Andrews held up his hands. “Hey, whatever you want to do, Master Guns.”
“Not like there’s anything in this glass that could kill me quickly anyway.” With that, he tossed down the heady shot like it was water. As Andrews brought his glass to his lips, Griffith held up his hand. “Wait a minute—when was the last time you drank spirits?”
“Ah ... never, actually.”
Griffith took the glass from Andrews and placed it on the table. “Well, maybe we should save that until after we deal with our friends out there,” he said. “Last thing we need is you drunk while carrying a weapon.”
“I’m pretty sure I can take it,” Andrews said.
Griffith slowly shook his head. “Captain, trust me ... you won’t be able to. This stuff will turn you into a gibbering, booger-eating moron like Trumbull over there.”
“Hey.” Trumbull came out of his glowering slouch for a moment as Mitchie laughed. “I heard that, you old bastard.”
“Then congratulations, because I never accused you of being deaf,” Griffith said. He regarded the liquid in the glass before him. “Well, it’s not like kidney failure’s going to kill me any quicker than whatever else is out there.” He slammed back the whiskey and released a long sigh. “Ah, that’s it ... hits the spot just right. Listen, son, when you finally knock back some of this, exhale through your mouth. Never your nose.”
“Got it,” Andrews said. “Master Guns, I want to ask you a question.”
“Shoot.”
“A lot of the people here”—Andrews jerked his head toward Trumbull, still glowering at him behind the bar while nursing his own whiskey—“they don’t trust us. They think we’re shady. They think we’re something other than what we are. But I don’t get that vibe from you. Why is that?”
Griffith grunted again. “Well hell, son. I know Big Government always had a plan. I didn’t think it would be embodied by a tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed Viking boy like yourself, but I always knew there was a plan for continuity out there. I’m maybe a little surprised that some pudgy guy with a bad comb-over and a loose suit didn’t step out of your vehicle asking for votes, but the fact that elements of the US military survived doesn’t surprise me at all. But a lot of the folks here felt abandoned and ignored before the war. Shouldn’t be a shock to discover those feelings increased after humanity tried to rub itself out and the US government didn’t exactly come in and save everyone’s bacon at the end after everything turned to shit. Right?”
“Right,” Andrews said.
“Don’t get embarrassed or remorseful, now,” Griffith continued, his barriers lowered by the alcohol. “You’re a soldier and did what you had to do. Wait, train, wait, train—it’s always been like that, even for me. I saw some shit in my time, and did a lot with regards to making war and keeping this nation as safe as I could, but most of my time was spent training. Same for you, I’d imagine.”
“Correct on all counts, Master Guns.”
“Your commanding general ... what’s his name?”
“Benchley. Martin Benchley. He’s a major general.”
“Okay, so two stars of glory. Is he a tough son of a bitch?”
Andrews took a second to respond. Benchley was absolutely tough when things warranted it, but he was also approachable and thoughtful. But if he had to sum up Benchley in one image, it was when he followed Mulligan out the airlock of SCEV Four carrying a shovel to help Mulligan lay his long-dead family to rest. Did that make him tough? Andrews considered that for a moment. Despite the rather dearth of kinetics—it wasn’t like the Old Man had strolled out into a firefight or anything—he had exposed himself to potential death, stepping out onto the hot, radioactive plains of Kansas. He did it to help a subservient soldier set things aright. He hadn’t needed to be there at all, but he’d still done it. Exposed himself to danger, despite his rank and the overall responsibilities he had back at Harmony. That was a prime example of loyalty, and given the stakes ...
“He’s one tough old bastard,” Andrews said. “Not stupid. But tough. Willing to go to the wall for his people.”
Griffith pointed one bony finger at Andrews. “You are his legacy,” the old Marine said. “It’s not Mulligan. It’s you, and your XO, and your crew chief. You’re the people who have to make this work, have to find us and reunite us, have to make us remember we were once part of a grand experiment called the United States of America. When that happens, when the country finally does start to make its comeback, your General Benchley will be dead. So will your Command Sergeant Major Mulligan. But you? You might still be alive, son. You might very well be as old as I am now, but you’ll have accomplished your mission. A mission started by men much older than you, something they’ll never live to see. It started when you met those people in San Francisco you talked about.”
“San Jose,” Andrews corrected.
Griffith waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Hey, wherever. You feel what I’m saying here?”
“Yes, Master Guns. Can’t believe a Marine is telling me these things, but yes. I hear you.”
Griffith released a dry chuckle. “However it works out for you, young captain ... you mark my words. Your work is important work, no matter what the people of Sherwood might think right now. Of course, if you can manage to save us from whatever’s about to come out of the woods, that might just sweeten the pot.”
Andrews snorted. “I’ll do my best, Master Guns.”
“See that you do, boy. See that you do.” Griffith shifted on the hard wooden chair. “Now. No word from Lieutenant Eklund?”
“No. But the fact of the matter is, she’s probably out of range of her personal transmitter.” He didn’t mention the open transmission the rig had picked up before, nor did he mention Mulligan’s sudden reluctance to leave the vehicle. He wanted to be on hand if Leona did transmit one of her code phrases, a rather sudden departure from his usual cool, competent self. Andrews hadn’t pressed him on it. While he didn’t know the depth of their relationship, he understood that asking a man to turn his back on a woman he was involved with and attend to more trivial affairs was never going to go over well. And for the moment, Andrews could afford to be lenient. But if the enemy ever gave an indication they might hit the warehouse where the SCEV was parked, he would absolutely order Mulligan out into the wild.
And I’ll just pretend he’ll do what I tell him to do.
“Assuming she’s made her rally point, how long do you think it will be before she meets your second vehicle?” Griffith asked.
“Anywhere from four to eight days,” Andrews said. “Jim Laird isn’t going to sit on his ass and pay attention to each and every line item on his rig check out. He’ll expedite things, and get out in the field as quickly as he can.”
Griffith nodded. “Well. We’ll need him. He’s a brother, you said?”
“He is a black man, yes. That’s what you mean, right?”
“Yes, Captain. That’s what I mean. I mean, it doesn’t matter if he’s another pasty white boy with a carrot top of flaming red hair, but it does seem kind of extra if he’s a brother. You have any idea what I’m saying?”
Andrews smiled. “I think I do—”
The front door to the bar flew open then, and a wild-eyed woman ran in. She saw Andrews and Griffith sitting at the table and pounded her way over. She was out of breath.
“Sir!” she gasped. Her eyes were fixed on Andrews, not Griffith.
“Uh, yeah?” Andrews said.
“They’re here, sir,” the woman said in a rush, then bent over and gasped for breath.
Griffith slowly pushed himself to his feet as he said, “Who’s here, Gabrielle? Take a couple of breaths. You run here straight from the wall?”
The woman nodded, still doubled over as she fought to catch her breath. “Enemy,” she gasped. “Asked for Andrews and Mulligan. By name. Want to meet outside the wall.”
“Yeah, fuck that,” Griffith said.
“How did they know my name?” Andrews asked
, even though he already knew the answer. He propelled himself to his feet as if spring-loaded.
Griffith held up a hand as if anticipating his thoughts. “Could’ve been one of the teams we sent out before, to Ironside,” he said. “Does not mean your girl has been taken. Everyone who went over the wall knew you, and knew your sergeant major.”
“Never seen this guy before,” the girl said. “The one who’s doing the talking ... he’s different.”
“Different how?” Griffith asked.
The woman straightened, though she still gasped from her long run back to the bar. “He acts like you and Mulligan, Eldon,” she said. “No fear. Acts as if we’re going to do what he asks without thinking about it. Basically?” The woman paused to breathe for a moment. “He acts like a dick.”
“Please go to the rig and get Sarmajor Mulligan,” Andrews told the woman. “Do it as soon as you can, okay?”
“Yes, sir,” the woman said.
“Forget it, you’re run out,” Griffith said. He turned back to the bar where Trumbull and some other people stood, watching the goings-on with wide eyes. “Mitchie, you do it—you’re fast as hell. Get Mulligan. Do that right now.”
“On it,” Mitchie said, picking up a functional-looking AR. “Where am I sending him?”
Griffith turned back to the woman. “Gabrielle, which wall? South?”
“South,” she said.
“Got it,” Mitchie said. He ran for the door, his long ponytail trailing behind him as he shouldered his rifle.
Griffith looked to Andrews and nodded. “Okay. Same as before.” To the woman he called Gabrielle: “Did they ask for Stan?”
“No. Only Andrews and Mulligan.”
Griffith looked at Andrews. “You go ahead. I’ll be right along, want to get some things started on the backend.”
Andrews grabbed his rifle and headed for the door.
***
There were only two men on the road outside the wire. The first was the short, scrawny man with attitude they had seen before. The second was taller, with a bald head and a wider stance, the kind of man who had seen challenge before and met it head on. He wore sunglasses in the late afternoon sunlight, and his government-issued multicam uniform was clean and in great shape. Andrews regarded him for a long moment as he stood in plain sight atop the container wall, his rifle in his hands. He couldn’t see the uniformed man’s eyes behind his sunglasses, but he felt the weight of his inspection nevertheless. It wasn’t surprising. Andrews was well fed and muscular, whereas most of the people on the wall around him were underweight at best. The man down below grinned in the afternoon light, his hands clasped behind his back at rest even though he was facing down at least fifty rifles. He was confident and cocksure, and that made Andrews a little uneasy.
Griffith arrived a few minutes after Andrews had. Now on the wall beside him, the old man was a little out of breath after his hike up the stairs. He leaned heavily on his cane as he looked down at the pair on the road for a long moment. “Arrogant fucker,” he hissed. “At least his men embody what he teaches.”
“You think this is their leader?” Andrews asked.
“Yes, I do,” Griffith said. “Or at least someone high in their command. Not afraid of shit.”
“So why don’t we take him out and let them fold?” Andrews hefted his rifle as he said this. The safety was off. He was ready to rock.
“Maybe you should find their vehicle first,” Griffith said. “That’s the danger here, not this cocky motherfucker. You leave the armored vehicle in flames, we can handle the rest. This is fucking Sparta.”
Andrews had only a vague idea of what the old black Marine meant by his last comment. He kept his eyes focused on the two men below. They stood on the road in plain sight, carrying weapons. But there were only two of them. Andrews didn’t even have his radio with him, so he couldn’t break EMCON and ask KC to rotate the drone into the air to check the surrounding vicinity. He knew there would be others in the area, but he didn’t know in what numbers, or what they might be packing. Everyone on the wall with him was ready, though. Lots of weapons were oriented downrange. If anything went sideways, at least the two men on the road would be toast.
“We need to get some eyes out,” he said to Griffith.
“We’re working on that. That’s one of the things I wanted to take care of. A couple of drones should be spinning up now.”
“Is Stan going to join us?”
Griffith shook his head. “Stan stays in the mine for as long as possible. Only one of us comes out into the world at a time now.”
Andrews nodded slightly. It was how things had to be, and he had no issues with it. No matter what happened to Sherwood, its leadership had to survive.
“So what’s the plan?” he asked.
“We do a quick visual recce, then you and your sergeant major decide if you want to go out and talk to those gentlemen,” Griffith said. “I rather think you shouldn’t, but you’re not under my command, Captain. If the two of you get killed, that’s going mess things up big time.”
“Not my plan,” Andrews said. “We’ll wait for Mulligan to get here, then we’ll discuss next steps. If we do go out ...”
“We’ve got your back,” Griffith said. “You can count on that. We see anything, we open up.” As he spoke, a distant hum sounded. Andrews looked to the right and saw a pair of small drones climbing into the air. They split up, one heading west, the other tracking onto a more southerly course. Intel assets were up. Hopefully they wouldn’t be shot down.
“Hey, you’re Andrews, right?”
Andrews turned back to the road. The taller man continued to grin behind his sunglasses, his hands clasped at the small of his back as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He stood at perfect rest below as clouds drifted across the sun, casting irregular shadows across the road. Andrews continued to look down at him, holding his rifle at low ready. The man chuckled and shook his head.
“Listen, Captain ... it’s pretty obvious. You’re well fed, clean shaven, and look like a male model who should be posing for photo shoots instead of hanging on to a rifle. So you’re Andrews, am I right?”
Andrews said nothing.
“What is it you want, exactly?” Griffith asked.
“From you? Nothing just yet,” the man replied. “But I do want a face-to-face with Andrews and Mulligan. Two on two, no violence, no one gets hurt.”
“That so,” Griffith said. “Think I heard that kind of promise before. Wound up in two little kids getting killed, and their momma will be following them shortly.”
“Not everything happens as advertised,” the man replied. “But I’m here, right in front of you, and I call the shots. You guys don’t move against me, my people won’t move against you. For now.” He looked up as one of the drones flew overhead, a small speck in the sky. Sunlight reflected off his bald head. He looked back at Griffith and Andrews. “Fifty troops, twenty-five on either side of the road, with ten in reserve farther south. That’s what you’re going to find.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Griffith said. “You’ll have to excuse us if we verify.”
“Sure, go right ahead. Where’s Mr. Buchek?”
“He’s occupied elsewhere,” Griffith said.
“You must be Master Gunnery Sergeant Griffith? Interesting finding a jarhead so far inland.”
“You have me at a disadvantage,” Griffith replied. “How did you come about that kind of information?”
“Soon, Master Guns. Soon. Ah! Hello Scott!”
Andrews glanced over his shoulder as Mulligan mounted the container wall, followed by Mitchie. There was no attempt at disguise this time, as the hulking NCO wore full battle rattle and carried his big man-killer of a rifle at low ready. His visor was down, and he turned his head from side to side.
“Fifty meters to either side, getting some decent returns on metal,” he said to Andrews. “Definitely troops with weapons out there.”
“You’re using your helmet MMR?�
��
“I am. I figure if they know who we are by name, then the jig is up.” He looked down at the road. “Checking out our friends now. A few concealed weapons, handguns and blades. Nothing unusual.”
The bald man on the road spread his arms wide. “Take a good look, Sarmajor,” he said. “Nothing to hide, right? No body armor to interfere with the millimeter wave.”
“Kind of you,” Mulligan said.
The man laughed and waved him down. “Then bring your CO down and let’s have a chat. No shooting from my end, I promise.”
“Promise? Like that’s something I believe,” Mulligan replied.
The man shrugged and ran a hand over his bald head. “Hey, you know I did what I had to do. Hadn’t been aware you guys were in the town, though. Might’ve tipped my hand a little bit too soon.”
“Why do you want us to come out?” Andrews asked.
“A meeting of equals,” the man said.
Mulligan grunted at that. “Hmm. The audacity.”
“You in contact with the rig, Mulligan?” Andrews asked.
“Transmitting voice-activated, running a forty ninety-six encryption scheme using new ciphers. No one’s going to be listening in and so long as there’s no response, we should be good from anyone getting a radio detection slice.”
“All right. I’ll go out and meet these jokers. You hang back and give KC any direction she might need.”
“Yeah, fuck that, sir—I’m going out there with you. I want to hear what these jackals have to say, and find out how they know so much about us.” There was a hard set to Mulligan’s features that told Andrews any orders to the contrary would be rejected.
“We can’t leave KC alone, Sarmajor,” Andrews said.
“Then you stay behind, sir,” Mulligan said, “because I’m going out there to meet those bastards.” He turned to Griffith. “Master Guns, you need to deploy more folks forward. They’ve got a pretty fair-sized element out there. I’m not sure they can do much against the town, but they can probably blow the shit out of anyone up on this wall. Better bring more troops forward and keep them low.”
Earthfall (Book 2): Earthfall 2 [The Mission Continues] Page 39
