She kept talking like that and his head would rise far above the bars on his sleeve. “See you at six.”
“Five forty-five.” She patted his side of the sleeping bag. “I’ll keep your spot warm.”
Hell of an incentive to be on time. He unzipped the flap and crawled out of the tent. A brisk wind scoured his cheeks. After sealing Mavis inside, he stuffed his hands in his pockets. Frost crunched underfoot and cold needled his nose. Snores sounded from the large TEMPER barracks on his right.
Generators hummed around him and powered the lights shining down on the green and mud brown camp. Clumps of tan speckled the vehicles lined up against the rutted road. A personnel carrier’s headlamps shone as it backed against the abandoned power plant. A banner bearing the familiar red cross hung from a window with no pane. A woman in blood-stained scrubs carried a bag of fluids and ran along the side of the stretcher two Airman ferried to the truck.
“Coffee’s on.” Lister’s words came out on a cloud. “Doc up?”
“No, Sir,” he lied. Technically, Mavis was in charge and she ordered him not to return until quarter to six. As far as he was concerned, she was sleeping until zero-six-hundred.
“Good.” Lister jerked his head toward the canteen. “Your boy, Robertson, has requested a secure line.”
Robertson? If something was wrong, wouldn’t Sunnie have said? He glanced back at Mavis’s tent. Doc wasn’t running for the river, so it couldn’t be too bad.
“The girl thinks they haven’t left yet.”
He checked his watch. Fear soured his mouth. “They should have been on the road fifteen minutes ago.”
“They were, then they had to stop and that’s all Robertson would report to a mere Marine Corps General.”
His ‘oh shit’ meter blew the scale. Fuck! Robertson was a damn good soldier when he set his mind to it, he wouldn’t withhold information unless he had cause. “Where?”
“This way.” Lister marched past the canteen and strode through the rows of barracks. He turned left at the third one. Stepping over the ropes securing the tents, he continued on.
Outside the light bubble, animals rustled in the darkness, studied them with glowing eyes. Clouds scuttled across the horizon, blotting out the stars. His nose pricked with moisture.
“Snow’s in the forecast to four thousand feet.” Lister sipped his coffee. “We’re above that now.”
Wonderful. So much for a new day bringing better news. “At least, we’ll be sticking to the highways.”
“Too bad there isn’t anyone to man the snowplows.”
There was that. But surely, the snowfall couldn’t be that deep. Yet. He followed Lister onto a path. Light poured from a building behind a chain link fence. Men in uniform paced in front of the window. Oh, his day was just getting better. He straightened his uniform and opened the door for the general.
Lister preceded him inside. He crumpled his Styrofoam cup and tossed it on the floor. “Dawson’s here, Robertson. Now what the fuck is going on!”
The door hit David’s backside then the latch clicked in the lock. Airmen in blue, regular Army in tan and Marines in olive glared at him. Enough brass hung on their collars to decorate a large Christmas tree. He would hand Robertson his ass if this wasn’t important.
“Sergeant-Major?” The private’s voice trembled in the computer’s speakers across the cramped room.
The Marine working the communications fiddled with the cords. A black line serpentined across a warped metal desk and climbed to a satellite dish wedged in the window.
The hair on the back of his neck stood up. Robertson’s voice never shook, not even when they were pinned down in Kandahar. “Here, Private.”
“Are you alone?”
Lister looked about ready to chew on the metal window screens and spit shrapnel.
“Absolutely.” If you didn’t count the ten officers crowding the space thinking they were about to overhear something that fell under ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ purview.
“We woke up this morning and our coms are dead, except Ray and Vegas’s who were on guard duty.”
Lister’s eyebrows retreated to his hair line. The Airmen shook their heads.
David’s gut clenched. “That’s a hell of a coincidence.”
“Yeah, we thought so too. Then Vegas was hit from behind and his com taken.”
Son of a bitch! They were talking sabotage? “And Ray?”
It would take a lot to bring down the two-hundred eighty pound munitions mule. But desperate people did crazy things.
“Fuck, Big D! Whose do you think I’m talking to you on?”
Ray’s obviously. He scratched the stubble on his chin. That’s what he got for trying to think without mainlining a couple of cups coffee. But deliberate sabotage. Desperation would almost be better. This was a planned attack with some intelligence behind it. Against his men! Goddamnit, he should be with them. “Any of our people injured?”
“Vegas isn’t seeing straight, but he was always messed up in the head.” Robertson’s laugh was forced.
“How many men at your disposal?”
“There’s the eight of us, three Marines are down but more than happy to shoot. Colonel Dobbins is capable even confined to the wheelchair and then there are the bow and arrow gramps and grandson that bagged us a couple rabbits this morning.”
Fourteen people across four trucks and God only knew how many enemies. “You’re spread thin through the trucks.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
His skin tightened. There was more? What on Earth possessed him to leave Mavis’s bed?
“Singleton and Janovich are driving the first two trucks. They didn’t stop when we broke down.”
Broken down trucks and stolen coms. “What the hell happened?”
“I ran over a board with nails conveniently wedged under the passenger side wheels. I recognize the boards from the house where we stayed last night.”
But that didn’t explain how they got under their wheels. “So you have one truck down?”
“No, Sergeant-Major. Two.” Robertson cleared his throat. “Vegas was behind us. His brake line was cut but he was able to stop with a little help from our bumper.”
Well, shit!
“Son of a bitch.” Lister punched the wall. Flakes of plaster rained onto the dirty floor.
The other officers looked like they wanted to follow his lead.
The next question hovered on his lips. He didn’t want to ask it. “Anything else?”
“Michaelson is pissed that someone tampered with his babies but the grease monkey packed a few parts and he’s doing God knows what with a piece of hose, duct tape and bubblegum to get both trucks moving again.”
“What the hell are they using for brake fluid?” Lister barked.
“I didn’t ask, Sir.” A voice muttered through the speakers. “Looks like we’re ready to move out.”
“Impressive,” Lister checked his watch, “for the Army.”
For anyone. The jarheads couldn’t do any better. Michaelson had oil in his veins. “Any idea who did it?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.” Engine noise rumbled through the background then a door slammed. “I can tell you no one breached our perimeter last night.”
“So it must have been an inside job.” Punching the wall seemed like a good idea right about now. But he wouldn’t. The Marines already thought too highly of themselves and he wouldn’t let the Army down by following the Corps’ example.
“Why the fuck did we save the civilians if they were going to turn on us?” Lister crossed to the Marine by the computer. “Get me Lieutenant Rogers.”
Many of the officers nodded.
David shook his head. These were his people. They couldn’t abandon them, neither could they survive with just a military family. Too many of them were sick. “Who do you suspect?”