Уильям Дитц - Into the Guns

Victoria didn’t know. Nor did she care. But she gave Olson points for doing his homework. And, as it turned out, the lunch was excellent. The wine was a nice accompaniment for the crusty bread, slices of apple, and bites of crumbly cheese.

By the time they were finished eating, Victoria knew everything Olson knew, or believed he knew, as the officer’s access to Sloan’s plans was quite limited. Still… given input from a lot of different people, the analysts in Houston would be able to stitch things together.

“Good,” Victoria said, as Olson poured the last of the wine into their glasses. “Now let’s talk about the next step… And that’s coming over to our side. Our forces are going to pull out of Bowling Green in the next forty-eight hours. That will generate positive press in the North and negative press down south. To counter that, we’d like to announce that an entire company of scouts came over to the Confederacy.”

“I see,” Olson said as he sipped his Chardonnay. “And then?”

“And then you will use your skills on our behalf, per the contract you agreed to in Indianapolis.”

Olson smiled. “That sounds good, Victoria… But I was hoping for something more… A memory that would keep me warm during cold nights.”

Vic nodded. “I get it… You want me to strip, lie on the table, and give you a ride.”

“That’s not the way I would phrase it,” Olson replied. “But yes, that would be nice.”

Victoria smiled to take the sting out of her reply. “It’s tempting, Ross, it really is, but I would find it difficult to enjoy the occasion knowing that a 105mm shell might land on us while we’re having fun. So let’s put that idea on hold. In the meantime, here’s a slip of paper with your orders on it. Commit them to memory and destroy it.”

Olson accepted the piece of paper without looking at it. “Roger that. I’ll see you soon.”

“Yes,” Victoria agreed as she slid out of the booth. “You will. Take care of yourself.” And with that, she left. The dog was waiting outside.

ABOARD ARMY ONE, OVER THE STATE OF MISSISSIPPI

Sloan couldn’t stop yawning. He hoped that the eight men and two women seated around him would assume that he was sleepy rather than scared but feared that they knew the truth. And the fear made sense. The Sikorsky UH-60 Black Hawk was already deep inside enemy territory. Sloan took a moment to look around. McKinney was aboard, as were Jenkins and eight Secret Service agents. All of them were accompanying Sloan over his objections. “Remember,” Jenkins had said two days earlier, “Napoleon had eight thousand bodyguards.”

“And not only was the man a tyrant,” Sloan had replied, “but he lost the war with England. Thanks a lot.” He looked to his right, saw Jenkins yawn, and smiled.

Both of the side doors were open, which allowed a steady stream of cold air to enter the cabin. But, like the rest of the team, Sloan was dressed for it. As the Black Hawk sped through the darkness, he could see the clusters of lights and knew that each marked a town. And why not? The rebs had no reason to expect an attack deep in their territory. That would change.

Sloan leaned back and closed his eyes for what he thought would be a few seconds and woke to find that he had fallen asleep. It was the copilot’s voice that roused him. “We’re five minutes out,” she said. “Check your gear. Lock and load.”

Sloan had a thing for John Wayne movies and knew where he’d heard the phrase “lock and load” for the first time. The Sands of Iwo Jima had been made in 1949. Now he was John Wayne, except this shit was for real.

There was a thump as the helicopter put down in the middle of the LZ established by the personnel on the first two helicopters. The presidential party jumped out, ready to fight. But the rebs didn’t realize that they’d been invaded yet. Once the passengers were clear, the Black Hawk took off. Dawn was two hours away. That’s when things would get interesting.

A DAY LATER NEAR MURFREESBORO, TENNESSEE

Confederate troops had been forced to pull out of Bowling Green and retreat to a point just south of the New Mason-Dixon Line. But because the rebs had a firm grip on Nashville, the relief force was ordered to swing east and wait for a swarm of missiles to destroy a defense tower. Then they were supposed to push through the hole and race south and west to Richton, Mississippi. And since Granger’s Scout and Reconnaissance Battalion was on the pointy end of the spear—it was their job to lead the way.

But it soon became apparent what would have been a seven-hour trip for a family on vacation was going to take a lot longer than that. In order to avoid Nashville, the relief force had to travel down Highway 231 just east of Music City. They passed through the towns of Bairds Mill and Silver Hill before they approached Murfreesboro and ran into trouble.

The Confederates knew about the airborne assault on Richton by then, and the effort to send reinforcements south. So although some of their resources were tied up dealing with the fake attack on Piggott—the rebs threw everything they could into the defense of Murfreesboro. And that brought the Union column to a halt.

As Abbott’s tanks and the infantry required to support them went forward to deal with the defiant rebs—the lightly armed Scout and Reconnaissance Battalion had an opportunity to rest and regroup. They were camped in and around a middle school. And as Mac made the rounds, she could hear the mutter of cannon fire to the south. It was going to be a long night for the tank crews and the infantry units who were fighting for Murfreesboro.

Mac’s thoughts were interrupted by a private. “Excuse me, ma’am… But Captain Olson would like to see you. He says it’s important.”

“Okay, where is he?”

“Room 305, ma’am.”

Mac said, “Thanks,” and followed the pool of light produced by her headlamp over to a pair of double doors. A flight of stairs led up to the third floor and a wide hallway. The door marked “305” was on the right. She pulled it open and went inside. Most of the furniture had been pushed over against the west wall—but a table was positioned at the center of the room. And there, sitting on top of it, was a cake. Olson looked up from lighting candles. “Happy birthday, Robin.”

Mac felt a surge of emotion. No one knew it was her birthday… Nobody except Olson, that is, who had clearly done some research. “I won’t sing,” he promised. “And you wouldn’t want me to.”

Mac felt a lump form in her throat and managed to swallow it. “Thank you, Ross. This is very sweet of you. Promise you won’t tell. If people find out, I’ll have to take shit about it for days.”

“It’s our secret,” Olson assured her. “Now come over and make a wish. But, if it involves me, I’m already here.”

Mac laughed as she approached the table. The movement caused the flames to shiver. What would she wish for? Peace? Or something selfish? She chose peace.

“Way to go,” Olson said, as the last candle went out. “Now it’s time for a drink and a slice of cake. Don’t worry… According to the girl at the bakery, this puppy is only a week old. I hope you like chocolate.”

“I love chocolate,” Mac replied, as Olson held a chair for her.

“Good. Chocolate goes with Jack Daniels. Of course everything goes with Jack Daniels,” Olson added as he poured two generous drinks.

The cake was stale, but good nonetheless. And Mac knew that she would never forget that particular birthday. The first drink was followed by a second plus another surprise.

“No birthday party is complete without dancing,” Olson announced. “So I came prepared.” Olson’s MP3 player was connected to a small speaker. “Unforgettable” flooded the room. And, once inside the circle of Olson’s arms, Mac discovered that the man could dance. She allowed herself to relax as they circled the table.