” What absence? And what about Lyle? Why was the Green Beret present?

Trenton had been watching. She nodded. “I’m sorry. I know how much you enjoy driving around and shooting people. But, if all goes well, some new Strykers will become available in the near future. In the meantime, we need to beat the Mexicans back.

“And that raises a very important question: Why are those bastards fighting for the Confederacy anyway? The easy answer is that the rebs are paying them to fight. According to a top secret report, one ton of gold was shipped from the Texas Gold Depository near Austin to the airport in Mexico City.

“That’s a lot of gold,” Trenton added. “And it’s worth a lot of money. Especially these days. But is it enough for Mexico to field four divisions of troops? And run the risk of winding up on the wrong side of our civil war? There are a whole lot of eggheads who don’t think so. They think the gold is part of a larger, more significant transaction of some sort. One that we need to know about and understand. And that’s where you two come in.”