Уильям Дитц - Battle Hymn

It wasn’t the lead-in that Mac would have preferred. She popped a salute. “Major Macintyre, sir. Reporting as ordered.”

Prevus was short, built like a fireplug, and too old for his rank. A reservist then? Pulled in to help with the war? Mac thought so. The supply officer had a round face and beady eyes. They looked her up and down. “You’re a cavalry officer,” he said accusingly.

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“Well, something is better than nothing,” Prevus allowed. “Now listen up… Because I’m too busy to tell you twice. The 32nd had to leave on only a few hours’ notice. That meant they couldn’t take much with them. Your job is to lead a convoy loaded with supplies west and find them. Follow me,” Prevus said as he gave Mac an umbrella. “Your vehicles are lined up and ready to roll.” The wind threatened to grab Mac’s umbrella, and whip it away as they walked out into the storm. She battled to keep it under control.

“It’s going to get worse,” Prevus predicted. “The eyewall will pass over New Orleans during the night. That’s one of the reasons why we need to get you out of the city as soon as we can.”

There were ten vehicles in the convoy. The first was an up-armored Humvee with a fifty mounted on top. Immediately behind that was a hulking, mine-resistant, ambush-protected vehicle. They were commonly referred to as MRAPs, or Cougars. The trucks came in all sorts of configurations. This one boasted a remote-controlled fifty, firing ports along both flanks, and was sitting on six wheels rather than four.

Seven thin-skinned civilian tractor-trailer rigs were lined up behind the Coug. They were old, new, and everything in between. Most of the semis had colorful paint jobs. And why not? Mac mused. We wouldn’t want the reb pilots to miss them.

“Your drivers are civilian contractors,” Prevus informed her. “But don’t worry… A soldier will ride shotgun next to each one of them.”

“Why would I worry?” Mac wanted to know.

Prevus looked at her as if she was stupid. “Jesus H. Christ, Major… Any one of those bastards could be a rebel agent or a resistance fighter! So keep a close eye on them.”

It keeps getting better, Mac thought. “So, what about the soldiers? What outfit are they from?”

“What outfit aren’t they from?” Prevus replied. “I pulled them out of a transit barracks. You have a little bit of everything.”

The last vehicle was a Stryker M1128 MGS, complete with a 105mm tank gun. That, at least, was a source of comfort.

“Okay,” Prevus said. “Lieutenant Carey is your XO. She graduated from West Point two weeks ago—and believes all of the crap they taught her. Here are your orders, plus a map. Vaya con dios. ”

Mac took the envelope. “That’s it?”

Prevus frowned. “Of course that’s it… What did you expect? A going-away party? Your call sign is Road-Runner-Three.”

A gust of wind found his umbrella as Prevus turned away and tried to turn it inside out. Mac looked up at the gray, forbidding sky. Cold raindrops hit her face. Whitney was coming.

NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA

As the rain swept across the huge parking lot, and Mac made her way toward the front of the column, a small figure hurried toward her. Once the woman was closer, Mac realized that she was a second lieutenant. The officer came to a stop and delivered a crisp salute. “Second Lieutenant Lisa Carey, reporting for duty, ma’am!” Then, as an afterthought, “I’m your XO.”

Mac returned the salute. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant, and welcome to the war. Please don’t salute me unless we are in a secured area. And don’t let the troops salute you either. Snipers look for things like that.”

Carey had a small, finely boned face. And Mac saw her eyes widen as she took the advice in. “Oh,” Carey said. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Mac said. “There’s a lot to learn. I see you have a radio. Can you get one for me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Carey said eagerly. “Is there anything else?”

“Yes,” Mac replied. “Tell our soldiers to meet us in the warehouse. And instruct the civilians to gather separately. I’ll speak to them after I talk to the troops. Oh, and tell the drivers to make sure that their fuel tanks are full and that they have a full day’s worth of food and water aboard. And that’s for two people. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Carey said, and took off at a jog. Ring knockers, Mac mused. They’re so cute.

It took fifteen minutes for Carey to pull the soldiers together and herd them into two ranks. That was unnecessary, but Mac couldn’t say that without undermining the officer’s fragile authority. So Mac had to wait until the process was complete before starting her impromptu speech. “Welcome to whatever this is.”

That produced some laughs, and Mac nodded. “My name is Major Macintyre. Lieutenant Carey is my XO. I know you represent a lot of different units. But for the moment, you are part of this one… And our mission is to deliver critical supplies to the 32nd Infantry Brigade, which is fighting somewhere west of here. It’s an important task, and it won’t be easy. Chances are that we’ll have to defend ourselves and the convoy.

“Those of you assigned to ride shotgun in one of the civilian trucks will have an additional responsibility as well. No one had time to vet our civilian drivers. That means one or more of them could be working for the enemy. I want you to support them, and help in any way that you can, but remain vigilant. If you notice something suspicious, report it to Lieutenant Carey or me immediately. And if you’re unsure of whether you should report, then report it. We’ll sort it out from there.

“Remember, you aren’t here to make friends. So just to stir things up, I’m going to rotate you from truck to truck on a daily basis. Do you have any questions?”

There weren’t any. None the soldiers dared ask, anyway.

“Okay,” Mac said. “We have radios. Please use your headsets so I can communicate with you privately if needed. And one more thing… As soon as you have time, write your name and MOS (military occupational specialty) on a slip of paper and hand it to Lieutenant Carey. We may have need of your expertise during the days ahead.

“Take a bio break and report to your assigned vehicle. The convoy will roll in fifteen minutes. Dismissed.”

As the soldiers dispersed, Mac made her way over to where the civilians were gathered. There were seven of them. Six men and a woman. Mac counted one pair of bib overalls, two cowboy hats, and three potbellies—one of which belonged to the female driver.

“Hello,” Mac said, as they turned to look at her. “I’m Major Macintyre. I look forward to getting to know you during the days ahead. A soldier has been assigned to ride with you. If we come under attack, he or she will try to protect you.”

“She-it,” a man wearing a do-rag said. “If we come under attack, I will sure as hell protect myself!” So saying, he hauled a .44 out of a shoulder holster and waved it around. “Anybody who shoots at my truck is gonna die.”

Mac decided to ignore the bravado. “And your name is?”

“Ollie Eason. My handle is ‘Road Warrior.’”

“Okay,” Mac said. “Here’s hoping you won’t have to shoot anyone with that hog leg. Now, one more thing… If you take exception to something a soldier says or does, try to work it out with them. Failing that, take the matter to Lieutenant Carey. I will get involved if necessary. Are there any questions?”