One of the men looked up at Patton and smiled. “On watch last night,” he said, looking at his co-conspirator. “We heard this cow bellowing. It was down there,” he said, pointing down into a pasture towards the east.
“Well, I don’t care where it came from,” Patton said smiling, “We needed this bad, guys. Thank you.”
The two men nodded and smiled. Patton made a mental note to find out who the cow belonged to so he could repay them. Their reward came from the others who’d gathered around to watch the meat cook. Up above the crowd, Patton saw the remains of the cow, which had been butchered rather amateurishly. He sharpened his field knife as he walked up to the carcass and cut off more usable meat.
Instead of packing up camp and heading out again, Patton decided to remain in the spot one more day. That would give their meat time to dry in the sun, assuming it didn’t start raining again, and let these people’s bodies absorb the nutrients. He would make sure they all hydrated and got good rest. This, Patton thought optimistically, might be their chance at actually surviving.
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During the next day, Patton got better at picking out Blue Creek surveillance vehicles. Most stood out—especially the large black SUVs with tinted windows. Patton figured Asher had watched too many movies. A distinct patrol pattern developed. First, one of the black SUVs would drive south along the interstate. A few minutes later, a large sedan would follow. Then the SUV would travel north along the interstate. It would exit at Plymouth and come up one of the many gravel roads that headed west into the hills where they were hiding. Once the SUV patrolled the area and left, the sedan would soon follow. Once both vehicles passed through, there would be a gap of about two hours. Patton moved the camp in between the patrols, but they made very little progress.
This pattern of dodging patrols and then moving camp went on nearly all the next day. Around dusk there was a change. As usual, the SUV drove down the interstate and then up towards the camp. It disappeared over the horizon and was then followed by the sedan. Once the sedan was safely out of sight, Patton gathered the party and pushed them south. Without warning, a pickup truck with armed men in the back, sped up the gravel road and came to a violent, skidding stop. They had been spotted somehow and the enemy wised up by bringing in a third vehicle into their hunt.
Men with rifles poured out of the truck’s bed. The cab doors opened, revealing four more men, including the driver. They quickly formed a skirmishing line and slowly made their way to where Patton’s group was last spotted. Patton was able to get everyone down on the ground behind rocks, hidden in prairie grass, or whatever cover they could find. Patton organized a perimeter defense with what weapons and reliable shooters that he had.
Shots rang out and bullets peppered the ground behind Patton as he ran up the hill. He ordered his firing line to lay down suppressing fire and then ducked behind a small outcropping of rock. From behind a boulder, Patton watched most of the enemy skirmish line drop for cover. A couple of the men pressed forward, however, continuing to fire their weapons blindly towards hasty defensive position Patton had established.
“Keep firing!” he yelled to the four men in front. He could hear the screams and of the non-combatants behind him. He yelled at them to stay down.
As his picket line kept firing, Patton made his way to the right, making sure to remain hidden. He heard the crack of a bullet just over his head and realized he’d been spotted. He ducked lower and kept moving forward, making his way around to the enemy’s left flank. There was a pause in the firing and he could see some of Asher’s men stand and continue to press forward their attack.
Patton crouched down and removed one of his non-lethal claymore mines from his pack. Bullets impacted the ground behind him as he scurried to set up the device. Patton attached the blasting cap and ran the line back behind a large boulder. He attached the clacker and set it on the ground. He peered around the boulder and watched as the attackers progressed up the hill, most of them firing from the hip. A scream emanated from behind where Patton stood. Someone in his group had been hit.
Patton rolled over to his back and removed two of his non-lethal grenades from his cargo pocket. He returned to his knees, depressed the button on one, and threw it towards the further group of skirmishers. He quickly followed with another grenade at the group closer to his position. The first grenade detonated, sending a gout of dirt, rocks, and grit into the air. Several of the enemy went down with the concussion. The second explosion had the same effect. Patton waited for the dust to settle. Only a handful of men rose to their feet and continued their attack. Patton reached out and grabbed the detonator and squeezed the trigger. There was a slight delay, but the explosion was deafening. What was left of the attackers following the grenades was now decimated. Once Patton regained his wits, he could hear the groans coming from up ahead. Rather than lend aid to his enemies, he made his way back to his makeshift fighting position.
“Is everyone okay?” He yelled, hobbling as he went.
There were screams and moans from several members of the party.
“Patton!” screamed a woman to Patton’s left, up the steep rise.
When Patton reached her, he saw that she was holding a woman in her lap. Her face was pale, her body limp.
“She’s okay. She’s okay. She’s okay right Patton? Patton!”
Patton kneeled and looked at the distraught woman.
“Nancy? Nancy, you need to calm down.”
Patton reached out and felt the limp woman’s neck. There was no pulse. He pulled his hand away slowly.
“Patton?”
He looked at her and then down at the ground. He just shook his head, not able to look her in the eye.
“She’s dead?”
Patton nodded and stood.
“Sorry Nancy. She’s gone.”
Patton moved on to check the other members of the group. He could hear Nancy wailing from behind him. The woman was the only death, but she wasn’t the only casualty. Two of the men on the front lines had been hit, although they weren’t seriously wounded. After assessing the damage to his own people, Patton made his way back to his previous hiding spot. He could see that many of the attackers were making their way down the hill towards their vehicles. Patton shouldered his rifle and made sure he had good cover.
“You make a move towards us and I’ll kill you!” Most of the men ignored him and continued hobbling down the hill. “You tell Asher that next time he sends you people you won’t be coming back!”
Ten minutes later the bruised and battered attackers were gone. Patton continued to scan the area, ensuring they weren’t coming back. After another half hour, Patton made his way down to the last enemy position. There were no bodies, which was a relief, but there were a few patches of blood scattered around the ground. Although his weapons were supposed to be non-lethal, they could still do some damage. Patton looked back up the hill and looked at his beleaguered party, filled with regret. These people had been through so much. Now someone was dead. He thought back to when Jennifer suggested they buy their way out of the experiment. Patton seriously considered it then and now he wished he’d done it.
Tears sprang to his eyes as he hobbled up the hill towards his group. He couldn’t afford to wallow in self pity. He had to keep moving and get these people to safety. If there was one thing his Army training had taught him, it was resiliency. Self recrimination could come later. Now he had to be the hero. One last time.
The sun was setting over Blue Creek. The sunsets were always remarkable here, David Asher thought. His balcony outside of his City Hall office gave him a great view. He liked to sit outside and watch them alone, especially when pondering bad news.
The last patrol he sent out – one that was actually able to locate Larsen and his merry band – had returned an hour before. Those who weren’t in the hospital were at home being nursed by wives or gi
rlfriends. Everyone he had sent to kill or capture his elusive enemy was either dead or wounded and out of commission. He barely had enough agents to keep order in town. He couldn’t afford to lose anyone else in the pursuit.
Governor Asher was beginning to resign himself to the fact that Larsen was gone. Asher ultimately had the advantage, however—he still had Larsen’s wife. He also had most of the Insight Resource spy network in his prison. No, he realized, Patton Larsen would come to him eventually. He had to.
The group was in rough shape following the last firefight. Several were immobile for various reasons. All were hungry and dehydrated. During the ordeal, Patton had come to rely upon one of the men. He was tall, strong, and mentally tough. His most remarkable feature was his bright red hair. Patton had jokingly called him Ginger. He had come to see him as a valued comrade, similar to his brothers in his old unit.
Patton approached Ginger, who was sitting on a large rock and cleaning some gear.
“We have to make our move today,” Patton said grimly.
Ginger looked up at him, squinting in the way that made Patton laugh. Ginger nodded.
“If I have to go alone I will. I can find help and we can come back for you all,” Patton continued, sitting next to his lieutenant.
“They still won’t like that idea,” Ginger said, nodding towards where the others were milling about. “They’re scared.”
Patton nodded, but was about to disagree. Ginger stopped him before he could speak.
“If you go, we’ll go with you. It’s not like you’re in better condition than we are.”
Patton surveyed the camp. Three people were on makeshift stretchers. One of them had already been left behind in a shallow, hastily dug grave. They shared what water they had left. Someone had found a bag of melted M&Ms and were passing them around. They didn’t look like much, but Patton was impressed with these people. He nodded and stood.
“Okay, but we have to go. Right now. We leave everything, including those on stretchers. We’ll build them some shelters to keep them out of the rain and sun. But if we don’t find anyone, they are going to die, and maybe us too.”
Ginger stood and set down the pot he had been cleaning.
“I’ll tell them,” he said, feeling a burst of adrenaline. It was now and never for them. Fail now, and not many of them would make it.
Two hours later, after having moved south and west over some rough terrain, they reached the top of a rise. Forty feet below was a wide, well-kept gravel road. It was obviously used by local farmers. It was the first promising sight they’d seen in days. Patton looked at Ginger and smiled. He instructed everyone else to hunker down and wait for him to return.
Patton and Ginger descended the hill without incident. Patton’s heart was thudding in his chest, thinking that this could be their salvation. That thought was tempered, however, with the realization that Asher’s people could be patrolling that road just as easily as anyone else. There was no telling what the enemy was up to. They would have to be cautious.
There was civilization to the east, but that was down towards the interstate where Asher’s people were more likely to be patrolling. Although there were no towns to the west, he knew that there were some scattered farmhouses in that direction. Ironically, heading west would take them closer to Blue Creek, but they would be concealed by the foothills. Heading in any other direction would put them out in the open.
Only one vehicle passed by, but it was headed south along the paved road that ran along the freeway. It was a beat up old Ford pickup, most likely the farmer who owned the land they were tramping around on. Patton wouldn’t put it past Asher to have decoy vehicles, but at this point, they didn’t have enough time to be that cautious. At some point they needed to make a move.
Patton motioned for the rest of the group to join him on the road. This was their make or break moment. Patton took the lead and began to trudge up the hill. As bad as he felt, he was by far the best conditioned person on this march. Every so often he looked back to see how the others were doing. Perhaps it was the human survival instinct kicking in, but the worse he felt physically, the less he cared about the others.
Ahead the road dipped down about twenty feet and then rose up again. It was going to be slow and brutal, but he needed to keep going. The one thing that had gotten him through those long, weary and brutal marches during Delta selection was the thought of those men during the Bataan Death March. They walked for dozens of miles with no food or water, with the Japanese soldiers killing their friends all along the way. If they could do that, he’d told himself a thousand times, then I can do this.
And it was those thoughts that kept him going now. Yes he was in danger, but in as much danger as those men on the Bataan Peninsula? No, he decided, shaking his head as vigorously as he was able. They went through worse than he was going through now. He could keep going. Patton had been so deep in thought he didn’t notice the dust billowing up on the far side of the next rise. Also, he didn’t hear the truck’s engine. He was so lost in thought, in fact, that he might have gotten hit by the truck had it not stopped in front of him.
When he came to his senses, an old man was standing there and staring at him in wonder. Patton was so shocked that he nearly collapsed. Luckily the old man was spry enough to catch him before he fell to the ground. The old man offered him water and he drank greedily when he was handed a water bottle. The man offered him some pistachios but his mouth was too dry and sore to eat them. Food could wait but the water was heavenly.
“What? How? Where?” the old man said, exasperated. “Where did you come from?”
Patton pointed towards Blue Creek.
“You were over there?” the older man asked, his eyes growing wide with surprise. He knew that some sort of experiment was going on over there.
Patton nodded, tears rolling down his dirt-streaked face. Whether unashamed or too tired to care, he didn’t wipe the tears away.
“What’s your name?” the farmer asked, still unable to comprehend the condition of this man, this human being.
“Patton,” he rasped. “Patton Larsen.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” the older man said out of habit. “I just wish we could have met under better circumstances. I’m Ronald Harris.”
PART FIVE
A RECKONING
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Ronald Harris was a good and humble man, but he was no debutante. He’d seen some of the world and he knew how to think quickly on his feet. The Larsen fellow had gotten his people out of Blue Creek safely, but he was in no condition, or position, to help them recover. He called to apprise his wife of the situation and asked her to call their friend who was a doctor. He took Patton and Ginger in his truck and drove them home. When they reached the ranch, Mr. Harris helped Patton into the house and started making calls. He called doctors, nurses, other farmers with trucks and trailers and people from his church. Within a half hour he had enough vehicles to transport people back to his home. The people would have to stay in the barn for now, but it was clean and they were able to make it warm. They found enough beds to get them situated for the time being.
As Mr. Harris was leaving to go back for the first group, Patton stopped him.
“I have to come with you,” he said.
Mr. Harris grabbed his arm and led him back to the house. Patton tried to resist but he was just too tired and weak.
“Young man, it looks like you’ve been through hell itself. Why don’t you just come back and sit and relax. Get some water. We’re going to take care of your friends.”
Patton stood there, wanting to resist and force his way back into the truck but the man was right. He was in no position to help anyone. Harris led him to the living room and sat him in a recliner.
“Honey!” he yelled towards the kitchen.
His wife, a plump but pretty woman, came walking out, wipi
ng her hands on a dish towel.
“Is this him?” she asked, concerned.
She walked to where Patton was sitting and put her hand on his forehead, as if she were his mother checking for a fever. She looked at her husband with concern then returned to the kitchen. Mr. Harris could hear the kitchen faucet and she returned with a large container of water. She handed it to Patton and he drank it greedily. When he finished, he handed it to her and thanked her. He tried to stand but Harris pushed him back into the seat.
“Patton,” he said calmly, “we’ve got this taken care of. You sit here and relax and we’ll go get your friends.”
Patton nodded. As Harris began to leave, Patton stopped him.
“Someone didn’t make it. We buried her …” he said, unable to finish.
Harris stopped and stood, obviously dumbfounded. Never in his life had he experienced anything like this.
“Okay Patton. Once we get you all settled in, we can go get her and bring her here.”
Hot tears formed in Patton’s eyes and he nodded gratefully. Harris patted his wife on the shoulder then left to retrieve Patton’s friends.
It was a chilly night but they were able to get the barn to a decent temperature. Two doctors had come and gone, replaced by two others. The barn was a huge structure, big enough to house two large combines plus various other equipment and supplies. The apex of the roof was nearly fifty feet high, supported with large steel girders. Concrete had been poured for a floor. It was drafty but they cranked up the heaters high enough to keep the survivors warm.
All of the people were cozy in makeshift beds or cots and all were hooked to IVs. It looked like a World War I aid station. Still, most were responding well to treatment. Whether it was his physical constitution or his psychological will, Patton was the first to somewhat recover from the journey. Two days after arriving at the Harris ranch, Patton was ready to head back to Blue Creek to get his wife. His biggest problem was that had no idea what was going on the other side of the mountains.
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