“Son of a bitch,” Harris cursed, raised his rifle, and shot it dead. The beast crashed to the ground. Out of habit, Harris shot it two more times.
“We got him, sir!” FedAPS Agent Hermann called out.
“Him? There’s only one?” Stewart hastily slammed his coffee down. He beat a path to Hermann’s monitor in his new command center just outside Yarnell.
“I only see one, sir,” Hermann replied.
“Goddamn, what an ugly bastard,” Stewart commented. “That fucking scar. It’s Harris all right.”
“Whoa! I think he just shot the drone,” Hermann wailed at what seemed inconceivable to him.
“You got his coordinates?”
“Yes, sir, but–”
“That’s all we need. Hermann, get it up on the big screen. Slater, get me General Mythers on the phone ASAP. Tell him it’s urgent,” Stewart ordered. Within two seconds the entire command center could see Harris’s location projected onto the command center’s big-screen monitor. Various FedAPS and Arizona law enforcement gathered around.
“Vargas,” Stewart said to his liaison to the firefighting team, “tell Chief Griffley to get his people ready to deal with new fires along here.” Stewart traced his hand along a stretch north of Harris’s location, but south of the forest fire. “Bryant, this is our area of operations. Get A and B Teams up to speed. Be sure to coordinate with Lieutenant Colonel Watts. We want his Arizona troopers involved.
“Harris is the only one we’ve seen, but we don’t know that he’s the only one left. There may be others. However, capturing at least one, preferably Harris, is a high priority. General Mythers wants to let the justice system do its magic here.”
“Yes, sir,” Bryant responded.
“Sir, why–”
“Save the questions, Vargas, till I’m done,” Stewart sharply continued. “I believe Harris is heading towards a ranch outside Skull Valley here.” Stewart pointed at the screen. “We want to trap him between us and the wall of fire we’re going to establish.”
“Sir,” Vargas cut in again, more forcibly this time, “how are we going to establish this wall of fire? And don’t you think its dangerously close to the civilian population in there?”
“How we do it is not your concern.” Stewart glared at the FedAPS fire chief. “Dealing with the fire is. Consider it a backfire. Besides,” Stewart improvised, “we’ve already blocked traffic into this region in contingency of the forest fire spreading this far south anyway. So there are no excuses for not being ready. Questions?”
“No, sir,” the FedAPS command answered out of synchronization.
“Then get it done.” Stewart glanced down at his watch. “We’ve got just over two hours of sunlight left.” With that, the command staff was dismissed.
Vargas could be a liability over the firewall issue, Stewart mentally noted. I’ll have the media blame Vargas for the backfire, and then have him killed. Make it look like a suicide, Stewart thought with a laugh.
Stewart’s an asshole. Vargas seethed with wounded pride over the way Stewart had spoken to him. His firewall, or backfire, whatever the hell he wants to call it, is going to get somebody killed.
Walking towards his truck, he noticed a television crew setting up to do a report. He slowly walked over as an idea percolated in his mind.
“Hey, you’re Story Limen,” Vargas blurted out with feigned enthusiasm.
“Why, yes, I am.” Limen smiled back with feigned modesty.
“Hi, I’m Agent Vargas, FedAPS. I’m command liaison for the Firefight Division.”
“Oh hey.” Limen stuck out his hand to shake. “You guys are doing one hell of a job here. I know it’s been tough,” he lied. Limen had no idea, nor did he care, what was going on with the fire. He was here to cover the “Rogue Marines” story.
“Thank you.” Vargas accepted the handshake. “Hey, if you’ve got time, I’ve got some information for you. Might make a good story.”
“Fuck,” Edwards gasped with his hands on his knees. “That explains all the goddamn smoke.”
After two hours of running and hiking up the mountain ridge, a burning horizon was not an encouraging sight.
“How many miles do you think that is from here?” Harris wondered out loud.
“Probably a hell of a lot more than it looks.”
“We might be able to outrun it to the east.” Harris’s optimism sounded weak even to his own ears.
Both turned to the south as the chop-chop sound of CH-53 helicopters came within earshot.
“We’ve got to outrun that fucking fire,” Edwards said.
I’ve never heard him sound so frightened, Harris thought.
“We’ve got ’em on the ropes if they’re coming at us in those relics,” Harris attempted to joke. He straightened up. “What I wouldn’t give for a TOW gun right now.”
“Why are there no drones?” Edwards scanned the sky to see if he’d missed something.
Harris decided to smoke a cigarette. The sun would set soon, and he had no way of knowing if there’d be an opportunity later.
“You know.” Edwards turned toward Harris, initially surprised to see Harris breaking out a smoke, then decided to have one himself. “Obviously, they know we’re here. I bet they deploy just to our south. Probably fast rope in. Why not just fly over and shoot us?”
“Maybe they want to take us prisoner.” Harris’s answer caught a skeptical look from Edwards. “Look, they probably don’t know where we are, exactly. If they found Rivett, they’ll figure we’ll head to Skull Valley. Maybe they figure they can pin us against the fire; either we surrender, or they shoot us,” Harris answered.
“Yeah.” Edwards nodded. “I say we book it to the east before that happens. But I’ll bet they got more agents–”
“I have an idea,” Harris interrupted, and pointed. “See that rocky outcrop over there toward the fire?”
“That hilltop at our ten o’clock?”
“Yeah. Look, we beat feet southwest and hit the helo team on the western flank as they land. It might cause enough chaos to draw the other teams to the west and slow them down a bit while we run to the north and east to that rocky top.”
“We can hit them every so often and fall back. Like a fighting retreat.” Edwards smiled, but shook his head. “They’ll probably have dogs. And if that fire spreads enough, it could cut off our route east.”
“Yeah, that’s possible. At least that rocky hilltop gives us a good place to make a last stand. Provided we don’t get killed before we make it there,” Harris concluded, exhaling smoke and snubbing out his cigarette.
“To hell with it. Let the fire spread.” Edwards snubbed out his cigarette as well. “The closer we get to the fire, the less they’re going to want to chase us.”
The first three members of the FedAPS A-Team were hit as they fast roped from the belly of the CH-53. Their body armor kept them alive, but two suffered broken legs, and one broke both forearms when they fell from the rope. The A-Team set up a defensive perimeter around their wounded comrades, then worked to evacuate them by the same helicopter that had brought them in.
Lieutenant Colonel Bryant reported to Colonel Stewart that A-Team was under attack from the west, not the north or east, as expected. And that the lack of observation drones was hurting their ability to locate Harris and whoever else might still be with him.
“Fucking Sieger,” Stewart cursed aloud before ordering Slater to check into the matter. Fifteen minutes later Slater reported that Major General Sieger had no more drones to spare; they were all needed for his firefighting efforts. Seven minutes later, after having received a call from Mythers, Sieger told Stewart he’d get a fleet down to him. However, that would take time. Then meanwhile his teams were now working in the dark trying to track a small number of men, perhaps only one.
Stewart looked at his map and concluded Harris was trying to backtrack south to avoid the fire. He approved Bryant’s order for the B-Team to move west toward the A-Team. They were to
spread out to form a net, in case Harris did try to head east along the south side of the mountain range. He ordered Lieutenant Colonel Watts to use his troopers to set up a perimeter to catch Harris if he headed south or west. It was all he could do until they got drones to pinpoint Harris’s position. Stewart was now a lot less confident of having Harris apprehended within the next twelve hours than he had been an hour earlier.
If this gets fucked up, Stewart thought, I’ll see Sieger’s head roll for this.
Stewart’s confidence eroded even more when B-Team reported they’d been shot at from the north and had lost three agents. They were now in cautious pursuit in that direction. Stewart stared again at his map. He hadn’t counted on Harris running towards the fire.
How desperate are you, Harris? Stewart wondered. It’d be a shame if you get yourself killed in the fire. Mythers wants you alive and on trial. Are you stupid enough to try to run through the fire to the northeast? Or just a ballsy Jarhead?
“How much distance you think we got on them?” Harris asked Edwards when they reached the base of the rocky hilltop. Exhausted, Harris put his hands on his knees to better catch his breath. The night of heavy drinking, followed by two days of little to no sleep, was now catching up fast to Harris.
“Don’t know,” Edwards answered, also short of breath. “Ain’t going to matter if we don’t get some more distance between us and that fire. We’ve got to get over this hill and start heading east.”
“Maybe FedAPS will just up and quit.” Harris spoke facetiously, then took a long pull of water from his backpack’s bladder.
“That’ll be the day.” Edwards shook his head. “Anyway, let’s not blow our lead. Climbing these rocks in the dark is going to slow us down.”
Near the top of the hill, Harris squatted on a boulder. Edwards climbed towards the hilltop as he watched for any FedAPS who might be coming up the hill in pursuit. It was quiet. Harris’s gazed shifted from the hillside to the fire in the north, then to the dark in the east. He caught himself feeling hopeful.
Then what? Harris wondered. Cross that bridge when you get there, he answered himself and turned his attention back to the task at hand.
Edwards signaled he was in position to cover him. Harris continued up the hill. Near the top with just a few more rocks to climb, he came to a gap. Harris leaped. The jump wasn’t far, but in the dark Harris misjudged the distance, falling just short. Desperately, he reached out with both hands to grab hold of anything. But there was nothing he could grab to stop himself from falling.
For a moment, he felt relief at landing on his feet. His relief turned to terror as he lost his balance and continued to fall while his left foot remained stuck, wedged between two smaller rocks. Harris prepared himself for the pain. Still, he screamed when the bones of his lower leg snapped. Only after he hit the ground was Harris able to stifle his cries.
“Help.” His voice was quiet but desperate. “Edwards, I need help.” He lay still, afraid to move, wondering if he’d been heard, or if he could even be helped.
“Where are you?” Edwards cautiously called out.
“Down here. Look down.” Sliding gravel confirmed Edwards was on his way.
“How close am I? Where…” Edwards found Harris facedown in the dirt. His torso was bent backward at the waist, and his left leg was stretched out above him and sharply bent at the middle of the shin. “I’m here. It’s going to be all right, buddy. It’s going to be all right.” Edwards squeezed Harris’s right shoulder.
“My leg’s broken,” Harris said, not believing his friend.
“Yeah,” Edwards sedately agreed, not wanting to create more stress. “I’ve got to get your foot unstuck.” Edwards stripped off his pack and rifled through it. “Here. Bite down on the tourniquet strap. Scream into your hands if you’ve got to. This is going to hurt. I’ll do it as fast as I can.”
Harris bit into the strap hard. He felt as if his molars would break. But he kept from screaming. Edwards worked Harris’s left foot from between the rocks. As gently as possible, he straightened out his friend’s leg. Then he cut the pant leg open to take a look.
“You’ve got a compound fracture,” Edwards flatly declared. After a moment’s hesitation, he added, “We’ll get it fixed.”
“You can’t fix–”
“We’ll get it fucking fixed,” Edwards snapped.
Harris didn’t have the strength to argue. Edwards cleaned and bandaged Harris’s wound the best he could. He scrounged up some long sticks and managed a makeshift splint. Then he propped Harris up on his pack.
“Man, you ain’t got any medicinal bourbon in that first aid kit, do you?” Harris weakly joked. Edwards smiled. Then he heard the distant howl of the bloodhounds. Edwards stood up and scanned the night sky.
“You see drones?” Harris asked, a bit concerned by the intensity Edwards displayed.
“Huh…what? Oh, no, nothing. The sky’s empty. Can’t even see the moon. Just the fire to the north.” Edwards shook his head and sighed. “Doesn’t matter. They’re going to figure out we’re here soon enough. I’d like to be a little higher.” Edwards looked around, mentally preparing for the upcoming battle. “It’s decent high ground but could use more cover. We can move you back more behind that rock. Maybe I can try moving some of the rocks. Build a kind of wall. Won’t be very tall, but…They’ll be spread out, but mostly following our path. We’ll position you there, and I’ll be over there. We’ll nail them in a crossfire. Hell, we might–”
“You’ve got to go,” Harris interrupted. “You gotta leave me here.”
“Fuck that,” Edwards said dismissively. “We don’t leave anybody behind.”
“Too late for that,” Harris replied. “We’ve already left a lot of our dead behind us.”
“I ain’t leaving you behind to die.” Edwards sounded annoyed.
“I’ll hold out a while; then I’ll surrender,” Harris continued. “I’ll tell them I’m the last one. That Rivett, McCurry, and you are dead.”
“Fuck that!” Edwards aggressively walked towards Harris. “I ain’t leaving you here to surrender!”
“I ain’t surrendering!” Harris fired back. “It’s a deception! If we both die here, who keeps fighting? It’s all lost then. Everything, every one of us, will have all been for nothing. This is too important. We’re too important.”
“I ain’t leaving you to spend the rest of your life in prison,” Edwards said, “so I can get away. You think I could live with myself?”
“It’s not about you, Edwards. Any more than it was about me with Hastings.” Harris paused. Only now did he feel like he was coming to terms with Hastings’s death at Michael Foxtrot. He wanted to tell Edwards it was about everything in this life they held dear. Harris wanted to explain to Edwards that men like them had to keep fighting for that and killing those who would destroy it all. And to warn Edwards not to waste time feeling guilty or angry. To let him know that would only break him down in self-destruction. But Harris could hear the hounds in the distance. There wasn’t time.
“When there’s a fight, Marines keep fighting. It’s what we do,” Harris said.
Edwards looked Harris in the eye, then slowly nodded. He understood.
“Take what you need of my gear,” Harris continued. “Leave me half a magazine. I’ll shoot the bloodhounds as they approach. I’ll give you the best head start I can, and hope they buy my story.”
Edwards moved Harris a few feet over to give him a better field of fire. Then he piled up a few rocks to give Harris better cover.
“Shoot up all your rounds before you surrender. It’ll look more realistic that way,” Edwards explained as he took some of Harris’s gear.
“Here.” Harris reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “It’s Doc Levine’s address in Seattle. I don’t want the feds to find it on me. Maybe you can use it. You can trust him.”
“Harris, I…” Raised to never show emotion, nor to let others know what he was thinking, Edwar
ds now found it difficult to say what he wanted to say. He knelt down on one knee and stuck out his hand. Harris firmly grasped Edwards’s hand.
“You’re a good Marine, Harris.” Edwards’s voice cracked slightly. “I’m glad to have known you.”
“Thanks. You too. Just…” Harris’s voice seized up in response to the level of fear and anguish he felt at that moment. “Kill at least two of the bastards for me,” he managed to say with a slight smile.
“Hell”–Edwards smiled–“it’ll take more than that to even the score.”
Edwards nodded and squeezed Harris’s hand one last time. Then he broke off and quickly ascended the rocks. Harris watched Edwards disappear into the dark, and listened to the hounds moving ever closer to him. Rolling over onto his belly and painfully getting himself into a good position to fire, Harris waited and prayed for the strength to endure the trials yet to come.
***
“Wait a minute.” Levine sounded incredulous. “This contradicts all your previous statements.” Levine began to sort through his file, as if producing these documents would convince Harris of another truth.
“Of course it does,” Harris responded. “That was my plan.”
“But after your trial”–Levine brought the transcript onto his computer screen and spun it around to show Harris–“Story Limen did the documentary, retracing your escape into Arizona. He showed where you buried all the bodies.”
“Yes, he did,” Harris confirmed.
“At your trial, FedAPS confirmed your confession. They presented evidence that they found all the bodies where you said they’d be. Are you now telling me the federal government was lying?”
The Last Marine : Book Two (A Dystopian War Novel) Page 38
