Sloan turned to look as Mac entered the cargo bay and the ramp came up. “We meet again… Are we about to leave?”
“Yes, sir,” Mac responded.
“Where’s Major McKinney? And Director Jenkins?”
“In other vehicles, sir. It doesn’t make sense to put all of our senior people in one truck.”
Sloan nodded. “Right. You’ll keep me informed?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Thank you.”
Mac put her helmet on, stuck her head and shoulders up through the forward hatch, and gave the necessary order. “This is Charlie-Six… You have your orders. Let’s roll.”
Then, sure that Sloan couldn’t hear, Mac spoke to the MISS WASHINGTON’s truck commander via the Stryker’s intercom. “Hey, Fuller… We’re going to split off from the main column when you come up on Highway 42. Follow it to 45 and hang a left. The Betsy Ross will take our six.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Fuller replied.
“And keep that to yourself,” Mac said. “Do you read me?”
“Yes, ma’am. Lights on? Or lights off?”
Mac thought about it and decided that it was best to look as normal as possible in hopes that the locals would assume the vehicles were on their side. “Lights on,” she told him. “Thanks for asking.”
MISS WASHINGTON lurched through a series of craters before finding smooth pavement. Mac could hear the parting comments from other vehicles as the convoy split up, but Sloan couldn’t. And she planned to keep him in the dark for as long as possible.
It didn’t take long to hook up with 45 and turn north. The highway took them through Battles, Chicora, and up to Waynesboro, all without incident. Fuller had to pass heavily laden trucks every once in a while, but traffic was light, and the trucks were doing fifty. Everything looked green to Mac, who was wearing night-vision gear.
Their luck continued to hold all the way up to Meridian, where Highway 45 passed the city a few miles to the east. Then they came up on something Mac hadn’t anticipated. A Confederate convoy! It happened so quickly that they couldn’t avoid it, and Mac was trying to formulate a plan, when Munroe tugged on her pant leg. “What’s going on up there?” he wanted to know. “I’ve got a rebel lieutenant on the horn. He wants us to identify ourselves.”
Mac’s mind was racing. “Tell him we’re members of Bravo Company, from the Austin Volunteers, and we’re headed to Columbus. Ask him if this is Highway 15.”
Mac didn’t know if there was such a thing as the Austin Volunteers and figured the lieutenant didn’t either. She ducked down into the cargo bay and removed her helmet. The president was staring at her. “What’s up?”
Mac held up a hand as Munroe said, “Yes, sir… Thank you, sir. I’ll tell the captain. Over.”
Munroe looked from face to face and grinned. “He told me to tell you that we’re on Highway 45, but it will still take us to Columbus, and we’re welcome to tag along.”
“That’s outstanding,” Mac told him. “Talk about lucky… Good job.”
Then she turned to Sloan. “We ran into the tail end of a reb convoy, sir… And they allowed us to join up! All we have to do is follow them to Columbus and find a way to fade.”
Sloan’s grin turned into a frown at the mention of Columbus. He produced a much folded map and began to examine it. “Columbus? What the hell? You came down through Birmingham. Where are we?”
Mac ran fingers through her hair. “We’re on Highway 45, Mr. President. We passed Meridian awhile back.”
Sloan’s anger was plain to see. “That isn’t the route we were supposed to take. Get Major McKinney on the radio! I want to speak with him now.”
“Sorry, sir,” Mac replied. “I can’t do that. The major is in command of Element Bravo. They’re rolling up Highway 15, and I have orders to maintain radio silence.”
Sloan frowned. “McKinney lied to me!”
“Yes, sir… He sure as hell did.”
“I’ll bust him to private.”
Mac shrugged. “He doesn’t care, sir. None of us do.” And, somewhat to Mac’s surprise, she discovered that the statement was true.
Sloan’s eyes grew wider. “Oh, my God! The troops… Element Bravo you said. Tell me what’s going on.”
Mac did so. And when she was finished, Sloan looked away. His voice cracked when he spoke. “He’s using them as decoys.”
Mac nodded. “Yes, sir… And he’s with them. The same way that you’re with us.”
Sloan’s eyes came back to make contact with hers. He forced a smile. “And there’s no place I’d rather be. What happens now?”
“We’ll let the rebs lead us into Columbus,” Mac replied. “At that point, we’ll give them the slip and follow Highway 45 into Tennessee. Somewhere right around Jackson, I think we’ll run into trouble.”
Sloan’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah? Why’s that?”
“Because at that point we’ll be about 190 miles away from our lines. Assuming that General Hern has been able to push south, the rebs will have to retreat, forcing us to pass through an area where it will be hard to tell friend from foe.”
Sloan’s face was covered with grime and three days’ worth of beard. He scratched it. “That makes sense, Captain… How do we prepare?”
“I’m not sure that we can,” Mac answered. “Other than to grab some sleep. There’s a perfect example of what I’m talking about.” She pointed at Munroe. Munroe had fallen asleep during their conversation. His headset was on, and he was snoring.
Sloan grinned. “I’ll do my best.”
Mac returned topside after that. Cold air washed around her face, Confederate taillights led the way, and the moon was playing peekaboo through the clouds. She thought about Sloan. The man was sincere… and pleasant. Bit by bit, she was coming to like him.
After a delightfully boring trip to Columbus, the Strykers were able to separate themselves from the convoy with a simple, “Thank you.” Outside of a pit stop just south of Aberdeen, the Strykers drove nonstop up through Tupelo and into Selmer, Tennessee. The trucks were running on fumes by then. When Mac spotted a brightly lit gas station, she ordered the truck commanders to pull over.
Such convenience stores were typical of what she’d seen in the postcatastrophe South. The so-called board of directors was very good at providing their “shareowners” with fuel and keeping the price down. By using oil from the reserves? Possibly. But regardless of that, it was a good way to build support and keep it.
After MISS WASHINGTON came to a stop, Mac jumped to the ground and entered the store to speak with the attendant. No customers were present—and that wasn’t surprising at 0246. The kid behind the counter had an unruly thatch of blond hair and a skin condition. “Activate pumps three and four please,” Mac told him.
The kid pushed some buttons. “Okay, ma’am… I’ll need cash or a government voucher.”
“Well, that’s the thing,” Mac replied. “I don’t have enough cash—and I’m out of vouchers. But no problem… I’ll give you an IOU.”
“I can’t take IOUs,” the teen replied, and was going to turn the pumps off when Mac drew her pistol.
“Sorry,” she said. “But I must insist… Come out from behind the counter and lie on the floor.” Munroe had entered by then and helped hogtie the kid with a couple of extension cords. “How ’bout some candy bars?” he inquired.