Into the Guns (34 page)

And it was then, as the first song came to an end and another
one began that Olson kissed her. It was a
good
kiss and the first in a very long time.
He plans to seduce you,
the inner voice warned.

I hope so
,
Mac replied.

Why?

Because he's pretty, because it's my birthday, and because I may be dead in a few days
. That, it seemed, was sufficient to silence the voice, which wasn't heard from again.

What ensued was slow, considerate, and very satisfying. There was no bed or anything that resembled a bed in the room. So, rather than lie on the floor, they made love standing up. Olson was strong enough to lift Mac, find his way in, and hold her there.

As kisses were given and taken, man-made thunder rumbled in the distance. The pace of their lovemaking increased gradually until Mac found herself at a point from which it was impossible to go higher. The resulting orgasm was not only spectacular but mutual, and that made the experience all the more enjoyable. And when it was over, Mac felt no sense of regret.

After putting their clothes on, they slow danced for a while and had another drink before parting company. There were no declarations of love, and no promises regarding a future that might not exist. What would be would be.

Mac went back to what had been the nurse's office and checked to make sure that her appearance was okay before going out to check on her troops. Then it was time to slip into her sleeping bag and a dreamless sleep.

RICHTON, MISSISSIPPI

The Richton-Perry County Airport had been transformed into a fort. The maintenance crew's backhoe had been used to dig a deep
ditch around one-third of the runway, and by piling the loose soil inside the trench, the Rangers were able to create a defensive berm. And the minute that task was complete, the tractor was put to work digging a large hole at the center of the area that, once it was roofed over, would house the unit's HQ.

Then, if the enemy granted them enough time, the soldiers planned to dig a spider's web system of trenches that would connect the fighting positions together. Some wags were already referring to the base as “The Alamo.”

By the morning of day three, 360 Army Rangers had landed inside the perimeter, the newly created berm was surrounded by Confederate troops, and the base was taking a pounding. Thanks to a plentiful supply of FIM-92 Stinger shoulder-launched missiles, the rebel air force had been kept at bay so far. But for how long? And now, as the Confederate noose continued to tighten, General Abbott's airborne supply line was being systematically choked off.

The reality of that was evident as the sun rose, a sickly-gray light crept in from the east, and a heavily laden Chinook helicopter arrived. Ground fire lashed up at it, and Sloan heard himself yell, “Turn around! Go back!”

But the pilot
didn't
go back. It appeared that he, or she, was determined to deliver the helo's cargo of food and medical supplies no matter the cost. So as the Chinook continued to bore in, multiple streams of bullets raked the cigar-shaped fuselage. Smoke appeared as the machine lost altitude. Now the ship
couldn't
turn back. Sloan yelled, “Come on! You can make it!”

And for one brief moment, it looked as though the Chinook
would
make it. Then a rocket-propelled grenade struck the helo, and Sloan saw a flash of light and heard a loud bang. The pilot lost control, and the flaming chopper roared in over the berm, where it flopped onto a mortar pit and killed everyone inside.

Sloan looked on in horror as the fuselage rolled slightly, causing one of the helicopter's thirty-foot-long rotors to hit the ground, shear off, and fly away. The blade sliced a corporal's head off before burying itself in the berm beyond.

Sloan was in shock. He was standing there, trying to process the horror of what he'd seen, when General Abbott appeared at his side. “I think that will be the last one,” she said calmly.

Sloan turned to look at her. “And the relief force?”

“They're still hung up in Murfreesboro,” she told him. “Colonel Foster expects to break out by nightfall however. At that point, they'll be about 420 miles away.”

“Can we hold?”

Abbott looked surprised. “Of course we can hold! We held at the Battle of Shiloh, we held at the Battle of the Bulge, and we'll hold here.”

Sloan felt some of Abbott's confidence seep into his body. The relief force could travel 420 miles in what? A day? Two at the most. One of the Chinook's fuel tanks exploded and threw pieces of fiery wreckage up into the sky. A chorus of rebel yells was heard from the other side of the berm. The clock was ticking.

NEAR MURFREESBORO, TENNESSEE

After a good night's sleep, Mac was in the school cafeteria, pouring herself a cup of coffee, when the runner approached her. “I have a message from the major,” she said. “He wants to see you right away.”

Mac's appetite disappeared. “Roger that. I'm on my way.”

Granger was camped in the coach's office, just off the gym, where Captain Pearce and her HQ people were stationed. As Mac crossed the badly scuffed floor, she could tell that something was
up. Pearce's people were packing, and more than that, they were unusually subdued.

Mac knocked on the partly opened door and waited for Granger to say, “Enter.” Mac stepped inside and came to attention. Granger said, “As you were,” and pointed to a chair. “I suppose you heard.” His expression was grim.

Mac shook her head. “Heard what?”

Granger made a face. “Captain Olson took his company out on a mission and never returned.”

Mac frowned. “Get serious.”

“I
am
serious. But it gets worse. Not only did Olson desert—he went over to the enemy! The news is on all of the rebel radio stations. And you can bet it's getting a lot of play up north as well.”

Mac remembered the birthday cake, the dancing, and all that followed. She'd been set up, used, and discarded. Like a piece of trash. She felt dizzy and slightly nauseous.

Some of Mac's emotions must have been visible on her face because Granger nodded. “That's right,” he said. “I feel the same way. That's why I want you to find the bastard and bring him in.”

“And if he doesn't want to come?”

“He's an enemy combatant. Treat him as such . . . And that goes for the rest of Rat Company as well.”

Mac liked her orders. She liked them a lot. But first she had to find Olson, so she went to see Sergeant Esco. The drone pilot and Sparks Munroe were sitting in Esco's Humvee. “We heard the news,” Munroe said. “So we were expecting you. Is the CO sending us out to bring the bastards in?”

“That's affirmative,” Mac replied. “Assuming we can find them.”

“We can, and we did,” Esco told her. “The Rats had to keep their IFF (identification, friend or foe) gear on until they entered
reb-held territory. And the com people were tracking them. Suddenly, all of Rat Company's vehicles came to a stop. At that point, some of their IFFs went dead, as if the bastards were trying to disappear, but some stayed on. As for
why
, take a look at the screen. I'm using the Raven because it's small and hard to spot.”

Mac leaned in to look at the screen. The drone was circling a sports field. Except that the facility was no longer being used to play games. Mac could see what appeared to be soldiers, more than a hundred in all, standing in small groups. Confederates? No, not given the fences that surrounded them and the Humvees positioned to fire on the crowd.

They were prisoners then . . .
Union
prisoners who had been captured during the last three days. “It looks like a holding area,” Mac observed. “A place to keep prisoners until the rebs can ship them somewhere else. But what makes you think that Olson's people are mixed in?”

“This,”
Esco said, as he sent the drone out over the neighboring parking lot. And there, positioned side by side, were Olson's vehicles. Some were transmitting IFF signals. A picture started to emerge. Rat Company had been ordered to report to the lot and meet with someone. Then, while Olson's soldiers were busy turning the IFF transponders off, the rebs took them prisoner!
Why?
Because troops who were willing to desert the Union might desert the Confederacy, too. “Well done,” Mac said. “Have you been able to spot Olson? Granger wants that son of a bitch, and so do I.”

“No,” Esco replied. “I'm afraid the rebs will spot the Raven if I drop that low.”

“That makes sense,” Mac said. “All right . . . Here's the plan. We're going to go down there, find Olson, and turn those prisoners loose. Esco, you'll operate from here. Sparks, you're coming with me.”

“Shouldn't we wait until nightfall?” Esco inquired.

“We can't afford to,” Mac answered. “What if the rebs move the prisoners south? It would be impossible to reach them.”

Mac left, with Munroe in tow. Then she went looking for Ralston and delivered a short rundown. “We'll take every Stryker we have . . . But leave the rest of the company's vehicles here. I want to roll thirty from now. Oh, and we're going to need six deuce-and-a-half trucks for the prisoners . . . Tell Sergeant Smith. He'll find them if anyone can.”

Strike Force Thunder left the school thirty-seven minutes later. The plan was to circle around the worst of the fighting by following Highway 102 under I-24 to Burnt Knob Road, where the trucks would meet them.

The Confederates would notice the convoy needless to say—and throw whatever they could at it. But once Mac told Granger about the prisoners, and he passed the word to Colonel Foster, two Apache gunships were assigned to protect the column.

With the ESV to clear the way, Mac hoped to hit the POW camp before the rebs could figure out what her intentions were. Mac was standing in
MISS WASHINGTON
's forward air-guard hatch. She could feel the press of air against her face and the adrenaline buzz that preceded combat. Large mounds of garbage blocked the road ahead. The ESV hit one of them blade down and sent trash flying as militiamen wearing old-time Confederate uniforms fired assault rifles at it.

Mac engaged one group with the M60 machine gun mounted in front of her and saw two soldiers fall. Once
MISS WASHINGTON
passed through the gap, the next vic opened fire. The two-lane road was flanked by ranch-style homes, leafy trees, and yards equipped with swing sets. Mac found it hard to believe that she
was in a war zone until she saw a burned-out Bradley slumped beside the road.

Half a mile farther on, Mac saw a woman hanging from a tree. Was she a looter? A Union sympathizer? Anything was possible as the ESV swerved to avoid a bomb crater. That sent a flock of crows flapping up into the air. Mac winced when she saw the body they'd been feeding on.

Then the scene was gone, and Mac saw trouble up ahead. It consisted of a one-ton pickup truck with an antitank missile launcher mounted on the back. But
MISS WASHINGTON
's gunner spotted the threat, too, and fired. The 105mm shell scored a direct hit on the truck, and the explosion threw debris in every direction.

But that was just the beginning. Rebel troops were concealed in the strip mall that bordered the highway. They fired three RPGs at the ESV, and one of them was right on target. There was a flash, followed by a bang, and Mac feared the worst. But as the smoke blew away, the ESV was still rolling! The force of the explosion had been dispersed by the Stryker's slat armor. The truck's top gunner was slumped forward, however—and Mac feared he was dead. “This is Blue-Bolt-Two and -Three,” a voice said in her ear. “Stand by . . . We'll tidy up.”

Rockets hit the buildings along both sides of the street as the Apaches roared over Mac's head. The ground fire stopped as suddenly as it had begun, leaving the convoy free to proceed. Mac felt a surge of excitement as Strike Force Thunder turned onto Burnt Knob Road. The trucks were there, just as Sergeant Smith promised they would be, all armed with over-the-cab fifties. Mac opened the intercom. “Hey, Sparks . . . Tell the trucks to fall in behind the last Stryker and keep it closed up.”

The Apaches were circling a mile ahead, firing on ground targets
and clearing a path for the Strykers. “Charlie-Six actual to Strike Force Thunder,” Mac said. “We're about two miles from the objective. Remember the plan. I'm going to bail out in the parking lot with Alpha One-Two and his squad. The rest of you will go in hard. Neutralize the Humvees but be careful! A hundred Union soldiers are being held inside the fence, and once you break in, they'll run every which way.
Don't
shoot them. Once the place is secure, load 'em up and meet me in the parking lot. Charlie-Seven will be in command. Over.”

Mac heard a flurry of clicks by way of acknowledgments as the ESV took a hard right and entered the parking lot. By prior agreement,
MISS WASHINGTON
and the
BETSY ROSS
paused to let people off. Then they followed the last deuce and a half as the column closed in on the athletic field.

The squad detailed to work with Mac and Munroe consisted of Sergeant Poole and eight members of the first platoon. Mac heard radio chatter and machine-gun fire as she led the detachment of troops into the maze of captured vehicles. Some were in perfect condition, while others were shot up. All of them wore Union markings.

The Raven was circling above, which allowed Esco to see the squad and provide directions. “Turn right,” he said. “And follow the corridor west. Take cover behind the Buffalo.”

Mac knew Esco was referring to the hulking MRAP or Mine-Resistant Ambush Protected vehicle located directly in front of her. The Buf was huge and would provide the team with a place to hide, while Olson and his people ran from the rescuers and into the parking lot, where their motorcycles and rat rods were parked.