One Man's War

by Thomas J. Wolfenden

  “Fuck me! That’s got to be a sight!”

  “You’d cream your jeans,” Tim assented. “Let’s head over to our secondary position and do the same thing on Route 64.”

  “Sounds good,” Jimenez replied, slinging his M16, and picking up the radio. The two men walked a short distance to where they had parked their Hum-Vee, tossed their gear in the back, and headed back west towards the interchange of Route 64.

  “It looks like Ian remembered what he was taught a while ago,” Tim said as he drove the pair over the deteriorating road.

  “I’ll say. When are we going to start setting the charges on the bridges?”

  “We’ll start on that tomorrow. I wanted Ian to get the mortar bore-sighted first. I didn’t want a short round dropping and setting off the charges prematurely.”

  “That makes sense,” Jimenez said. “Do you think we can pull it off?”

  “I’m old-school. ‘Rules of engagement’ don’t sit well with me; they never have, especially when the other side doesn’t follow the rules. When I first enlisted, most of my senior NCO’s were Vietnam vets. I learned from them to fight dirty, and fight to win. That’s exactly what I plan to do now.”

  “You are absolute badass, Sar Major.”

  Tim laughed a little at that. “You think I’m badass? I’ll tell you something. My uncle, my dad’s older brother, enlisted in the Marine Corps in 1935. He spent a few years in China, and when World War Two broke out, he spent the entire war hopping from island to island in the South Pacific.”

  “He could have been on Volivoli at some point.”

  “Yeah, maybe, he went from Guadalcanal to Tarawa, Tinian, and then Iwo Jima. After that, he was a drill instructor at Parris Island.”

  “I never went to the Island. I did my boot camp in San Diego,” Jimenez said.

  “I figured that. Hollywood Marine,” Tim cracked, knowing that anyone who enlisted in the Marine Corps west of the Mississippi River went to San Diego; hence they were called ‘Hollywood Marines’.

  “I’m still a Marine!”

  “Yeah, you are a Jarhead,” Tim conceded. “Anyway, after his stint at the Island, my uncle went to Korea. He was one of the Frozen Chosen. I can’t imagine what it was like to fight in that cold fucking winter on the Chosin Reservoir, fighting back wave after wave of Chinese.”

  “Ballsy fucks,” Jimenez agreed.

  “Yeah, and then some, but his story gets even better,” Tim continued. “He survives that, fights on until the end, and comes back Stateside for several years. He retired in 1955. So he’s home in Philly, driving a truck for a living, bored out of his fucking mind, and he tried to reenlist into the Corps, but they think he’s too old and give him a pass.”

  “Tough bastard, eh?” Jimenez asked.

  “Yeah, he was,” Tim said. “Right next to the Marine Corps recruiting station there was an Army Recruiter. He walked in, showed them his discharge, and they signed him up right away.”

  “No shit? He joined the Army after twenty years in the Crotch?”

  “Yep, he went on to do twenty more years in the Army, nine tours in Vietnam, and retired finally in 1975. He retired as a command sergeant major, and the one thing I remember was him standing in his Class ‘A’ uniform with more shit on his chest, more medals than I’d ever seen on one person. I was amazed that he could stand up for all the goddamn medals. It was impressive to a ten year old.”

  Jimenez looked out the windshield at the passing forest and whistled appreciatively.

  “I couldn’t begin to list all the medals he was awarded over those forty years, but I don’t even come close to standing in the shadow of that epitome of badass, Taco.”

  “He must have been proud of you, eh? When you enlisted I mean.”

  “He died when I was still in school. He lived down in Georgia, and we never got to see him often.”

  “I think you’re a lot like him,” Jimenez said as Tim pulled over to the side of the road near the off ramp to Route 64.

  “I’m not even close. I try, but I’ll never be that man. It was a different time, a whole different world.”

  “I think we’ll make that world again someday. With Walter, and everyone else here,” Jimenez said, exiting the vehicle, grabbing his rifle and radio.

  “I’d like to think so, Taco. Bring back the principle.”

  “I’m willing to do everything I can to help with that, Sar’ Major. And I hope someday I’m half the man you are.”

  Tim looked at Jimenez. He didn’t know how to respond to that, so he just left it hang in the air like a balloon on a summer’s day.

  They went about repeating exactly what they had done a while ago on I-40, calling in a few mortar rounds on a spot that Tim had determined would be the best spot for an ambush. When they were done, they watched the dust settle and the smoke dissipate, then packed up their gear yet again and made their way back to home.

  “Do you think we’re ready?” Jimenez asked.

  “As soon as we get the explosives set on those bridges east of us, we will be.”

  “What about Izzy?”

  “He may be pushing eighty, but I’m not getting any fucking younger either. He fought in ‘Nam, and he’s got the testicular fortitude. That mortar is supposed to be crewed by six men, and it’ll just be him and Ian lobbing explosives. He’ll be fine.”

  “It’s been a long time, and he’s a doctor now, not a soldier. Isn’t he supposed to have taken an oath or something against fighting?”

  “Sometimes you have to fight, no matter what your convictions are to the contrary. This is where the rubber meets the road. I don’t think he’d be able to live with himself if he left with the women.”

  “Speaking of that, Robyn’s not all that happy that you’re making her leave too.”

  Tim pulled the Hum-Vee up in front of his house, shut the engine off and turned to look at Jimenez. “Well, Taco,” he said, “she’s not staying, end of fucking story.”

  “I was just saying. I agree with you.”

  “Alright, let’s get this shit squared away,” Tim said gruffly, the old sergeant major coming back out in him.

  As they were carrying their gear in from the Hum-Vee, a second one appeared from around the back, driving up the dusty road from the other direction. It parked next to Tim’s, and Robyn, Izzy, and Ian got out, all smiling broadly.

  Tim set his pack and weapon down on the steps, and walked over to the three, who were now collecting their own gear from the back.

  “Good job,” Tim said, walking up to them, hand extended. Ian took his hand and smiled.

  “Shit, mate, that brought back some memories!” Ian beamed.

  “It was a great job. You put those rounds exactly where I wanted them. I’m sure you’ll be able to repeat it if the shit hits the fan.”

  “No worries, mate. I’ve got the numbers all written down, and I’ve got the ground marked so all I have to do is move the tube to the new markings if you need me to change fire. It’s all dialed in.”

  “So it’s secured?” Tim asked.

  “Yeah, I’ve got the tube still set up, but I’ve covered it with a tarpaulin, along with the ammo. All we have to do is go out, uncover it, and start dropping rounds.”

  “Good. Again, great job,” Tim said.

  “Now it’s beer thirty?” Ian asked with a smile.

  “You took the words out of my mouth,” Tim replied.

  “Dad, that was fun. I wish I could be around when we start to drop rounds for real!” Robyn said gleefully, and Tim’s face darkened.

  “You, Holly, the baby, and the rest of the women will be down in Phoenix when that happens.”

  “But, Dad—”

  “No buts, goddamn it! End of fucking story,” Tim snapped, pointing his finger at her like a pistol.

  Dejected, Robyn raised her hands in mock surrender.

  Tim turned to Izzy. “How are you doing?”

  “Never better, Tim. I feel like I’m twenty-five again!”

>   “Are you going to be okay with this, dropping high explosives on people?”

  “It’s not like I haven’t done it before. Yes, it’s been a long time, and I do have my Hippocratic Oath to think about, but then there’s the greater good to think about also. I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me,” the old doctor said in his best bedside manner.

  “I’ll go and get the amber nectar, won’t be but a few ticks!” Ian said, and headed off on foot to his house a few yards up the road.

  “We ought to start thinking about some homebrew beer,” Tim said, watching Ian disappear around the side of his house.

  “Yes, or maybe even a still,” Izzy agreed. “The beer is starting to get stale.”

  “Vodka!” Jimenez chimed in.

  “That’s a great idea there, Taco. Cheap vodka is good, really good vodka is, well, almost better than sex… almost,” Tim told the young Marine in a scholarly tone, quickly regretting his comment when he glanced at a blushing Robyn.

  While they waited for Ian to return with the beer, they unloaded their gear and stacked everything together just inside Tim’s front door. Robyn and Jimenez went off towards the kitchen, and Izzy excused himself to find the bathroom, leaving Tim alone in the living room.

  He climbed the stairs and walked down the short hall toward his and Holly’s bedroom, where he found mother and child asleep on the bed, little Walter held gently in Holly’s arms.

  He smiled at the sight, and stepped back into the hall, closing the door quietly behind him. He then made his way back downstairs and out to the front porch, where Ian was waiting with a Coleman cooler, a cold beer already in his hand. When he saw Tim e he opened up the lid, fished around in some ice and pulled out a can of beer, which he tossed to Tim.

  Tim caught the can deftly and popped the tab. He sat down on the step and held the can up in salute. “Thanks. Nice and cold.”

  “Yeah, Paula was nice enough to have a slab on ice in the esky for when we got back,” Ian said.

  “Nice of her,” Tim remarked. The door opened, and Jimenez stepped out, followed by Izzy. Ian fished out another beer, tossing it to the young Marine. He caught it and sat down next to Tim on the step.

  “Where’s Robyn?” Tim asked.

  “She’s up in our room. She said it was almost time to check in on the satellite radio with Sergeant Williams, she’ll be down soon.”

  Tim winced inwardly at the term ‘our room’. He knew it was a fact that his little girl was now sleeping with this man, and he really did like the man, which was why he continually broke his balls.

  “So we’re all set then?” Ian asked.

  “Just about,” Tim said, “Me and Taco will set the charges on the bridges east of here tomorrow, and then we’re as ready as we’ll ever be.” He set the can down on the step next to him. “We’ll go over it again. Taco and I will be in the first position, about two hundred meters from the bridge. When we see them approach, I’ll give the warning order.”

  “And Ian and I will get the mortar ready,” Izzy chimed in.

  “Yes. I’ll let a few of them across the span before I drop it, and as soon as I trip the charges, I’ll give you the order to fire,” Tim said.

  “How many rounds do you want us to fire?” Ian asked.

  “Twenty or so. I’ll give you a cease fire before that if need be.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want any Willie Pete?” Ian asked, meaning white phosphorous rounds.

  Tim shook his head, “No, I thought about that. It would be effective, but it’s too dry out in the forest now, the danger of a forest fire is way too great as it is with the high explosive rounds, but I’m willing to take that chance. No sense ensuring half the area burns up and destroys what we’re trying to protect. HE will be fine.”

  “Okay,” Ian acknowledged.

  “Then we’ll stand by to fire more rounds, or shift fire at your direction,” Izzy picked up.

  “Good,” Tim said. “Taco, what’s our job?”

  “Our job is to lay suppressive fire with rifles, single fire only, no rock and roll. Choose targets individually, one round per target, closest targets first. We don’t let them see where we are, and move around from position to position to let them think there’s a shitload more of us than there really is,” Jimenez finished.

  “Like we planned earlier, Holly will take the Herc to Phoenix with the rest, preferably long before they get close enough. I’d prefer a few days prior, though without reliable intelligence we won’t know for certain when they’ll arrive, if at all.”

  “Have you heard any more news from Sam?” Ian asked, finishing his beer and belching loudly.

  “No. They lost them a few days ago outside of Denver. It was too built up to get near enough to them without being seen, so Sam did the smart thing and held back, skirting around them to the southeast. He’s hoping to pick them up south of there on the New Mexico border.”

  “I hope they do,” Jimenez said.

  “Yeah, so do I,” Tim agreed. “I just wish we had more time.”

  “And a few more men,” Ian said.

  “That might be a possibility,” Tim said, taking a huge gulp of his beer. He felt like getting drunk today for some reason, and if it was going to take a case of beer to do it, he’d do it.

  “How?” Izzy asked, raising his eyebrow.

  “I think Jerry has something planned. He told me a few days ago. I didn’t say anything before, because I saw the improbability of it. However, it seems our intrepid sailors did get their boat to Pearl. Jerry talked to them a week or so ago, and thinks they might be able to scrape together about a hundred men to come back here for reinforcements, along with a few Bradley fighting vehicles.”

  “That’s great news!” Ian exclaimed.

  “Don’t get your hopes up, Iz. They have to sail from Pearl to San Diego, which will take at best two weeks, and they haven’t left yet. Once they get to the mainland, they’ve got to travel overland several hundred miles from California to here, and knowing the Bradley like I do, that will take a few more weeks.”

  “Oh, I see what you mean,” Izzy said in a sad voice.

  “Yeah, they’ll be too late. I don’t think we have four weeks, I suspect we have about two at the most.”

  “Too bad our railway man hasn’t found a way,” Ian remarked.

  “I thought that myself, Ian,” Tim said. “We haven’t heard a peep from him in over two months. He’s on the MIA list for now.”

  “So we’re fucked?” Jimenez asked.

  “I don’t hear a fat lady even warming up for the last song yet, Taco. What we’re going to do is bloody their fucking nose.”

  “I don’t want to sound like a downer, Sar’ Major, but how? There are a lot more of them than us.”

  “From everything that Sam has reported back to us so far, they’re far from being a well-disciplined, well-trained, or well-led military unit. They sound like a bunch of dickweed-dumbasses, and that, my friends, is a huge advantage to us. A well-disciplined body of troops would react a lot differently than a group of unorganized men with no experience. Sure, there’s most probably some of them that have seen combat in Iraq or Afghanistan, but I’m betting the majority will be a bunch of civilians with guns. When Ian and Izzy start dropping high explosives on their collective grapes, it will be a clusterfuck.”

  “So they might just run?”

  “Possibly,” Tim said. “We don’t know for certain, but there’s a very good chance they will do just that.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “How many Claymores did you get from Camp Navajo?”

  “Thirty.”

  “And we’ve got a shitload of det-cord. It’s going to be one pisser of an ambush, I’ll tell you that much,” Tim said confidently.

  “Like we did on Volivoli?”

  “Bigger. When that bridge blows, all hell will break loose.”

  “That’s settled then,” Izzy said, taking another beer out of the cooler. “We can all sleep well tonight.
”

  “Maybe you can, Iz, but I haven’t slept well since our first hint of this.”

  “I don’t think any of us has, Tim,” Ian said somberly.

  The front screen door opened with a bang, and Robyn exploded out the entrance.

  “Dad, can I talk to you?” she almost screamed.

  “What is it?” he asked loudly.

  Robyn bounded out and breezed by him, down the stairs and up to the cooler at Ian’s feet.

  She reached in, fished through the ice and brought out a can, popping the top. She swigged at the beer, and when she was finished, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

  “That’s my demure little girl,” Tim said with a wry smile, then asked, “What is it?”

  “I talked to Jerry on the Sat-radio. Everything is going according to plan there; they’ve got four Bradleys loaded up, and a hundred men, along with a few Hum-Vees with TOW missile launchers. They’ll be ready to sail tomorrow.”

  “That’s great news!” Ian said.

  “That’s not all!” Robyn exclaimed, eyes wide. “After I got off the radio with Jerry, I fired up the Ham radio and—”

  “Damn it! I told you not to—” Tim cut in.

  “Dad, shut up a minute and just listen!” Robyn said. “Like I was saying,” she continued, sticking out her tongue at Tim playfully, making a face, “I fired up the Ham just to listen in for any other news. While I was going through the bands, I picked up that guy in Washington again, Dad. He knew your name! He gave me this,” she said, fishing out a scrap of paper and handing it to Tim. “He said he wished he could do more, and he told me to tell you ‘good luck’.”

  Tim took the paper, and looked at it, a grin spreading across his face.

  “What is it, Tim?” Izzy asked.

  “I’ll be dipped in dogshit,” Tim said in astonishment. “Robyn, did this guy tell you his name?”

  “He just said to call him ‘Deep Throat’, whatever that means.”

  “That means, Robyn, we have a benefactor back east,” Izzy said, then turned to Tim again. “Well, what did our deep throat give us?”

  “He gave us the satellite radio frequency that our adversaries are using.”