Уильям Дитц - Battle Hymn

It took an hour for the battalion to prepare. And Mac was issuing final instructions to her company commanders when Green appeared at her side. “Colonel Tompkins is on the horn, ma’am. He wants to know what’s taking so long.”

It wasn’t the first such message from Tompkins, and Mac felt a rising sense of anger. “Tell him I’m doing my nails, but not to worry because I’ll be done soon.”

Green’s eyes grew larger. “Seriously? You want me to say that?”

“Yes, I do… And you can leave the radio here. I don’t have time for his bullshit.”

Mac opened her mike and spoke over the TAC frequency. “This is Marauder-Six… The Marines are counting on us to do the heavy lifting for them. Let’s get the job done. Over.”

Shouts of “Hooah” could be heard from all around as Mac led Alpha Company up the stairs that led to the 146-foot-long seagoing tug. The metal scaffolding shook as dozens of boots pounded up through three flights of switchbacking stairs, and smoke poured out of the ship’s badly damaged superstructure. What would the enemy make of that ? Would they conclude that the tug was on fire?

Mac didn’t know and didn’t care. The purpose of the smoke was to hide her troops and their movements. The soldiers responsible for detonating the smoke grenades soon joined the troops who were moving toward the stern. Bravo Company had climbed the stairs by then and was following along behind. A sergeant had been assigned to board last and give the word. “This is Bravo Two-One. Phase one is complete. Over.”

“Roger that,” Mac replied. “Six to the hammer crew. Turn her loose. Over.”

By that time, the battalion’s mechanics had removed all of the tie-downs except for the cables that connected the ship to four massive shackles, each of which was secured with a large metal pin. To free the vessel, the soldiers had to remove the pins using sledgehammers. Metal clanged on metal as wrench turners went to work. The reports came in quick succession. “One, clear.” “Two, clear.” “Four clear.” “Three clear.”

“Hang on!” Mac said, and hurried to obey her own command.

Nothing happened. Mac couldn’t believe it. The ship weighed thousands of tons, and it was sitting on a steep incline. What the hell was wrong? Then a loud groan was heard. The tug shuddered and began to move. Slowly at first, then faster. Metal screeched on metal as the vessel slid down the ramp, hit the water, and threw a curtain of spray to the west.

And that was just the beginning. With plenty of inertia to power it, the smoke-wreathed vessel slid across the waterway and ran aground. Soldiers armed with light machine guns opened fire on the Mexicans from the stern.

Meanwhile, Mac and lead elements from Alpha Company were jumping down onto the embankment. “Push them back!” Mac shouted as she ran forward. “Kill the bastards!”

The unexpected arrival of two hundred Yankee soldiers, plus the ferocity with which they fought, threw the enemy soldiers back. “This is Six… Don’t let them get comfy! Keep pushing!”

Counterfire sparkled all along the expanse that fronted the Marauders. And that might have been enough to stop the attackers if it hadn’t been for phase two of Mac’s plan. She turned to find Green crouched to her right. “I told you to leave the radio behind.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“But you brought it.”

“Yes, ma’am. You need it.”

“And the colonel? Did you pass my message?”

Green shook her head. “No, ma’am. I didn’t think that would be wise.”

Mac laughed. “I’m going to put you in for a medal when this is over. Get Steelrain on the horn… Tell them to fire.”

Mac opened her mike. “This is Marauder-Six. All troops cease firing and take cover. Some serious shit is about to fall out of the sky.”

The coordinates had been fed to the missile battery half an hour earlier, and it was on standby. The unit was located seventy-five miles to the east, so there was some travel time, but not much. Two MGM-140B guided missiles plunged out of the overcast, struck the ground two hundred yards forward of Mac’s position, and exploded.

As each missile disintegrated, it sprayed 275 M74 submunitions in a 360-degree radius. The subs were similar to hand grenades. And each one of them was packed with incendiary pellets that were equally effective against equipment and personnel. The results were devastating. The combined payload of 550 submunitions slaughtered the enemy troops.

That left the Marauders free to take more ground, dig in, and hold it. They did.

The Marines arrived one hour and forty-two minutes later. They came ashore without firing a shot. Some waved to the scarecrow-like figures as they passed through the battalion’s lines. Others shouted friendly insults. The Marauders were too tired to respond.

That was the beginning of what the media called “The Big Push.” But it was more like the big rout. Entire divisions of disillusioned Mexicans turned toward the border. The war-weary columns clogged the freeways and the secondary roads for days while they made their way home. And they would have been easy meat for the Union A-10s, Apache gunships, and fighter planes.

But Sloan ordered all military units to let the Mexicans go so long as they didn’t fight or loot. The outfits that did were obliterated. Most people agreed that the policy made sense. Killing thousands of troops just to kill them would be stupid… And capturing them would create a huge burden.

The rebels were different, however. Many Confederate units refused to surrender and were determined to fight to the death. Where they could, Union officers put a cordon of troops around the Southerners and settled in to wait them out. That saved the lives of soldiers from both sides and served to prevent the sort of Alamo-like massacres that would make postwar reunification more difficult, if not impossible. Mac understood those strategies better than most and agreed with them.

Subsequent to the battle in New Iberia, the Marauders were sent west, but not in the lead. They spent most of their time showing the flag in small towns. Not the Union flag, which Sloan had retired, but the American flag—more and more of which were being taken out of storage and flown by Southern patriots.

So the city of Houston had already been secured by the time Mac arrived. In an effort to find out what fate had befallen her father, Mac made her way to his office in the southern command and control center. It had been trashed. The Intel people had been there… And once they left, sticky-fingered soldiers had gone through the stuff that remained.

But there were some items that neither group cared about, including two photographs. One was a picture of a woman who Mac believed to be Bo’s second wife. As for the other, that was a photo of Victoria. And she was smiling.

NEAR BAR HARBOR, MAINE

It was dark. The boat’s twin engines produced a throaty rumble as the thirty-six-foot cabin cruiser left the calm waters of Southwest Harbor, passed Sutton Island, and began the run up to Bar Harbor. The bow rose and fell gently as it cut through the long rollers that chased each other in from the Atlantic. As Bo stood in the stern, he could see the multicolored lights that followed the coastline. The blackouts that had once been common were over as was the war itself.

More than a month had passed since Houston had fallen, and President Stickley had fled. Some said she was living in the Caymans. Others claimed that the politician and her loyalists were somewhere in Africa. Bo didn’t give a damn. He was on a mission, his last mission, and the one that would put him in the history books. Not that historical notoriety was Bo’s goal. He wanted to kill Samuel T. Sloan for personal reasons.