“It’s all yours,” Turnbull said. “You’re in command.” And then he left. Dale was too busy to follow him.
The young officer in front of him persisted.
“The locals said you’re their commander,” said the lieutenant.
“Not me, LT,” replied Turnbull. “You’re looking for an insurance salesman named Dale, right up the street in the command post. Can’t miss it.”
That ended that exchange. The platoon leader turned to his RTO, grabbed the handset and began speaking rapidly into it.
“Your guys put up a real fight,” said the sergeant first class as he waited for his young lieutenant to do his radio thing. Turnbull noted that the NCO had a Big Red One combat patch on the right shoulder of his uniform peeking out from under his body armor. They had probably walked the same dirt together somewhere along the line.
“Yeah,” Turnbull said. “They did.”
He’d spent the last few hours organizing the remaining defenders of the town in case there was a counter-attack, making sure there were guides to lead in the US forces, and to setting up teams to evac the wounded and pick up the dead. Plus carrying out his former commander’s last order.
None of the townspeople objected. Major Little’s own troops basically shrugged. A couple guards had started moving Little’s body to the field mortuary where the PRA bodies were being collected, but Turnbull stopped them.
“Not there. He doesn’t get to lie with soldiers.” They dragged Little off in the opposite direction to who knows where.
“Want a cigarette?” the sergeant asked as the lieutenant continued speaking into his mic.
“No,” said Turnbull. “Some ruby slippers maybe, Sergeant. There’s no place like home, you know? Assuming you have one.”
“Roger, sir,” replied the NCO, somehow sensing this was an officer even though he resembled a heavily armed hobo. The sergeant looked around at the wreckage of Jasper. “I’m guessing this is going to be my home for a while.”
“Probably a long while. Be careful. Listen to the locals – they know the terrain. They know how to defend it.
“The Joes are already calling it ‘Indian Country.’”
“So did the bad guys. Except I guess now the Indians are on your side, despite you being cavalry.”
“I hope they don’t hold grudges,” said the sergeant. The lieutenant signed off.
“Let’s move,” he told his men.
“Watch yourself,” Turnbull said. “Take care of your troops.”
“Always, sir.”
The trio of soldiers walked off. Turnbull shut his eyes again.
Turnbull collapsed back onto the bench. His eyes forced themselves shut despite his efforts.
Grrrrrrrrr.
Turnbull shook his head, but the growl didn’t go away.
Grrrrrrrrr.
He felt a weight on his lap.
He forced open his eyes.
That stupid dog was on his lap, growling at him, the dead frog hanging out of its mouth.
Grrrrrrrrr.
“You lived,” Turnbull said, a little surprised. “How about that?”
The dog dropped the flattened frog on the bench and came forward and licked his face.
“Oh, no,” Said Turnbull, pushing the puppy away. “That’s disgusting. You have dead toad breath.” But he didn’t make the dog get off his lap.
“You’re alive,” said a lieutenant colonel who had approached from the south. The nametape on his uniform read “FLYNN.”
“I don’t feel that way right now, Clay,” replied Turnbull, petting the puppy and not at all surprised to see him. “Hey, you changed your fake name again.”
“What?” Deeds looked down at his nametape. “Oh, right. So, you have a friend. I didn’t peg you for a dog person.”
“I’m not.” The dog growled at Deeds. “But I think maybe I could be.”
“Helluva fight,” Deeds said.
“Yeah,” Turnbull replied. “I’m too tired for my debrief now. But yeah, a helluva fight.”
“There’ll be plenty of time for debriefing, Kelly.”
“You know that they killed Deloitte,” Turnbull said. “Apparently he preferred to die like a soldier than live as a butcher.”
“We heard that through a radio intercept. I’m sorry.”
“There was a time I’d have taken a bullet for him. We were on the same side then. And then we were fighting each other here. I don’t mind fighting, Clay, but I’d rather fight people I hate. And I didn’t hate him.”
“Civil wars are the most vicious wars,” Deeds said, sitting. “You take everything bad about a routine war and add betrayal to the mix.”
“How the hell did it ever come to this?”
“I don’t know, Kelly. It wasn’t hard to see where things were headed. It’s like we were steering the Titanic by committee and no one would turn us away from the iceberg right ahead.”
“So what now?” Turnbull petted the dog, which continued to regard Clay warily.
“So, we gave up a little bit of Virginia, and now we have a little bit of Indiana. The bad guys tried to create facts on the ground, and the locals stopped them for long enough for us to move. And when the PR saw they couldn’t stop us, they caved at the negotiating table. You were a big part of it.”
“So it’s all about lines on a map?”
“You don’t really believe that, Kelly.”
Turnbull looked out across the town, and thought of Langer, Wohl, Bellman, that kid Kyle – all dead. The bodies of those killed fighting had been carried off, but there were still wrecked vehicles pushed to the side waiting to be dragged away. The façade of Main Street was pocked with bullet holes. The Walmart had burned down to the foundations. There was a blood splatter in the middle of the street in front of him. He couldn’t tell whether it was from a local or one of the PRA troops.
“What’s it matter what I believe?” Turnbull asked.
“It matters to you. I’m just not sure you’ll admit it. It matters to these folks. In the end, this place was their home. They fought for it. Without the guys like you to help them, they would have lost it, and probably their lives too. If you hadn’t made it ungovernable…”
“I just showed them some tricks. They did the fighting. And the dying. Most of them were amateurs, just regular people.”
“That’s what the British probably said around 1775.”
“Except these were our own people we were rebelling against, at least they had been.”
“That’s another thing the British probably said around 1775.”
“Wait, doesn’t that mean you’re kind of comparing me to the French?”
“I’d never do that when you’re packing heat, Kelly.”
“So what now?” asked Turnbull, not truly caring. He’d never been so tired.
“Now we occupy it and defend it. It’s ours again. I expect they’ll try to instigate instability, make it hard for us to govern.”
“Like we did to them?”
“Exactly.”
“Not quite. There’s one key difference.”
“And that is?”
“They’re the bad guys,” said Turnbull.
“I always enjoyed your rejection of moral equivalence, Kelly.”
“I’ve seen them in action, Clay. PVs, PSF, PBI. And I’m telling you – I’m not going to play nice anymore.”
“Did you ever?”
“I tried it out for a little while. I got burned. People died. You don’t put your hand on a hot stove twice.”
“Good, because we need you again. And your unique perspective on not playing nice.”
“I’m not sure I’m finished here yet.”
“Sure you are. They can clean up the mess on their own. In fact, they should. It’s their home, not yours. You’ve done your part. Time for you to go home.”