One Man's War

by Thomas J. Wolfenden

  “Madre de Dios!” Jimenez whispered.

  “That’s a boon, mate!” Ian said, taking out another beer and popping the top. “This calls for a celebration!”

  “I wouldn’t celebrate too hard, gentlemen. We’ll see. This might be a red-herring,” Tim said, waving the scrap of paper in front of his face.

  “I’d listen in, Tim, just in case it isn’t,” Izzy advised.

  “I will, Iz,” Tim said, pocketing the piece of paper. “Every little bit helps.”

  “Why would someone do that though?” Ian asked curiously.

  “I was wondering the same thing, Ian,” Tim said. “I’m guessing whoever it is, is either acting as a disseminator of false information, or really doesn’t dig what’s going on back east.”

  “False information?” Ian asked.

  “Yeah, like a double agent, sort of. He’s acting as if he’s on our side, giving us this information, but in reality, he’s actually working for the other side, giving us bullshit so we’ll act a certain way.”

  “To our detriment,” Izzy added in understanding.

  “How would that work?” Robyn asked, as she walked over and planted herself next to Jimenez on the steps.

  “It’s like this, Robyn; during World War Two, in the months preceding the Normandy invasion, the allies set up the First U.S. Army group, supposedly located in southeastern Britain under the command of General Patton. It was created to give the Germans the idea that the allies would invade in a completely different area than where they were actually going to have the landings by the use of double agents and fake radio traffic. It was all bullshit.”

  “So on the morning on June 6th, the Germans had sent most of their reserves miles away, so when the allies landed, they weren’t in a position to counter attack,” Izzy added with a scholarly tone.

  “Exactly,” Tim said. “There were plenty of other deceptive plans used throughout the war, but that one sticks in my mind. The Krauts figured if Patton was commanding this Army group, it had to be real.”

  “Don’t forget another slightly macabre operation, Mincemeat, I believe it was called,” Izzy said.

  “Oh, yeah. That was a good one!” Tim snickered.

  “What was that one, Dad?”

  “It was ingenious. The British took a dead guy from the morgue in London. He’d died of pneumonia, but it would look to anyone that found him like he’d drowned. They dressed him up in a British Army officer’s uniform, handcuffed a briefcase to his wrist filled with all kinds of top secret papers—which were all false— then one night they took the body by submarine and set it adrift off the coast of Spain, where it would wash up.”

  “Wasn’t Spain neutral?” Ian asked.

  “It was,” Izzy said. “But the Germans being Germans, were quite cozy with the Spanish, and the British knew that the Spanish authorities would let the Germans have a gander at the contents of the briefcase before they turned everything over to the British consulate.”

  “They even gave the guy a burial with full military honors,” Tim said.

  “That’s fucked up,” Jimenez said with a laugh of his own.

  “I see,” Ian said. “So you think this bloke is feeding us false information?”

  “I’m not sure,” Tim said. “It could be, then again, this guy might be acting out of completely altruistic principles. We just don’t know.”

  “Why would he warn us to begin with?” Robyn asked.

  “Yeah, it wouldn’t make sense if it was false information. Why tell us at all?” Jimenez said.

  “That thought has crossed my mind. If they were going to blindside us, why tell us at all? They could have easily left us alone, unawares, until one day we wake up to find ourselves surrounded.”

  “That would be a good point to take into account,” Izzy said.

  “Fucking oath, mate, he could have just not told us at all,” Ian said.

  “I’m just going to play it by ear for right now,” Tim said. “Robyn, have you heard any more from Didinato?”

  “Not since yesterday,” she replied. “He said he was still trying to catch up with them, and he said he’d get back to us tonight sometime.”

  “Alright, you’ve got radio watch again tonight.”

  “How is Sam coping?” Izzy asked.

  “I’m not sure. It must be a pain in the ass with the buffalo and the horses. But he’s a good soldier and knows his business.”

  “Following a line of trucks and Hum-Vees must be difficult,” Izzy said.

  “That’s true, but from what he’s been reporting to us, they’re leaving a trail so obvious a blind man could follow it. I don’t think he’s gotten within a mile of them since they first stumbled across them in Nebraska,” Tim told the man, reaching out for another beer that was offered by Ian.

  “Which leads us back to the original question,” Izzy said. “If this person was feeding us false information, why tell us anything about the soldiers coming. Tim, they may know about you, and our settlement here, but they had no idea about Didinato or his trip to the prairie. If it was a ruse, they’d have to have known about him, to let him see them on the move.”

  “Like they meant for us to see them coming?” Tim asked incredulously. “That in itself, if true, would be a monumental gamble with time and materiel.”

  “That’s why I think we should take into account what this man, or woman,” Izzy added in deference to Robyn, “in all likelihood is telling us the truth.”

  Tim nodded slowly. “I agree. We should trust, but verify.”

  “Quoting Ronald Reagan now, eh, Timothy?” Izzy grinned.

  As he was still laughing, Paula came around the side of Tim’s house and walked up to Ian. She bent down and fetched a can of beer for herself out of the melting ice, and popped the tab. “Oi, I should have known you’d be down here getting on the piss.”

  “Ah, it is ‘She who must be obeyed’!” Ian said, putting his arm around the diminutive woman. “We were just going over some plans.”

  “You lot couldn’t organize a piss-up in a brewery,” she said, poking him in the side.

  “I dunno, ma’am. We’re doing a good job of it right now,” Jimenez said, draining his can.

  “Oh, I almost forgot. I was going to give something to you this morning,” Tim said to Ian. “Robyn, go run in and get that thing I was saving for him.”

  She nodded and went back into the house.

  “For me?” Ian asked.

  “It’s just a little something I found a week ago when I was scrounging around in that town south of here, Chino Valley,” Tim said. “I think you’ll like it.”

  Robyn came back out of the house then carrying a rifle, and when he saw it, Ian’s eyes lit up. She walked over to him, and racked open the bolt, checked to see if the chamber was empty before handing it over to Ian. Tim smiled, as she did exactly what he’d taught her so many years ago: never hand over a weapon without checking to see if it was loaded, and never hand someone a loaded firearm.

  Ian took it from her. “I haven’t seen one of these in years!”

  “What is it?” Jimenez asked.

  “It’s an L1A1, standard issue rifle for the Australian Army. Or at least it was up until the early 1980’s,” Tim told Jimenez.

  “Shit, mate, thanks heaps!” Ian said, looking over the rifle. Paula looked at the weapon with distain, and then noticed something on the butt stock.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “It’s an inscription that the previous owner had carved there. It reads; ‘Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum’,” Tim replied.

  “What’s it mean?” Robyn asked.

  “If my Catholic school Latin is correct, it means ‘if you want peace, prepare for war’ or something similar.”

  “You are correct, Tim,” Izzy said.

  “That’s what we’re doing,” Jimenez said, and as if to add emphasis, the sound of distant thunder from a yet unseen storm rumbled through the valley.

  Chapter 18: Hammer & Anvil />
  The convoy was parked along the shoulder of the westbound lanes of Interstate 40 by a string of souvenir shops, which had once hawked ‘authentic’ Navajo crafts made in the People’s Republic of China.

  The map that the major had unfolded and spread out on the hood of the Hum-Vee said it was the town of Lupton, Arizona, a few hundred yards west of the New Mexico border. However, a brief scan of the area told the major and the sergeant that there wasn’t much to the place, save for the tourist traps and a few bare, red-rock mesas. It was early morning, the sun had just peeked over the hills to the east, and the clear, cloudless sky hinted at another long, hot day.

  The major looked at the handful of men standing around his Hum-Vee, and then ran his finger over the blue line that marked I-40. “Gentlemen, it’s about another one hundred and sixty miles to Flagstaff. I’d like to make it to there before sundown.”

  “Sir, the roads seem to be in a lot better shape out here, so I don’t see a problem with that. We are a little low on fuel, though I think we’ve got enough to get to Holbrook,” the sergeant replied, tapping a dot on the map. “It looks to be a lot bigger than this ‘town’, so we should be able to scare up some more fuel there.”

  “Agreed, Sergeant,” the major said. “It looks to be around seventy miles or so, about halfway.”

  “Yes sir,” the sergeant replied, not wanting to correct the major’s math, wondering where the extra thirty or so miles went. “If that’s it, Major, I’d like to get the men ready to travel.”

  “In a moment, Sergeant. I want to go over a plan I’ve come up with,” the major said through teeth that were clenched around an unlit stump of cigar.

  The sergeant sighed heavily, set his M4 on the hood next to the map and nodded. “Okay Major.”

  “I’m glad I have your approval, Sergeant,” the major said, voice oozing sarcasm. He pointed again to a point on the map. “We’re here. We’ll head westward, then, when we reach Flagstaff, we’ll split up. It will be a perfect hammer and anvil maneuver. I want you to handpick a group of men to head north here,” he said, pointing to another point on the map. “I want them to take Route 89 here, travel north, then pick up Route 64 south of Cameron, where it will continue west before turning south again at the Grand Canyon north of the airport in Tusayan.”

  “Sir, that’s the long way around. It looks like it would be easier and faster to get to the airport if we send them up Route 180, where they can pick up 64 in Valle, south of the strip. It’ll cut off several miles of travel.”

  The major shook his head and said in a condescending tone, “That would be the case if we were on a sightseeing trip, Sergeant. Our new friend Colin has given us the information we need. They’ll never expect anyone to come from that direction, so that’s the way I want them to go.”

  “Are you sure his information is correct?”

  “I am. Send a few men up to secure the aircraft in Tusayan, while the remainder of us continue west on 40 to Williams. Once we’ve obtained our objective in Williams, we’ll bring the rogue sergeant and the pilot up to the airport, where we’ll fly back to Washington.”

  The sergeant looked down on the map in the early morning sun and frowned. He dared not tell the major it wasn’t a hammer and anvil maneuver, but let it go to humor him. “If you say so, sir.”

  “I do say so, Sergeant. Our friend Colin, or should I say ‘mate’,” he said with a smile, “has given us all the information we need. We no longer have to go searching for our quarry; we know right where he is. Not only that, we know how few men he has. It should be an easy task to secure what we need!”

  “I’m still a little uneasy about this whole thing, Major. What if this sergeant major has gotten some reinforcements? Colin hasn’t been there for a few months, and his whole story about being run out of town after a misunderstanding is a little suspect, if you don’t mind me saying, sir.”

  “I do mind you saying, Sergeant. I’ve found or Australian friend rather engaging. His story fits in with what I was told back in DC. Our good sergeant major gone rogue has set up himself a little enclave, like Gary Cooper in High Noon. He’ll not expect us, and we should take him completely by surprise.”

  “Gary Cooper was a good guy in High Noon, sir,” the sergeant pointed out.

  “I don’t like smartasses, Sergeant,” the major said, folding the map up in a huff. “That’s the plan, just carry it out. Go and get the men ready to travel.”

  “Yes, sir, right away. I’ll tell everyone to plan on a short stop for fuel in Holbrook.”

  “You do that, Sergeant, and when we get to Flagstaff, hopefully this afternoon sometime, you’ll have the men picked for the hammer.”

  “I’m on it, sir.” The sergeant picked up his carbine and headed off, followed by the other men, leaving the major at his Hum-Vee. He walked around the Hum-Vee, opened the passenger side door and climbed in. He reached over and shook his driver awake. The young man roused slowly, and through squinted eyes, looked over at the major.

  “Are we ready yet?”

  “No, the sergeant is getting everyone together now; it’ll be a few more minutes.”

  “Are we going to get that guy and his plane today?”

  “No, most likely it will be tomorrow, Nuggets.”

  “It gonna be a lot of action, mebbe?” Nuggets asked hopefully.

  “No. It will probably be just a quick in and out. He won’t know what hit him,” the major said, grinning widely.

  “Aw, man! I wanted to see some real action like all them guys in Afgranistan!” the boy moaned.

  “I’m sorry, Nuggets, but I think he’ll just see all of us, wet his pants and give up,” the Major reassured his young driver, not bothering to correct his pronunciation of Afghanistan. The boy’s English was horrible, and was filled with ghetto slang.

  “But we’s gonna fly home though, right?”

  “Yes, we will,” the major said.

  “Good, cuz’ I getting’ a sore butt sitting in this Hum-Vee all da’ time!” he replied, reaching around and rubbing his backside theatrically. “It be’s a big plane?”

  “Our good friend from Australia tells us it’s a big cargo plane, a Hercules, though we won’t be able to take everyone all at once.”

  “Dang!”

  “Don’t you worry, Nuggets, I’ll make sure you and I get on the first flight. Rank has its privileges, you know,” the major told the boy.

  “I never been on no plane before.”

  “You haven’t?”

  “Nope, I’s ain’t never been outta Baltimore befo’ everybody up and died.”

  “It’s a big country,” the major said, waving his hand out to the barren vista through the windshield.

  “Too big fo’ me. I jes wanna get back to DC is all. Not much at all out here anyways,” the boy said, shaking his head, and the major laughed a little.

  “Yes, there isn’t much out here at all,” the major agreed.

  “So they won’t be no big battle?”

  “No, Nuggets. This crazy sergeant out west of here will probably take one look at us, piss his pants, and give up without a whimper. Trust me,” the major reassured the dejected driver, and then fished out a Zippo lighter and lit the stub of his cigar, filling the cab of the Hum-Vee with noxious blue smoke.

  After several minutes, the major’s radio crackled to life. He picked up the handset and brought it to his ear. After a brief transmission, he replied curtly and motioned for his driver to start the engine. He set the handset down, and reached out the open window with his right arm, making a circular motion, and then, like a large snake, the convoy moved out westward along the barren highway.

  Throughout the morning they continued westward, through the Petrified Forest National Park, and reached Holbrook by midmorning, where they found a truck stop just west of town.

  The convoy of Hum-Vees and trucks lined up along the outside of the building, where the sergeant, who was riding in the trail Hum-Vee, dismounted and walked the line of trucks, gather
ing a work party to scavenge for diesel fuel.

  The sun was already high in the cloudless sky, the temperature had already reached the 80 degree mark, and all those who weren’t siphoning fuel from the trucks parked around the complex had escaped the stifling confines of the backs of the canvas covered military vehicles and were seeking shade anywhere they could find in the still, hot air.

  The sergeant found his own spot of shade underneath the portico of the convenience store/diner, but he wasn’t alone for long. As he sat down on the concrete pavement with his back to a brick wall, pulled out his canteen and took a drink of tepid water, he spied a large, smiling man walking up to him. It was the barrel-chested Aussie, Colin. He strode up to the sergeant, and without asking, sat down next to him with a plop.

  “G’day, mate! Hot day, eh?”

  “Yeah, it’s a hot one,” the sergeant said, putting his canteen away and looking at his new companion with a sideways glance.

  “Riding is a lot better than walking,” Colin said.

  “That it is. Tell me, you walked all the way from Williams?”

  “Yeah, it was a long hot walk too. Not much out here in the way of food and water.”

  “You’re lucky to be alive,” the sergeant said with a slow nod, his gaze out towards the other men fueling the vehicles.

  “S’truth, mate! I figured my chances were a lot better than back there. They were going to kill me!”

  “So you’ve said. Tell me again how you escaped?” the sergeant asked skeptically.

  Colin started off with a grin, relishing his story, never tiring of relating his exploits. “They had me locked up in a cage, and the morning they were going to hang me up from a tree, I overpowered the guard they had and I ran off into the bush.”

  “How’d you overpower him?”

  “Well, mate,” Colin said, glint in his eye, “he was a little brown bastard. Mexican I think. I don’t know about all you blokes here. Anyways, he was a skinny little shit. I came up behind him and snapped his neck like a twig!” he beamed, holding out his dirty hands proudly.

  “I’m impressed,” the sergeant said dubiously.