by Myke Cole
“Did you miss the part where I can’t move? I’m no good to you now, Sheriff. I’ll just slow you down. Leave me here. Get your ass back to the station. Your people need you.” And I don’t want to keep going. I don’t want to exist in a world where everyone I care about betrays me. I just want it to stop. I’ve done my time, living and dead; let me go.
But Mankiller was lashing her parka across two frozen branches, shivering in her base-layer shirt that fit so tightly it framed her flat breasts and powerful shoulders. She paused, looked at Schweitzer, reproach in her eyes. “I dunno how you did things in the American Navy, but in the Canadian Army, we have a motto: ‘Leave no man behind.’”
“I may have heard that Stateside.”
Mankiller nodded and turned back to the makeshift travois. “Well, quit with the John Wayne bullshit and grab on to this.”
“Sheriff, it’s ‘Leave no man behind.’ As in ‘living man.’ I’m dead.” His eyes were pleading. A part of him almost told her the truth, that he didn’t want to be rescued, that he just wanted to be dead. Truly dead. Gone from this world at last. But there was a splinter in his soul that wouldn’t give up, a strand of DNA that simply wasn’t made to quit. It was the part of him he had always been most proud of. Now he hated it with every fiber of his being.
“You ain’t dead,” Mankiller said, levering the travois under Schweitzer’s shoulders. “Dead people don’ talk. I’m takin’ you back to the station, and we’ll figure out how to get you fixed.”
“Sheriff, my spine is shattered. Unless you’ve got an auto-body shop and a hospital back at your station, there’s no fixing me. Don’t be a fool.”
“You know, for a dead guy, you sure do argue a lot,” Mankiller said. “You’re wasting time. Grab hold and let’s get you drug back. Sooner we get that done, the sooner I can get my parka back on. I’m freezin’ my ass off out here.”
You will have to go on—his thoughts in Sarah’s voice—if only for a little while.
Schweitzer swore and looped an arm over the taut fabric. His jellied back weakened his grip, but he was able to lock his elbow in place firmly enough to keep him from sliding off. Mankiller grunted, grasped the branches, and pulled. Schweitzer hadn’t been light even when he was only flesh. Now much more of him was metal, and he knew he weighed as much as three men his size. Mankiller barely showed the strain, dragging the travois without complaint. Schweitzer could hear her labored breathing, her heart rate rising, but her face remained calm, even placid, her jaw muscles relaxed.
She rounded the corner of the Loon, and the line of burned-out trucks came into view. Schweitzer could see a body face-down in the snow, two others gathered around it. They looked up at the sound of the travois’ scraping, raised weapons. Mankiller turned the corner and Schweitzer was turned away from the others, faced backward.
“Jesus, Ollie!” Mankiller shouted. “It’s me; don’t shoot, for chrissakes.”
“Sorry, boss,” Calmut’s voice came back. “You okay?”
Mankiller ignored him. “How is he?”
“He’s gone.” Desmarais’ voice. “Bled out a few minutes after you left.”
“Sorry, Colonel,” Mankiller said. There was a pause, and Schweitzer could picture the tightened jaws of the Canadians, swallowing their grief and focusing on the task at hand. Everyone had lost someone; there was no point in making more of it than was necessary.
“Jesus, is that Schweitzer?” Ghaznavi’s voice. Feet pounding in the snow. Schweitzer could hear a heavier tread alongside. Reeves, faithfully protecting his boss. “Christ, Jim. Are you okay?”
Banter, Schweitzer thought. Their morale is hammered as it is. Don’t let them know how turned around you are. “I’ve still got my rapier wit,” Schweitzer answered, releasing the travois and slumping backward into the snow. “But I would now classify me as ‘combat-ineffective.’”
“Shit,” Reeves said. “There goes our armor.”
“What happened?” Ghaznavi asked.
“The Director happened,” Schweitzer answered. My brother happened. He kept that information to himself. No sense in letting them know until he understood what the information meant. “Guy’s a fucking Cuisinart.”
“Shit,” Ghaznavi said. “That’s not good.”
“Listen to you whine,” Mankiller said. “He didn’ Cuisinart me, and I’m not a superpowered ?eyune like you.”
“You fought him?” Ghaznavi couldn’t keep the disbelief out of her voice.
“Yeah,” Mankiller said. “Blew up a couple of ’em with TATP, then cooked him with the flamethrower. That oughta take some of the starch out of his collar.”
“It won’t,” Schweitzer said. “He’ll be back, and he’ll have reinforcements. How’d it go over here?”
“Fitzgerald’s gone,” Desmarais said.
“Cort and Sharon haven’t come back, but there was heavy fire off our left flank,” Reeves said. “We were kind of hoping you’d be available to act as a QRF in case they’re still pinned down.”
“Yeah,” Schweitzer said. “That’s not gonna happen.”
“We’re holding, though,” Ghaznavi said. “They haven’t thrown any Golds at us so far.”
“No, they did,” Schweitzer said. “There were a bunch of them inbound right on your six. I intercepted.”
Mankiller snorted. “You got folded over backwards. I intercepted.”
“Two are down. The rest bugged out with the Director. They’ll be back.”
Ghaznavi cursed. “We can’t hold against that many Golds. Not without your help.”
“Well, I’m not going to be much help,” Schweitzer said.
Ghaznavi and Desmarais looked at one another over Schweitzer’s limp body. “I can call for a QRF from Yellowknife,” Desmarais finally said. “It won’t be JTF bodies. It’ll be straight-up Canadian Special Ops Regiment operators. The 427 pilots who bring them here can be relied on to keep their mouths shut, but I can’t vouch for the rest. This will probably leak.”
Ghaznavi swallowed. “Hodges won’t like that.” She looked around, taking in Mankiller and Schweitzer, Reeves kneeling at her side, eyes scanning the horizon. At last, she looked over her shoulder at Calmut and some of the other villagers, who were taking advantage of the lull in the fighting to scarf down granola bars.
“So, it’s a good thing Hodges isn’t here,” she finished. “Call your QRF.”
“We can’t call anyone,” Mankiller said. “That’s how Joe got killed, remember? It’s jammed.”
“Not to speak ill of the dead,” Desmarais said, “but your deputy was just one guy. A team of JTF operators will get the job done.”
“If there’s a way, sir, we’ll find it,” Nalren said.
Mankiller’s face was stone, but Schweitzer could smell the bitter tang of cortisol and adrenaline pumping into her bloodstream. Desmarais’ comment about Yakecan had pissed her off. “What’s your plan? Goin’ after the jammer?”
“No,” Desmarais said. “We just have to get outside its effective range.”
“What’s that?” Mankiller asked.
“Tough to say,” Desmarais said. “Depending on the model, could be a couple of klicks.”
“That’s pretty vague,” Ghaznavi said. “Is there some way to know for sure?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Nalren said. “You make a call on the satphone. If it goes through, you know you’re outside the jammer’s effective range.”
“Cute,” Ghaznavi said.
“Ground’s pretty damn flat out here,” Desmarais said. “Any high points?”
“Nearest range is the Mackenzies,” Mankiller said. “It’s practically to the Yukon. You’ll be outside jammer range long before you reach the foothills.”
“I don’t need a mountain,” Desmarais said. “Just want to get my ass a little higher off the ground is all. Anything closer?”
“You could climb a tree.” Mankiller smiled.
Nalren shot her a blank look and she snorted laughter. “There’s on old mine down the shore,” Mankiller said. “Lead and zinc. Nothin’ that should mess with a signal. Been shut down since before I was born, anyway.”
“The mine’s on a high point?” Desmarais asked.
“No,” Mankiller said, “but they got all the dirt they took out of it in a big pile, and all the drill cores stacked on top of that. Closest thing you get to hill around here. You should be able to hoof it in around thirty minutes. Less if you take a snowmobile.”
“We’ll hoof it,” Nalren said. “If we make it, it’s going to be because we weren’t discovered, not because we fought through.”
“You’ll have to fight through,” Schweitzer said. “There’s no way they don’t have pickets out, snipers on overwatch. The Golds will smell you. Their senses are sharper than a cat’s. We can’t spare you, anyway. They’re going to be coming back.”
“We were doin’ okay before you showed up,” Mankiller said. “I guess we’ll do okay until you get back. Besides, you might draw some of ’em off.”
Nalren and Desmarais looked sharply at her at this, and Mankiller smiled. “Look, if we just hole up here, they’ll shave us off by inches. Half a chance is better ’n no chance at all.”
“More like a quarter of a chance,” Ghaznavi said. “A tenth.”
Mankiller shrugged. “Is what it is. No sense in standin’ around jaw-jackin’ about it. We’re gonna do this, we’d better get movin’. Sooner out is sooner back.”
“What’s this ‘we’ business?” Desmarais asked.
“You thinkin’ you’re gonna find it yourself?” Mankiller asked. “I don’ have a map handy and the Internet’s down, so it’s not like we can Google it.”
“Can’t you just tell us where it is?” Desmarais asked. “I don’t like the idea of peeling you off this position. These people are counting on you. It’d be bad for morale.”
“Sure, I’ll just write directions on the back of a napkin and count on you not to get lost. Ollie’ll do okay. He ’bout ran that damn town when Jake and I were out on collars or doin’ escorts. Folks’ll do what he tells ’em.”
“What’ll he tell them?” Desmarais asked.
“Hole up, shoot at the bad guys. Don’t get killed. Ain’t rocket science.”
Desmarais glanced at Ghaznavi, who shrugged. “We better make it count.”
“Okay, I’ll send my people. If we’re calling a CSOR QRF, we want Canadians on the line.”
Nalren nodded, the ghost of a smile lifting the corner of her mouth. “I’ll grab Montclair.”
Schweitzer watched the hope in their eyes, smelled it in the chemical composition of their blood. These were people with a purpose. They were frightened, but it didn’t change the fact that they welcomed the challenge, were grateful for the chance to rise to it, to test themselves against the impossible. They were people anchored to the world, first by life and then by the people they loved. Schweitzer had neither. How he envied them.
“Don’t waste time with anything other than ammo,” Desmarais said. “You wind up overnighting this, and we’re all dead anyway. I want you light and fast.”
Nalren’s smile widened. “You’re staying here, sir. Let me run my op.”
“It’s my op,” Mankiller said, shouldering the Alaskan and heading back toward the station. “You can wave a flag and make speeches or treaties or whatever, but this is Dene country and always has been.”
“I’m Dene,” Nalren said.
“Good for you,” Mankiller said. “I also happen to be the sheriff of this municipality and we’re not in a declared war, so your army rank means exactly nothin’ to me. You come along and bring that radio of yours, but you do what I say when I say it. Not goin’ to have time to argue if we get into a scrape out there, an’ we probably will.”
Nalren opened her mouth to respond, shut it, glanced over at Desmarais, who shrugged.
“Good.” Mankiller grinned. “That’s settled. Let’s get this show on the road.”
CHAPTER XIV
SIGNAL
Mankiller got a box of .375 ammo out of the locker, dumping the loose bullets into the pockets of her parka before grabbing a radio off the rack in the dispatch room. Nalren gathered her go-bag and a few bottles of water from where she’d unloaded them while she defended the building. “You got a bedroll? Anything we can use as a windbreak?”
“I thought your boss told you to travel light.”
“Good for him. He’s not ground-pounding here; I am.”
“This ain’t a campin’ trip.”
Nalren shrugged. “If you need it and don’t have it, you’ll never need it again.”
Montclair appeared in the doorway. “Boss said we’re going on a field trip?”
Mankiller took a long look at her. “You look like a dogrib.”
“I am.” Montclair shrugged.
“Okay, well I guess the Indians are gonna save the day. We’re gonna break out of here and try to get some comms to call for help.”
Montclair nodded. “Sounds like a hundred-yard fight.”
“I hope not, but you’re probably right. You all loaded up?”
Montclair knelt by her pack and began pulling out magazines. “Nope. I’m shot dry.”
“You shouldn’t miss so damn much,” Nalren said.
Montclair gave her the finger. “Too many to engage properly. I just kept their heads down until they fucked off.”
“Well, they won’t fuck off for long,” Mankiller said. “You ready? Oh, hey. Guess it’s all girls, too. Ain’t that a thing?”
“Girls’ night out.” Nalren smiled.
Mankiller smiled back. The thought cheered her, but she missed Yakecan like an ache in her side. “Let’s go.”
“Go where?” Calmut looked up from the tiny camp stove where he was heating up a can of beans.
“What the hell are you doin’?” Mankiller asked. “They’re gonna catch you stirrin’ a pot when they come next.”
Calmut shrugged. “Gotta eat, Sheriff. Fightin’ don’ change that.”
“Well, jus’ make sure you turn that damn thing off before you get yourself shot,” Mankiller said. “Nearly had the station burned down as it is.”
“Where you goin’, boss?” Calmut repeated.
“Gonna go get us some help. You’re in charge ’til I get back.”
Calmut looked pale; his jaw worked. “Boss . . .”
“Ollie, are you my goddamn deputy, or aren’t you?”
“You know I am, boss, it’s jus’—”
“No ‘just.’ Joe’s out of the fight, and somebody’s gotta show ’em the way to the old mine so we can hopefully get high up enough to get a signal.”
“I can do it.” Calmut swallowed, the corners of his mouth turned down. He looked scared to death.
“No.” Mankiller shook her head. “I need you here. Folks trust you and they’ll do what you say. I’m better out on the range, anyway.” The truth was that she knew Calmut was no fighter, and didn’t trust him to keep his cool if they came across any of those dead things. At least here, he could shelter in place, and maybe she’d get lucky and they’d be back before the enemy regrouped and came at them again.
Calmut made to speak and Mankiller silenced him with a look. “That’s my final word on it, Ollie. We’ll be back as quick as we can.”
She signaled to Nalren, and the JTF2 operators followed her out without a second glance at Calmut. The truth was that Mankiller had no idea whether or not he’d be okay, but she’d been a warfighter and a cop long enough to know that hesitation was almost as bad as the wrong move nine times out of ten. She’d made the decision to help these folks get their satphone to the top of the mine, and wavering over that decision wouldn’t make Calmut a
ny stronger than he was. Best to get it done as quickly as possible.
She led them out the back of the town, down along the twisting track toward the boathouses that lined the lakeshore. She could see the chapel steeple off to her left, the louvered wooden slats smashed and the roof gutter dangling like a broken limb.
“This is where Schweitzer got his ass kicked,” Nalren said.
“Yeah, a few feet that way. They were fightin’ on the roof.”
“Well, didn’t you say you torched the Director to get Schweitzer out of there?”
“That’s right; he ran off. He was burnin’ pretty good, I guess.”
“But Schweitzer said he didn’t think you . . . killed him, and he had two Golds with him to boot.”
“You got a point?”
“Why the hell are you leading us right into that? Might be more fight than we want to take on right now.”
Mankiller swallowed her irritation. Nalren wasn’t Joe Yakecan, who’d learned to trust her instincts over the years. If she wanted Nalren’s trust, she’d have to earn it. Mankiller pointed to the lakeshore in the distance. “It’s wide open. We can pretty much see for miles. If they had any surprises waitin’, we’d be wise to ’em by now. We go out of town by the tree line, we could get zapped before we even know they’ve sighted us. I figure the Director went back to his camp to lick his wounds. I guess I could be wrong, but it’s a risk either way. We stick close to the shore for as long as we can, then we sprint for the mine once we’re well clear of town. I’m hopin’ whatever cordon they got goin’ on, they ain’t closed it yet. Besides, this is the most direct route.”
Nalren looked like she would protest, and Mankiller turned away before she could speak, setting a good pace along the shoreline. The gentle padding of the soldiers’ boots told her they were following. They crouched low, keeping close to the sparse cover, the drifting bergs of ice dappling them with shadow. Still, Mankiller knew how painfully exposed they were, felt as if she were a single black dot on a field of stark white, practically visible from space. Funny. She’d been a fighter all her life and normally painfully conscious of cover, lanes of fire, angles of attack. But not here. Never at home, where she was the law, where she knew everyone by name, where there practically were no secrets. She’d never needed cover in Fort Resolution before, and the effect of suddenly having to worry about it was jarring.
