I close my eyes once more, trying to block out the pain shooting around my upper body. I hear the low murmuring of my squad mates as they look on, but they don’t come to my aid.
Hunter stands and nudges me with his boot. When I don’t try to stop him, I hear him chuckle under his breath. “Medic!”
2
July 30, 1990
09:51 CDT
The boys and I are on maneuvers in the woods near Stillwell Creek. We set off at oh-seven-hundred, with the instructions to make it to a rendezvous point five miles southeast of the base.
There’s an old tradition at Fort McCoy—an exercise people do once a year. Two units are selected to go head to head in these woods. One team defending a flag, the other trying to capture it. I get what it’s supposed to teach us—teamwork, strategy, et cetera. But if you ask me, it’s nothing more than a popularity contest. Something for the officers to brag about.
It’s like a swamp underfoot—with each footstep I take, I sink in to my ankles. Consequently, my legs—more specifically, my calves—are killing me. The rain has been pouring down constantly since we left. Surprising, when you consider it’s nearly August and the temperature’s averaged eighty-five every day this week.
Shit like this isn’t really my thing, but I’m learning to keep my reservations to myself. Visibility is next-to-zero—the low cloud and the heavy rain, coupled with the thick, dense tree line, means natural light is minimal, making it even harder to see where I’m walking.
There are ten of us in total, walking single file along a path on a slight incline. To the right of us is a hillside, too steep to climb, leading up to another path lined with trees high above us. To our left, another steep drop slopes away to a small lake and a waterfront below. It looks like something out of a horror movie. There’s a faint mist restricting the view of the water from where we are.
We’re all wearing our woodland camouflage gear, with black boots and helmets—full kit, including rifles, though we don’t have live ammunition. I think they just want us to get used to the weight of all the shit we have to carry.
It doesn’t help that I’m far from a hundred percent after yesterday’s crash course in hand-to-hand combat. I was lucky, in that I only cracked one rib during the session, and after a few hours with the medic I’m bandaged up and high on painkillers.
The tradition of this exercise seems to mean a lot to Staff Sergeant Hunter. Certainly more than it means to any of us. He’s fearlessly striding out at the front of the line, leading the ten-man unit of the 27th Infantry Regiment through the forest. I’m near the back, with only Private Newman behind me.
We reach a clearing and the path levels out. Hunter stops and turns to face us. “Alright, listen up! Everyone gather round.”
We all bunch together in front of him.
“This mission is designed to get you working together, to get you used to inhospitable environments. These woods are home to more than a few wolves, so watch your six. Our objective is a clearing two miles north. In the center of this clearing is a flag. It’s being defended by another unit—the boys of the 16th Armored Regiment. We’re to capture that flag and return it to base. It will not be easy, ladies. The 16th have successfully defended that flag for seven years running. But today is the day they fail, do you understand me?”
He looks around as the unit murmurs among themselves. There’s always been a friendly rivalry between us and the 16th. But sometimes it’s been not so friendly, too. I get why Hunter’s so gung-ho about this—it’s a pride thing. I must admit, while I don’t always buy into the whole pissing contest thing, it would be great to beat those assholes.
“We’ll split into two teams,” he continues, “and attack from the left and right flanks. I’ll head up Alpha team. Kitson, Travis, Goldman, and Bloom—you’re with me. We’ll take the left flank. The rest of you are Bravo team—Jones will take point. You boys have the right flank. Watch your footing—you’ve got the higher ground, which is a greater advantage, but it’s a harder path. We’ll rendezvous in thirty minutes at the edge of the clearing. Once there, we’ll engage and look to capture the flag. We’ll be choppered home when it’s all over. Questions?” He pauses for a second, then acknowledges the silence. “Move out!”
We split into our assigned groups, and along with the rest of Bravo team, I head to the right of the clearing, making another slow climb up the treacherous, muddy path through the trees.
Did he say wolves? Jesus… I hope he was kidding.
10:32 CDT
“Jones, are we lost?” I ask.
“Sir…” replies Private First Class Darren Jones.
“There’s no need to sir me, Jones—you outrank me.”
Mike Temple, Greg Imes, and Dave Newman let slip a giggle.
Jones stops and turns to face me. “Don’t start with me, Omaha. On mission, you address me as sir.”
I throw him a casual salute. “Sorry. Sir, are we lost, sir?”
He frowns and sighs at me, and then turns away, continuing along the increasingly narrow and steep path through the trees. “No, we’re on track, Private.”
He sounds somewhat unconvinced, and likely full of shit.
Temples appears next to me and leans close. “We’re fuckin’ lost, man. I’m pretty sure we were meant to rendezvous with Alpha team ten minutes ago…”
I nod. “Yup…”
The 27th is a new regiment at Fort McCoy, and as such, consists almost exclusively of recruits with less than a year’s experience. Darren Jones is a Private, First Class, and the highest ranking of all of the new grunts. He’s also the longest serving, although the extra six months he’s got on the rest of us hardly counts for anything. He’s a nice enough guy, don’t get me wrong, but he’s fucking useless.
Natural light is struggling to penetrate the thick blanket of trees above us, and the rain continues to hammer down. The path is beginning to level out, but there’s a steep drop on either side, and it’s only wide enough for one man, forcing us to walk single file.
In the distance, I hear a noise that sounds suspiciously like a wolf’s howl.
Imes stops in front of me. “W-what the fuck was that?”
“That was the sound of your bra strap snapping,” replies Newman, from behind me. “Man up, Imes.”
Temple and I laugh.
Imes looks back at him. “Hey, screw you, alright? That was a fucking wolf!”
I move next to him and place a hand on his shoulder. “Greg, relax. There are five of us, and wolves are all about the pack mentality. One on its own wouldn’t go for us while we’re all together, so you got nothing to soil your panties about, alright?”
He carries on walking, and I see him tighten his grip on his rifle, which I assume is more of a subconscious comfort than anything, given it doesn’t contain any real bullets.
“You better be right,” he mutters.
I shake my head. We’re soldiers, yet he’s afraid of a big, bad wolf…
I smile to myself at the reference as we walk on.
“So, Omaha… this what you signed up for?”
I glance over my shoulder and smile at Newman. “Hell no, it ain’t. But then, I ain’t here because I want to serve Uncle Sam. I signed up to stay outta jail, so walking through some funky-looking forest, knee-deep in shit, is fine by me. At least I’m doing it a free man.”
Newman lets out a low whistle. “Man… that sounds pretty rough.”
I shrug. “Nah, I’m just a stupid kid. But I was out of second chances, and my pops wanted me to serve, so here I am. What’s your story?”
“I’m here because of my old man, too. But him, and three generations before him, all served because they loved their country. He insisted I keep the tradition alive.”
I step over a large puddle and catch a glimpse of the drop beside me. For a split-second, I feel dizzy thinking about it, but it passes just as quick.
“At least your intentions are honorable, if a little reluctant. Good on you, Newman. Any ma
n worth his salt will always honor his father.”
He laughs. “Yeah, he’s kinda like Staff Sergeant Hunter, except he always made me bacon and eggs of a morning. But I know he’s proud of me, and that makes it all worth—”
Newman shouts out and I spin around just in time to see him tumbling down the steep slope. He must’ve lost his footing in the mud!
“Newman!”
The others rush back, appearing next to me.
“Shit!” yells Jones. “Newman!”
We stand and watch, helpless, as our friend rolls and bounces down the hill, hitting trees as he goes and eventually disappearing in the mist.
I look at the others. “We’ve gotta go after him!”
Jones shakes his head. “Hughes, we’ll have to back-track and work our way down to the waterfront. It’ll take—”
“I don’t care how long it takes! He could be seriously hurt after that!”
“We need to rendezvous with Alpha team. Once we’re together, we can form a proper search party and get after him.”
I square up to Jones, moving so we’re only a couple of inches apart. I can feel an explosion of anger rising to the surface, killing any rational thoughts in my head. Temple and Imes rush to step between us.
I grit my teeth. “Get your head out of your ass, sir! Our friend might be injured, or worse—we can’t just leave him!”
“I’m not suggesting we do, but what can we do from here?”
His voice is professionally calm, and it pisses me off even more as it makes him come across as not being bothered about Newman.
“We can go after him!”
He gestures to the drop next to us. “Be my guest! What good will you be to Newman when you land next to him, just as broken as he is?”
Temple pulls me away, standing in front of me and putting his hands on my shoulders. “Hughes, he’s right. Best chance we have of helping him is to link up with Alpha team.”
I shrug his hands away, re-directing my fury at him. “And how long will that take?” I point over at Jones. “That ass-bandit has got us lost—we have no clue where Hunter and the rest of the squad are!”
Temple hesitates, and then glances back at Jones, who I notice is keen to avoid making eye contact.
“Fuck this…” I step to the edge and drop my rifle. I lean over and look at the slope. It’s steep, and there’s no clear path through it because the trees are so close together. If I try to run, I’ll over-balance immediately. But… if I slide down on my ass, in a crouch, I might be able to maintain some control.
Imes appears next to me and places a hand on my chest. “Hughes, I know what you’re thinking, but you can’t. Newman could be dead for all we know—Jones is right, we have to follow procedure and get support from Alpha team. We can form a search party and navigate to the waterfront below. We’ll have medical supplies, and—”
I don’t hear a word he’s saying. I step forward, over the edge, crouching as I do and landing in a squat, with one leg out in front. The ground is muddy and wet, and I begin to slide instantly.
“Hughes!”
I hear the shouts behind me, but they soon disappear, replaced by the noise I’m making as I bump into trees and glide over the undergrowth. My bag catches on some loose branches, slowing my progress. I lean back, placing my hand lightly on the ground, mostly for balance, but it’s helping me regulate my speed. I turn, and lean side to side, and duck, managing to descend the slope. I look farther down, seeing the beginnings of the waterfront below me.
Christ… this must be a good couple of hundred feet. I hope Newman’s alright.
Ah! Fuck!
I didn’t see that thick branch sticking out and it just slammed into my chest. My busted rib from yesterday isn’t thanking me for that right now…
I try to ignore it. The pain currently shooting around my torso will have to wait—I have to make sure Newman’s alright.
I take a deep breath to calm myself, but the agony it causes distracts me further. I catch my foot on something—didn’t see what. My leg stops dead, but my body keeps going.
Shit!
I plunge headfirst down the slope, banging into a tree trunk and ricocheting off. I start to roll on my side. My bag’s acting as a cushion, protecting my back, but at the same time, it’s limiting my movement.
I do my best to protect myself. There are some dangerously large roots sticking up from the ground, and they’d split my skull open if I hit one now. I bring both arms up over my head.
I think about Newman again… I really hope he’s okay. He’s a nice guy, and probably my best friend here. But most importantly, he’s one of us, and I’d never leave a brother behind.
Uh!
Ah!
Shit!
I land with a heavy thump on flat, solid ground. I’m face down, breathing heavily. I take some big gasps for air, ignoring the pain each one causes. I run through a mental checklist, making sure each part of my body is still working.
I think I’m okay. My legs and arms feel in one piece, despite being sore. My ribs are hurting like a bitch, but I knew that anyway. My head’s pounding, but nothing a couple more aspirin won’t fix…
Yeah, I’m good.
I push myself up with my arms and bring my knee up to my chest. Then, I stand up straight and look around. The world starts spinning, and—
Uh-oh…
Uh!
I fall on my ass again.
Okay, maybe I’m not as okay as I first thought.
I’m flat on my back, looking up at the trees that form a tunnel overhead, protecting me to an extent from the rain. I can hear the rush of water—I must be close to the lake. The smell of wet earth fills my nostrils. It’s not an unpleasant odor, it just reminds me of being outdoors, and of nature.
“Well… don’t you look… like a… asshole?”
I frown.
Was that…?
I struggle, but eventually manage to roll over on my front and look up. Newman’s sitting propped up against a tree, holding his left arm.
Oh, thank God!
I stand again, slower this time, getting my bearings and waiting for the world to stay still before attempting to move.
I smile weakly at him. “At least there was no one significant around to see it.” I stagger over to him and look down. “You alright?”
He nods, gesturing to his left arm with his head. “Busted… my shoulder, but I’m… alright.”
I look at him properly now, and I can see he’s clearly dislocated his arm—it’s hanging loose at the shoulder socket. He’s also got a nasty-looking gash on his forehead, and blood is gushing from it down his face.
“Newman… you look like shit.”
“Thanks… So, what the hell… are you doing… down here, anyway? You must be crazy! I just figured you’d… link up with Alpha team and swing back around to get me.”
“That’s what Jones wanted to do. But in order to do that, we’d need to know where Alpha team actually is, and the useless prick has no idea. I wasn’t about to sit around with my thumb up my ass while you were down here in God-knows what state.”
He smiles and then winces. “Thanks, man.”
I spot him trying to hide whatever it is that caused him to grimace. I crouch next to him. “Newman, where else are you hurt?”
He rolls his eyes and looks away, seemingly annoyed I’d seen through what little façade he was trying to create. He leans to his left, turning his body slightly. At his back, on his side near his kidneys, is a large bloodstain. In the middle of it, a small, sharp branch is sticking out of him.
Oh, Jesus…
“Shit, Newman…”
“It’s… alright… But I don’t think… I’m going to… make it… outta here.”
“Like hell you ain’t! You can cut that shit out right now, you hear me? We’ll be fine. I’ve got a medical kit in my bag—we’ll get you patched up.”
I go to stand, but he stops me. “Unless you’ve got surgical tools and… a medica
l degree, I don’t think that’ll do me… much good, man. Even I know… if we try to remove that thing, I’ll bleed out… right here.”
I have no idea if he’s right or wrong, but it sounds plausible.
I sigh. “Alright, let me get on the radio, tell people I’ve found you.”
I slide my bag off my shoulders and open it, reaching inside for the comms unit. I pull out the first four pieces of it I find…
Shit.
I must’ve crushed it under my weight when I fell.
I look at Newman, who’s smiling humorlessly at me. “I appreciate… the sentiment…”
I’m pissed off at the bad luck, and I let out a low snarl as I turn and throw the pieces away. I hear one of them splash in the water nearby.
Now what do I do? I’ve no idea where we are. No one else knows if we’re okay, and my friend is circling the drain with a hole in his side.
“Erm… Hughes…?”
I look down at Newman and see he’s staring past me with a look of concern etched on his face.
I frown. “What is it?”
He doesn’t answer, he just points behind me. I close my eyes for a brief moment, sensing some more bad luck is heading our way.
I open them again and turn around slowly. Standing roughly where I landed a few minutes ago, is a large, dirty, gray wolf. He’s baring his sharp, stained teeth, and his demonic, yellow eyes are staring straight at me.
I raise an eyebrow. “Oh… shit!”
3
10:59 CDT
I hold my hands up, my palms facing toward the animal, which feels like a natural thing to do if you’re offering unconditional surrender. “Ah… nice… doggy?”
“Hughes, what the fuck… are you… doing?”
Honestly, I have no fucking idea what I’m doing. Being eyeballed by an angry-looking wolf is a new experience for me…
I take a step backward, closer to Newman. I don’t think for a second this wolf will do anything, but if I’m wrong, I’d rather it went for me first.
A Hero of War--An Adrian Hell Novella Page 2
