The Heart of War: Book Seven of the What's Left of My World Series

by C. A. Rudolph

  Will hadn’t slept, rested or showered in days. The uniform he had on hadn’t been changed in a week, and he hadn’t bothered to shave. A void now existed in his soul that wasn’t there before. He was a young soldier who had never experienced combat. He’d never lost brothers-in-arms, nor had he been on a battlefield, and he never could have guessed that this valley—this span of forests, hills and fields comprised of homes, gardens, livestock, a church, and a score of friendly, supportive residents—would have turned into one. Someone’s diabolical reasoning had made it so, and after witnessing the damage inflicted, the overabundance of sadness and loss, and feeling Lauren’s boiling tears soaking through his shirt, Will felt ready for war.

  Deciding there was no point in rationing the final cigarette, he pulled it out, placed it between his lips, and dropped the empty box to the ground, crushing it with his boot. Fishing the lighter from his pocket, he set fire to it and pulled in a deep drag. He flipped the lighter around in his hand, remembering when Lauren had told him to ‘keep it’. The context of the conversation they’d had that day made him smile for a brief moment, until the sound of multiple engines caught his ear.

  The bridge was wide open now, devoid of the old cars that had once acted as a barrier. Will moved quickly to find cover behind a parapet wall and supported his rifle atop the railing. He didn’t know who or what was coming around the corner, but if it was someone or something he didn’t recognize, he was going to empty his magazine into them, reload, and empty another. He would then keep firing until he ran out of ammunition, then fight any way he knew how until he ran out of energy, options, or both.

  As he began inventorying what he had on him, a desert-tan JLTV became visible, and a feeling of relief flooded his body, beginning at his head and landing at his toes, irrespective of the nicotine. A formation of military vehicles and transports intermixed with civilian trucks and SUVs stretched behind the JLTV as far as Will’s eyes could see along the curves of Trout Run Road.

  Before long, the lead vehicle pulled to a stop at the bridge while the others followed in succession. Will moved into the open and received a wave from Richie in the driver’s seat. As he marched closer to make contact, he heard two smacks of boots hitting the pavement and glanced over to see Dave Graham moving from the passenger side of the larger transport behind the lead JLTV.

  Dave whistled loud enough to be heard over the rattles of every diesel engine in proximity, then pulled a finger across his neck in a throat-slitting gesture, signaling the convoy to shut them off. Then, with a pungent look in his eyes, grit in his stride, and his M4 cradled in his arms, he marched ahead and directly up to Will.

  Will transferred his rifle to his left hand, aligned it vertically, and brought a weak salute to his brow, doing his best to stand at attention.

  Dave studied him a moment, sent an acknowledging nod, then held out his hand. “As you were.”

  Will relaxed a bit and lowered his hand to shake with his commanding officer.

  “In light of the current circumstances, we can jettison the formalities. Feel free to stand at ease, take a seat, or lie down and prop your boots up. Whatever suits you.”

  “Thank you, LT. I’ll just stand for now.”

  Dave looked the young man over. “How’ve you been holding up?”

  Will shrugged. “As good as can be, I guess.”

  “I…don’t recall you being a smoker.”

  Shit. The lit cigarette was still between his lips. He went to rid himself of it.

  Dave Graham held up a hand coupled with a rigid smirk. “It’s okay, carry on. I’m sure just about everyone here could make use of the relief right about now.” Fingers interlacing his belt, he looked away, gauging the surroundings. “You’re manning this post solo?”

  “No choice in the matter. Kind of…ran out of options.”

  “Indeed you did.” Dave furrowed his brow. “The posse’s here now, so anticipate some new options adjoined to that dwindling inventory along with a few modifications to protocol. Where might everyone else be?”

  “Manning their posts with diligence,” Will said. “We’ve spread the residents out. The chief and Sergeant Major Mason recommended keeping them thin to reduce collateral losses in case future attacks are incurred.”

  Dave nodded endorsement. “And have there been any manifestations of such?”

  “No, sir. It’s been quiet for days. A little too quiet, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

  “Count your blessings. Where can I find the chief?”

  “We relocated the FOL to the Sergeant Major’s basement for the time being,” Will said. “He could be there or across the road, checking in on Corporal Parsons. I’d make a call for him, but we’ve been ordered to maintain radio silence.”

  Dave put a strong hand on Will’s shoulder, the hardness in his expression falling a few levels on the Rockwell scale. “And how is Neo?”

  Will shrugged. “Alive, barely. I wish I knew more, but none of us know much. The doctors haven’t given us much to go on. No one’s been allowed to see him.”

  Dave nodded. “You…look tired, Will.”

  “I am tired, LT.”

  “Received. It’ll take a few to get checked in, deploy, and make some sense out of this mess. I’ll send a team down to relieve you double quick…and if it doesn’t happen fast enough, I’ll send myself down.”

  “Roger that.”

  Dave patted Will’s shoulder, then rotated and held his index finger high in the air, signaling the convoy that the time had come to move out.

  Will stepped aside and watched each vehicle move past and kick up dust. He lazily smiled while sending nods and waves to faces he hadn’t seen in a while. Sanchez was riding passenger in the sixth transport to roll past. He sent Will a reassuring smile paired with a thumbs-up. Two more transports went by; then a baby blue Ford Bronco slowed as it neared him, receiving a horn beep from the truck behind it.

  Santa stuck his head out the open window and raised a middle finger. “Hold your damn horses, shitbird! Ain’t no sense in that!” he hollered, then regarded Will. “Heya, Sharpie! How’s tricks? Damn, boy, you look wretched as hell.”

  Will went to respond, but Santa tossed up his hand and continued on.

  “S’okay, bud. Never fear, the motherfriggin’ cavalry is here!”

  Twenty or so more vehicles piled with men, weapons and supplies moved past before a hodgepodge of automobiles and commercial trucks Will hadn’t seen before brought up the rear. He saw faces he didn’t recognize, fifty or more of them by his estimate. But who were they? The unit had indeed arrived, and it looked as if they’d brought along some friends.

  “David!” Kim Mason squealed. She fell into her brother’s arms seconds after opening the front door and seeing his face. “My word! It is so good to see you.”

  Dave squeezed her and gave her a peck on the cheek. “You too, Kims. It’s been entirely too long. And I’m very sorry it had to wait until circumstances called for it.”

  Kim pulled away and wiped at a few faint, joyful tears. “Oh, nothing to apologize about. Not much we can do about them.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Dave grumbled, peeking into the living room. “Where’s the old man? I brought along a gaggle of personnel and hardware I’d like to harvest his input on how best to deploy.”

  “He’s napping. He’s been doing that a lot since he…well, you already know. Hasn’t really been himself since.”

  Dave nodded. “I’ll hold off the inquisition until he pries his eyes open, then. What about Meg and the boys? The house looks empty.”

  Kim looked away, biting into her lip. “Megan is in her room.” She hesitated, not knowing exactly what else to say. “The boys are…another story.”

  “Oh?” Dave grinned deviously. “Let me guess…they got themselves hitched and moved out of the roost, didn’t they?”

  Kim hung her head. “No, not at all, it’s nothing like that. We should probably talk about it another time.”

&nb
sp; “I’m not tracking, Kims. Did something hap—”

  The front door open behind them, and Woo Tang entered, halting Dave midsentence.

  Kim excused herself, squeezing Dave’s shoulder. “I’ll explain everything to you soon enough. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She then disappeared into the kitchen.

  Woo Tang moved to within conversational distance and shook hands with his CO. “You are a sight for sore eyes. It sure took you long enough.”

  “What can I say? The older I get, the slower I get,” Dave jeered. “It’s good to see you, Tang.”

  “It is good to be seen.”

  “My apologies for the unpunctuality; organizing was a celestial shitshow. When Richie showed up to convey the newsflash, the unit was spread out over God’s green earth like misplaced free-grazing cattle. In view of that, wrangling everyone took more clock ticks than we would’ve liked.” Dave gestured to the door. “Let’s you and me take a walk and catch up.”

  Woo Tang nodded. “After you, Kemosabe.”

  The pair left the house and strolled side by side along the Masons’ driveway.

  “Have you put together a record of casualties and losses?” Dave asked.

  “A memorized one. Nothing transcribed as of yet.”

  “Of course. Speak freely, if you would.”

  Woo Tang divulged each man’s full name and rank in reverent fashion.

  Dave humbly considered each one, sending a quick glance to the sky. “God be with them. I’ll pay a visit to their graves and offer my respects before day’s end. How’s our RTO?”

  “He remains with us, critical but stable,” Woo Tang said. “Several surgeries were essential to remove shrapnel and mitigate internal bleeding. Burns remain the principal trauma his body endures.”

  “Extent and severity?”

  “Circa fifty to sixty percent. Predominantly second degree, some third,” Woo Tang explained with a sharp eye. “He has been isolated; no one has been allowed to see him, and I do not expect that to change. The doctors are expressly concerned with contagion and infection. Neo is healthy, young and resilient, giving him a better than satisfactory chance of survival and recovery, but that chance could vanish if his wounds become infected.”

  Dave halted his pace, put his weight on a heel, and sighed. “Dammit. Just what in God’s name is going on around here, Tang? I soaked up Richie’s SITREP. What’s your take on this?”

  Woo Tang squared off with him. “The report you received was founded on what little was known then, and predates what little more we now know,” he began. “There are few facts by which to go and next to zero intel with which to corroborate them. Relaying the obvious: the attack was perpetrated by hostile aircraft, effected in all probability by a UAV, the overall efficacy of assault, strike precision and absence of forewarning serving as indicators. Our damage assessment thus far has been meager, but we presume the munitions employed to be Hellfires or Hellfire II Romeo variants.”

  Dave’s lips curled into a scowl. “Number of friendly targets?”

  “There were four aimpoints in total.”

  “Ballpark quantity of bandits?”

  “One, presumably, on a single avenue of approach.”

  Dave grunted. “So, presumably, we’re talking a Pred Charlie Gray Eagle…or a Reaper.”

  “Presumably,” Woo Tang parroted, nodding accord.

  “Fucked by the fickle finger,” Dave huffed. “This bears all the ingredients of a hostile act. Someone’s got a real burr up their butt for these folks, don’t they?”

  “It would appear.”

  Dave took in the view of the mountains to the east, his grimace gaining fervor. “Hard to believe how bad it’s gotten. Safety and security are at an all-time premium, good people are hard to come by, becoming fewer and far between, and what’s left of them are now being exterminated by God knows who over who knows what for who the hell knows.”

  “Though we have been shorthanded since the assault, we have been working the problem…developing theories pertaining to the latter portion of that statement.”

  “I’d anticipate nothing less. Who’s we?”

  “A group comprised of Sergeant Major Mason, myself, and two significantly well-informed individuals whom you have yet to meet, but soon will. Ken Winters and Jade Hensley, both formerly of the Diplomatic Security Service.”

  “State Department?”

  “Affirmative. And Mr. Winters is former Lima Company.”

  Dave cleared his throat. “Which Lima Company? Never mind, cancel that. Doesn’t matter. If you’ve seen one jarhead, you’ve smelled them all.”

  “Olfactory matters aside, his input on the effects of high-explosive munitions has been obliging,” Woo Tang stated. “But then again, he is no Santa.”

  “Roger the hell out of that. There can be only one,” Dave chanted.

  Woo Tang cracked a smile. “Miss Hensley has been an asset as well, very supportive and insistently involved since the onset. I believe her to be prior military as well, though she has not exactly been forthcoming concerning the origins of her expertise.”

  “Giving her no distinction from present company. She’ll fit in just fine with this gallery of rogues.” He sighed. “I presumed Fred would be all-in on this, he’s too gung-ho to play second fiddle, but the other two aren’t ringing any familiarity bells. Are they residents?”

  “Yes, in a manner of speaking, but there is more to it than that.” Woo Tang paused, his look gaining expectance. “They arrived just over two months ago…together with and as protection detail for a certain previously unaccounted for Alan Russell.”

  Dave jerked his head around at the unexpected mention of a memorable name. Surprise merged with the momentousness in his expression. “Sorry, Tang. That about took the wind out of my sails.”

  “Your reaction is a shared one. It was an unexpected event for many.”

  “Indeed it was,” Dave agreed. “The last time Janey spoke of him, it seemed as though she’d given up hoping for a decent outcome. But Dad beat the odds and came home anyway? Damn. That’s good to hear. I’m looking forward to getting reacquainted.”

  “Before doing so, I must apprise you of a caveat.”

  Dave sighed. “As usual.”

  “Alan Russell made his return devoid of a large portion of his memory.”

  Dave tilted his head in concern. “What happened to him? Head injury?”

  “A traumatic one. From what we have learned, he spent several months in a coma. He has since recovered physically, but is not yet himself mentally…or rather, his old self.”

  Dave sighed and looked away, opting not to say anything.

  Woo Tang gave him a moment before digressing. “Have you determined a course of action?”

  “That’s a negative, ghostrider,” Dave said, exhaling. “I’m still processing. For now, we deploy, secure the perimeter, gather as much info and intel as possible about what happened, what can happen, and what we prefer to happen. Then evac any and all extraneous parties. What’s the headcount?”

  Woo Tang looked away. “Six families consisting of fourteen adults and approximately fifteen children, some of whom remain gone astray.”

  “Yeah, Richie mentioned that, too. Damn shame. We’ll dig into that mess once we get set up.”

  “There are other families living in nearby outlying areas that have been brought to our attention. If the proposed plan is to evac, we should consider extending the offer to them as well.”

  Dave nodded. “Agreed. We brought along a full complement, so you know. Left a skeleton crew at the center with instructions to run a tight ship. I brought some of our best boys and girls with me and a few active air-defense piece-of-mind goodies.”

  “I am certain that will be reassuring to those living here, especially to those refusing to leave.”

  “Do you presume that number will be higher than average?”

  Woo Tang tilted his head. “Presumptions aside, LT, you know who lives here. I believe some would welcom
e the idea, while others, not so much.”

  “Suppose we’ll see what comes of it, then. There’s a ton of gear to offload, a base camp of general-purpose tents to set up, and a profusion of that shitsack camo netting to suspend in the trees—and you know how much I hate that crap. Schedule a meeting of the minds for later this evening, and we’ll chat the possibilities up. Until then, let’s deploy and obtain a better view of this damned sky.”

  “I’ll see to it.”

  “Negative, we’ll both see to it.”

  Chapter 33

  George Washington National Forest

  Monday, March 14th

  After John’s interment, Lauren made a pledge to herself to maintain focus and contemplate nothing other than the journey on which she was about to embark. Thus, she’d erected some mental boundaries and endeavored not to stray beyond them. It was crucial for her to concentrate, maintain clarity, dispel uncertainties, and eradicate doubt. The time for losing and dwelling on those losses had come and gone, and the time for righting all the wrongs had arrived.

  If she sensed herself wavering, deviating, or losing focus, Lauren had tried talking to John. She didn’t know if he was actually listening or responding to her, but she could feel his spirit nearby. He was gone from this earth, but somehow hadn’t left her, and though she couldn’t explain it had she tried, she maintained faith in that.

  Faith itself was inexplicable, for there was no possible way to explain a belief in something, someone, or an entity that couldn’t be perceived by human senses. Faith was about choice, conscious choice, similarly to confidence and conviction. To know oneself capable of something, one just had to know. A choice had to be made that decided it so.

  Lauren couldn’t see God, but she believed in Him. She’d never been devoutly religious, but her faith in a higher power had endured since the day her grandmother had first taken her to church and had spoken to her at length about her own beliefs during the ride home. Lauren had been much younger then and hadn’t understood what it all truly meant, but as she’d grown older and her love for the outdoors and the intricacies of nature blossomed, she couldn’t fathom any other way for things to have come about as they had. Air, water, fire, earth, life and death, sadness and joy, a smile, even love—those things were simple, but hadn’t simply evolved from matter and spontaneous energy. She’d surmised that it all had instead been created by some means, and though she couldn’t process how, she’d chosen to believe it as so. And that was faith.