by Ariel Tachna
“Lachlan, fall back.”
Thorne nearly ignored the captain of the fire brigade, but while the army hadn’t driven out his visceral reaction to fire, it had driven into him obedience to the chain of command. He withdrew to the firebreak, scattering dirt behind him with a vengeance as he went. “Sir?”
“We’ll hold the break,” Captain Grant said. “I need you to head south to Lang Downs. If we lose this break, we’ll have to fall back onto their land. They need to know what they’re facing, and we need to know what kind of support we can count on from them.”
“Captain,” Thorne protested, “can’t someone else go? I’ll do far more good here than I will talking to some grazier whose only concern will be saving his own skin.”
“That’s why I need you to go,” the captain insisted. “If that’s his only concern, I’ll need your expertise to make sure the fire doesn’t take the whole place and beyond, and if he is willing to help, there’s no one better than you to make sure the station is as ready as it can be and the men there deployed to greatest effect.”
“I need to stay here,” Thorne said.
The captain shook his head. “You want to stay here, but you’re exhausted. You’ve been out here for weeks without a break. Everyone else has taken at least a day’s rest to wash up and get a real meal rather than rations.”
“I’m a Commando, sir,” Thorne reminded him. “A few weeks is nothing. We’re trained to survive months in the harshest conditions imaginable.”
“You were a Commando,” the captain replied. “You’re retired now, remember?”
“Once a Commando, always a Commando, sir,” Thorne said, hiding the flinch at the reminder of his current status. He hadn’t wanted to retire, but his superiors had taken him out of the field, and he couldn’t live with that either. Fighting fires wasn’t the same as fighting in East Timor, Afghanistan, or Iraq, but it was better than a desk job that would kill his soul no matter how it protected his body.
“Then obey your orders, soldier,” the captain said. “With the wind as high as it is, I don’t know how long we can hold this firebreak.”
“Yes, sir.” His superior in the 1st Commandos would have ripped him a new one for the sullenness in his answer, but then his superior in the Commandos would never have ordered him to retreat from a battle they could still win.
Thorne tossed the shovel toward one of the other firefighters and trudged back toward his ute. His GPS pulled up a route to Lang Downs, but it took him all the way west to Cowra before heading south, which seemed klicks out of his way. With a muttered curse for spineless superiors and nonsensical orders, he turned the ute south. He’d drive until he found a fence, follow it to a gate, and then follow the station roads from there. He’d reach Lang Downs eventually.
IT FELT strange to see civilization again after a month of sleeping rough and living in the outback. Thorne followed the gravel road down into the valley, the first place he’d seen in a month that didn’t show the ravages of the hot, dry summer. It wasn’t as lush as he imagined it would be after a wet spring, but it wasn’t the same sere brown or charred black as the parts of the outback he’d been living in. In the center of the valley, a collection of houses and outbuildings nestled together amid a green sward, looking for all the world like the center of its own little universe.
Thorne ignored the pinch in his heart at the sight. This wasn’t just a group of buildings. This was a home. Thorne hadn’t had a home since his had burned down when he was eighteen, taking the lives of his parents and younger brother, but he could still recognize one when he saw it. More than that, he’d spent twenty years in the Commandos defending home. Not his, never his, not since it had burned to the ground while he spent the night with a friend, but the homes of everyone who would have been the victim of the terrorists they stopped, the insurgents they put down, the guerrillas they contained. The station below might not be his home, but it was a home, and Thorne would die before he let the grassfires take it from the men and women who could claim it as their own.
He coasted to a stop and put the ute in park. After climbing out, he took a moment to survey the valley, mentally calculating angles and wind direction and defensibility. The upcoming fight wouldn’t involve bullets and other ammunition, but it would be a fight nonetheless, and the better they defended the valley, the easier it would be to win the battle. The valley walls were steeper at the far end than they were where the road entered. It would make choosing the location of the firebreak simpler and possibly easier to defend, since the drop-off would make it harder for the sparks to catch on fresh tinder. Closer to the road and the entrance to the valley, the slope was gentler, but even then, Thorne saw what he considered a clear line of valley versus tablelands. They would set their defenses there and concentrate the manpower along the gentler slopes, where jumping the firebreak would be more of a concern.
Plans in place, he climbed back in the ute and drove the rest of the way onto the station. As he neared the populated area, two men stepped out to greet him, both wearing battered Akubras and well-worn boots. The resemblance ended there, though. Beneath the hats, one was blond, the other brunet, one as craggy as the hills that surrounded them, the other fresh-faced and clean-shaven. Thorne pulled to a stop in front of them and rolled down the window.
“Can we help you?” the brunet asked, surprising Thorne with his American accent.
“I hope so, mate. I’m looking for the grazier. There’s a grassfire headed this way, and I’m here to help get things ready.”
“We own Lang Downs,” the Yank replied. “Caine Neiheisel, and this is my partner, Macklin Armstrong. And you are?”
“Thorne Lachlan,” Thorne said. “I’m with the Firies who are at the front north of here. The captain sent me to warn you and to start setting up defenses around the population center of the station.”
“How long do we have?” Armstrong asked. Thorne relaxed a little. Armstrong was an Aussie, and one who had the look of a stockman.
“If conditions stay like they are now, maybe forty-eight hours,” Thorne replied. “If the wind dies down, we might get a break and stop it where it is, or slow it enough to buy more time here, but we can’t count on that. By the time we know for sure, it will be too late to build new firebreaks here.”
“We already have our jackaroos bringing the mob down into the valley,” Neiheisel said. “As soon as they return, we have fifty men and all the station’s equipment we can put at your disposal. Uncle Michael built this place from the ground up. I’m not losing it now.”
Thorne let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His chances of successfully protecting the station increased with every pair of willing hands and every bit of cooperation from the station owner. He would have fought tooth and nail to stop the fire even if he’d had to do it alone, but this was far better.
“Good. Where can I pitch my tent? I’ll get my gear out of the way and we can start marking off the areas for the firebreak.”
“You don’t need to pitch a tent,” Neiheisel said. “There’s a perfectly good bed in the guest room in the station house. You can sleep there.”
“That won’t be enough when the rest of the Firies get here,” Thorne warned.
Neiheisel shrugged. “So we’ll find couches or double bunk the kids. Nobody will be sleeping on the ground if I can help it.”
The thought of kids exposed to the fire froze Thorne’s blood in his veins. “Perhaps you should speak to the families with children about evacuating until the fire is under control again. Property damage can be repaired. Children can’t be replaced.”
“We already gave their parents that option,” Armstrong said. “If it comes to it, Carley and Molly will take the kids and head to town, but for now, everyone prefers to stay and help.”
It wasn’t Thorne’s place to argue, but as he parked his ute where Armstrong indicated and grabbed the gear he’d need to begin setting up the valley’s protection, his determination to see them through t
he upcoming inferno increased even more.
By the time he returned to the station owners, another man had joined them, his horse dancing restlessly beneath him.
“Neil, this is Thorne Lachlan from the Rural Fire Service.” As Caine spoke, Neil swung off his horse and tossed the reins to a passing jackaroo. “He’s been fighting the fires north of here and has come to help us get ready. Thorne, this is Neil Emery, our foreman.”
“Cheers, mate,” Neil said, offering his hand. Thorne shook it, appreciating the firm grip and the calluses that came from hard work. “You can see the smoke on the horizon already. I’ve been waiting for someone to come warn us.”
“You didn’t need the warning,” Thorne said, looking around as sheep spilled over the edge of the tablelands and down into the valley. “Your bosses were already getting ready, but I have some tricks up my sleeve to help keep you safe.”
Neil nodded and turned to Caine. “Tell Molly she has to leave now. Please?”
“She’s your wife,” Caine retorted. “If she won’t listen to you, what makes you think she’ll listen to me?”
“You’re her boss. I’m just her husband.”
Thorne shared an amused look with Armstrong. It had been years since Thorne had been around women much, but he still remembered his father trying fruitlessly to convince his mother of something she didn’t want to do. The thought brought a familiar pang, the grief no less now than it had been twenty years ago, no matter how people said time healed all wounds.
“If it gets that dangerous, we’ll all be leaving,” Caine said with a sharp look at Macklin. “Buildings can be rebuilt, livestock can be replaced. That’s what we have insurance for, if it comes to that.”
“It won’t come to that,” Thorne swore. “I won’t let it.”
BY THE time the sun started to set and the bell tolled for dinner, Thorne had developed a healthy respect for the men of Lang Downs. They had taken his suggestions seriously, and Emery had issued orders to ensure those suggestions came to fruition. When the men heard the bell, though, they stopped what they were doing as if someone had given an order and started trooping back down into the valley.
“We’ll finish it tomorrow,” Emery said before Thorne could protest. “It’s getting dark, and Kami’s already pushed dinner back for us. Come on. You should eat too.”
“I have rations in my ute,” Thorne said automatically.
Emery snorted. “Yeah, you try telling the bosses that. Better yet, you try telling Sarah and Kami that. They’d come after you with their ladles, and you’d never win that battle.”
Thorne almost argued. He was a Commando. No ladle-wielding cook was going to get the better of him. It wasn’t worth the conflict, though. He’d be a fool to refuse a home-cooked meal when he could get it. He’d be back to rations before long. “If you say so.”
“I do,” Emery said with a grin. Then he sobered. “One other warning. You’re new to Lang Downs, so you can’t be expected to know about the bosses or anyone else, but we don’t tolerate any homophobic bullshit around here. Caine and Macklin have built a safe place here for themselves and anyone else who needs it, and we don’t tolerate anything that threatens that.”
Thorne looked at Emery without blinking. He wasn’t surprised by the foreman’s revelation concerning the two graziers, but Emery’s defense of his bosses was less expected. Stockmen weren’t known for being open-minded. “The only threat around here is the grassfire,” he said evenly. “Concentrate on that.”
“Good to hear,” Emery replied, and the smile he gave Thorne was far more open than any he’d given the rest of the day, leaving Thorne with the feeling of having survived a gauntlet without even realizing one was in front of him.
CAINE COLLAPSED on the couch in the living room of the main station. He’d gotten used to working hard since moving to Lang Downs. The physical labor required here far outstripped the demands of his former life in Philadelphia, but today had gone beyond even the usual exertions of life on Lang Downs. At Thorne’s insistence, they had started preparing a firebreak around the entire valley, hoping to protect the buildings and livestock sheltered within from the oncoming fires. By the end of the day, they’d turned up a swath of dirt forty feet wide along the entire north side of the valley. They would spend the next day preparing the southern rim of the valley, and then they would go out to meet the fire head-on.
“Did Thorne say how many firefighters were in his brigade?” Caine asked when Macklin joined him a moment later. “It’s one thing to put him in the guest room and tell Kami we have an extra mouth to feed, but if we’ve got a whole brigade on the way, we need to figure out how we’re going to house and feed them.”
“He didn’t say.” Macklin sat down next to Caine and slung his arm around Caine’s shoulders. Caine leaned into the touch, taking comfort where he could. Lang Downs was his life, his livelihood, and his salvation. He’d meant it when he said buildings could be rebuilt, and he would rebuild if it came to that, but the thought of losing the house Uncle Michael and Donald had built with their own hands, the place where their love had been safe and sheltered, felt like sacrilege. It wasn’t worth losing anyone’s life—Uncle Michael would roll in his grave if he thought Caine was endangering the men who worked for him for a house—but if they could keep it from coming to that, Caine would.
The sound of footsteps in the hall drew Caine’s attention back to their guest. He didn’t move away from Macklin—he wouldn’t hide in his own house—but he did brace himself for the possible negative reaction to come. Thorne just nodded at them as he trudged toward the stairs.
“I know you must be exhausted,” Caine said before Thorne could reach the bottom of the steps, “but could you spare a minute or two before you go to bed? I have some logistical questions, and I’d rather ask them tonight so we can make plans as soon as possible.”
Thorne turned back toward them without comment and came to stand next to the armchair.
“Sit,” Caine urged. “You’ll be more comfortable.”
“If I sit, I might not get back up,” Thorne replied ruefully. “I was up at dawn this morning fighting at the fire line and I haven’t stopped since then.”
“I won’t keep you long,” Caine promised. “I just need to know how many people to expect when the rest of the RFS gets here. We need to figure out beds and food for everyone.”
“You don’t need to do that,” Thorne insisted. “We all have tents and bedrolls, and we carry field rations with us. We’re not going to be a drain on your station.”
Next to him, Caine heard Macklin snort, but he ignored his lover’s reaction and focused on the firefighter across from him. “I don’t recall implying you would be a drain on the station. You and your brigade are coming to protect my station. The least I can do is make sure you’re all fed and have a place to sleep. My uncle would come back to haunt me if I did anything less. Now, you didn’t answer my question.”
“There are thirty men in the brigade I left this morning,” Thorne said stiffly. “The captain didn’t tell me if he would be sending everyone here and giving up a section of land to the fires or if he intended to fight all the way back, so I don’t know if everyone will arrive at once or even if anyone will arrive at all. His orders were to make sure Lang Downs was prepared for whatever happened.”
“Then we’ll plan on everyone,” Caine said. “One more question. Lang Downs is an organically certified station. Does the RFS use fire foam?”
“We do,” Thorne said. “We only use class A foam, which is biodegradable. We try not to get it in bodies of water, but it’s safe for soil.”
Biodegradable was a good start, but it didn’t mean it was approved by the organic certification board. It appeared Caine had some research to do. “Could you ask your captain not to use it unless absolutely necessary? Losing the organic certification is preferable to losing the station, but only if there’s no other way.”
“I can ask,” Thorne said, “but I can’t guarantee he’l
l listen. Was there anything else?”
Caine felt Macklin bristle at the shortness of the question, but Caine could see the exhaustion on Thorne’s face. “No. Sleep well. We’ll see you at breakfast.”
Thorne trudged up the stairs. When Caine heard the door to the guest room close, he turned to face Macklin. “What do you think?”
“I think we’ll weather this the same way we’ve weathered everything else that’s come our way.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Caine said. “What do you think of our resident firefighter?”
Macklin chuckled. “Still taking in strays?”
Caine flushed. “Maybe. If he needs a home.”
Two
THE SOUND of gunfire shattered the otherwise perfect spring day. Thorne cursed under his breath. He needed to get back to his squad. Screams followed next, far more damning than the gunfire that accompanied them, and then silence. Thorne tore through the underbrush, his weapon at the ready, determined to cut down anyone in his path. But the jungle had gone silent, and when he reached his comrades, only the bodies of the dead waited for him, their ghostly death masks accusing him silently.
Thorne woke with cold sweat covering his body despite the heat of the room. He stumbled out of bed and across the hall to the bathroom, where he threw up the contents of his stomach. Even after he’d brought everything up, his stomach continue to heave, dry retching that tore at his body while the images of the nightmares tore at his mind.
He thought he’d put this particular nightmare behind him. His commanding officer had ordered him away from the front lines with a wounded comrade on his back to seek medical attention for a soldier who wouldn’t have survived long without help. He’d received a fucking commendation for it, but while he’d been carrying Walker to safety, the rest of his squad had been cut down by enemy fire. Everyone told him one more soldier wouldn’t have made a difference. They had been so outnumbered nothing could have saved them. The shrinks had diagnosed Thorne with survivor’s guilt, which was bullshit, but he’d gone through the required sessions, mouthed all the platitudes, and shipped out the day he was cleared for duty. He, Walker, and their new squad had found the insurgents who had killed Thorne’s squad and put an end to them. He’d taken great pride in being able to retrieve his commander’s stolen dog tags from the rebel who’d desecrated his corpse. He didn’t know if the dog tags would provide any comfort to the grieving widow, but he hoped knowing his killer had faced justice would.