After a little while, Jake trudged past freshly killed soldiers. Companions dug graves for them.
“That’s lousy luck,” Goose said.
Jake nodded. After the endless weeks in the city, surviving flame-throwers, grenades, sniper fire, artillery and bombs, and now to die as they marched for freedom, it was rotten luck.
What a thing, Jake decided, his thoughts bouncing all over the place today. He’d survived the encirclement in Amarillo, Texas this summer. He’d survived the harrowing trek to Colorado and now it looked like he might survive the siege of Denver. If they reached Idaho Springs, they should be safe until the next venture. It would be nice if they could stop the Chinese advance for once and push them back.
Four hours later, Jake, Goose and the Lieutenant sat around a small sterno flame that burned under their tin pot. They heated a can of pork and beans, a delicacy after their nearly starvation diet.
Darkness fell around them, and Chinese artillery boomed in the distance. The flashes played off the low clouds. One flash highlighted a cloud that looked like an arrow pointed back at the enemy.
“They don’t want to let us go,” the Lieutenant observed.
Jake stirred the pork and beans. The aroma was killing him. He was hungry and his stomach ached.
“You know what I think,” the Lieutenant said.
Jake shook his head as he kept his eyes on the beans. When it began to bubble, they would be ready.
“We’re the ones who broke their back,” the Lieutenant said.
“We’ve lived like rats for months,” Jake said. “I don’t know how that broke anyone’s back.”
“I don’t mean just you and me. I mean all the ordinary Americans who picked up a gun and joined the Army, the Militia or the partisans. Here in this hellhole, it was all of us working together. The Army has better equipment, but we held just the same.”
Jake thought about the earliest battle where most of the Eleventh CDMB had run away. Still, some had fought the enemy until the very end.
“I don’t know if I agree with you,” Goose said. “The Chinese chased us out of Denver, didn’t they? And they destroyed it.”
The Lieutenant snorted so snot flew out of his nose. He used his sleeve to wipe his nostrils. “Sorry, but I don’t feel as if we were chased out. The enemy shoved and we shoved back. Yeah, they pushed us out of the majority of the city, but we made them pay in blood. We made them pay so much that our Army had time to regroup and turn the tables on them. Why did that happen? I’ll tell you, because you and me picked up our guns and fought to the last drop. We ground them down and weakened them enough to give the tank lords the opportunity. But without us, the Chinese would have conquered America.”
“Seems to me they’re still in America,” Goose said.
“Yeah,” the Lieutenant said, “with a noose around their necks. Give it a little more time, and we’ll hang these SOBs.”
Jake used the spoon and scooped some pork and beans. He ate the sample. It was hot and tasted great. “Supper’s ready,” he said. “Are you guys?”
Goose and the Lieutenant held out their tins. Jake divided the pork and beans evenly into three parts.
“Another few days,” Jake said, after he licked his spoon and tin clean. “And we’re out of—”
“Don’t jinx us by saying it,” Goose said.
Jake blinked at his friend and finally smiled. “No. I won’t jinx us. Let’s clean up and get some shut-eye.”
“We’ll clean up,” the Lieutenant said. “But then we keep moving. I want out of here and now’s our chance. So we move until we’re out or we’re dead.”
“Yes sir,” Jake said. “I like that advice.”
Paul sweated from the hard work and his hands were sore. “Ready?” he asked Romo.
“One, two, three,” Romo said, grunting the last word.
The two of them lifted a stretcher with a soldier on it. They carried the man from a truck out of Denver to a waiting Chinook helicopter. The helo was near capacity and Paul and Romo had carted at least a quarter of the patients into it.
There were here because SOCOM had been ordered to harass the Chinese in Denver. They hadn’t started on their mission yet because the medical people were short-handed and had asked for help.
The soldiers coming out of Denver looked more like skeletons. They were gaunt, all of them with the thousand-yard stare and too many having lice. The last few weeks had been the worst for them, as most of the airdrops hadn’t landed near enough the besieged soldiers to give them enough supplies.
Paul knew the orders for these men. The strongest were supposed to hike west along I-70, bypassing the ballistic-missile damage. It would take strong men to do that until they reached waiting trucks.
So far, eight thousand of these survivors had reached Idaho Springs. Belatedly, the Chinese attacked the rear guard, halting another eight thousand hastily digging trenches to face their tormentors.
Paul used his forearm to wipe his forehead. He was dog-tired from lifting stretchers and he was tired in his soul. SOCOM had been using him and the other LRSUs back and forth in the hottest spots for weeks on end now. He’d been fighting too long, and it had taken its toll to his spirit.
“Poor bastards,” Paul said.
“What did one of your great generals of the past say?” Romo asked. “War is Hell.”
“That it is,” Paul agreed.
A truck’s brakes squealed as it lurched toward the Chinook. MPs raced over to block it. The trucks were supposed to wait behind the barricade for inspection.
A tough-looking man with a Mexico Home Army uniform jumped out of the driver’s seat.
“You!” he said to Paul. “I have men that need loading.”
The MPs moved up.
Paul recognized the mean-looking driver: the man was an assassin for Valdez. Paul wasn’t sure what motivated him. “Just a minute,” he told the MP captain. “I think I might know some of these men.”
“Doesn’t make any difference,” the MP said.
“Is Colonel Valdez here?” Paul asked the driver.
The Mexico Home Army driver’s head swayed back. He squinted at Paul, and recognition flared in his eyes. Slowly, suspiciously, the driver nodded.
Paul faced the MP. “Sir, Colonel Valdez is a VIP to the President of the United States.”
“What?” the captain said.
“He’s an important figure to our allied soldiers,” Paul explained.
“What’s going on here?” the captain asked.
A hand clutched one of Paul’s elbows. Romo whispered in his ear, “What are you doing?”
Paul wasn’t sure. Maybe he was paying back a blood debt to Maria Valdez. The Colonel wanted him dead, could hate like few others, but he had fathered Maria and Paul hadn’t been able to rescue her from the Chinese. It still bothered him. He couldn’t give the Colonel his life, as Paul wanted to live, not die. But maybe he could give the Colonel back his own life as payment for a grim burden of the soul.
“Sir,” Paul told the captain, “I belong to SOCOM. The President tasks us from time to time with secret missions. I happen to know how important Colonel Valdez is to America’s war effort. Let us carry him and as many of his men as it can hold aboard the Chinook.”
The MP scowled and finally threw up his hands. “Hurry it up then. The helo is slated to take off in ten minutes.”
The captain and his MPs stalked off.