Ed had paused in shade at the back corner of a small house, peering between it and its neighbor at the street to the north, drinking from his canteen, when he noticed movement nearby. His eyes darted over to see an old man standing in the shadowed dining room of the house, staring at Ed and past him at the gear-laden soldiers creeping silently through his and the adjacent backyard. The man was short and thick, but not fat—it was all knobby bone, including a big brown head dotted with just a few gray hairs. He and Ed stared at each other for a few seconds, then the man gave him a slight nod and a thumbs up. Then he gestured at Ed and walked closer to the window between them, which was open.
“You gentlemen look like you might want to rest your feet for a few minutes.” He nodded past Ed. “I appreciate that you didn’t trample my garden.”
Ed glanced over his shoulder. “Looks like you’ve put a lot of work into it.” He pointed at the adjoining backyards of the two houses to the south, which were nothing but rows of plants from fence to fence. “Those yours too?”
The man nodded. “Most everybody else in the hood has skipped out, but I’m too damn old to pick up and move. Besides, gardening relaxes me.” He gave a brief smile. “’Nother hot one. I don’t have the water to spare, but I just picked a mother of a watermelon out of the garden this morning, was just about to cut it up. Care to join me?”
Ed glanced up at the sky and did a little figuring in his head. They were not quite a mile southwest and fifty minutes removed from the crash site. He smiled at the shrunken man. “That’s mighty neighborly of you. I’m Ed.”
“Russell.” He pointed down at the floor beside him, and there was a dog that Ed hadn’t even noticed. It was small but thick, with white fluffy fur and a short tail going back and forth so vigorously its rear feet were dancing on the floor. It appeared as old as its owner. “And this is Willis.”
Ed raised his hand and signaled the men to him. The rest of the squad had paused when they heard Ed talking softly to a resident, and headed his way silently when he waved his hand.
Ed and the rest of the men in Theodore—heck, every dogsoldier in the city—did their best to tread softly and treat nicely anyone brave or crazy enough to still be living in the area. There was always a chance a local would contact government forces and rat a team out for the standard reward, but grisly ARF reprisals against civilians actively collaborating with the military were a very real thing, and everyone knew it, so usually residents pretended not to see anything if they didn’t want to pick a side. Truth was, most people who had picked a side were already in the fight.
The remaining locals generally had very little love lost for the Army. It was the Army which put up roadblocks and enforced martial law. The Army which went through neighborhoods, kicking in doors, looking for guns and other contraband. And the Army which had shut off water and power to the entire city in hopes of driving away the Irregulars. Of course, they denied it was intentional, claimed the water and electrical infrastructure had been irrevocably damaged from the fighting, but nobody believed the official story on that. Besides, both the water and power had been off for years, with no sign anyone was trying to “repair the damage”… and yet, somehow, the Blue Zone, which included the Army headquarters, had never lost power, and still had running water. It was hard to feel sympathy for a government that lied to you and was doing its best to drive you from your home. The suburbs still had power and water, but it was nothing anyone could depend on.
“General, I’ve got some news.”
Parker looked up from his paperwork. “Tomahawk Two-Bravo have some luck chasing down those guerrillas that shot them up?” The patrol had taken fire a few hours earlier, but only suffered one minor injury, probably from a ricochet. They’d seen at least two insurgents and given chase on foot while their Growlers had driven ahead to box in the enemy. The pursuit had very quickly turned into a house-by-house search.
“No news on that, Sir. They’re still doing a grid search. We’ve got a second enemy contact.” He stepped to the large map of the city and its environs Parker had tacked to the wall. He pointed to a spot north of the city. “Kilo One-Three, one of our Kestrels running low and slow, reported an enemy contact here. Two trucks full of Tangos. Then they went radio silent. The two other birds we had on deck rotated over there ASAP and reported Kilo One-Three down and burning in the middle of the Ditch—”
“Shit,” Parker swore. He got up and moved around his desk to peer at the map.
“Yes sir. Ground units arrived on site fifteen minutes ago. It appears Kilo One-Three was downed with an RPG, both pilot and co-pilot dead in the bird, but not before he lit up the two vehicles. Initial reports are eight enemy KIA, two vehicles destroyed. However, it seems clear some enemy combatants survived the attack.”
“How many?”
“Unknown, sir, but first aid was attempted on one of the dead, and the RPG was fired a distance from that body, so best guess is at least three or more survived the attack and are on foot in the area. Our guess is that they were heading south, and whoever survived the contact continued in that direction or went to ground nearby. I’ve got two birds in the air, looking, and two platoons in Growlers and IMPs heading to the area. I thought you should know.”
“Thank you.” Parker thought for a bit. “Is this related to the other incident this morning?”
“I don’t think so, Sir. Not directly. This was two miles north of the city, the other incident was in a suburb as well, south of the city.” The Colonel pointed. “They’re nearly twenty miles apart.”
Parker huffed. “I still don’t like it. I want us to find these fuckers, Coop. North and south.” He waved a hand at the map. “I’m getting tired of this shit. I’m glad that aircrew gave better than they got, but it’s still a tragedy.” As was the loss of the Kestrel, he could have added. “Any insurgents killed or captured at either of those locations, I want to know. Or if anything else pops off in the city. AARs on my desk tonight either way.”
“Absolutely.”
“Sir, if this was your daughter, I would ask you for its hand in marriage,” Mark said, hoisting the curve of watermelon rind aloft. It was his third, and his lips and fingers were wet and sticky with the juice of the fruit. He hadn’t had fresh watermelon in forever. He wasn’t alone.
“Nothing seasons like hunger,” Ed said. He’d heard the phrase years ago, and had found it to be unerringly accurate. He looked at their host, missing the strange look Jason threw his way. “And you’re taking one of those birds as a thank you.” He pointed at the pigeons Weasel had field dressed while they’d eaten and rested.
“You won’t get an argument from me.”
“This seems like a nice neighborhood,” Quentin said. He was still trying to forget the smell of Bobby’s blood, the sight of the boy’s shocked, pale face as he died.
“It’s quiet. I enjoy my gardening. And I get a lot of reading done.”
“Not at night,” George observed. Even in midday the house was gloomy due to a lack of windows.
Russell chuckled. “I get up and go to sleep with the sun. Isn’t that what old people are supposed to do anyway, get up at the crack of dawn and eat dinner in the middle of the afternoon?”