Уильям Дитц - Battle Hymn

Mac was standing midspan at that point—waiting for truck four to complete the crossing. She swore under her breath. “I believe that one of our soldiers is a qualified motor transport operator.”

“Yes,” Carey replied. “That would be Private Rigg.”

“Is he with you ? Or on the west side?”

“He’s over here,” Carey answered.

“Perfect. Tell him to drive Mr. Bowers’s vehicle. And tell Mr. Bowers to walk home. Someone will notify him to come get his truck eventually. Oh, and don’t sign anything.”

All of the soldiers had been privy to the interchange, and Mac figured that most of them would share it with their respective drivers. Maybe that would prevent further defections. She hoped so. Mac’s thoughts were interrupted by an unfamiliar voice. “Look upstream! It’s going to hit the bridge!”

Mac turned to the left. “It” was a full-sized houseboat! Complete with a satellite dish mounted on the roof. And all Mac could do was watch as the barge-like vessel crashed into the bridge and sent an earthquake-like tremor in both directions.

Mac lost her footing and fell. Her arms were wrapped around a bollard when the current sucked the front end of the houseboat under the span. That caused the stern to rise into the air! Then it toppled over onto the semi owned by a man named Raskin.

The soldier assigned to Raskin’s truck was out on the bridge, giving directions at that point. And he remained untouched as the force of the blow knocked the Kenworth and its trailer off the bridge and into the churning water.

There was nothing to be done, as Raskin and tons of desperately needed supplies were swept downstream. Meanwhile, what remained of the shattered houseboat was sucked under the span to surface farther down the spillway.

The truck and its driver were a terrible loss. But what about the bridge? It was intact. But for how long? Mac staggered forward to the point where the private still stood. “Check the downstream side for damage!” Mac yelled. “I’ll take the upstream side.”

Mac expected to find damage and did. A huge dent was visible where the houseboat’s bow had hit. But the float remained airtight as far as Mac could tell. And, when the soldier gave her a thumbs-up, Mac made the call. “Send the next truck. We have three vehicles left to go.”

Finally, with six of the original seven semis safely across, it was time to bring the Stryker over. Mac held her breath as Truck Commander Larry Washington guided the BUFFALO BOBover the bridge. The span was shaking as if palsied at that point, and Mac feared that it would disintegrate at any moment. So she felt a tremendous sense of relief when the vic rolled up the slope to join the rest of the trucks.

Then something unexpected happened. “Look!” a soldier exclaimed, as she pointed to the east. And there, rolling down the slope and onto the bridge, was an M984A4 Wrecker! Mac turned to Green. “Contact the driver… Tell him we think the bridge is about to go.”

But before Green could respond, another soldier said, “Oh, shit! There it goes!”

And he was correct. The group watched as the bridge snapped in the middle. The force of the current pushed both halves over to their respective banks, where it caused them to wiggle from side to side.

Mac watched as two tiny figures fled the wrecker, made their way to the shore side of the bridge, and took the jump. Mac felt a sense of relief as they landed safely. “What now?” Carey inquired.

“We have supplies to deliver,” Mac said. “Let’s saddle up.”

The east half of the bridge broke free and was carried away.

NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA

Gusts of wind as high as 135 mph had been recorded over the previous six hours. Now, as the eye of the storm crossed the coast west of New Orleans, conditions had begun to moderate. Sloan had opened the underground command center to the public early that morning. Except for Doyle Besom, the rest of Sloan’s aides were against that, citing security concerns.

But Besom saw everything in terms of good or bad publicity. And he knew that video of the president welcoming refugees into his sanctuary would play well both north and south of the New Mason Dixon Line. Plus, the old mine was huge . So it wasn’t all that difficult to isolate the area being used for command purposes.

Sloan took his role as host seriously and had spent two hours passing out blankets and trying to comfort people. When he arrived in the Situation Room South, it was to find that a new executive summary was sitting on the table waiting for him. And there was some good news for a change. “The storm has lost some of its strength,” FEMA Administrator Freely said. “We think the worst is over.”

“That’s what I want to hear.” Sloan said as he turned to General Jones. “How is Operation Pushback going?”

“Pretty well, all things considered,” Jones answered. “The army has been able to force the Mexicans west to the town of New Iberia. The enemy is holding for the moment. But a brigade of Marines will land to the south of them the moment weather conditions allow. And once the jarheads arrive, we’ll be able to push them back.”

“There is one problem, however,” McKinney added. “And that’s supplies. In order to move quickly, our people took off with only five days’ worth of food, ammo, and fuel. Normally, we could fly supplies in. But Whitney has kept our aircraft on the ground.”

Sloan frowned. “So we can’t use the roads?”

“The rebs dropped the Highway 90 bridge at Calumet when they retreated the first time,” Jones explained. “Then, when the tide turned, they threw a ribbon bridge across the Atchafalaya Spillway for the Mexicans to use.

“But, based on the most recent report from a convoy with the call sign Road-Runner-Three, Whitney took the ribbon bridge out. That leaves I-10 to the north—and we’re advancing on Lafayette.”

Sloan nodded. “Good. Is there anything else?”

“I have two things to report,” Director of National Intelligence Kip said. “The first is a special operations coup! A team led by Major Robin Macintyre snatched Mexican Major General Matias Ramos out of his bed in Franklin and brought him out. Ten soldiers and sailors went in. Four of them survived.”

Sloan felt his heart sink. His staff knew about the rumors—so he couldn’t ask about Mac. McKinney came to Sloan’s rescue. And he did so in a very skillful manner. “We lost some good people. By way of a side note, it’s worth mentioning that Major Macintyre is in charge of Road-Runner-Three, and her convoy crossed the bridge just before half of it went downstream.”

Sloan managed to conceal the surge of relief that he felt. Mac was alive! He cleared his throat. “Please give me some background on each person who died. I will write letters to their families.”

McKinney nodded. “Yes, sir. That will mean a lot.”

Sloan turned to Kip. “So where did you stash the general? And how is the interrogation going?”

“He’s at Fort Knox,” Kip replied. “And he wants to cut a deal. Negotiations are under way. But, regardless of how that turns out, we know that the abduction was a blow to Mexican morale. In fact, it looks as if the snatch, plus the impact of the storm, were largely responsible for the pullback.”

“Sweet,” Sloan said. “That makes sense. If you’re a foot soldier, and the enemy can snatch a general, what does that say about your chances? What’s the second item you have for me?”

“It’s related to the first,” Kip replied. “President Stickley relieved Confederate General Bo Macintyre of his duties and named an admiral to replace him. The announcement was made immediately after the Ramos abduction, so the two events could be related. Macintyre was at the front. So, when the pullback began, it’s possible that he made a convenient scapegoat.