Best Laid Plans (Book 5): Determination

by Nathan Jones

  While he was on the radio one of the blockhead scouts abruptly threw away his weapon, calling “Surrender! Surrender!” over and over from his hiding place. The next few moments were chaotic as more of the enemy threw away their weapons, calling their own surrenders in an unfamiliar language. Others kept firing, while some ran.

  Matt opened his mouth to tell his squad to cease fire, at least until they could decide what the blockheads still fighting planned to do. A lot of his people had already paused, so most of the shooting was coming from the other side.

  Before he could give the order two shots rang out in swift succession from beside him. One hit an enemy soldier who'd jumped up to toss aside his weapon, and the other the unlucky man's nearby companion who tried to bolt down the slope a few seconds later.

  “Cease fire!” Matt bellowed. Then, remembering the first battle in the canyon, he leaned over and yanked the rifle out of Pete's hands. Just in case his friend decided to disobey his order or “take too long” to obey it.

  The young man swore and turned to glare at him. “What was that for?”

  Matt didn't have time for that right now. The rest of the squad had stopped firing, and seeing it the rest of the blockheads were throwing away their weapons and standing with their hands raised. Matt stood as well, cautious for any sign of a hidden weapon or other deception as he addressed the soldiers. “We accept your surrender! Come out into the open and gather up so we know where you all are!”

  The only response was blank stares. It looked like none of the blockheads spoke English, aside from the word “surrender” itself. Matt repeated himself and communicated with gestures, and the enemy soldiers hesitantly started towards a more open area in the aspen grove, gathering together as directed.

  “Gutierrez, take everyone but Mitchell and Eddy and go secure them.” The former soldier nodded and began calling orders, making his way down from the emplacement towards the nine blockheads below with his rifle held steady on them. Others followed, most making directly for the weapons that had been tossed aside to secure them.

  As they left Matt hurried over to where Mitchell lay clutching at his neck. Dark red blood oozed between his fingers. But judging by the fact that he was still alive and it wasn't spraying everywhere, Matt was fairly sure it hadn't hit an artery. Eddy was kneeling over his friend, looking frantic but unable to do anything to help.

  Matt wasn't sure what he could do, either. He probably should've paid more attention to what Terry, April, and Sam were doing in the clinic, all those times he'd been around visiting his wife or seeing to a sick or injured friend. But he hadn't, and that was on him.

  He slung his weapon and Pete's over his shoulder, then reached into a pocket on his combat vest and pulled out the small first aid kit there. There was gauze and antiseptic ointment inside, as well as a bottle of liquid bandage spray, butterfly bandages, rolls of cloth bandaging, and a small hand-squeezed water sprayer for irrigating wounds.

  Matt decided to start out with the gauze until someone who knew what they were doing showed up. He doused it in the ointment, then had Mitchell move his hand long enough to press it on. “Hold it there,” he ordered. The wounded man nodded, dazed, but held the gauze on tight.

  Pete had followed him over, hovering nearby as he worked. “Can I have my gun back?” he demanded.

  Matt hesitated, then straightened, looking over at where his people were collecting the weapons and binding the surrendered enemy soldiers. He supposed now he did have time for this. He just wasn't too eager to address it.

  But he had to. He grabbed his friend and pulled him away a short distance. “You shot a soldier who was surrendering, then a running man in the back.”

  Pete shrugged. “So? They've probably done the same to innocent Americans dozens of times.” Matt didn't respond other than to stare at him steadily, and the young man's anger ratcheted up a notch. “Why are you on a high horse, Matt? You were first in line to congratulate Lewis, when he came by with the news about slitting a bunch of blockhead throats and lobbing firebombs in at them as they slept.”

  His friend's casual disregard for what he'd done floored Matt for a second. Pete wasn't even trying to pretend he'd mistaken the enemy movements as threatening or anything like that. “It's not the same. Lewis wasn't in a position where taking prisoners was an option. We are, and so we did. There are rules in war.”

  “Rules?” Pete nearly shouted. “A third of the people on the planet are dead! These monsters have been tearing our country apart from one side to another, butchering everyone they find. You want to talk to me about rules? The only rule I care about is the one that says I kill every blockhead I see. I don't feel bad about shooting those guys. At all.”

  Matt leaned in closer to the young man, speaking firmly. “The rules aren't for their sake, they're for ours. To keep us from becoming animals like them.”

  Pete looked away, sullen. “Yeah, well maybe if we were we'd be winning this war.” He held out his hand. “Give it back.”

  Matt hesitated, hating this situation. He supposed he appreciated Pete's honesty, but if the guy had at least pretended . . . gah, what a mess. He shook his head and gripped the straps of both rifles firmly in his hand. “I think I'll hold onto it for a bit. Go help the others secure the prisoners.”

  His friend spat off to one side. “Prisoners,” he muttered. “We can't feed them and we have nowhere to put them. Wanna bet Davis is just going to put a bullet in all their heads once we get back to camp?” He started to walk past Matt, nearly slamming him with his shoulder.

  Matt twisted and caught the young man in a firm grip, stopping him cold and turning him around so they were face to face. He didn't like what he saw in Pete's eyes. “Listen to me,” he said quietly. “You need to stop and seriously think about, well, how you're thinking. Get your head on straight.”

  “My head's just fine,” the young man snapped, barely in control of his temper. “If you don't want me to shoot blockheads under certain circumstances, just tell me not to and I'll obey your orders.” He yanked away from Matt's hand again, stomping towards where Gutierrez was lining up the prisoners. Matt reluctantly let him go.

  I shouldn't have to tell you that, he thought. He'd ignored Pete's issues for far too long, but he didn't think he could anymore. The only question was what to do about it.

  He put aside the matter for now and returned to Mitchell, waiting for Abrams to reach them. Before too long Gutierrez brought the prisoners up to the emplacement, sitting them down with half the squad guarding them. The former soldier had also sent Scott out to take Pete's place at the south lookout position, in case more blockheads were on their way.

  * * * * *

  When Abrams arrived he had one of his people take a look at Mitchell. Then the private had rest of his squad join him combing the aspen grove, to search the bodies and make sure all of them were really dead.

  Once that was finished he returned to inform Matt that his people would take over guarding the area for a few hours. “Get these prisoners back to camp and report in to Davis. It's up to the sergeant whether he wants to give you the rest of the day off or have you come back out here.”

  Matt nodded and called for his squad to form up and get the prisoners on their feet. Then he hesitated and stepped a bit closer to the Marine. “Was letting them surrender the right move?” he asked in a low voice.

  Abrams and made a noncommittal noise, then turned and began barking orders to his squad.

  Shrugging away the lack of response, Matt went over to the Marine looking over Mitchell. “What's the good news?”

  The man smiled. “Thankfully it is good news. It's a through and through, but not in any vital area. If the shot had been less than an inch up and to the left he'd have bled out in minutes. As it is he'll be out of commission for a while, and for the first few days we'll want to be very careful he doesn't reopen the wounds. If possible I'd suggest he stay here for now, since moving him won't do him any favors.”

  Matt gl
anced at Eddy, and the man straightened. “I'll stay here with him.”

  He nodded and clapped his squad mate on the shoulder. “We'll bring you some camping gear and other stuff to make you more comfortable.” He turned to Mitchell. “I'm glad the prognosis is good. Hang in there.”

  With Gutierrez in the lead the squad headed back towards camp with the nine blockheads in tow. Matt brought up the rear, weapon ready in case any of them tried anything.

  In spite of their wounded squad mate his people were in a good mood after their victory. Matt was fully on board with their raised spirits; they'd taken the enemy out without losing anyone, and that was always worth celebrating.

  There was a bit of a hubbub in camp as they came in with prisoners. People stopped whatever they were doing to stand and gawk, and there were more than a few cheers. Davis came out to watch the show, and Matt couldn't read anything from his expression as he walked over to him to report in.

  “Prisoners?” the sergeant asked.

  “They surrendered.”

  “Yeah, that's usually how prisoners get taken.” Davis spat off to one side. “Caught yourself a bunch of them.”

  Matt hesitated. “Did I make the right call?”

  “As opposed to what, gunning them down after they'd tossed away their weapons?” The sergeant shrugged. “Can't really say. We'll send them on to the higher ups to deal with. Maybe they can question them or arrange a prisoner transfer or something. Or maybe they'll string 'em up and finish what you started. Either way taking prisoners is usually the right call if you can do it safely.”

  Davis motioned, and his Marines came forward to claim the prisoners. They wasted no time getting the nine blockheads into a truck, and within minutes were rumbling up Highway 31 and out of sight.

  After that the sergeant gave his people a once-over, nodding in approval. “You all did good today, irregulars. I wasn't wrong to trust you to protect that slope. Now, are you ready to get back out to your post? I'd like to free Abrams up to do some scouting in those hills, where the blockheads came in. See what he can see about why the enemy chose that spot for their first attempt to slip through.”

  Matt glanced at his people, getting a few nods. “Yeah, we're good to go.”

  “Off you go then. And good work.” Davis nodded in dismissal and started for his command tent.

  Matt hesitated, then followed after him. “Can I talk to you, Sergeant?” he asked in a low voice.

  Davis glanced over. “Isn't that what we were doing?” Matt shifted uncomfortably, and the man shrugged and held open the flap to his tent, motioning for Matt to go in ahead of him.

  Matt stepped inside, and at the sergeant's ushering settled into one of the two camping chairs off to one side near the wall, gripping the flimsy armrests. Davis plopped down into the other one and sat waiting patiently until Matt was ready to begin.

  “You've seen plenty of action. As a leader you've probably had to deal with a few of your people getting bent out of shape.”

  “What exactly are we talking here?” the sergeant asked with a deep frown. “Anything I need to worry about?”

  “No, he's in control,” Matt said quickly. “He's not a danger to himself or the squad. It's just, well, he shot up a couple of the blockheads after they started surrendering. He didn't seem bothered by it when I called him out on it, either.”

  “He wouldn't be the only one in camp who doesn't want to accept a surrender,” Davis said. “Did he disobey orders?”

  Matt shook his head. “I'm just worried. He's gone through a lot of bad stuff since the Gulf burned, and now he's really gung ho about killing the enemy. Almost to the point I think he enjoys it. I'm worried about what that's going to do to him down the line. What it's already doing to him.”

  The noncom sighed. “Give me the details,” he said. “All of them. Who's your guy and what's his malfunction?”

  Although Matt didn't really want to toss Pete to the wolves, he was here now and the sergeant probably wouldn't appreciate him clamming up about specifics. He was the one who'd brought up the problem, and if there really was something to be worried about Davis needed to hear it.

  So he started, haltingly at first, describing Pete's willingness to help the town right from the beginning, how he'd lost his mother to hunger and sickness during the winter and his dad had been killed by the raiders in the spring. Then he, reluctantly, described the instances he'd seen from the young man that gave him reason to worry.

  Through it all the sergeant stared ahead at the wall of the tent, expression curiously blank, and after Matt finished the silence stretched out between them. “Send him home,” the Marine finally said.

  Matt blinked. “But we need everyone we can get. Besides, like I said he's in-”

  “No, he's not in control,” Davis cut in, turning to give him a piercing stare. “You came to me because your instincts told you there was a problem and you trust my experience, right?” Matt nodded reluctantly. “Well let me tell you what that experience is. This is not a pleasant business we're in, necessary as it is, and it takes its toll on us. When that toll's too high, when a soldier's head isn't in the right place, they die or they get the people depending on them killed.”

  The older man looked away, as if remembering something he'd rather not from his past, and sighed. “It sounds like you have good reason to worry about your friend Pete, and I can pretty much guarantee you don't want to keep putting him in combat. You'll be doing him and yourself a favor by taking him out of the middle of it.”

  Matt had been afraid of that. He trusted Pete with his life, but he didn't want to put the young man in a position he couldn't handle. “He probably won't go,” he said quietly.

  “Then I'll pull him back to base camp and find something for him to do here until he gets his act together.” Davis stood and put a hand on Matt's shoulder. “But first I want you to talk to him. Get in his head, yank out whatever's got him bent out of shape, and then I'll keep him here where I can keep an eye on him until I've decided he's healed from whatever's hurt him. If he can.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” Matt stood and offered Davis Pete's rifle to hold onto. “I'll leave it to you to decide when he's ready to get this back. In the meantime I'll be down three men with him reassigned to camp, Mitchell wounded, and Eddy looking after him.”

  “Talk to your buddy Smith and see if he's got some people he thinks are ready,” the sergeant said, accepting the weapon and setting it aside. “If not pull some people from the night shift . . . you're doing double shifts, why shouldn't they?”

  That seemed a pretty clear dismissal, so Matt headed outside. His squad was waiting for him, including Pete. Matt wasn't sure he was ready for that confrontation just yet, so he sought out Trev at the training grounds for replacement fighters.

  His friend saw him coming and called for his recruits to keep going before heading out to meet him. “Hey. I followed your ambush on the southern slope over the radio. Glad it went well.”

  “Better than I could've hoped.” Matt took a breath. “How are your trainees doing? Davis said I could pull your three best to join my squad on a temporary basis. One for good, maybe.”

  Trev gave him a worried look. “Three? I thought it was just Mitchell, with a wound that wasn't too serious.”

  “And Eddy to help him out for a few days.” Matt took another breath. “And Pete, who's getting reassigned to camp to help Davis.”

  He thought that was pretty vague, but his friend picked up on the implication. “What did he do?”

  “Let's just say I have my doubts about putting him in combat.” Matt motioned towards the training volunteers. “Who do you have?”

  Trev led the way over to the range and called out a few names. Three middle-aged men peeled away from drilling and trotted over, slinging their rifles over their shoulders on the way. “Matt, these are the Carlisle brothers Les and Nick, and Wally Peterson. They used to head into the mountains every hunting season before the Gulf burned, and visited the range a
couple times a year too. They should hold their own.”

  Matt shook hands all around. “Sergeant Davis said I could get three people to join my squad for the next few days, and one possibly for longer. We're going to be heading out to the southern slope in a few minutes to resume our duties, so go grab your gear.”

  “Sure thing,” Nick said, nudging his brother. They trotted off towards their camp with Wally in tow.

  “Hopefully we won't see any more action down there after the thrashing we gave the blockheads,” Matt said, watching them go. “It should be uneventful for them.”

  Trev nodded. “You ever imagine what it must be like for the enemy, ambushed the moment they get within a hundred yards of the mountains?” Matt shrugged but didn't respond, thoughts turning to the next item on the agenda, his confrontation with Pete, as his friend continued. “I mean I try to imagine it myself, and I decide it'd probably be a good idea to not go to the place where I'd get ambushed.”

  “Wouldn't that be nice,” Matt said, shaking his head. “With the numbers they've got, they're not going to be fazed by losing a few dozen people here and there.” He clapped the shorter blond man on the shoulder, waving a farewell to anyone glancing his way from the training grounds. Then he turned and started for his squad.

  “We heading back out?” Gutierrez called as he approached.

  “Yeah, once a few temporary additions to the squad report in.” Matt gestured curtly. “Pete, got a second?”

  Wary, his friend followed him to well out of earshot of the others. “Look,” he began, “if it makes you happy I'll admit that I-”

  “No.” Matt took a breath. “On Davis's orders I'm assigning you to permanent duty at base camp.”

  He hadn't expected his friend to take the news well, and he wasn't disappointed. “You've got to be kidding,” Pete said, face already reddening.