Bishop's Song

by Joe Nobody

  “Yeah. I’m holding my own,” Bishop replied.

  “It’s only been five months since you died on the operating table, brother. That was one nasty-ass wound you took, and I don’t want to see you overdo it. Besides, Terri will kick my butt if I carry you off this mountain suffering from a relapse.”

  Bishop ignored the reference to his overprotective wife, instead motioning to the other men with his head. “They’re not soldiers, Nick. They’re shopkeepers and farmers. They barely exercise proper muzzle discipline, much less realize the importance of things like noise control or bounding in an advance. I’m worried they will come out of this class thinking they can actually engage the military, and we both know that overconfidence can be deadly. In a way, that little episode with the convoy may come back and bite us.”

  Nodding his head and then lowering his voice, Nick replied, “I know, but what choice do we have? I ask myself every day if the Minutemen had the same doubts when they were facing the British during the Revolutionary War.”

  “If the US Army comes rolling out of Fort Bliss with 300 Abrams battle tanks, we’ll be in a lot worse shape than those guys ever were. The British didn’t have helicopter gunships and thermal imaging.”

  “No, but the Afghans held out against the Russians and us, despite all of our advanced weapons. It can be done,” Nick countered.

  “I know it can… but at what cost? The Mujahidin had 1600 years of warfare under their belts and were tough as iron spikes. They still fell by the tens of thousands, but their society was immune to the carnage and motivated by religion. I’m not sure our fledgling little community can or will pay such a price.”

  Nick nodded, familiar with the debate. Looking at his watch, he announced, “Let’s continue this conversation later. Right now, I’ve got a class to finish up.”

  After patting Bishop on the shoulder, Nick rose and began motivating the troops. “All right, girls! Time to mount up. Straighten out your skirts, and let’s get moving!”

  The grumbling of tired, sore men rose from the group, sounds Bishop had heard a hundred times before. It didn’t matter if it were the pine woods of Fort Bragg or the oil fields of Iraq, it was always the same. Men with sore feet and aching backs would bitch and gnash, creative curses forming in their throats. Just like always, they finally began moving, eventually forming up, and standing ready to accept more pain.

  Bishop took his place at the rear of the column, watching as the single-file line of citizen-militia began to stretch out along the trail. Where it not for the task at hand, the vista would have been glorious. A sea of pinion pines covered the valley below, their dark green foliage in abstract to the blue sky and white, billowing clouds beyond. Had it been winter, they might have seen snow from this vantage. In the spring, fog would have blanketed the valley, the gray soup so thick that the single road traversing the area would have been impassable in the early morning. Not today, though. Today, the air was crisp and the sun hot. Today was the perfect day to train for an impending conflict that everyone prayed could be avoided.

  As his gaze traveled up the mountainside, the scenery transformed drastically. Fields of limestone boulders competed with the pines, scattered gray outcroppings of rock and small strands of Navajo grass replacing the thinning trees as the altitude increased. Plant life finally gave up just above his position, replaced with towering, ominous walls of bare rock guarding the crest of the mountain.

  Slowly the column snaked its way up… always up. Time seemed to creep slower than distance gained, a fog of mind-numbing fatigue and monotony falling over the men.

  Bishop watched Nick, patiently moving up and down the line, coaching, encouraging and pushing with an energy no one else possessed. He’s done this so many times, thought Bishop. He knows what they absorb today might mean the difference between a battlefield grave and going home… if war comes.

  Nick’s voice seemed to always be in the air. “Don’t bunch up... Always scan for the likely avenue of approach! Where would you hide if you were on the other side and getting ready to hit us? Think people… damn it, think!”

  Up ahead, Bishop saw the lead element approaching a narrow gap. Large rocks lurked above the trail, a scattering of foliage strewn below. Instinct slowed his footfalls, a warning forming in his throat. Nick saw it too, but for some reason didn’t move to slow the column. Instead, he stood beside the trail and crossed his arms in annoyance.

  A small, white paper bag arched through the air, a whiff of smoke trailing in its wake. Before it landed, two other similar objects joined it in flight. The three devices landed in the middle of the column, the closest man staring blankly, unsure of what to do.

  A second later, the bags exploded.

  Cries of battle rang down from the rocks, blood curdling screams of savage volume paralyzing the startled trainees. Clouds of choking, white smoke filled the air, burning already starved lungs and reducing visibility to a few feet.

  The homemade flash-bang grenades were immediately followed by a hailstorm of paintballs raining down from the rocks above. At the same time, human figures rose from the vegetation below the trail, ghostly images appearing through the fog of battle smoke, shooting pointblank at the stumbling trainees.

  Ambush, Bishop knew immediately, and a damned good one.

  With instincts and reactions based on years of conflict, Bishop was moving before the detonations had finished echoing down the mountain. Screaming above the din, he rallied three of his closest comrades – issuing orders for the bewildered men to follow.

  Up the side of the mountain he scrambled, loose gravel and a lack of handholds slowing his pace. Wide eyed with shock, his three trainees followed. Higher Bishop climbed, using piles of rocks, displaced boulders and natural undulations for cover. After they had managed to ascend 30 feet above the trail, he turned to his panting followers and instructed, “Form a line, and hit the enemy from the side. We are going to flank that ambush. Hit those sons of bitches hard and fast. Let’s move!”

  Without waiting to see if his small squad understood, Bishop starting moving toward the narrow gap, watching intently as the ambushing enemy maintained a steady rate of fire on the hapless trainees below.

  It didn’t take long to close the distance, silhouettes of the attackers popping up and firing from the hidden positions in front of Bishop’s advancing line. He watched as one guy ignited a string of firecrackers, throwing noisemakers into the fray. Another man rose, spraying several shots into the stunned column and then disappearing behind a tree. There wasn’t much return fire coming from his classmates.

  Pausing to check the spacing of his men, he turned and hissed, “Let’s go now! Your brothers are dying down there – roll into these bastards, and don’t stop until they’re all down!” And then he was moving.

  The paintball guns didn’t kick or simulate the noise of a real rifle, but it didn’t matter. No one cared that blood wasn’t really being spilled. Adrenaline and pride were providing plenty of motivation. Yelling at the top of his lungs, Bishop charged into the attackers, catching them completely by surprise. His men mimicked his actions and joined the counterattack, screaming bloody murder and firing their weapons at any target presented. It was all over in a matter of seconds.

  Deke rolled over, grinning up at Bishop after an Academy Award-winning death fall. Glancing down at the two red splotches of paint staining his body armor, the operator flashed a thumbs up.

  Offering his hand, Bishop helped the contractor to his feet and smiled. “That was one hell of an ambush, Deke. Nice spread on the kill zone. You would’ve had… what… half of us in the first barrage?”

  Nodding while brushing the dirt off his pants, Deke replied, “Yeah. I saw you break off. I figured you’d try and flank us, but you got here quicker than I expected. Nice counter.”

  Their conversation was interrupted with shouting from below, Nick’s voice booming up the mountainside. “Do you see now? Did this little skirmish make the picture crystal fucking clear? If I t
old you guys once, I told you a dozen times. Don’t bunch up! Over half of you are dead or rolling around on the ground in agony and bleeding out right now. There wouldn’t be enough of us left to carry off the wounded. You have to pay attention, damn it. The next time it won’t be paintballs and firecrackers. It will be hot shrapnel and high velocity lead shredding your bunched up fucking bodies!”

  On and on, the tyrant from below continued, the savvy teacher using a combination of embarrassment, military logic, and genuine concern with the shocked students to implant the message in their minds.

  While Nick drilled home the lesson, Bishop and the ambushers meandered to the main gathering. Staying to the side, Deke’s seven Darkwater contractors watched Nick’s classroom antics, keeping their expressions stoic so as not to rub salt in any trainee wounds. Veterans of many campaigns, each of the professional warriors understood the purpose of the exercise. It wasn’t ego, pride, or one-upmanship – it was survival. The ambush hadn’t been a contest or game, but a tool used to teach a skill… an example hopefully taught with sham weapons now, rather than driven home with dead bodies later.

  Besides, they had all been in the students’ shoes. They all remembered what the men around them were feeling. It was necessary pain.

  The troopers gathered in front of Nick looked sullen and beat. Many were covered with welts and splotches of color, the direct result of stinging paintballs. Others were coated in white, dusty powder – the residue of improvised flash-bang bombs constructed with extra chalk dust for effect. None of the victims looked very happy, a few were downright pissed.

  Bishop lingered at the back of the group, showing Nick the respect of listening intently to instructions he had learned so many years ago. He had joined the class to get back in shape after the months-long convalescence required when he encountered a 9mm bullet and spent several hours on the operating table. Still, he worried about the trainees… worried that today’s experience would pale to what they might face in the future.

  While he listened to Nick reiterate the importance of awareness in the field, Bishop took a quick mental inventory of his performance and how his body was reacting. His legs seemed to ache more than normal, but other than that, he felt like his old self, at least physically. It was a good thing, with the storm clouds of war gathering on the horizon, and every man might be drawn into the looming conflict.

  It was his mental outlook that was troubling. While he believed strongly in the cause, the thought of a large-scale conflict knotted his stomach. Had he lost his nerve? The thought was interrupted by the squawk of the radio on his shoulder.

  “Bishop? Bishop? This is Diana. Do you read me?”

  “Loud and clear, Diana. What’s up?”

  “It’s time, Bishop. You better head back to town. I think Terri is going into labor.”

  It took the expectant father a moment to digest the news. He looked up to see everyone around him had paused, smiles plastered on their dirty faces. Shrugging with unfelt calm, Bishop pushed the talk button. “Okay, I’m on my way. Tell her not to get started without me.”

  Before anyone in the class could say a word, Bishop threw down his pack and paintball gun and then was running back down the mountain at full speed.

  “It’s his first one,” noted Nick, addressing the now-chuckling circle of men.

  It seemed like Bishop would never cover the three miles back to town, thoughts of Terri giving birth before he could return adding to his negative perception of what seemed like an ever-increasing distance.

  After an initial burst of speed, he had to slow his pace. Despite countless hours of exercise and conditioning, he still wasn’t up for such a sprint and eventually settled into a reasonable stride. While he ran, Terri’s words that morning helped reduce his stress.

  “I want you to go to the class, Bishop,” she had stated without hesitation. “You’re so sweet waiting on me hand and foot, but quite frankly I just want to sleep for a while and relax. Go play warrior games with your friends. I’ll be just fine.”

  “But Terri, you’re due any time now,” he’d protested. “I feel like I need to be here.”

  She had hugged him close - well, as close as she could with her huge baby bump. “I want you to go. You’re doting me to death, and besides Diana and I have a bunch of work to do this morning. We’re running a government, ya know.”

  “I thought you wanted to sleep?”

  Sighing, she’d stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “I do want a nap, but later. I’ve got to work a little. Go. Shoot. Blow the hell out of something or whatever the guys do. Recharge that wonderful testosterone. I’ll not have a wimpy man about the house.”

  As he approached Alpha, signs of a growing civilization began to appear. A newly launched logging operation was felling pines in the distance, the humming of saws and other equipment interrupting the calm mountain morning. Wood was now in short supply, the first post-collapse home construction driving much of the demand. I can’t believe we’ve filled all the empty houses, he thought. It seems like only yesterday that half the homes in town were unoccupied.

  A mile outside of the city limits, he reached pavement, the smooth surface helping increase his stride. The second sign of Alpha’s progress, the beeping of a car horn, interrupted his thoughts.

  Glancing over his shoulder without breaking stride, he spied an older pickup slowing to pull alongside. The bed was full of cow manure and chicken cages. “Let me guess. Is Terri in labor?” A friendly voice called out.

  “Yes, sir,” Bishop responded between pants.

  “Well, hop in, son. I’ll cut a few minutes off your trip.”

  Bishop didn’t know the man behind the wheel, but didn’t hesitate to accept the ride. Jumping in the truck’s cab, he grasped the offered hand. “Able Crenshaw,” the older fellow introduced, “I thought I recognized you – you were hustling like a man on his way to have a baby.”

  Putting the truck back into gear, the driver continued, “I remember my first. I drove Jolene to the hospital at 3 a.m. in the morning. At least your child is being reasonable about the time of day for its arrival.”

  Chuckling, Bishop nodded. “I feel like the rookie with this father thing. Seems like everyone else has been through the experience already.”

  The older man grunted, “I remember that feeling too, thinking I was going to mess up or do something wrong. Let me give you a little advice. Relax and don’t worry so much about it. Human beings have been procreating for about 150,000 years. Little ones have survived being born in caves, buffalo hide tents and around campfires since we’ve walked the earth. Somehow they made it, surviving without all the fancy-smancy medical equipment and doctors. The dads made it through too, and most of them knew less than you do. You’ll do just fine.”

  Bishop sized up his chauffeur, the mature, calming voice and common sense soothing his nerves. He estimated the fellow’s age at close to 70. The faded overalls and weathered skin were indicative of a man who spent a lot of time outdoors. “By the way, how is it that you know Terri, sir?”

  “I fought beside her during the battle of Alpha,” he responded. “I was one of the lucky souls holed up at the church for all those months. When we faced conflict to survive, Nick assigned me to her team. I was a little unsure about her at the time, but she fought like a cornered wildcat,” the older gent snickered, shaking his head. “That’s one hell of a woman you got there, son.”

  “Oh, she’s all that,” Bishop responded. Wanting to change the subject, he glanced back at the odd assortment of cargo in the bed. “Hey, I sure appreciate the lift by the way. Did I catch you on your way to the market?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m hoping to sell these chickens to be able to fill my gas tank. Then I’m planning to drive down to the river and sell the manure. I hear those farmers down that way are desperate for fertilizer. If I can get a fair price for my cow dung, then I’m going to drive to Meraton and purchase some stuff I’ve been lacking for a long time. Butter and salt are on top
of my list. Toilet paper would be nice. If I could find a bottle of tabasco sauce, I’d be in hog heaven.”

  Smiling, Bishop said, “You never know what you’re going to find at the market. I’m heading to Meraton myself, but not to shop this time. My wife wants to have the baby there.”

  Nodding wisely, the old rancher offered, “I hear that doctor there is a good sawbones. Talk is you have already given him a test drive or two son, so you ought to have had some opportunity to gauge the quality of his care. You give Miss Terri my best, although I’m sure she won’t remember me.”

  Bishop thanked his benefactor again as he exited the truck, hustling immediately to the small bungalow he and Terri had been occupying. Diana met him at the door.

  “Her contractions are still several minutes apart, so there’s no need to be crazy rushed. Still, I would get on the road to Meraton sooner rather than later.”

  Bishop found Terri in the bedroom, surprised to find her reading a stack of papers with a laptop computer open nearby. She looked up and smiled. “Sorry to interrupt the class,” she offered. “I didn’t want Diana to bother you, but I guess it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

  Bishop sat on the edge of the bed, holding his bride’s hand. Assessing the pile of paperwork, he gently chided, “You’re in labor, you know. Are you planning to expand our irrigation system while you bring a new life into the world?”

  “I could be in labor for days, Bishop. The pain comes and goes. The work helps take my mind off the contractions. Seriously though, you know how sensitive my nose is these days. You better go hop in the shower, or we’ll be driving with the windows down all the way to Meraton. And I would rather not greet my child with bugs between my teeth. Don’t worry, Bishop. I’m just fine.”

  Kissing her on the cheek, he made for the bathroom where he found a fresh set of clothes already laid out. During the quick rinse, his mind was engaged in check listing everything he needed to do for the upcoming event. The truck was already packed with their clothing and gear; its tank full of gasoline. He took a moment to reflect on how lucky they were to have fuel. If the baby had come just a few short months ago, he might not have been able to drive any distance at all. If you think you’re nervous now, he reflected, think about how jumpy you would be if you had to deliver the child by yourself out at the ranch. Despite Terri’s reassurances, it was a quick suds, rinse and dry, the pain and soreness he’d felt just minutes before seemingly washed down the drain.