Despite the long hours, Luke still found time to work with Beatty to run his snares in the standing bushes and scrubland behind their lines. Soon enough, Luke taught the rest of the men to manufacture their own snares out of scavenged electrical wire and random bits of metal used to anchor the traps. They didn’t catch much, not like in other seasons, but even one or two fresh rabbits or squirrels each day provided a welcome addition to their bowls of mush.
“I don’t even know why we share with the rest of the platoon,” Beatty complained, though he nonetheless turned over his freshly cleaned catch of the day, a rabbit and a fat possum, to the two cooks charged with preparing their camp meals. “They are just sponging off us, when they could do what we are doing.”
“Nah,” Luke replied. “We are better at this, and think about how bad those city boys would screw up our fields. We all do our part. This is just a little bit of extra flavoring, anyway.”
“Whatever,” Beatty responded, then flashed a grin at the younger man to show he was only kidding. Despite Hernandez’s misgivings, the other men in the squad reacted to the promotion with a collective yawn. Even Private Castillo, at least ten years Luke’s senior, seemed unsurprised by the announcement and even made a joke about it.
“Hey, fine by me. Means the FNG gets promoted, so I expect to make sergeant by next week. No worries,” Castillo popped off one evening when they sat around the small kerosene-burning stove, not much different from the model the small company in Center tried to manufacture.
Like Silcott, who had mad skills related to construction, Castillo brought experience to the group not only as another guerrilla fighter, but from his civilian occupation as a diesel mechanic. Luke filed these tidbits away, thinking about how the men might contribute to their upcoming reign of terror.
“Yeah, we can expect things to pick up around here when we get Dwayne’s friends transferred,” Luke explained. “I expect this outfit will be pulling some dangerous missions in the near future.” Luke paused, looking around the circle at the men lounging within range of the little burner.
“I know you men all volunteered for the Guard, but this is going to be different. We are going behind Commie lines and sometimes, the odds are going to be stacked against us. Anybody who wants out, I will make arrangements with the LT to get you moved. Nobody will be going out with me who doesn’t want to be there.”
“Shoot, Corporal,” Beatty piped up, his normally stoic demeanor cracking a bit. “We know the stakes here. This is about the fate of our country. Do we let some Washington D.C. asshole carve off a piece of the country to call his own? Are we going to stay the Allied States, or do we get to take back our name? The United States of America. That used to mean something, and if we win here, maybe it will again someday.”
Silcott gave the other soldier a questioning look, then a grin cut his features and he pointed at the stocky, sandy-haired private. “Yeah, what he said.”
Luke glanced at Castillo and the older man shrugged before he spoke. “I was killing these assholes before I got here, so I don’t see no reason to change. You got any C4?”
“I do, Private Castillo. I do indeed,” Luke replied with a reassuring tone.
“Call me Eddie, Corporal.”
“And I’m Luke. We don’t stand on ceremony much here in Second Squad. We may be part of the Texas Army National Guard, but I think we were all veteran fighters of one sort or another even before that. The Guard gives us structure, two square meals a day, and provides us these nice uniforms,” Luke continued, and that got a low chuckle from around the heater.
The Guard managed to issue two sets of uniforms, two pairs of socks, and an equal number of t-shirts and underwear. One set of web gear, one pair of boots, and one mess kit. One rifle and four magazines. Everything else you wanted, you had to wrangle via scavenge or trade. Luke ended up going back and getting an issued set of everything he was due, then used what he had left over for trading. He’d managed to collect a total of six sets of body armor and six helmets, and all the armor was out and in use. In contrast, none of the squad wore the headgear, since for the moment, only the bad guys seemed to have the things. Luke, harkening back to his days on the road, secured his excess gear in a padlocked footlocker for now.
“When are we going to start getting rowdy again, Corporal?” Silcott asked, and Luke knew the man was still riding the high of excitement from their first success. Luke felt it too, a warmth that made the pain in him abate just a bit.
“Sergeant Hernandez wants us to run a few missions close at hand for the time being,” Luke temporized, not wanting to demoralize his squadmates.
“We’ll be working on some basic stalking and stealth skills this evening,” Luke continued. “While we wait on the arrival of our other men.”
The sergeant, while basking in the reflected glory of his men, wanted little to do with Luke. The corporal, with a flash of insight, realized Hernandez thought he was a loose cannon. Thinking back on his favorite movie tropes, Luke hid a groan and he wondered if this qualified him as being a ‘cop on the edge’, but minus the badge.
Not much I can do about that, Luke mused. Captain Jefferson made polite noises to Lt. Fisher about inspired leadership, but Luke knew the savvy captain would soon be cutting the sergeant out of the loop altogether. Maybe Hernandez would receive a promotion soon and return to managing a warehouse somewhere.
“Any questions?” Luke asked, getting back on the topic at hand.
“The new setup,” Castillo asked carefully, “if I understand correctly, will involve two fireteams of four men each. Am I correct? Are we going to work together or on split missions?”
“Yes,” Luke replied simply, then relented. “We all have different skills we can bring to a situation. For example, Dwayne not only can move around unseen in the dark, he also has a lot of experience with construction. Or you, Eddie, I understand you are a skilled mechanic, as well as an artist with that SAW.”
“Yeah, but what can Kyle do? Other than stand around looking like a hockey goon?”
Kyle Beatty snorted, and cracked back before Luke could speak.
“I’m here as God’s gift to women, you ingrate,” he replied. “If we have a mission involving a hot enemy scientist or the lonely wife of a Commie officer who needs poking, I’m at your service. Or hers.”
No one laughed at Beatty’s assertion, even if Silcott resisted giving a snort. Shorter than Luke by several inches, Kyle Beatty probably still outweighed him by a good twenty pounds, and none of it was fat. Luke thought the young man might have lost quite a bit of weight since the Fall, but he was certainly big boned. Thinking of himself as Casanova sure beat being labeled as the squad’s pack mule, but there was a reason the squat soldier carried the heavy backpack radio.
“Actually, I wanted to ask. Kyle, do you know how to ride a horse?” Luke asked.
“Well, yeah,” Beatty replied, “don’t everybody?”
“No, not everybody,” Silcott returned quickly, giving Luke a fresh, appraising look. “You are putting together quest teams to go dungeon diving.”
Luke shook his head, more in confusion than negation. “Sorry, not following that at all.”
“Man, you are picking a tank, a priest, a healer, and the obligatory rogue thief, like some online game,” Silcott continued, and laughed at the wide-eyed looks exchanged by Eddie and Luke.
“You know what he’s talking about?” the mechanic asked, and Luke nodded with hesitation.
“I think he means like World of Warcraft,” Luke replied lamely. “I’m not really up on all that. I know computer programs pretty good, but I never really, uh, went into that whole gaming thing.”
“Luke, I swear,” Silcott hissed with mock exaggeration, “You were one of those straight-edged brainiacs in high school, weren’t you? Mensa, chess club, and all that, right?”
“Right,” Luke agreed, not feeling the need to correct the other soldier.
“So, what kind of extra skills do you bring to the
squad?” Eddie asked, and the other two soldiers leaned back as if avoiding the potential blood spray off the Fucking New Guy.
“Stalking, improvised explosives, sabotage,” Silcott listed off, his voice serious.
“Trapping, foraging, and outdoor survival,” Beatty continued and gave the corporal a nod, showing he’d been paying attention.
“Generally, I’m just good at killing people,” Luke finished, and then he stopped, as if a thought had just occurred to him. “Any of you guys trained in long distance shooting? Or any of your buddies that are coming?” Luke directed this last part of the question to Private Silcott, who shook his head in the negative before running through the other men they were expecting.
“No, not really. Kenzie is pretty bad at any range over twenty yards, in fact. Good medic, and decent with a pistol,” the former college student was quick to add. “Drew is better, but still not much over a hundred yards with an AR-15. I think Cam is probably the best with a rifle, but nothing spectacular. Didn’t you say your dad taught you long distance shooting?”
“Correct, but I was just thinking, it would be nice to have someone else covering us with a long gun if we needed it. Let me think about it and I’ll talk to Lieutenant Fisher tomorrow.”
Giving short nods around the small burner, Luke retired for the night and prepared himself for another evening of wrestling with his nightmares. Nobody commented, since many people carried the same weight into their sleep.
Castillo, sensing Silcott had more to say, caught the younger man’s eye and beckoned him over to the far wall for a bit of privacy.
“Why are you guys so jumpy about the corporal? I mean, I get that he’s got some pretty good training and a lot of experience for his age, but it seems like something more going on here. Is he dangerous? No offense, I agree with everything he said earlier, but is he stable?”
“I didn’t meet the guy until about five seconds before you got here,” Silcott said, exaggerating a bit. “But he’s good at all those things we said and probably more. Also, he’s been here less than a week and he’s already killed twelve Commies I know about, plus God only knows how many we killed together when we blew up half the countryside.”
Dwayne Silcott paused, his eyes boring into the other man.
“But to answer your real question, no, he doesn’t seem dangerous to his own team. You might have heard of his predecessor, Corporal Mansour getting killed, but for the record, Messner didn’t frag him. I don’t think. But with Luke, well, you’ll see. Like my dad used to say, he’s a different kind of cat.”
With that, Private Silcott bid his new squadmate goodnight and headed for his own bedroll. After midnight, the mortars started falling. They struck a remote section of the Allied lines, and the rumble sounded like distant thunder.
CHAPTER 43
“You wanted to see me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Luke replied, taking in the private’s bedraggled appearance.
Abbie Winstead looked tired, and her short-cut hair looked dirty and oily. The uniform she’d been issued looked to have seen better days as well, and Luke figured she must be chilled to the bone from the damp mud clinging to her knees and elbows. In contrast, the soft-sided case strapped to her back, while stained in places, looked well cared for and neat.
The small tent did little more than cut the wind, and Luke ushered the woman into a seat away from the door flap. Coming prepared, Luke had a thermos filled with hot chocolate. When Abbie gave him a confused look at the wordlessly offered cup, he sipped it himself first to show his good intentions.
“I figured you could use something to help warm up,” he finally explained with a shrug.
“You trying to butter me up?” Abbie asked, then wrinkled her brow when she looked closer. “And how the heck did you get those stripes? We were on the same truck, and then you just mysteriously disappeared. So much for not being prior military. Were you a deserter and just didn’t want to admit it?”
Luke set the stainless-steel thermos on the ground and held up his hands. “No, I told you the truth. However, I’ve got certain skills the Army was looking for, so I got thrown into the fight early. I’m over with Charlie Company, Third Platoon, and we’ve been putting together a squad of scout specialists. We need a sniper, and a little birdie told me you’ve been tearing up the range at orientation. You interested?”
“What skills? What would make the Army pull you off a truck and send you straight into combat?” Abbie persisted, watching Luke for tells as she posed the question.
“I’m good at killing people they want dead,” he replied flatly. “And I’m motivated. You know why. The same reason you are.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” Abbie replied, her voice catching in her throat.
“The hate, it’s like a fire burning in your belly. I feel it, too,” Luke sighed, then his eyes were boring into hers when he continued. “Killing their cannon fodder doesn’t really do anything for me, but when I caught some of their stormtroopers? That almost made the hurting stop.”
“You’re crazy, kid,” Abbie whispered, seeing the fire burning in the young man’s gaze.
“Maybe,” Luke conceded. “Maybe I am. Doesn’t change the fact I need your skills, and your fire. Most of the team is made up of youngsters like me. Maybe also, we need a den mother to watch out for us. But I know we need someone who can shoot from a long way off to provide us with some security.”
“Older? I’m only twenty-six years old, Corporal,” Abbie retorted, “What, you’re twenty-one or twenty-two, at least?”
“I’m seventeen, Abbie. I figure you’ll hear that soon enough, so no reason for me to hide it.”
Abbie felt shock, and a little horror at this revelation. She’d figured Luke had been a college student, away from home, when the power died. He had crow’s feet forming around his eyes already, for goodness sake. Then, she felt silly when her memories of being that age returned. To someone seventeen, she might as well be an old maid in a house full of cats.
“Call me Luke,” he continued. “So, ever decide if you’ll be able to pull the trigger?”
Abbie looked down, studying her filthy palms. The dirt seemed to have become ingrained from mud seeping into her gloves, and she wondered if she would ever be clean again. She mused if Luke had that problem, but if what this seventeen-year-old young man said was true, his problem would be more along the lines of getting the blood off.
“I still have nightmares. About getting home and the men who killed my parents were still there, waiting for me. Like they do, sometimes. Yeah, I can pull the trigger. But I still have to finish…”
Luke shook his head slightly. “Captain Jefferson wants the squad ready to roll shortly. If you come with me, school’s out.”
Abbie thought about the offer, and the ball of anger she carried around inside her. The injustice of it all, the casual killing of her parents like they were ants being stepped on, kept her awake at nights and haunted her sleep when exhaustion finally claimed her.
“Yes,” Abbie declared, “I’d like a chance to make a difference. I’ll volunteer for your scout squad.”
“Then we’ll be glad to have you. Any more questions?”
Abbie hesitated, then decided this young man would appreciate a direct manner.
“There is one thing. You said your outfit is made up of young men. With raging hormones, no doubt. They need to understand, I’m not on the menu,” she stressed. “I get so much as an unfriendly grope and they better kill me, because I plan on going down fighting.”
Luke nodded without hesitation, and Abbie saw that same fire from earlier flash again. “I’ll have your back. I know about half these guys pretty good, but we have three new fellas coming in with references. I’ll lay the law down to them. I do not tolerate rape, ma’am. No matter who it is, I’ll put them in the ground.”
Abbie had no doubt.
“All right, then. Last question is, where do we go from here?” she asked, eager to put this last conver
sation behind them.
“Shopping,” Luke replied, and the young man led her from the freezing tent to a tarp-draped warehouse a quarter mile away, moving at a trot. The light exertion was enough to get her blood flowing, and keep her body warm, without breaking a sweat.
“What is this place?” Abbie asked when they drew near enough to see the two guards stationed at the sand-bagged bastion adjacent to the eight-foot-tall rolling door.
“Halt! This is a restricted area!” called one of the guards from behind the sand-bagged barricade. His partner, hunkered down behind what looked like an M-240 machine gun, barely shifted. The barrel didn’t quite intersect with their bodies, but this made for some tense seconds. Clearly, these guys were serious about their job, Abbie thought, preparing to dive for whatever limited cover she might find.
“Yeah, yeah,” Luke muttered, keeping his hands up and open. “I got clearance to visit. In my front blouse pocket. Signed by Captain Jefferson.”
“Take it out slowly and advance. That means you too, Private.” The unseen guard added that last bit with a more-polite tone, which made Luke feel better. He hated bullies, after all.
Once at the sentry point, the concealed guard became visible in the little security hut, and Luke made a point of carefully removing the requisition form and handing it over with a tiny flourish.
“Seems you got the run of the place, Corporal,” the guard sergeant noted. “You need any help, ask Henry for a hand.”
“Thank you, Sergeant. I know what we need but having a hand would speed things along.”
Walking into the sprawling warehouse, Luke saw the corrugated shack likely housing Henry, and headed in that direction. Abbie kept pace, eyeing the stacks of cartons and boxes scattered around on racks. Finally, she had to ask the question at the forefront of her thoughts.
“What is this place?”
“Regional warehouse for Academy Sports & Outdoors. Some of our troops found it, allocated some supplies, and word eventually got back to the higher ups. We use it to stash some of our own gear here, too. I just found out about it yesterday from Captain Jefferson.”
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