Уильям Дитц - Into the Guns

“I’m in,” Smith said, “assuming you want me. My wife passed away sixteen months ago, my son is stationed in Germany, assuming he’s alive, and the weather sucks. Arizona sounds good.”

“I want you,” Mac said. “More than that, we need you.”

“Thanks,” Smith said. “One last thing… I outrank Evans here, but I don’t want the number two slot. I’m a supply sergeant by trade… And correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re going to need supplies, plus some son of a bitch to keep track of them.”

Mac laughed. “I do, Sergeant. The job is yours.”

“Good,” Smith said. “A lot of our stuff went west with the major. And we had to expend some ammo fighting the takers. But I’ve still got quite a stash. Not to mention plenty of JP8 for your Apache.”

“That’s good news,” Mac said. “ Very good news since we’ve been burning through what we had. Let’s set up a meeting with the people who are off duty—and a second one for later on. Some or all of your people may elect to stay here.”

The meetings took place over a period of twenty-four hours and went the way Mac expected them to. All of those who had decided to stay with the company understood the need to become what Mac called “nonprofit mercenaries” and voted for it. And although none of Smith’s soldiers objected to the concept, three of them expressed a desire to stay with family members in Pendleton.

Mac understood that and authorized Smith not only to let them retain their personal weapons but to give them a supply of ammo in lieu of severance pay. She also gave each soldier a letter explaining the decision she’d made, and taking full responsibility for it, even though it seemed unlikely that the “real” army was going to show up in Pendleton anytime soon.

There was a party to see them off, and to welcome twelve family members who were going to accompany their soldiers to Arizona. Even though the company already included a few civilians, Mac hadn’t given the issue of dependents much thought until then. And the fact that she had eighteen more mouths to feed put a lot of additional pressure on her. It couldn’t be helped though… Not if her troops were to enjoy normal lives in Arizona. And, truth be told, Mac knew that soldiers with families to defend would fight that much harder.

Some of the civilians joining them had useful skills. The group included a nurse, an auto mechanic, and an elementary school teacher. And with school-age children to care for, her skills would become increasingly important.

The civilians wanted to bring truckloads of belongings, not to mention their personal vehicles, and Mac couldn’t allow that because each additional car or truck would require fuel and maintenance.

And there was another issue to confront as well… As the column grew longer, it would be increasingly hard to defend. So Mac was grateful when Smith issued a detailed list of what people could bring, forced them to package their belongings in shipping crates, and put all of their personal belongings on a moving van. Problem solved, for the moment at least.

Meanwhile, there were military stores to deal with, including a considerable quantity of weapons, ammo, and fuel. All of which were welcome. Once the company’s tankers were full, Mac sent the Apache out to find more fuelers. And when the pilots located them, Evans took two squads of soldiers out to “requisition” the additional trucks from a local oil company.

Mac felt guilty about that but had no way to pay for them. Not yet. Later, once the unit had some money or the equivalent thereof, she planned to buy vehicles rather than steal them.

Two days later, Mac was going over a list of to-dos when there was a knock on the door. She was sitting at Elkins’s desk and turned to see that Master Sergeant Smith and Staff Sergeant Esco were standing just inside the doorway. “Come in,” she told them. “Take a load off. Esco’s wearing a big smile. What’s up?”

“Drones,” Esco replied. “Sergeant Smith has four of them! Two Ravens and two Shadows. They’re still in crates, but once we put them together, we’ll be able to use them for scouting missions. And that will save a lot of JP8.”

Mac knew that Tier I UAVs like the hand-launched Raven had a range of six miles and could stay aloft for sixty to ninety minutes. Tier II UAVs, such as the Shadow, could go farther and stay up longer. And Esco was correct. Although the Apache could scout ahead, it would not only burn a whole lot of fuel but announce their presence. There was a potential problem, however—and Mac addressed the question to Smith. “If I’m not mistaken, the Shadows would require a launcher… Do we have one?”

Smith grinned. “You’re pretty smart for an officer. Yes, ma’am, we have one. It’s mounted on a trailer. We’ll haul it behind the Humvee. That’ll add to the length of the column, but it’ll be worth it.”

“I agree,” Mac said. “Let’s assemble one of each. Have we got the necessary know-how?”

“The Raven will be easy,” Esco predicted. “They come in a couple of cases—and I could probably do it by myself. As for the Shadows, I’ve flown them but never been required to assemble one. The Apache’s ground crew said they’d be willing to pitch in, though—and we have the necessary manuals.”

“How long will it take?”

“Two days,” Smith replied. “Assembly’s only half of it. We’ve got to test the drones and train up.”

Mac felt a rising sense of frustration. She wanted to get on the road as soon as possible but knew how valuable the UAVs would be. “Okay, go for it. But two days max… We need to amscray before something big and ugly comes this way.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Esco said as he stood. “We’ll be ready.”

The sergeants left Mac to stare at the opposite wall. A picture of the president was mounted there. He looked confident as he stared into the camera. One nation under God, Mac thought to herself. Not anymore.

SOUTHEAST TEXAS

Swamp water churned, and arms thrashed as the men fought. Sloan’s handcuffed hands were positioned in front of Short Guy’s throat, and as he pulled them back, the connecting chain bit into the security officer’s throat. Die, son of a bitch, die! Sloan thought to himself.

But Sloan’s lungs were on fire… And as he began to lose consciousness, he had no choice but to give up and kick with his feet. Their heads broke the surface together. And, as Sloan struggled to suck air into his oxygen-starved lungs, he found himself in the powerful downdraft caused by the Huey’s whirling rotors.

The downward pressure flattened the water around him but started to ease as the helicopter drifted sideways. That was when Flattop appeared in the open doorway above. Geysers of water jumped up in front of Sloan as the man opened fire. Sloan felt Short Guy jerk as a 9mm round struck his body. Holy shit! Flattop didn’t care who he hit.

Sloan tried to take Short Guy with him as he ducked below the surface. It didn’t work. All Sloan could do was slide in under the other man and use the security officer’s body as a shield while he kicked his feet and struggled to breathe. Fortunately, they were close to shore, which meant Sloan was able to tow Short Guy in under the thick foliage that hung out over the water.

The chopper vanished from sight as Sloan felt mud under his shoes and attempted to stand. But that wasn’t possible without lifting his arms up off Short Guy first. Once on his feet, Sloan saw that the other man’s face was blue. Had he been dead before Flattop shot him? That’s the way it looked because the bullet hole was in Short Guy’s left shoulder. Sloan looked up through a tangle of branches as the helicopter passed overhead. Then it was gone. Would Godbee send people to find him? Hell yes, he would.