Уильям Дитц - Into the Guns

“A backhoe would be one more machine to maintain,” Mac cautioned. “And it would make the column that much longer.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Evans acknowledged. “But it would save time and improve morale.”

Mac nodded. “That makes sense. Let’s be on the lookout for one.”

Evans broke the ensuing moment of silence. “Permission to speak freely?”

“Always.”

“The house is clear. Go in and take a look around. I’ll handle things out here.”

Mac looked away and back again. “Thanks, Emilio. I will.”

Evans nodded, executed a perfect about-face, and walked away.

It felt strange to pull the back door open and hear the usual screech of protest. Where was Mom? She should have been in the kitchen watching CNN as she fixed dinner. Traces of Margaret were still there, however. The walls were a cheerful yellow—and her apron was hanging from a peg. Not even Bo Macintyre had been willing to take it down.

The rest wasn’t pretty. Dishes had been smashed, a swearword was spray-painted on a wall, and the sink was full of trash. Where was Mr. Larson? Mac wondered. Was the part-time caretaker okay? So many people had been displaced. Perhaps he was among them.

When Mac left the kitchen, she entered her father’s part of the house. A Confederate battle flag occupied most of one wall. Pictures of Cadet Bo Macintyre, Lieutenant Bo Macintyre, and Captain Bo Macintyre were everywhere. Sometimes he stood all by himself. But more often than not he was with a group of soldiers. All of the images had one thing in common though—and that was an implacable stare directed at the camera. Or at a little girl should she be so foolish as to make a mistake.

Judging from the mess, it appeared that a number of people had camped in the living room. The mantel over the fireplace was scorched, drug paraphernalia lay scattered about, and Mac saw a photo of herself lying on the floor. She bent to pick it up. The girl in the picture was three or four. And there, kneeling beside her, was a young version of her father. He was smiling! Because of something her mother had said? Or because he was having a good time? Perhaps their relationship had been different then—back before the disappointment took over.

The second floor was very much like the first in terms of the vandalism that had been done. And Victoria’s room was a mess. But the trophies were still there, along with her collection of ribbons, and a graduation photo. The uniform fit Victoria perfectly. Mac could remember the way the hats had flown up into the air, and hung there for a moment, before falling back to Earth.

But things were quite different down the hall in her room. It, too, was littered with trash. But her mementoes were gone. All of the books, wall posters, and knickknacks had disappeared. Why? Because he gave up on you, the voice in her head said. Because you’re the failure that he wants to forget.

A tear trickled down Mac’s cheek as she turned away. What was it her father told her as a child? Soldiers don’t cry? Well, some soldiers did cry… But not in front of the troops. Mac used a sleeve to wipe the moisture away. Then she returned to work.

As the light started to fade, Mac went out to walk the perimeter. Evans and his squad leaders had done well. Fighting positions had been dug as necessary, they were linked to each other, and the machine guns were well sited.

The Strykers were positioned farther back, where they could provide fire support if necessary. The rest of the vehicles were parked at the center of the compound but with enough space between them to prevent collateral damage should one of them take a hit.

As for the civilians, they were safely ensconced in the barn that Mac and Vic played in as little girls. A time so long ago that it no longer seemed real.

Mac gave the go-ahead for off-duty personnel to sleep in the house but chose to put her own bag in the Stryker designated as Roller-Seven, referred to as IRON MIKEby its crew. Forward Observer Lin Kho had chosen to spend the night inside the vic as well—and was already asleep when Mac lay down on the bench across from her.

Mac slept well until 0200, when she went on watch. Distant shots were heard shortly thereafter. But other than that, the next two hours were uneventful, and Mac was able to go back to bed for two additional hours.

After getting up at 0600 and taking a sponge bath in the female section of the barn, Mac went to work. All were up by then, civilians included. Breakfast was a haphazard affair in which everyone had to fend for themselves. Except for Mac that is, who would have settled for coffee if Doc Obbie hadn’t shown up with one of her favorite MREs.

“Eat it, ma’am,” Obbie said with a smile, “or I’ll report you to Dr. Hoskins.”

“Anything but that,” Mac replied as she sat on a tailgate. Sparks was nearby, and she waved him over. “Find Esco,” she said. “Tell him to launch the Shadow, and check the highway between here and Mountain Home.”

Sparks nodded and left. Mac could see patches of blue sky through the cloud cover for once. Would the weather be better in Arizona? She hoped so. “I spoke to Esco,” Sparks said, as he returned. “He’s on it.”

“Good,” Mac replied. “I have a job for you. Mountain Home Air Force Base is located about twelve miles from the town itself. Get on the radio and try to make contact.”

Sparks stared at her. “What if I succeed? What then?”

Mac frowned. “What do you mean?”

“They will tell you to come in, and we’ll have to take orders from the person in charge. Regardless of what they’re up to.”

Mac swallowed some coffee. “I have news for you, Soldier… That’s how it works in the army. We don’t get to choose our superiors.”

“I know that, ma’am,” Sparks replied. “But that’s the regular army. And they left us to fend for ourselves.”

“I read you,” Mac said, “but what if the ‘regular’ army is back online? And there’s something else to consider… The base is home to the 366th Fight Wing of the Air Combat Command known as ‘The Gunfighters.’ They fly F-15E Strike Eagles. Guess what will happen if we tell them to fuck off?”

Sparks was silent for a moment. “They’ll grease us.”

“Bingo… So quit exercising your jaw and get to work. That’s an order.”

“Yes, ma’am. Right away.”

Mac watched Sparks begin to put out calls. The conversation was interesting in a couple of ways. First, she knew that Sparks was plugged into what the unit’s enlisted people were thinking. And, because he spent every day at her side, he was in an excellent position to feed them tidbits of information. So her comments, or a version of them, would make the rounds during the next hour. A fact of life in the army, and an important reason to keep her guard up.

Second, Sparks wasn’t the only person who was worried about being absorbed into a larger command. She was as well. If the “real” army was out there, then good. The unit should rejoin. But what if it wasn’t? What if her outfit was absorbed by a group of do-nothings? Or a bunch of crazies like the whack jobs in Yakima? Mac felt the need to protect the Marauders from everything , and that included rogue units like her own.

In spite of his best efforts, Sparks hadn’t been able to make contact with the air force by the time the column left half an hour later. Mac was riding in Roller-One. The house seemed to shrink as she looked back. Then it was gone. Along with her childhood.

It took fifteen minutes to reach Interstate 84 and turn south. Most of the traffic consisted of pedestrians, people on bicycles, and motorcycles. Some overloaded farm trucks passed the column as well. Mac figured that enterprising farmers were growing vegetables in hothouses and selling them to folks in Boise. Good for them. People had to eat. “Roller-Two-One to Roller-Six. Over.”