Уильям Дитц - Into the Guns

As Abbott spoke, a red dot hopped from point to point on a huge map. She paused to look around. “But that isn’t all,” she added. “As the rebs retreat from Bowling Green, we will attack Piggott, Arkansas. We’ll stay just long enough to suck a lot of Confederate resources in that direction. Then we’ll pull out.

“Meanwhile,” Abbott continued, “Operation Pegasus will get under way.” A detailed description of how helicopter companies were being assembled at small airports was followed by a discussion of how the Army Rangers would get to the strips, and which units would be in the first wave.

There was a lot of information to take in, and Sloan did his best to memorize it. When Abbott finished, she invited him to speak. Sloan made his way up to the front of the room, where he turned to scan the faces in front of him. “The Confederates not only seceded from the Union, their leaders are stealing oil from the American people and using it to line their own pockets. By taking control of the Richton Storage Facility, we can recover a large quantity of oil and send their so-called CEO a strong message. Maybe he’ll listen, maybe he won’t.

“But even if he doesn’t, we’ll have a forward operating base in the heart of the Confederacy. And I’ll be aboard the third helo to land there.”

Sloan hadn’t run that idea by his staff because he knew they’d object. But now, as the officers stood to applaud, he was committed. Sloan smiled. “Thank you… Don’t worry, I won’t try to micromanage General Abbott. This is her show, and she’ll have the freedom to run it as she sees fit. Besides… based on what I’ve heard, she wouldn’t listen to me anyway.” Abbott smiled, and the audience laughed.

“Should I fall,” Sloan continued, “Speaker of the House Duncan will assume my duties. Those of you who’ve had the good fortune to spend some time with the Speaker know that he’s dedicated to our cause and will provide you with strong leadership.

“Finally, thanks to intensive training received from Major McKinney, I’d put the chance of shooting any one of you in the ass at no more than 5 percent.” That produced a roar of laughter as well as the perfect moment for Sloan to leave the podium.

After the meeting, Sloan went back to his spartan office, where all sorts of issues were awaiting his attention. There were judges to nominate, briefing papers to read, and a stack of executive orders to sign. All of which was enough to make him look forward to leaving for Richton. The wheels of war continued to turn.

BOWLING GREEN, KENTUCKY

As Major Victoria Macintyre dashed from building to building, she could hear the distant thump of artillery, the persistent rattle of machine-gun fire, and the occasional crack of a sniper’s rifle. A stray dog had latched onto her five blocks earlier and followed Victoria as she crossed a rubble-strewn street. The drugstore had been looted, and she ducked inside.

The black-and-brown mutt followed in hopes of finding food, or collecting a pat on the head. Unfortunately, he wasn’t going to get either one of those things from Victoria. She had entered the city of Bowling Green to meet with a Confederate spy—not to care for stray dogs. But, since so much of the town had been leveled, there was no way to know if the operative would be there. Victoria had to try, however… Because the agent might be able to shed some light on what the Union Army would do next. And information like that would be of considerable value to General Bo Macintyre and his staff.

Victoria paused to check her map. She was supposed to meet her contact at a bar just off Fountain Square… And that was two blocks away. Victoria heard the dog bark as two men entered the store. She figured they were looters, going store to store, ready to grab the things that previous thieves had missed. Both carried shotguns.

One of the men caught a glimpse of Victoria in a mirror and was bringing his weapon to bear when she shot him in the throat. He let go of the pump gun in order to grab the wound. Blood spurted from between his fingers as he backed into a rack of reading glasses and sent it crashing to the floor.

The second man fired. But the blast went wide as the dog bit his right calf. Victoria shot him in the chest. He toppled onto his loot-filled pack and lay staring at the ceiling. The dog sniffed the corpse.

Like most urban pharmacies, the store stocked a little bit of everything, including canned goods. Most had been stolen, but Victoria found a solitary can of stew that was half-hidden under a supply case. She pulled the rip top free, dumped the contents onto a yellow Frisbee, and placed it on the floor. The dog was eating hungrily as Victoria left the store.

Engines roared as an Apache gunship swept overhead. Its nose gun was firing at a target that Victoria couldn’t see—and there was no way to tell which side the pilots were on.

Victoria ran, paused behind a dumpster, and ran again. Bodies were sprawled outside a bank. Whose were they? Depositors? Fighting to get their money out? Or thieves shot by the police? Not that it mattered.

Victoria jumped a badly bloated corpse and made her way toward the Mint Julep Bar. One end of the wooden sign was hanging free, and the front window was smashed in. After crossing the street, she paused to catch her breath. Her back was pressed against a brick wall near the broken window. Her contact might be inside waiting for her. Or he might be dead. But assuming he was inside, Victoria needed to warn him or risk taking a bullet. She whistled the first bars of “Dixie.”

There was a pause. Victoria heard the same tune from inside the bar. That didn’t mean it was her contact. It could be a looter attempting to suck her in. So Victoria entered the bar with the pistol raised and ready to fire. “You’re late,” a voice said from somewhere in front of her.

Victoria felt some of the tension drain out of her body and glanced at her watch. “Yeah, by three minutes.”

She heard a chuckle as Captain Ross Olson emerged from the shadows with both hands raised. “Hello, Major… You make those camos look good.”

Victoria slid the Glock into its holster. “And you are full of shit.”

Olson laughed. “So we meet again.” He waved her back. “Come on… I brought a picnic lunch.”

Victoria frowned. “I didn’t come here to eat.”

“You’re so damned serious,” Olson replied. “Just like your sister.”

“Robin?”

Olson raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t know? I thought you knew everything . Robin and I are members of the same battalion.”

Victoria took it in. Robin… Only a few miles away and fighting for the other side. The wrong side. Her father would pretend it didn’t matter. But it would matter, and that was fine with her. An artillery shell exploded two blocks away. Loose glass fell out of the window frame and made a tinkling noise as it hit the floor. “Lunch, huh? Lead the way.”

Broken glass crunched under her boots as she followed Olson back to a booth, where, true to his word, a picnic lunch was waiting. It was romantic if somewhat calculated. Having struck out in Indianapolis, Olson was determined to get in her pants.

What about Robin? Was he trying to seduce her, too? Maybe he had. Yes, Victoria thought to herself, I wouldn’t be surprised.

They sat across from each other as the city of Bowling Green died around them. “We have fresh bread,” Olson announced, “some cheese, and a couple of very expensive apples. Oh, and there’s this … It’s a nice Chardonnay bottled right here in Kentucky. Did you know that Kentuckians have been growing grapes since 1799?”