“Bob McAllister, the dateless wonder?”
“Since you left, not the case my friend. Riley and her sister say hello,” McAllister said, not moving.
“Ease off, guys,” Zachary said to the young privates. They did so warily. Their wires were strung tightly. They kept trained eyes on the five men as they passed. Then they saw their commander and Captain McAllister hug each other.
“I never, in my wildest dreams, thought I would be glad to see your ugly ass here,” Zachary said.
“Well, you’ve got a lot more than my ass to deal with. The whole stinkin’ battalion just landed about twelve klicks northwest of here. Pave Lows flew us in. I’m the lead. Got any hot chow?” McAllister said.
“Yeah, right. Take out the ‘hot’ part, and you’d have a good question,” Zachary strained.
“Yeah, that’s what we’ve heard. You guys kicked ass, though, man. Whole division’s talking about you like you’re Rambo or some shit,” McAllister said.
McAllister was a ROTC officer, commissioned from the University of Massachusetts. He was cocky but always backed up his bullshit with proper action. He had knotty red hair that sometimes looked too long. Freckles splashed across his face in asymmetrical disarray. He was average height and looked like a ruffian, which he was.
“I’d love to stay and bullshit, but we’ve got to call back to the Buckster and let him know we found you weenies,” McAllister said, kneeling and grabbing his radio microphone from his RTO. He radioed the battalion commander and informed him that he had affected linkup. Buck seemed beside himself in his response, as if he never expected it to happen. He delivered an order to proceed as planned, and McAllister handed the handset back to his radio operator.
“The Buckster, you gotta love him,” he said, shaking his head with a huge grin. “Hey,” Mc-Allister said, “did you know Riley and her sister each has a mole underneath her left breast. Talk about genetic symmetry—”
“Not a good time for the sex jokes, McAllister. Now move out before we get fired up. This is the real thing, dickhead,” Zachary said, half-joking, half-serious.
“Trying to lighten you up a little. You’re gonna need it when you find out our next mission. Here,” McAllister said, handing him a stack of letters. “She sends her love and misses you.” Zachary rifled through the stack; nothing from Amanda.
McAllister patted Zachary on the back, grabbed his radio operator, and moved out.
The news traveled through the company like a lit fuse. After talking with Buck on the radio, Zachary went back to his CP, lay down, and went to sleep. Buck would have a meeting in the morning.
Looking at the letters from Riley, oddly enough, he thought of his brother, Matt, wondering where he could be. Sure would be nice to get him in here to help us out, Zach thought to himself.
Where can he be?
The thought slipped away from him though, as he spiraled into a much-needed sleep.
Chapter 70
It had been twenty-four hours since Rathburn had been snatched from their cell, and Matt wondered if he would ever see the man again. Maybe Mick Jagger had saved him, who could tell?
“You’re sure you never saw Zachary?” Matt said, stepping toward Barefoot.
“Yes, for the tenth time. I got there and the place was vacant. Looked like a hell of a firefight had taken place, though. Spent ammo everywhere. Bloodstains. No bodies. It was weird. I started snooping around the barracks and got waylaid by a bunch of little zipperheads,” Barefoot said.
“Roger,” Matt replied, dismayed. For twenty-four hours they had tried breaking the door, picking the lock, and screaming to get a guard, but it appeared they were all alone.
“Wait, I hear something,” Barefoot said, holding up his hand.
The outer lock rattled, and the door opened, casting a bright yellow sunlit square across the green slime on the floor. Rathburn’s body fell with a thud, his head smacking the wet concrete.
Matt slipped behind the door while Barefoot stood in the middle of the small cell. Sturgeon was reaching into his boot for a Velcro-pocketed knife that his captors had overlooked as he squatted in the other corner. They had been over this as many times as Matt had asked Barefoot about Zachary.
“You all go next, Joe. Let’s go,” a different Filipino voice said.
Matt moved closer to the door, which began to open slowly, casting a brighter spotlight onto Rathburn’s body like some eerie floor show.
“Hey, Joe! Time to go!” the eerie voice called out again. Matt saw one shadow fall atop Rathburn’s body. Then another. They both appeared to have something in their hands.
The first guard stuck his head around the corner of the door, unable to see in the darkness.
“Hey, Joe!” he screamed. “Where Matt Garrett? You number one customer today!”
Matt stood slowly and rapidly wrapped his belt around the short Filipino’s neck, pulling the ends in opposite directions.
An errant shot escaped from the Chinese pistol, ricocheting off the wall and leaving a spark in its trail. The second guard responded immediately, pulling at Matt’s arm.
Matt punched the guard in the face and heard the clank of pistol metal striking the floor. Sturgeon moved on cue stood from his crouched position.
Matt snapped the neck of the first guard as Sturgeon leapt across the splash of light that separated him from the fight and drove the knife into the back of the second guard.
The guard, shorter than Matt, turned toward him as Matt pulled the pistol from the man he had just strangled, placed it against the advancing guard’s neck, and fired two bullets.
“Let’s haul ass,” Matt said, looking at the two dead Filipinos lying next to Rathburn’s body in the box of light that framed the bodies like a large coffin. He stripped the Filipinos of weapons, handed Jack a Chinese Type 67 pistol, and said, “C’mon” to Barefoot, who followed.
For the first time in days, Matt saw daylight as they exited the structure. They had been in the basement of a small adobe building. Leaving the cell, they found themselves surrounded by a high wall and a dirt ceiling, as if the cell had been cut into the ground. They were facing a stairwell carved into the dirt that led to the open skies. Matt carefully ascended the steps, then hesitated as the full brightness of the morning sun entered his dilated pupils.
He looked back at Jack, who was holding his own hand, almost doubled over in pain. Matt pulled a rag from his pocket and wrapped it around Jack’s hand.
“I don’t see anyone, but it’s full daylight so we’re gonna have to run. There’s a truck about twenty meters to the right. It’s running for some reason. Our best bet is to get in that mother and go.”
Matt stopped as they were nearing the pickup truck and said, “Rathburn. Never leave a fallen comrade.” He ran back down the stairwell and reemerged moments later with Rathburn’s body slung over his back in a fireman’s carry. It was the right thing to do.
“Let’s go,” Matt said. The three men ran across the hardstand to an olive drab pickup truck. Matt flipped Rathburn’s body into the back as Sturgeon opened the passenger door for Barefoot, who slid across the torn cloth bench seat. Matt quickly slammed the automatic gear level into drive and sped along the only road he could see.
The sun was to their backs, so he knew they were heading west if it was morning. To his front was flat or rolling countryside. He passed a series of buildings and saw a sign that read fort magsaysay. He sped past a gate onto a cement road that led off the gentle slopes onto a plain. It was an area of rice paddies, some terraced into the hills behind them and others lying low beneath the flat, flooded ground.