The Last Full Measure

by Trent Reedy

  Me and JoBell slung our rifles on our backs. I dodged through the crowd of people, sidestepping and dropping my shoulders to get around shouting men and screaming children. JoBell stayed right with me, pulling ahead a little as we cleared about half a block. I risked a look back to see Major Leonard following. He drew his sidearm and aimed at me for a moment. “Wright!”

  I knew he wouldn’t shoot. There were too many civilians in the area, and his mission was to protect me, not kill me.

  At the end of the block, me and JoBell found a break in the chaos in front of a boarded-up shoe store. “Which way to the VA hospital?” I shouted over the screams and the air-raid siren.

  “What do we do when we get there?” JoBell answered. “Eric’s not in the best condition.”

  I held up my M4. “We can figure that out once we find him. Maybe we can take an ambulance or —”

  “You won’t be stealing any vehicles.” Major Leonard caught up to us. “We’ll take our Humvee and go get your friend. But no more bullshit. We have to work together, and we have to hurry. Those US birds will be here any minute.”

  “Thank you,” I said, hoping the major knew I meant it.

  Martonick finally caught up to us in the Humvee. Major Leonard said nothing as he climbed into the front seat. “Sergeant, get us to the VA hospital,” he said when we were all back inside. “I don’t care how you do it. Make it happen.”

  Sergeant Martonick swerved to the left, dodging through heavy traffic. Gun Hummers and civvy vehicles packed with people crowded the road. Parents hurried crying children along. A little girl dropped her doll in the street and broke away from her mother’s grip to pick it up. A guy on a motorcycle dropped into a slide to scrape to a halt just a couple feet shy of hitting her. Everyone was shouting, crying, hurrying to get out before the coming attack. Over it all, the two tones of the air-raid siren moaned, like Boise herself was going back and forth between crying and shrieking in fear.

  “Sergeant!” Specialist Valentine called down the turret.

  The road was blocked ahead as civilians ran with everything they could carry, scrambling into the back of a UPS truck.

  “We cannot wait here, Sergeant!” said Major Leonard.

  “Shit!” Sergeant Martonick bumped up the curb onto another sidewalk and slowly eased ahead.

  “Get out of the way!” Valentine yelled at the people who blocked our way. “Move! This is an emergency!”

  “No kidding it’s an emergency.” JoBell held her hands over her ears. “Are they ever going to shut that air-raid siren off?”

  Explosions and the sound of gunfire echoed from the distance. “It’s starting,” said the major.

  A big white passenger van smashed into the back end of our armored Humvee, crumpling its own front end. How many people in that van were now stuck in a city about to be bombed? We drove on, block after block. Sergeant Martonick was an expert at dodging-bomb-craters-debris-and-terrified-people-type driving.

  We shot past the damaged capitol building and then, a few blocks later, actually drove up and over a pile of bricks and junk that blocked Franklin Street. The scene on the other side of the rubble was completely jacked up. People hurried all around the hospital area like pissed-off ants after their hill had been kicked open. Ambulances, Humvees, buses, and other vehicles were parked in the street, on the grass, everywhere, and nobody was moving. A few helicopters flew in and out, but that was it.

  “This is as close as I can get!” Martonick said. “We’re screwed!”

  I popped open my door. “Wait here! I’ll get Sweeney and be right back!” Then, carrying my M4, I sprinted like hell for the hospital. I dodged through the small gaps between cars, rolled over a vehicle’s hood when I ran out of room, and ducked under an open semi door. A quick look back let me know JoBell was a few paces behind me. She should have stayed with our ride, but we didn’t have time to argue.

  A loud explosion blasted close by, maybe only a few blocks away. A jet shot past overhead. Seriously hard-core machine gun fire cracked the air.

  A squad of soldiers in the OD Idaho Army uniform fought to maintain order against a crowd at the front doors of the hospital. “You people have to stay back! Nobody is coming in. It’s an evacuation. Get to your evac points!”

  JoBell caught up with me. “What are we gonna do now?”

  I looked her in the eye. “If you’re coming with me, grab my shirt or whatever and stay right on my ass. Nobody gets between us. Got it?”

  “Yeah, but what are you —”

  “We’re gonna fight our way through.” She grabbed my shirt and I ran ahead. “Get the hell out of my way!” I shouted. “Private First Class Danny Wright on a mission from President Montaine!” I pushed some dude aside, elbowed another. JoBell helped behind me but kept hold of my shirt. I didn’t take the time to look back. I squeezed between two women who tried to shove me. Then I reached the soldiers. Two specialists stepped in front of me, holding their rifles horizontally across their chests.

  “No way. Nobody gets in!” said one of the soldiers.

  “I’m PFC Wright. The president sent me here.” I didn’t wait for him to step aside but grabbed his weapon and pulled. As soon as he tried to pull it back, I pushed him hard and opened a gap. Me and JoBell ran inside.

  The front lobby of the hospital was even more chaotic than outside. Furniture was upended. Papers littered the floor. Some guy lay bleeding from a bad stab wound in his gut. There was nobody left to take care of him. Everybody was running to leave. A guy frantically worked a screen at the desk, trying to answer the hundreds of questions coming his way at once. I didn’t have time to wait in line, so I shoved up to the desk and made sure he could see my rifle. “Where is Eric Sweeney? He was being treated for burns. Had some surgeries.”

  The man eyed my weapon. “They’ve been treating the burn victims up on the second floor.” He gave me directions and JoBell and I sprinted off through the mad rush. The lights flickered and then went out. More explosions shook the earth and air around us over the loud siren.

  “There!” JoBell pointed down the hall.

  Under the glow of the dim emergency lights, I could see a doctor or someone pushing Sweeney in a wheelchair. “Hey! Stop!” I ran up and grabbed the wheelchair handle. “We’ll take him from here.”

  The doctor looked like he had come from Pakistan or somewhere. He spoke with a heavy accent. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Private Danny Wright. I’m taking Eric Sweeney with me. Is he well enough to travel?”

  “You are not taking my patient! This is madness. I am loading him on a helicopter and then we are getting out —”

  “We’re going to Idaho CentCom. He’ll be safest there.” I pushed the man out of the way and took the wheelchair from him. “Get to the bird. Get yourself to safety.”

  Sweeney looked up at me with a dazed expression. “Heeeey, d-dude! I got this like noise sshpinning in my head.”

  “What’s wrong with him?” JoBell asked.

  The doctor looked at us like he couldn’t believe we had to ask. “He is doped up on pain medication. He’s not completely recovered from his most recent round of surgery. He’s in a lot of pain being moved around at all —”

  “Is he well enough to travel?” I asked. “Is it safe?”

  “Safer than here,” said the doctor. He sighed. “You want to avoid bumping him around. His grafts are very tender. You need to keep him clean. Gently, gently clean his new skin with mild soap and cool to warm water.” He shook his head. “You are very stupid for taking him. I cannot spare any medications for you. Wherever you are going, get him to a doctor.”

  JoBell thanked the man and we took off running, pushing Sweeney in the wheelchair. “Hang on, buddy. Don’t worry. We’ll get you out of this,” I said.

  “Woooo,” Sweeney said through his drug fog. “Going fast now.”

  On the way out, things were a lot easier. We looked up. One second, a jet was in the distance, and the next, the hotel JoBell
and I had been staying in burst into fire, dust, and falling rubble. Red-and-white mushroom clouds of fire rolled upward all over town.

  “What if they left us?” JoBell shouted over the noise.

  “Then we’ll go back and take shelter in the hospital basement.” I spotted our gun Hummer, the specialist crouched low in the turret waving at us. I rolled Sweeney’s wheelchair as close as I could to our ride, but when we were blocked by cars, I was out of options. I slung my M4 to my back and reached down to pick him up.

  “Danny, be careful,” said JoBell. “His skin is so tender right now.”

  “Good thing he’s all drugged up,” I said.

  “It is a good thing!” Sweeney shouted as I carried him to the Humvee.

  Finally we loaded him into my seat, and I sat on the turret platform next to the specialist’s feet. Sergeant Martonick was sweating and shaking as he shifted into drive and sped off. The roads had opened quite a bit, but there were still a lot of evacuation vehicles moving around. We passed a bus and a semi heading southeast.

  A four-story brick building flashed for a second like a light had switched on inside and then blasted out in all directions. I pulled the specialist down into our Humvee as Sergeant Martonick drove through the falling debris. Bricks smacked our windshield and thumped all over our hood and roof. The Humvee bumped ahead, and I worried we’d be stuck and then buried, but the sergeant got us clear.

  “Good driving, Sergeant,” said Major Leonard. “Keep it up.”

  “I hate this shit!” said Martonick.

  The road ahead opened up like the sun. One explosion after another ripped the world apart.

  “They’re after the command center!” the major screamed to be heard over the roar of the US bombs and the Idaho anti-aircraft guns.

  “We’re never going to make it there now!” JoBell shouted.

  More bombs fell, and more debris flew back toward us. Major Leonard shouted something to Martonick before the sergeant whipped a tight U-turn and sped back north. The major held the radio handset to his ear, keying the mike and shouting something to someone, probably trying to call for help or instructions.

  JoBell reached over and squeezed my hand. Nobody spoke for a long time, not that we would have been able to hear each other over the roar of the battle outside. Martonick gripped the wheel hard, muttering swears as he tried to keep us from getting killed.

  As we neared the north edge of Boise on Highway 55, more explosions rocked the earth behind us. A jet shot by overhead and another met it — a fighter one second and a fireball the next. Heavy anti-aircraft rounds ripped up from everywhere, blasting planes and helicopters. It was impossible from this distance to tell if more US or Idaho aircraft were being shot down, but the US had to have us outnumbered, and the city was being pounded by bombs and missiles.

  The road curved so that we couldn’t see out our windows to the south anymore. JoBell put her face in her hands. “So many innocent people.”

  I looked down to where Sweeney sat, barely awake, swimming in a sea of drugs. He still wore a lot of bandages. I’d become used to that sight. But now more of his flesh was exposed, that strange, unnatural grafted skin sculpted into place. One patch of that new, raw skin came up his neck and right cheek. Even the bottom of his earlobe would be mangled for life. Sweeney had been the best-looking guy at school, the guy who always got the girl. For the rest of his life, he’d have obvious physical damage. Who would he be now?

  But he was alive. He was in better shape than thousands of people in Boise, better than millions around New York and DC.

  “I could hardly hear when I was on the radio back there. I asked for instructions, since we couldn’t make it to the Idaho CentCom bunker,” Major Leonard finally said. “We have new orders to get out of Boise and head to Freedom Lake. Then I lost radio contact.”

  JoBell looked up. “My dad is in that bunker.” Her voice shook. “He’s helping Idaho rewrite its legal system. If you lost contact …”

  Major Leonard turned around in his seat to look back at us. “CentCom is thirty feet deep in a bunker made of steel and three feet of reinforced concrete. They lost an antenna somewhere, not CentCom.”

  The road in front of us exploded. Black chunks of dirt and pavement pelted the windshield. “Oh shit!” Specialist Valentine ducked down into the Humvee again. Parts of the road showered down around him. “Apache gunship right behind us!”

  Our Humvee lurched to the right, skidding out of control a little on the loose shoulder. “I got it. I got it.” Sergeant Martonick gritted his teeth, held the wheel tight, let off the gas, and eased us back onto the road.

  “They won’t miss us again!” I yelled. “Fed bird got us sighted. Our armor ain’t gonna stop a hellfire missile.”

  “Fort McHenry, Fort McHenry, this is flashpoint. Urgent! We are northbound on Highway 55. Fed attack helo is on us. Request air support. How copy? Over.” Major Leonard pressed the handset to his ear. Then he frowned at Valentine. “Specialist, get up there on your gun. Do your best to bring that bird down.”

  The specialist stayed crouched, his hands holding his helmet down by the chin strap, eyes squeezed shut. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” he whimpered. “Can’t stop a helicopter. There’s no way.”

  “We’ve got some concealment under these trees ahead,” Sergeant Martonick said.

  “That won’t last long,” said JoBell.

  “Damn it.” I pushed Valentine back and climbed up onto the gunner platform. “I said I was getting out of this shit.” I stood and grabbed the machine gun by the handle with my left hand. With my free hand, I unlocked the turret so it would rotate. Then I spun around to face our rear, ready to free gun it.

  Roaring fire ripped through the high tree branches over the road, dropping leaves and some heavier sticks onto the pavement. A line of holes blasted into the road behind us, walking up on us. “Faster, Martonick!”

  Plastic five-gallon cans in the steel rack on the back of our Humvee burst. Our extra fuel splashed all over the vehicle, seconds before a couple rounds shredded through it. Screams came from inside the truck. “Jo?” I shouted.

  “We’re okay!”

  Martonick swerved back and forth to make us a harder target. Another volley opened up from the Apache, mostly missing us, but a few rounds nipped our back passenger side corner, taking our radio antenna and its mount. Red-hot tracer rounds ignited the fuel-soaked back end.

  “We’re burning!” I yelled. Flames licked up to the edge of the gun turret. “Get that fire extinguisher up here!” I didn’t have time to deal with the fire. We cleared the tree cover and I hammered down on the butterfly trigger of the .50-cal, praying I could hit something. Damn my ammo supply. Damn cooking the barrel. I followed my tracers and sprayed bullets up at the helicopter, trying to compensate for our swerving vehicle and the movement of the Apache. Some sparks popped on the bird’s weapons pods, and then tapped the engine beneath the rotors. Smoke sprayed from the side of the Apache. I lowered my machine gun and cut a hard line right down the canopy.

  I hit the Apache’s tail rotor, sending it into a flat spin heading right for us. I ducked as its tires whooshed close by overhead. It crashed into the pavement and rolled sideways for a moment before it ripped into a ball of fire and shredded metal.

  Then we were airborne. The Humvee shot off the road into someone’s sloping front yard, dodging the burning Apache wreck but taking out a mailbox. I held on tight to the edge of the turret and the gun handles as we landed. We skidded to a stop, taking out a little decorative windmill thing and about half a dozen garden gnomes on the way.

  The fuel had burned off the outside of the Humvee’s ass end, but we forced open the damaged trunk so we could use the fire extinguisher to put out any flames back there. Then we had a moment to rest and make sure Sweeney and everybody else hadn’t been hurt. Besides the sounds of battle rumbling in the distance, the road was mostly quiet.

  “Major Leonard?” I said. “You can cancel that air support.�
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  —• Republic of Idaho Radio is going to stay on the air even though the United States has bombed some of our transmitter network, just as it is bombing the entire Boise area. Our redundant transmitters are taking over for those we have lost in order to bring you the truth. As you can probably hear in the background, a fierce battle is taking place in our nation’s capital right now, part of President Griffith’s retaliation for the nuclear attacks.

  Neither the Republic of Idaho nor the nation of Montana had anything to do with the attacks, but once again, our innocent freedom-loving people are forced to pay the price in blood. It is far too early for any conclusive casualty counts, but it is clear that at least hundreds of innocent civilians are being murdered by the United States at this very moment.

  President Montaine and the leadership of the Republic of Idaho are alive and in command, fighting back and repelling this latest United States aggression. And Republic of Idaho Radio will stay on the air through the crisis to bring you the information you need. Idaho is free! Idaho will never surrender! •—

  —• This would normally be the time for the KCTV5 Kansas City drive-time traffic report, but today I-70 is essentially closed to civilian traffic by a massive military convoy. It consists of all the trucks and armored vehicles you might expect, but buses, moving trucks, and passenger vans packed with civilians are traveling along with the military forces, everything heading west toward Colorado. We believe these civilians are the families of those serving at Fort Leonard Wood and Whiteman Air Force Base in Missouri. Some sources that we cannot reveal to you have brought us evidence that those bases are being evacuated, and we have heard that Fort Riley and McConnell Air Force Base in Kansas are also being stripped of all personnel and useful military materials. We have one unconfirmed report of the military firing on a vehicle attempting to access I-70, and we therefore urge Kansas City residents to stay off the roads. This convoy is miles long, it’s well armed, and it seems to be accepting no interference. We’ll continue to bring you more information as it becomes available. •—