Уильям Дитц - Seek and Destroy

The Confederates were quick to respond. A fusillade of bullets chased one-three, even as the Stryker’s gunner turned the remote-weapons station to the rear and fired the vic’s 40mm automatic grenade launcher. Explosions marched down the street.

The enemy soldiers weren’t easily deterred, however. The first Humvee was drivable and took off in hot pursuit. The driver veered right and left in an effort to avoid the exploding grenades even as his gunner fired the .50 that was mounted up top. The second Humvee was close behind but couldn’t fire without hitting the lead vehicle.

Mac swore and keyed her mike. The most important thing was to get Revell into Union-held territory, where the spooks could interrogate him. “This is Bravo-Six… One-two will pass one-one, and proceed to base. One-one and one-three will turn and engage. Execute. Over.”

Mac heard Lyle object, told him to shut up, and felt a sense of relief as one-two passed BULLY BOYand accelerated away. Lyle might be a second louie—but the truck commander reported to Mac.

Once two was clear, Mac ordered Lamm and one-three’s TC to part company at the next intersection, turn, and confront the oncoming Humvees. Both drivers managed to execute the maneuver perfectly. BULLY BOYwas largely toothless without the .50… But the vic had two LMGs. And the angle was such that both could fire.

One-one was beginning to take rounds from a Confederate .50, when Second Lieutenant Marvin Haskell stood on top of one-three. He was holding an AT4 launcher on his right shoulder, and the range was short. The rocket flew straight and true. A flash of light marked the hit. The Humvee bucked and blew up. Mac felt the shock wave.

Maybe Haskell saw that… And maybe he didn’t, as a stream of bullets swept across the top of one-three and dumped him into the street.

Every weapon that one-one and one-three could bring to bear was focused on the remaining Humvee at that point, and it shook as a hail of grenades and bullets struck it. Something gave, a gout of flame shot straight up, and the vehicle came to a sudden stop. Two rebs jumped out, but one of them was on fire.

“Let them go,” Mac ordered. She could see that one-three’s ramp was down and knew why. Mac watched as dimly seen figures carried something up and into the cargo compartment. The first platoon wasn’t about to leave their CO behind even if he was the most serious son of a bitch in the army.

It was wrong in a way, since even the slightest delay could prove costly. But there was a rule: “Leave no man behind.” And Mac believed in it. So she waited for one-three’s ramp to come up before giving the order. “This is Six. One-one will take point. Let’s haul ass. Over.”

The final leg of the trip went smoothly, thanks to the platoon of Union tanks that surged into enemy territory at the last minute, thereby opening a hole through which the first Stryker could pass. But things were beginning to heat up by the time Mac and the rest of her command passed through fifteen minutes later. And the tanks were happy to pull back the moment they could.

One-two’s return to base was somewhat anticlimactic to hear Lyle tell about it. A delegation of spooks was waiting to hustle General Revell onto a helo, which took off a few minutes later. All without so much as a “thank-you.” Neither one of them was surprised. Both had been in the army too long for that.

After chatting with Lyle for a few minutes, Mac excused herself and made her way across the tarmac to the motor pool. The first platoon was gathered around a burn barrel. Lamm shouted, “Ten-hut!”

Mac said, “As you were,” and could feel the sadness in the air. A sergeant offered her a stool—and a private gave her a cup of coffee. It was laced with rum. Drinking on duty was forbidden, but the troops knew that Mac would understand. They had gathered to say good-bye to Haskell… And a drink was in order.

Stories were told about the lieutenant, about the fact that he never laughed at jokes and could quote lengthy passages from army maintenance manuals. And there were other anecdotes, too. Like how he helped Private Kai cram for a test, the day his pet rat got loose in one-four, and his fear of hypodermic needles.

And as Mac listened, she realized how little she’d known about the young man who, when push came to shove, was a badass hero. Could she capture that? For the letter she would write to his parents? She’d try.

It was noon by the time Mac made it back to her quarters, only to find that a note was taped to the door. “Major Granger wants to see you.”

Mac sighed, turned around, and went outside. Shafts of sunlight angled down through broken clouds to turn the slush into water. Mac stomped her boots on the porch outside the command shack prior to going in. Woods was on duty and nodded. “It’s good to have you back, Captain… Dr. Havers is with the major now. It won’t be long.”

The prediction was borne out when the medical officer stormed out of the shack three minutes later. Why? Because Havers liked to put in requests for impossible things, that’s why… Like a full-on MRI unit for his dispensary. Mac knew because the doctor had to submit the requests to her first. She got up and went in.

After returning Mac’s salute, Granger made a face. “That son of a bitch is crazy. Have a seat.”

Mac sat down. “Sir, yes, sir. You wanted to see me?”

“Yes. First, congratulations on a job well done. The Intel people are thrilled! I’m sorry about Haskell.”

“I am, too,” Mac said simply. “You heard what he did?”

“Yes,” Granger answered. “That was very brave. If you want to write a rec, I’ll sign it. Maybe we can get him a Bronze Star.”

“I’d be happy to,” Mac said.

“Good. That brings us to item two. Some bastard at HQ cut a set of orders for you.”

“ Orders? What kind of orders?”

“It’s a temporary assignment to a counterinsurgency battalion in Wyoming. It seems they have a warlord problem out there, and this outfit is supposed to cap him.”

“But why me ?”

Granger shrugged. “Because you were a mercenary? And a mercenary isn’t all that different from a warlord? Or because your last name starts with M? How the hell would I know?”

Granger was pissed, and Mac knew why. The army was borrowing his XO but had no intention of giving him a replacement. A platoon leader would be named to run Bravo Company while she was gone. But neither one of them was ready to play XO. And that meant more work for Granger. “Who’s the CO?” Mac inquired.

“His name is Wes Crowley,” Granger replied. “We were in the same class at West Point. He graduated 998 out of 1,011 cadets.”

Mac’s eyebrows rose. “And he’s in command of a battalion?”

Granger made a face. “Yes, he is… With the temporary rank of lieutenant colonel. He’d been sidelined prior to the meteor strike. But now, what with the war, they’re giving him another chance.

“That said,” Granger continued, “don’t get the wrong idea. In spite of the fact that Wes wasn’t the best student at West Point—he’s got a talent for war. Something he demonstrated more than once in Afghanistan.”

“Sir,” Mac said, “I’m going to resign my commission and open a café. I will put that in writing and submit it later today.”

Granger laughed. “Don’t waste your time, Captain. You’re going to Wyoming. Give Crazy Crowley my best.”

ST. PAUL, MINNESOTA

The train was Doyle Besom’s idea—and Sloan had been resistant at first. Why ride a train if you could fly? Even if Air Force One was grounded frequently due to poor weather.

But Besom was a clever son of a bitch, and knew Sloan was an amateur historian. So once the press secretary reminded him of the way in which President Lincoln used train trips to build public support, Sloan became more interested. And now, after dozens of well-publicized stops, he had a new appreciation for an old method of politicking.