By a stroke of good luck, truck two, which Raynor and his buddies were riding in, was spared during the first pass and he found himself on his feet yelling, “Get out! Run like hell! Take cover!”
The Hellhounds pulled up, flew a lazy circle around the far side of the valley, and turned north again. Raynor and the rest of the marines were crouched in a neighboring field at that point, weapons raised, firing madly. “Lead them!” Raynor shouted, as he remembered the lessons learned in boot camp, but knew the likelihood of bringing one of the flyers down was next to nothing.
A succession of explosions marched up the highway as the KM pilots strafed the motionless convoy for a second time and a storm of small arms fire converged on them from both sides of the road. Raynor heard shouts of joy as the second Hellhound in line staggered, produced a thin trail of black smoke, and was forced to break away. The marines hadn’t brought the craft down, but they had inflicted enough damage to send it limping toward home, with the other Hellhounds providing cover.
The entire battle consumed just minutes, but destroyed two trucks and damaged a third. The fourth vehicle, the one loaded with gear, was untouched. Surprisingly, given the extent of the destruction, casualties were limited to one KIA and two WIAs.
Because the marines were replacements, and hadn’t yet been integrated into regular companies at Fort Howe, they didn’t have their own command structure with them. The sole surviving driver, Corporal Hawkes, took charge and got on the horn to the nearest source of potential help, which was an outpost designated as Firebase Zulu. His face was expressionless as he listened to a series of profanity-laced orders. Then when the download was over, he nodded. “Roger that, sir … I’ll get things going. Over.”
Hawkes’s first task was to choose three temporary squad leaders, which he proceeded to do based on what he’d seen from the newbies so far. That was how Raynor wound up in charge of the second squad, which included Harnack, Kydd, and Zander. Hawkes eyed Raynor. “Can you drive a truck?”
“Yes, Corporal, I can drive just about anything,” Raynor answered honestly.
“As long as it isn’t a vulture,” Harnack said sotto voce from a few feet away.
“Good,” the corporal replied. “Use truck four to push one and two off the highway before traffic starts to back up. As for number three, I’m not sure if it’s operational or not. Do we have anyone who knows their way around engines in this group?”
“I could take a look at it,” Zander offered modestly, and the noncom was quick to take him up on the offer.
“Great! You do that… . If you can’t get it going, tell Raynor. He’ll push it out of the way. As for everyone else,” Hawkes said as he looked around, “you have ten minutes to round up your B-2 bags if they still exist and get ready for a nice little stroll. Because even if we get truck three running again, there won’t be enough transport for everyone.”
With his squad in tow Raynor made his way past the still-smoking wreckage of trucks one and two, saw Zander peel off to examine three, and made a beeline for the last vehicle, which was battered but still running. “Hey, Hank!” he yelled, as he swung up into the cab. “It looks like traffic is starting to back up. Take the rest of the squad down the line and tell the vehicles behind us to take ten. And don’t let anyone below the rank of general push past. I need room to maneuver.”
Harnack looked back, saw a traffic jam that included both military and civilian vehicles and waved an acknowledgment.
It took half an hour to clear the road, get truck three up and running again, and load twenty marines into the back. Those who were on foot were ordered to report to Firebase Zulu as soon as they could. It was going to be a slog—and those fortunate enough to ride waved cheerfully as their trucks pulled away.
Altogether thirty-eight men and women were left behind, with nineteen marines to a squad, and Raynor in charge of the entire detachment. The latter being a last-minute decision by Hawkes that came as a surprise to Raynor but to no one else.
Those who still had B-2 bags had put them aboard the trucks, so all the marines had to carry was their weapons, a full load of ammo, plus first aid kits, canteens, and one box of rations each. With only ten miles to cover, and a solid surface to walk on, Raynor figured the group should be able to reach Firebase Zulu in a few hours.
Raynor sent two scouts forward. He came next, followed by squads one and two, with Private Phelan bringing up the rear. Once across the highway, the column headed south, facing oncoming traffic so they could jump into the drainage ditch if one of the vehicles came too close.
The clouds were starting to burn off, the air was warm, and the Snakeback mountain range could be seen off to the southeast. From what he’d heard, Raynor knew it marked the western edge of the disputed zone, which meant the enemy wasn’t far away. I hope I’m not leading these people into a bloodbath, he thought.
He had a comm, albeit not a very powerful one, which generally produced little more than snatches of guarded conversation, bursts of static, or the yowls that occurred when one side or the other sought to jam communications. So if there was danger ahead, he had no way to confirm it. Raynor worked hard to conceal his anxiety.
Eventually, after crossing a wooden bridge, Raynor called a halt. It was well past noon, he figured they were at least halfway to their destination, and the riverbank would make a good place to eat and rest. There were the usual complaints when he insisted on sentries, especially from Harnack, who was dispatched to keep an eye on their western flank.
Having opened his box of rations, and stashed various components in his pockets to snack on later, Raynor ate his cold entrée while he walked around. That was something he’d seen Red Murphy do back in boot camp. It was a way not only to make himself available to the troops, but to see who had their boots off in order to deal with blisters, and warn groups of marines that “one grenade would kill them all.”
A few minutes later Raynor found himself next to the highway where one of the sentries was posted. Outside of the intermittent rumblings to the south, it was so quiet that he could talk to the other private without raising his voice. It took a minute for the significance of that to sink in. The reason there wasn’t any noise was that all of the traffic had stopped! In fact, when questioned, the sentry reported that it had been at least fifteen minutes since a vehicle had crossed the bridge.
Raynor felt a cold fist grab his stomach. The fact that there wasn’t any traffic meant that the highway had been cut off! Probably to the south, where the sounds of battle could be heard. Meanwhile, back behind the column somewhere, the MPs were probably blocking southbound traffic to prevent it from running into Kel-Morian forces farther on down the road. But how far? Beyond Firebase Zulu? Or north of it? With all these unknowns, Raynor feared he might lead the column into a meat grinder.
He could order them to stay put, of course, or turn back, and no one would blame him given the fact that he wasn’t a real noncom. But he could practically hear his father saying, “Doin’ nothin’ ain’t an option, Son… . It’s always better to be wrong instead of worthless.” And that piece of advice was very much in tune with his own instinct, which was to follow the orders he’d been given and reach Firebase Zulu.
Raynor felt a renewed sense of urgency, and immediately cut the break short. They were going to have to double-time it down the road. All of them were in good shape, so the run was easy at first as they jogged down the empty highway, ready to take cover at a moment’s notice. And there was a scary moment when the sound of engines was heard and two dropships passed over, clearly headed for the battle that took place to the south.