Had Victoria been in love with the man? Or had she taken him away just for the fun of it? To prove that she could? The answer could be seen in the fact that Vic dumped the pilot one week after Mac ended the relationship.
Then why did you frame the photo? Mac asked herself. And, why keep it? The answer was complicated. To remind herself that Victoria was a bitch? Certainly. Because it was the only image of Victoria she had? Maybe and maybe not.
Mac wrapped each picture in a tee shirt before placing them in the bag. The platoon wasn’t supposed to take “A” bags because they were too large. But screw that. Mac had instructed Evans to let her people choose. Their “A” bag or a smaller “B” bag. The choice was up to them.
Finally, with her field gear on, her “A” bag in one hand and a rucksack dangling from the other, Mac left the BOQ. A flight of stairs took her down to a door and out into the frigid air beyond. A snowflake kissed her cheek. She didn’t look back.
All four of Mac’s Strykers were lined up and waiting. The so-called birdcages that surrounded the Strykers made them look big and ungainly but offered protection against rocket-propelled grenades. Each vic had eight wheels and was armed with light machine guns in addition to a .50 caliber machine gun or a grenade launcher.
The Engineer Squad Vehicle or ESV looked different from the rest, however. It had what looked like a bulldozer blade mounted up front. But rather than use the machine for clearing mines, which it was designed to do, Mac planned to move stalled cars with it. Something they’d do a lot of. It hadn’t been easy to get the ESV, though… Hollister had been cynical, and Evans was on record saying that the last thing they needed was “a fucking anchor.” But Mac had prevailed in the end, and the ESV had been brought in to replace her fourth truck.
After handing her gear to a private in one-four, Mac went looking for Captain Hollister. He was with the second platoon. “Good morning,” he said, seemingly oblivious to what lay ahead. “How’s the first platoon? Did everyone report for duty?”
Mac hadn’t thought to ask but knew Evans would have told her if someone had gone over the hill. “The people who were MIA yesterday still are,” she replied. “But the rest of the platoon is here.”
“Good,” Hollister replied. “Two members of the second platoon are AWOL, along with a soldier from the third. All of them have families who live off base.”
Mac winced. It made sense given how bad things were. An effort was under way to bring dependents inside the wire—but that could take weeks. And how would families fare in the meantime? Had she been in their place, Mac might have done the same thing. “Yes, sir. I understand.”
“Okay,” Hollister said as he offered a printout. “Here’s the plan. Take your platoon to the Tacoma Mall parking lot, where the buses will be waiting for you. Then you’ll lead the column up I-5 and onto Highway 18, which will take you to I-90. From that point, it will be a straight shot up and over the pass. I will ride with the second platoon at the head of the column. Do you have any questions?”
“Yes, sir,” Mac said. “Odds are that at least one of those buses will break down. What then?”
“That’s a good question,” Hollister answered. “We will have forty-two buses. Two more than we need, plus a fuel tanker, and a wrecker following along behind the column.”
“That’s awesome,” Mac said, as she gave Hollister points for planning. It looked as if the ex–desk jockey had a clue. Thank God.
The sky was starting to lighten as the first platoon led Archer Company down Forty-first Division Drive to I-5. Mac was riding in one-two, with her head and shoulders sticking up through the forward air guard hatch. There were two reasons for that. The first was that she wanted a clear view of what was taking place—and the second had to do with her incipient claustrophobia.
So Mac was in a good position to see the Bradleys, the aid station, and the recently established food-distribution point. Two six-bys were parked next to it, and soldiers were busy unloading boxes of MREs for the people lined up to receive them. The line stretched west and under I-5 to the neighborhood beyond. MPs were patrolling the column to prevent people from jumping the queue—and that was critical to keeping the situation under control.
It was cold, though… And most of the folks in line were wearing winter coats or had blankets draped over their shoulders. Mac waved at them, and most waved back. That boosted her spirits. The feeling was short-lived, however, as one-two pulled up the ramp and onto the freeway. There was enough light to see by then, and I-5 was strewn with cars, RVs, and trucks. An Apache helicopter roared overhead and disappeared to the south. God help anyone who fired at it.
Having determined the situation to be relatively safe, Mac ordered the ESV to take the lead. Then, with the blade lowered, it began to push cars out of the way so that the other trucks could follow. Most of the abandoned vehicles had been looted. So smashed windows and open doors were a common sight. Items the thieves didn’t want lay strewn on the highway. There were a lot of brightly colored toys.
The process went slowly at first. Too slowly. But as the ESV’s driver continued to gain confidence, the pace quickened. That, plus the fact that there were occasional open spaces, meant that the rest of the column could travel at a steady 5 mph. Bodies lined the route, and the crows covered them like black shrouds. As the ESV approached, some of the birds were so full, they were barely able to take off.
There were signs of life, however, including pet dogs that didn’t know where to go and refugees who came in all shapes and sizes. Some, like a disheveled businessman, were on foot. But there were bicyclists, too… Plus people on horses and a steady stream of heavily laden motorcyclists traveling in both directions. Mac tracked them with the machine gun mounted forward of the hatch, but none posed a threat.
It took an hour to make what should have been a fifteen-minute trip. The snow had tapered off by the time they arrived at the mall. The parking lot was strewn with items looted from the stores and later rejected. Dozens of people were picking through the castoffs, searching for shoes that fit them, a jacket for a child, or something to eat.
As the company entered the parking lot on the east side of the Tacoma Mall, Mac saw that while some of the stores were intact, about a third of the complex lay in ruins. According to Hollister, the two thousand people who were going to take a bus ride east had been chosen from roughly five thousand people camped in and around the mall. Were they looters? Hell yes, they were. Although the line between thief and survivalist had started to blur.
A lottery had been held to determine who the “winners” would be—assuming that the people who boarded the buses were better off as a result. But would that occur? The final outcome was anything but certain. As one-two came to a stop, Mac saw that the last passengers were passing through a security checkpoint before boarding the buses. That’s where they were required to temporarily surrender their weapons or remain in Tacoma. A commonsense precaution that was intended to prevent violence along the way.
Some of the buses were yellow and had the words TACOMA SCHOOL DISTRICT painted on their flanks. Others were the property of Pierce County Transit and Greyhound. “Archer-Six to Archer-One,” Hollister said over her headset. “Send some people out to verify that each and every bus has a full tank of diesel. Over.”
Mac’s estimate of Hollister’s competence went up another notch. “This is One. Roger that, over.”
Evans had already dispatched a squad to do Hollister’s bidding by the time Mac ducked down into the cargo area and exited through the rear hatch. It took the better part of an hour to check all of the buses, top off tanks, and get the riders settled.