The cake was stale, but good nonetheless. And Mac knew that she would never forget that particular birthday. The first drink was followed by a second plus another surprise.
“No birthday party is complete without dancing,” Olson announced. “So I came prepared.” Olson’s MP3 player was connected to a small speaker. “Unforgettable” flooded the room. And, once inside the circle of Olson’s arms, Mac discovered that the man could dance. She allowed herself to relax as they circled the table.
And it was then, as the first song came to an end and another one began that Olson kissed her. It was a good kiss and the first in a very long time. He plans to seduce you, the inner voice warned.
I hope so, Mac replied.
Why?
Because he’s pretty, because it’s my birthday, and because I may be dead in a few days. That, it seemed, was sufficient to silence the voice, which wasn’t heard from again.
What ensued was slow, considerate, and very satisfying. There was no bed or anything that resembled a bed in the room. So, rather than lie on the floor, they made love standing up. Olson was strong enough to lift Mac, find his way in, and hold her there.
As kisses were given and taken, man-made thunder rumbled in the distance. The pace of their lovemaking increased gradually until Mac found herself at a point from which it was impossible to go higher. The resulting orgasm was not only spectacular but mutual, and that made the experience all the more enjoyable. And when it was over, Mac felt no sense of regret.
After putting their clothes on, they slow danced for a while and had another drink before parting company. There were no declarations of love, and no promises regarding a future that might not exist. What would be would be.
Mac went back to what had been the nurse’s office and checked to make sure that her appearance was okay before going out to check on her troops. Then it was time to slip into her sleeping bag and a dreamless sleep.
RICHTON, MISSISSIPPI
The Richton-Perry County Airport had been transformed into a fort. The maintenance crew’s backhoe had been used to dig a deep ditch around one-third of the runway, and by piling the loose soil inside the trench, the Rangers were able to create a defensive berm. And the minute that task was complete, the tractor was put to work digging a large hole at the center of the area that, once it was roofed over, would house the unit’s HQ.
Then, if the enemy granted them enough time, the soldiers planned to dig a spider’s web system of trenches that would connect the fighting positions together. Some wags were already referring to the base as “The Alamo.”
By the morning of day three, 360 Army Rangers had landed inside the perimeter, the newly created berm was surrounded by Confederate troops, and the base was taking a pounding. Thanks to a plentiful supply of FIM-92 Stinger shoulder-launched missiles, the rebel air force had been kept at bay so far. But for how long? And now, as the Confederate noose continued to tighten, General Abbott’s airborne supply line was being systematically choked off.
The reality of that was evident as the sun rose, a sickly-gray light crept in from the east, and a heavily laden Chinook helicopter arrived. Ground fire lashed up at it, and Sloan heard himself yell, “Turn around! Go back!”
But the pilot didn’t go back. It appeared that he, or she, was determined to deliver the helo’s cargo of food and medical supplies no matter the cost. So as the Chinook continued to bore in, multiple streams of bullets raked the cigar-shaped fuselage. Smoke appeared as the machine lost altitude. Now the ship couldn’t turn back. Sloan yelled, “Come on! You can make it!”
And for one brief moment, it looked as though the Chinook would make it. Then a rocket-propelled grenade struck the helo, and Sloan saw a flash of light and heard a loud bang. The pilot lost control, and the flaming chopper roared in over the berm, where it flopped onto a mortar pit and killed everyone inside.
Sloan looked on in horror as the fuselage rolled slightly, causing one of the helicopter’s thirty-foot-long rotors to hit the ground, shear off, and fly away. The blade sliced a corporal’s head off before burying itself in the berm beyond.
Sloan was in shock. He was standing there, trying to process the horror of what he’d seen, when General Abbott appeared at his side. “I think that will be the last one,” she said calmly.
Sloan turned to look at her. “And the relief force?”
“They’re still hung up in Murfreesboro,” she told him. “Colonel Foster expects to break out by nightfall however. At that point, they’ll be about 420 miles away.”
“Can we hold?”
Abbott looked surprised. “Of course we can hold! We held at the Battle of Shiloh, we held at the Battle of the Bulge, and we’ll hold here.”
Sloan felt some of Abbott’s confidence seep into his body. The relief force could travel 420 miles in what? A day? Two at the most. One of the Chinook’s fuel tanks exploded and threw pieces of fiery wreckage up into the sky. A chorus of rebel yells was heard from the other side of the berm. The clock was ticking.
NEAR MURFREESBORO, TENNESSEE
After a good night’s sleep, Mac was in the school cafeteria, pouring herself a cup of coffee, when the runner approached her. “I have a message from the major,” she said. “He wants to see you right away.”
Mac’s appetite disappeared. “Roger that. I’m on my way.”
Granger was camped in the coach’s office, just off the gym, where Captain Pearce and her HQ people were stationed. As Mac crossed the badly scuffed floor, she could tell that something was up. Pearce’s people were packing, and more than that, they were unusually subdued.
Mac knocked on the partly opened door and waited for Granger to say, “Enter.” Mac stepped inside and came to attention. Granger said, “As you were,” and pointed to a chair. “I suppose you heard.” His expression was grim.
Mac shook her head. “Heard what?”
Granger made a face. “Captain Olson took his company out on a mission and never returned.”
Mac frowned. “Get serious.”
“I am serious. But it gets worse. Not only did Olson desert—he went over to the enemy! The news is on all of the rebel radio stations. And you can bet it’s getting a lot of play up north as well.”
Mac remembered the birthday cake, the dancing, and all that followed. She’d been set up, used, and discarded. Like a piece of trash. She felt dizzy and slightly nauseous.
Some of Mac’s emotions must have been visible on her face because Granger nodded. “That’s right,” he said. “I feel the same way. That’s why I want you to find the bastard and bring him in.”
“And if he doesn’t want to come?”
“He’s an enemy combatant. Treat him as such… And that goes for the rest of Rat Company as well.”
Mac liked her orders. She liked them a lot. But first she had to find Olson, so she went to see Sergeant Esco. The drone pilot and Sparks Munroe were sitting in Esco’s Humvee. “We heard the news,” Munroe said. “So we were expecting you. Is the CO sending us out to bring the bastards in?”
“That’s affirmative,” Mac replied. “Assuming we can find them.”
“We can, and we did,” Esco told her. “The Rats had to keep their IFF (identification, friend or foe) gear on until they entered reb-held territory. And the com people were tracking them. Suddenly, all of Rat Company’s vehicles came to a stop. At that point, some of their IFFs went dead, as if the bastards were trying to disappear, but some stayed on. As for why, take a look at the screen. I’m using the Raven because it’s small and hard to spot.”