If memory served, a hard-fought Civil War battle had taken place nearby. Union forces eventually won and forced Confederate General Samuel R. Curtis to retreat. Was the city still in Union hands? Mac discovered that it was.
After showing her contract to the major in command of the Devil’s Kin, she was given permission to continue on. “We’ve got a contract just like yours,” the major told her. “So who knows? Maybe we’ll fight side by side one day. Let’s drink to that.”
Mac was expecting him to produce a bottle of hard liquor, and wasn’t looking forward to downing a drink so early in the day. So she was pleasantly surprised when he pulled two cans of Coke out of a cooler, wiped one of them off, and gave it to her. After popping the tabs, and bumping cans, they drank. Mac hadn’t had a Coke in months. The ice-cold liquid felt wonderful going down. She was back on the road fifteen minutes later.
There was a lot of traffic, most of which was slow—so it took two hours to creep through Kansas City. But finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the Marauders were able to put the hammer down and log some serious progress. Enough progress to arrive in St. Louis before nightfall. That was when Mac began to believe that there really was a Union Army… Even if it was totally fucked-up.
The local military command assigned a specially equipped Humvee to the unit for the express purpose of getting them through the city in a timely manner. Mac was grateful and decided to ride in the Humvee. The man behind the wheel was a sergeant named Taber, and he was a talker. And since Mac was eager to learn whatever she could, that was fine with her. In between burps of sound from the vehicle’s siren, Taber gave a guided tour. “See the troops up ahead?”
As the Humvee drew abreast of them, Mac was surprised to see what looked like a battalion of World War I doughboys marching along. They wore Smokey the Bear hats and carried bolt-action rifles. She frowned. “What’s up with that?”
“They’re volunteers,” Taber replied. “Reenactors who dress up and play soldier on the weekends. Some of them are in their seventies. From what I hear, they’re going to protect small towns just north of the New Mason-Dixon Line. That will allow the rest of us to go down south.”
And there were more volunteers including a gang of middle-aged motorcyclists armed with American flags, a troop of blue-uniformed cavalry who were riding horses, and a float carrying a fifteen-foot-tall Statue of Liberty.
When they crossed the Mississippi at 10 mph, there was time to look down on hundreds of barges and improvised gunboats tied up three or four abreast along the banks of the river. Were they prepping for an invasion? That’s how it looked. But the whole thing had an extemporaneous feel. As if someone was throwing things together on the fly… And that scared the crap out of her. The last thing Mac wanted was to see a bunch of incompetents piss lives away. Especially the lives that belonged to her people.
Once on the east side of the city, Mac thanked Taber, switched over to Roller-Two, and wished it wasn’t so late. That couldn’t be helped, however… And for once, they had been assigned to a bivouac area just off I-64.
That was the good news. The bad news was that Jones Park was almost full. Other military units had arrived and set up camp, leaving only a small patch of ground just off Argonne Drive. “I want to double the number of sentries we put out tonight,” Ralston told Mac. “Chances are that our fellow campers will send teams of scroungers out to steal anything they can.”
The possibility hadn’t occurred to Mac, who gave the go-ahead. And a good thing, too… Because three attempts were made to sneak in and steal equipment during the hours of darkness. The would-be thieves were taken prisoner and left tied to trees when the Marauders departed the next morning.
The trip from St. Louis to Louisville promised to be a straight-ahead affair, followed by a turn to the south. That would put them in Fort Knox by nightfall if all went well. Unfortunately things didn’t go well. A persistent rain began to fall after lunch, a truck broke down, and it took the wrench turners more than an hour to get it running again. Mac was tired and frustrated by the time they reached Louisville and were forced to stop at a checkpoint, where she was required to deal with some officious bullshit.
It was dark by the time the unit arrived at Fort Knox. Or it would have been dark if it hadn’t been for hundreds of flickering campfires. “We might as well send the Confederates a message telling them where to drop their bombs,” Mac griped, as a motorcycle rider led the column through a maze of streets.
Private Adams, who was driving the Humvee, chose to remain silent as their guide came to a stop and pointed into the darkness. “It’s all yours,” he shouted. “Welcome to Fort Knox!” Then the soldier was gone. Mac swore, opened the door, and got out. The headlights from a passing truck swung across a sea of mud. The Marauders had arrived.
CHAPTER 10
Strategy without tactics is the slowest route to victory. Tactics without strategy is the noise before defeat.
FORT KNOX, KENTUCKY
Most of the night had been spent moving the unit’s vehicles into place, erecting tents, and establishing a perimeter to keep thieves out. That meant Mac only logged two hours of sleep before the noise generated by passing vehicles, the persistent rattle of a power tool, and occasional shouts woke her up.
It would have been nice to stay in the sleeping bag. But at least a hundred things required Mac’s attention, including the need to check in. Because then, and only then, would the Marauders begin to collect full pay.
So Mac kicked the bag off and swung her feet over onto the floor. The four-person tent was one of the few perks she permitted herself. It was furnished with a cot, a flimsy lawn chair, a folding card table, a much-abused footlocker, a bulging duffel bag, and a five-gallon jug of water supported by an upended ammo crate.
As Mac crossed the tiny room to the plastic bowl that served as a sink, she could feel the mud under the tent’s floor give with each step. None of the external moisture had been able to penetrate the fabric, however, for which she was thankful.
After completing her morning ablutions, and donning her cleanest uniform, Mac made her way to the door, where a pair of mud-caked boots was waiting. She sat on the lawn chair to pull them on. Then Mac threw the tent fly to one side and stepped out into the cold air. That’s when she discovered that a sentry was posted outside. Ralston’s work? Yes, of course. The private came to attention—and Mac smiled at him. “As you were, Wang… You can rejoin your squad now.”
Mud sucked at the soles of Mac’s boots as she made her way over to the female latrine. That was the moment when she realized that the sun was out! It was visible through breaks in the clouds. The slight increase in temperature was enough to create a layer of mist. It hugged the ground the way a shroud hugs a corpse. Mac shivered and shoved her hands in her pockets.
After visiting the latrine, she made her way over to the cook tent, which, in spite of the name, was little more than an A-shaped awning supported by three poles and some guylines. There was a table, though… And a gas-powered stove. Three Marauders were seated on lawn chairs. They stood as Mac appeared, and she waved them back into their seats. “As you were. Where’s the buffet?”
Corporal Prevo grinned. “Over there, ma’am,” he said, and pointed to a stack of MREs. “There ain’t nothing better than turkey chili for breakfast.”
Mac laughed, poured some hot water over instant coffee, and ate the Hershey bar that Private Sanchez gave her. After five minutes of shooting the shit with the troops, she could feel the combination of caffeine and sugar enter her bloodstream. With cup in hand, Mac went looking for Ralston.