Brooks turned. Their eyes met for a moment, and then he slammed to the ground at Caden’s feet.
“Brooks…David, are you okay?” Caden dragged the lieutenant to the lowest point of the ditch then dropped beside him as blood flowed down his face. Caden struggled to get the helmet off the wounded man, afraid of what he might see. Finally tossing it aside he looked for the wound, but all he could see was blood. He struggled to wipe away the flow with his hand and sleeve. Where is the wound? “David can you hear me?”
His eyes popped open. “What happened?”
“You’ve been hit. Stay still while I find the wound.”
“Shot…in the head?” He reached up to the wound and then pulled back with a moan as he gazed at his bloody fingertips.
“Stay still.” Caden moved closer. He pulled a gauze bandage from his ACUs and gently wiped some more. “Oh.”
“What do you see?”
“You know head wounds bleed a lot, right?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you have a two inch cut in your scalp. It just sliced the skin, but otherwise it looks okay.” He took a clean bandage from David’s ACUs, and placing it on his head, said, “Hold this right here.” He took a roll of gauze and wrapped it around his head and tied it. “All the blood makes it look like some horrid wound, but you’ll live.”
Caden picked up the discarded helmet and examined the bloodstained gash along one side. Handing it to David he grinned, “It has character now. Are you able to walk?”
Brooks nodded.
Staying lower than earlier, they moved toward the barricade with Caden in the lead. The First Sergeant fired from a prone position as the two crawled up. Tapping the soldier on the back Caden said, “Hold your fire.”
The First Sergeant looked at him and then Brooks. “You okay sir?”
“Yes, just a cut. Major Westmore is the new commanding officer. Do as he says.”
“Hold your fire,” the First Sergeant yelled. “Hold your fire.”
Within a few seconds the soldiers ceased firing.
“Have any of the soldiers been wounded?” Caden asked.
The First Sergeant smiled at Brooks, “Just the lieutenant.”
It was a long half-minute before the civilians stopped firing.
When there was silence on the bridge Caden called out. “Your position is hopeless. Retreat off the bridge and you will not be harmed.”
A voice called out. “How do we know we can trust you?”
“You’re just going to have to.”
Another deeper voice said, “We’ve got women and children over here, but no food. There hasn’t been any for days.”
Caden rubbed his forehead in despair.
“We have pregnant women and sick children here. We’re all starving. What have we got to lose?” the deep voice declared.
Caden turned to Brooks, “Get a medic and a deuce and a half down here…and fifty MREs.” Then he shouted, “Don’t shoot I want to talk.”
Both Brooks and the First Sergeant started to object, but Caden shook his head. Eyes fixed forward he rose slowly, spread his hands apart, and stepped over a line of sandbags. “My name is Major…ah, Caden. You, with the deep voice, what’s your name?”
“Neil…Neil Young.”
“Please, come forward and talk to me.”
Seconds later, a big bull of a man with a scraggly beard stepped from behind the dump truck.
Caden held out his hand as the big man neared. “Hi Neil. I arrived here yesterday to find out what is needed and try to organize help.”
The big guy looked at his torn and bandaged leg and then at his bloody hands and sleeve. “I guess it’s been a rough couple of days.” He shook Caden’s hand. “What did you want to say?”
“Conditions are desperate everywhere, but if there is a way to help I’d like to try. How many pregnant women are in your camp?”
“About twenty and maybe twice that many really sick kids. The doc says its dysentery and typhoid.”
“You have a doctor? That’s good to know.” Caden sighed. “I’m trying to get food, fuel and even steady electricity, but I can’t promise much. If nothing changes in a week, maybe two, the town will be out of food.”
“We’re a week or two ahead of you. When you run out of food, we’ll already be dying of starvation and disease.”
“Here is what I can do right now. If someone needs to be hospitalized, we’ll do it. I’ll get a medic down here to work with your doctor. I’ll get a tent and supplies so we can set up a rudimentary field hospital. We’ll transport the seriously ill to the Hansen hospital. I’ve ordered food to be brought here, not much, but I will try to get more. That is the best I can do.”
Neil’s eyes grew tired. “I believe you, but I’m not sure everyone will.” He sighed. “I’ll get the doctor, the pregnant women and the sickest kids to the bridge.”
The two men shook hands again and parted.
Caden told the First Sergeant to have the medic work with the camp doctor, get the sickest to the hospital and distribute the fifty MREs to those who needed it most.
As the two walked back toward the pickup Brooks held out his keys. “I think you should drive.”
The lieutenant’s complexion was pale, in stark contrast to the dried blood that still covered part of his face.
Caden took the keys. “Yeah, let’s get back to the armory and get some coffee.”
Looking off in the distance Brooks said, “I noticed the combat badge on your uniform. Were you in Afghanistan?”
“Yeah. Two tours.”
“Was it bad? Did you….”
Caden stopped.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No. It’s okay, David.” He sighed deeply. “I was in combat multiple times on both tours and yes, I’ve killed people.”
“Does it get easier? Do you forget their faces?”
“Combat is never easy, but yes, I think it gets easier.” He slowly shook his head. “About the other thing…I’ve never forgotten the faces of those I’ve killed or my friends who have been killed.”
Brooks took a deep breath. “Thanks. I thought it was just me.”
Caden opened the truck door and then paused. “You know, Churchill once said, ‘There's nothing quite as exhilarating as being shot at and missed.’ Maybe you should look at it that way. You’re alive and that is a good thing.”
“Today isn’t the problem.”
“Oh? The looters at the hospital?”
Brooks nodded.
So it was you that killed them. “Let’s get that coffee.”
The generator was running by the time they got back to the armory. Brooks opted for a long shower before getting coffee. When he returned to the office his complexion had improved. Except for the bandage on his head, he looked like a typical young soldier.
Taking the last sip of his coffee Caden said, “I want one of us here at night.”
“I’ve been living at the armory since the Atlanta bombing.”
“Well then I guess you need a night off?”
“I’m fine. I’ll stay. I think I need an early night anyway.”
Caden wrote down his phone number and then added his address and a simple map to his house and handed it to Brooks. “If anything happens, call me or come get me. Otherwise I’ll see you in the morning.”
With the electricity still off, and the sun setting early that time of year, the roads were dark and lonely. As he drove down the main street he shared the road with a single sheriff’s car. Candlelight shining in the window and the smell of wood fires greeted him as he passed by homes on his way out of town. Snow flitted in the air. It would have been pretty, almost Christmas like, if he didn’t know the tragedy, hunger and cold that caused it.
Candles and lanterns shone through the windows, casting the living room and kitchen in a soft, yellow glow as he stepped from the car in front of his family home. Waving his arm he announced, “It’s me, Caden.” Don’t need any more shooting tonight.