Уильям Дитц - Seek and Destroy

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the fight was over. Mac dropped to the ground and looked around. Sergeant Ivey and his squad were walking the ridgeline, checking to make sure that none of the bandits were playing dead, and collecting whatever intel they could.

Mac made her way past an abandoned mortar pit and up to the spot where she had a clear view of the other ridge. At some point in the battle, Perkins had released the soldiers from the Strykers and sent them up the western slope. That in spite of her order for the troops to remain in their vehicles. Mac made a mental note to thank him. The uphill assault hadn’t been easy, though… Mac could see bodies on the hillside. The rest, those who made it to the top, were clearing the area.

Mac felt her heart sink as she looked down onto the road. It appeared that three of Bravo Company’s twelve Strykers had taken repeated hits from mortars and been destroyed. Two of the trucks were on fire, and the third lay on its side. Each vic carried a total of eleven soldiers. So as many as thirty-three people could be dead in addition to the bodies that lay on the slope. Mac felt an almost overwhelming sense of sorrow and had to fight back the tears.

Had she been wrong to keep them buttoned up inside their vehicles? Would more people have survived if she’d let them loose right away? That’s bullshit, the inner voice told her. You made the correct call.

Mac was still thinking about that when Crowley appeared next to her. There was a cut on his forehead and some blood on his buckskin jacket. He was otherwise unhurt. “Hello, Macintyre… I’m glad to see that you’re okay.”

It occurred to Mac that Crowley hadn’t crossed her mind until then. Why was that? “You too, sir… I saw your Humvee take to the air. Did your driver make it?”

“No,” Crowley said, as he looked down at the carnage. “She’s dead.”

Another one. Sisley? No, Sampson. A volunteer from Louisiana. Mac swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’m sorry.”

Crowley’s eyes slid past hers to a point off in the distance. “I just got off the horn with Captain Lightfoot. I told him to abort the mission and return to the fort.”

“That makes sense, sir.”

People were moving in among the Strykers by then. Two-three had backed into two-two early on, and a sergeant was inspecting the damage. It would take a while to clear the traffic jam.

“I’m going to take your Stryker and head back,” Crowley said. “Salvage what you can.” And with that, he turned away.

There had been no expression of grief—and no admission of responsibility. What would Crowley do back at the fort? Work with Casey to weasel-word an after-action report? Yes, Mac decided. But there wouldn’t be any press release. Not on that dark day. Mac sighed, made her way downslope, and went to work.

BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS

Sloan was in a bad mood. There were three reasons for that. First, General Hern’s forces were still stalled just south of Columbia, Tennessee, where the Confederacy’s 3rd Tank Regiment was putting up a stiff fight. And the same was true to the east and west as well.

Second, the handshake thing was still in the news, and Senator Pickett was beginning to creep up in the polls.

And third, Sloan was scheduled to meet with a reporter from the World News . Not just any reporter… but Beth Morgan. The woman he’d been living with until two months prior to the May Day disaster. Besom’s advice was to, “Be nice. Maybe she’ll go easy on you. Lord knows, we could use some positive press.”

And maybe pigs will fly, Sloan thought to himself. This is Beth’s chance to get even.

But Sloan couldn’t choose whom World News sent, and he couldn’t afford to ignore such an influential newspaper, especially since print media were enjoying a postdisaster resurgence. That meant Sloan had to sit for the interview whether he wanted to or not.

Sloan knew Beth a lot better than most interviewees did, including her passion for organization. It was Beth’s firm belief that e-mails should be returned within twelve hours, thank-you cards were a must, and “good” people were always on time.

So when 3:57 rolled around, and Sloan was still on a call with IRS Commissioner Ralston, he broke it off. “Sorry, Marsha, but I’m supposed to sit down for an interview at four… And this particular reporter has been critical of me in the past. If I’m two seconds late, you’ll read about how arrogant I am on page one of the World News .” Ralston laughed, and they agreed to talk later.

Sloan’s hotel suite included a separate bedroom, and he left it for the sitting room at exactly 4:00 P.M. As he entered, Sloan saw that Beth was checking her watch. Beth had blue eyes, permanently arched brows, and kissable lips. Whoa! the voice cautioned. It didn’t work out. Remember? Beth stood and extended her hand. “Right on time… That’s a surprise.”

Sloan shook her hand but was careful to let go quickly. “It’s good to see you, Beth… How are you? And when did you join World News ?”

“I’m fine,” Beth replied. “I was covering a story in Minneapolis when the meteors struck. The Washington Post was destroyed along with the rest of D.C. So I applied for a slot at World News , and here I am.”

“I’m sorry about the Post ,” Sloan said sincerely. “I know how it feels to lose coworkers. We were lucky you and I. Please, have a seat.”

Once they were seated, Beth placed a recorder on the table that separated them. “I’d like to record our interview.”

Sloan nodded. “Go right ahead.”

The questions were what Sloan expected them to be. “Why was it taking Hern so long to push the Confederate Army south?” “What was Sloan doing to push his America Rising proposal through Congress?” And, “When was he going to nominate a vice president?”

It took about thirty minutes for Sloan to provide variations on his stock answers. The essence of which was that the Confederates were tough, the Whigs were determined to block reconstruction, and he was in the process of choosing a nominee.

Beth smiled knowingly. His tendency to procrastinate had been one of the things that caused friction between them. “Sure you are,” she said. “Once you make that decision, please have Besom call me first.”

And with that she leaned forward to turn the recorder off. “Thanks, Sam… Now, if you’ve got a couple of minutes, I’d like to tell you about another story that I’m working on. Under normal circumstances, I couldn’t. But since this could represent a matter of national security, my editor thinks that we should share.”

Sloan was intrigued. “Okay, what’s up?”

“Before I get into it I want a verbal agreement,” Beth said. “ If the story pans out, you’ll let me break it.”

Sloan shrugged. “Sure, that sounds fair. So, like I said, what’s up?”

“I’m working on an in-depth piece on Senator Pickett,” Beth replied. “Where she’s from, how that shaped her views, and her life in Iowa after she got married. And that’s where things get interesting. When Pickett ran for the Senate in Iowa, she received financial support from the American Eagle PAC, and it was receiving 60 percent of its funding from the Huxton Oil Company.”

Sloan knew that Huxton Oil was owned by Fred Huxton, who had been instrumental in creating the New Confederacy and was a member of the government’s board of directors. But although the connection was interesting, there was nothing illegal about receiving predisaster support from the PAC, so where was Beth headed? “That makes sense, given her politics,” Sloan allowed. “But it doesn’t qualify as front-page news.”