Уильям Дитц: Seek and Destroy

Mac ducked down into the cargo bay, where four amped-up Green Berets stared at her. “No problem,” she assured them. “I’m checking our twenty… We’ll be off and running in a minute or two.”

The rebs had taken control of the country’s nav sats early on and were encrypting all of the signals. That meant Mac couldn’t rely on GPS to find her location. But she had a fistful of maps collected from the battalion’s Intel officer the day before, and one of them was titled HISTORICAL LANDMARKS, RUTHERFORD COUNTY, TENNESSEE. It was the sort of cartoony map often found in motels but might help her to get oriented. And sure enough… As Mac scanned the map, she spotted the bridge that, according to the caption, had been the site of a skirmish during the first civil war.

By comparing the historical map to a road map, Mac managed to figure things out. After going off road, Lamm had turned south into the first streambed he’d come to rather than waiting for the second one and entering that. But if they turned east, and crossed the streambed they’d left, the task force could get back on track.

Mac took the maps forward to share with Lamm. His face fell once he realized the mistake. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I screwed up.”

Mac knew Lamm, and knew there was no need to chew him out. He would take care of that himself. “No prob,” she lied. “Shit happens. Warn the others. Let’s roll.”

Mac directed a reassuring smile to the green beanies before returning to her perch topside. She was acutely aware of the fact that one-one had been stripped of its most potent weapon, leaving it with two pintle-mounted M249 light machine guns for self-defense. And that was one more reason to avoid a shoot-out if she could.

BULLY BOYwaddled over broken ground, dived into the streambed, and threw gravel as it powered up the opposite bank. Wires snapped as the Stryker broke through a fence and kept going. The terrain was fairly level until they entered the next stream, and Lamm took a right.

Mac was forced to hang on as the vic wobbled over another streambed filled with water-smoothed rocks. The other Strykers were close behind. After a quarter mile or so, Lamm turned and angled upwards before arriving on a flat spot next to a country road. That led to a stand of trees about half a mile from their objective. “Get off the highway and position the truck for a quick getaway,” Mac instructed.

Then, using her tactical radio, she gave the other truck commanders similar orders. The ramps went down the moment the vics were parked. That was Lieutenant Lyle’s opportunity to run a last-minute check on his troops. Then he came to see Mac. She was standing next to one-one’s hatch. A bar of light leaked sideways to illuminate the left side of her face. “I don’t expect a lot of resistance,” Lyle told her. “Revell won’t have much of an escort, assuming he’s there. How could he? Without everyone finding out what he’s been up to? So things should go smoothly.

“But,” Lyle continued, “if the poop hits the fan, and I tell you to haul ass, then do it. I’m aware of your reputation, Captain. And that includes the Silver Star. But if I say ‘go,’ it’s your duty to save as many people as you can. Do you read me?”

Mac was a captain, and Lyle was a lieutenant. So he couldn’t give her orders. But Mac understood. “I read you, Thomas.”

“It’s Tom. Only my mother calls me Thomas.”

Mac grinned. “Roger that, Thomas.”

Lyle chuckled, whispered something into his mike, and disappeared. At that point, all Mac had was six crew people to defend the vics. But what was, was. The waiting began.

Now that the engines were off, Mac could hear the distant rumble of artillery as North and South fought a war not that much different from World War II. Was her sister Victoria out there somewhere? Killing Union soldiers? And what about their father, General Bo Macintyre? The man who, both wittingly and unwittingly, had done so much to shape his daughters. Was he doing battle with his peers? The men and women with whom he had gone to West Point.

And then there was President Sloan. After fighting their way north from Mississippi together, they’d been forced to go their separate ways. He was an interesting man… A leader who would put his life on the line—even if he was something of a Boy Scout. But what’s wrong with Boy Scouts? Mac asked herself. The question went unanswered, as an engine was heard and a pair of headlights appeared. Mac held her breath as the pickup rolled past and vanished around a curve. How long had it been? Fifteen minutes since Lyle’s team vanished into the night?

Mac glanced at her watch. Only five minutes had passed, and it would be at least half an hour before the operators reached the house. Time seemed to slow.

Mac made the rounds, issued unnecessary orders, and generally made a pest of herself. It was either that or go stark raving mad.

Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, Mac heard Lyle’s voice on the radio. She could hear him pant in between bursts of words. “Charlie-Six. We’re two out—no casualties—don’t shoot us. Over.”

Mac felt a tremendous sense of relief as she acknowledged the transmission. The team was safe! Nothing else mattered. Mac ordered the truck commanders to start their engines and drop their ramps. Lyle appeared out of the darkness seconds later. He was followed by two operators, with the general sandwiched between them.

The scene had a greenish hue, but Mac could see the duct tape that covered Revell’s mouth and how big his eyes were. “We caught him with his pants down,” Lyle announced.

“Load him onto one-two,” Mac ordered. “What about his bodyguards?”

“Dead,” Lyle replied flatly. “We had to smoke his mistress, too. She tried to shoot Corporal Fredrick with a pearl-handled .38.”

Mac wondered what the woman’s husband would think, put the thought aside, and was there to welcome the rest of the operators as they appeared out of the darkness. A noncom finished the count. “All present and accounted for, sir!”

Lyle nodded. “Load ’em. Let’s haul ass.”

The three-vehicle column was under way three minutes later. Given the possibility that the Strykers had been spotted earlier, and a trap set for them, Mac had ordered Lamm to use a different route for the return trip.

The route was calculated to take the vics through a suburb where very little combat had taken place on the theory that there wouldn’t be a lot of patrols in that area. Mac was standing in the air-guard hatch, and by tracking the unit’s progress on a map, she could ensure that Lamm was making the correct turns.

Everything went well at first. Thanks to her night-vision device, Mac could tell that they had left farm country for the burbs. Minimansions were visible on both sides of the two-lane road—most of which sat on at least an acre of land.

Lamm had to steer around shell craters as they passed through a small town. Some of the downtown area had been destroyed by a fire. Once they were clear of the business district, the Strykers entered the more densely populated area that lay beyond. Tract houses stood shoulder to shoulder, and the gated neighborhoods had fanciful names.

Mac figured they were about five miles out at the point where she spotted the roadblock. It was a casual affair that consisted of two Humvees and a squad of soldiers. A regular thing, then… Not the sort of heavily armed force the rebs would send to intercept the Union Strykers. She keyed her mike. “This is Bravo-Six… Blow through the roadblock and keep going. Two and three will engage the Humvees. Over.”

BULLY BOYcame up on the roadblock seconds later. Mac fired the light machine gun mounted in front of her and saw sparks fly as her bullets glanced off a Humvee. That was when the one-one clipped the front of a Humvee and pushed it to the left.