One Man's War

by Thomas J. Wolfenden

  Tim started towards the stairs, then turned back to the sergeant. “If your men would like to take a hot shower, any one of the homes up this dirt road will have working water heaters and running water,” he told him, giving him an olive branch of a sort.

  “Thank you, I think we all would, actually,” the sergeant replied with a genuine smile. “Just don’t have them smash their way in, have them show a little respect. Most of the houses should be unlocked. If they aren’t, keys to them will be under a mat on the porch.” Tim plodded tiredly up the stairs, watched with curiosity by the sergeant until he was out of sight.

  Tim made his way towards his bedroom. When he opened the door, the first thing he saw was the crib that Walter had slept in. He reached down and picked up the tiny blue blanket he’d slept with and brought it to his face. He could smell both Holly’s and the baby’s scent. He breathed them in, and the floodgates opened. He started to weep uncontrollably for the first time in a long, long time, and all the fears, crushed dreams and hopes, everything he’d kept welled up inside of him came spilling out.

  Deep sobs escaped his lips and he staggered backwards, falling on the bed. He cried for a long time, until there were no more tears to shed. Holding the tiny blanket close to his face, he dried his eyes with it.

  “I’m so sorry!” he wailed. “I failed you so miserably!”

  He lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours. His sorrow was soon replaced by rage, then that was swept away, replaced by determination.

  Getting his senses back under control, Tim stood and went to the top of the dresser, where he’d kept a wooden box he’d gotten years ago in Germany. It was hand carved, and had ivory edelweiss inlayed on the lid. Inside, he kept a few precious keepsakes from before the Event.

  He dug through it, and finding what he was looking for, pocketed it and headed down the hall towards Robyn’s bedroom. Slowly opening the door, he stuck his head in and saw her sleeping silently, Izzy by her side.

  Izzy heard him and turned.

  “How is she?” Tim asked, coming over to the bed.

  “She’s a very lucky girl. Her leg is broken in two places, her left arm too. That, and several broken ribs, bruises, and contusions, but I think she’ll be okay. I gave her something for the pain.”

  “That’s a relief. How are you?”

  “I’ve seen better days, Tim. My patella is shattered.”

  “That’s got to hurt like a bastard,” Tim said. “I sent Taco with one of the sergeant’s men to get what you need.”

  “Good. The sooner I get a cast on her arm and leg, the better.”

  “Let me see what I can do for you, Iz. Come over here and sit down on the chair.”

  The old doctor complied with Tim’s help. Tim took out his knife and cut open Izzy’s trouser leg, removing the dirty, blood-soaked makeshift bandage that Izzy had put on himself earlier, exposing the nasty wound. He dragged over Izzy’s doctor’s bag and made short work of cleaning up the wound the best he could, putting a pressure bandage over it, then wrapping it neatly with gauze, finally taping it with medical tape.

  “There, good as new,” Tim said when he was finished.

  “I’m impressed,” Izzy replied.

  “I did get my Boy Scout merit badge for first aid,” he said. “Can I give you something for the pain?”

  “No thanks, Tim. I gave myself a half dose of morphine when I gave Robyn a shot. Can I do something for you?”

  “No, Iz. I’m okay.”

  “Are you sure?” he prodded.

  “Iz, I’m as good as I can be. I’m not going to be singing any cheerful show tunes, if that’s what you want to hear.”

  “Damn, and I was looking forward to a baritone version of ‘Singin’ in the Rain’.”

  Ignoring Izzy’s weak attempt to cheer him up, Tim said, “Iz, I need to tell you this while I’ve got you alone. I’m not sure how many more times I’ll be able to talk to you before I have to go.”

  “Go?”

  “I’m going to be heading back to DC with these men.”

  “What? But why—”

  “Izzy, listen. They think I’ve given them the codes for the missiles,” he whispered.

  “You didn’t, did you?”

  “No, I gave them the book with the codes we used on the Ham radio. There’s nothing to them, but this sergeant doesn’t know that.”

  “Why?” “The goal is still the same, Iz. The whole idea was for them not to get the codes, and I meant that. It’ll take at least a month for us to get back to DC, maybe even longer.”

  “So you’ve convinced them that those notations are the codes?”

  “I have. And I have to go back to ‘decode’ them for this president of theirs. It was the only way I could get them to leave you all here when I go. That way, you’ll have enough time to get out of here, make your way to San Diego and get on that ship back to Oahu.”

  “I see,” Izzy said crossly.

  “Do you, Iz?”

  “Timothy, you do know what will happen when they find they’ve been duped?”

  “I know exactly what will happen to me, and I’m prepared for that eventuality. My fate is unimportant. Holly and Walter are dead, I can’t change that. The important thing now is to get you, Robyn, and Taco to safety before things get ugly for me, and more importantly, keep the codes away from anyone who wants them.”

  “I see what you’re doing, but I don’t have to like it,” Izzy snapped.

  “I didn’t want to have an argument with you over it. One more thing I need you to do,” Tim said, still whispering.

  “What will that be?”

  “Taco saw me give the notepad to the sergeant. He almost let the cat out of the bag, but I stopped him before he could say anything more. I’m not sure if they’ll let me talk with him in private, and I doubt they will let you and I talk like this again once their shock wears off.”

  “I agree.”

  “When Taco gets back here with the casts and shit, let him know what I’m doing.”

  “I will, Tim.”

  “Good, that’s settled. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to come up and talk to you.”

  “I’m amazed that they let you, considering the pounding we gave them. I’d have thought they would be a lot less hospitable.”

  “I think the sergeant and his men would like nothing better than to drag us out and shoot us, to be honest, but he does have his orders, and those orders are to bring the codes back.”

  “Now he needs you for the codes,” Izzy finished for him.

  “And if he wants me, he’s got to leave the rest of you alone.”

  “You should have been an officer, Sergeant Major,” Izzy said.

  “I could never be an officer and gentleman like you, Iz.”

  Izzy snorted. “Only by act of Congress, Tim!”

  “Can I get anything for you?” Tim asked, standing on stiff legs, reaching down to help Izzy stand.

  “Help me to my bed. I’d like to have a lie-down.”

  Tim put his arm around him and helped him out the door, and they hobbled their way down to Izzy’s bedroom. Tim helped him over to the bed, where he sat with a wince.

  Izzy shucked off his shirt and with Tim’s help, took his boots, then his ruined trousers off, and swung his legs into bed, lying on top of the covers.

  “Is there anything else you’d like?”

  “No Tim, I’m going to have a rest now. Come and get me when Juan comes back so I can set Robyn’s casts. I’m going to need help with that too, it won’t be pleasant when I reset the bones.”

  “I’ll come and get you,” Tim said, but Izzy had already fallen asleep, so he retreated out of the room, shutting the door behind him. He made his way back towards Robyn’s bedroom, and found her still sound asleep.

  He went over to the bed, sat down, took her hand, and looked at her. His heart broke when he saw the bruises and cuts. Her whole face was puffed, swollen, and turning an ugly purple color.

&nb
sp; With her good arm, she clung to Bad Bear tightly. That bear had been through a lot, he remembered. Coming all the way from West Virginia, to here, then to Hawaii, stowing away in her rucksack, lounged on the beach on Volivoli, then back here, always there to comfort her. He remembered when they’d first met, and when he’d asked why she named him ‘Bad Bear’, and how hard he’d laughed when she told him she’d blame the bear for anything bad she’d done in the hopes her mom would punish the bear.

  Now she lay here in front of him, a grown woman, no longer a little girl. A brave woman at that.

  She stirred, and her eyes fluttered and opened, eyelids heavy from the morphine. He squeezed her hand gently.

  “Hey, Pumpkin. How’re you feeling now?”

  “I still hurt some, Daddy.”

  “Izzy will fix you up, good as new, baby. Taco went to get some things in town, and when he gets back, we need to cast up your arm and leg.”

  “I done broke em’ eh?” she said weakly, her West Virginia accent returning a little.

  “Izzy will fix them up for you, don’t you worry.”

  “I forgot my PLF,” she said, meaning ‘Parachute Landing Fall’, something Tim had shown her years ago when she asked how to land with a parachute.

  “It’s okay. Here, I got something for you.” He reached into his pocket, bringing out what he’d retrieved from the wooden box earlier. He held it up in front of her eyes so she could see it.

  When she saw what Tim held up, she broke out into a wide smile, “Daddy! Are those your jump wings?”

  “Yep. The very first ones I got when I graduated Jump School,” he told her. “You earned them today.”

  “Oh, Daddy, really?” “Yes,” he said, nodding. He took the two clasps off of the back and pinned them to her dirty and bloodied flight suit. “There you go, Trooper. You are no longer a leg!”

  “Thanks, Sar’ Major! Holly will be proud of me!” she said happily, and when she did, a dark cloud crossed over Tim’s face that she didn’t miss.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Honey, there’s no easy way to tell you…” he said, tears coming to his eyes.

  “Holly and Walter are okay, aren’t they?”

  “No, honey, they’re not. The plane crashed.”

  “They can’t be dead! No, Daddy! No!” she wailed, and then winced in pain. Tim leaned down and held her as tightly as he dared, not wanting to hurt her.

  They cried for some time, holding each other. And then, almost as if she turned off a switch, she stopped crying and pulled away from Tim. He looked into her eyes, now ablaze.

  “Daddy, you’ve got to kill them.”

  “I know, baby,” he replied, slowly nodding. “I know.”

  Chapter 23: Voyage of the Resolute

  The old Liberty Ship bobbed like a cork in the gently rolling waves of the Pacific. Only a few puffy cumulus clouds scudded across the deep blue sky, and the new day promised to be another pleasant one for their crossing.

  Ensign Johnson had just relieved Harry Suplee from the con, which had just finished another uneventful overnight watch on the bridge. One of Sergeant Williams’ men had the helm, and Johnson was happy to have the extra hands to help sail the ship.

  They were a week out of Pearl Harbor, only a day out of San Diego, and all of the gear and equipment loaded was still secure in the ship’s holds. Williams, assisted by Ken and Suplee, had loaded four M3 Bradleys and several armored Hum-Vees into the holds, along with food, medical supplies, and ammunition. Johnson had just checked his GPS along with the navigational charts, and seeing all was in order, sat back comfortably in the captain’s chair, legs crossed, cup of fresh coffee in his hand, when he saw Sergeant Williams enter the bridge, his own steaming mug at his lips.

  “Good morning, Sergeant,” Johnson said with a smile.

  “Good morning! Is everything in order?” Williams replied, coming up to the captain’s chair.

  “Yes, all is in order. I hope you’re enjoying your pleasure cruise!”

  “I am. Some of my men are still a little seasick. A few were chumming over the rail again this morning.”

  “Some people never get used to it. To tell you the truth, on my first cruise, I was a little green around the gills for a few weeks, but now I’m used to the rolling, and feel at home at sea.”

  “A sailor’s first love, eh?”

  “That’s true. We should be in Diego tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Good. Smooth sailing all the way.”

  “We’ve been lucky so far as far as weather is concerned,” Johnson agreed. “You still think you’ll be able to get to their place in Arizona in time?”

  “No,” Jerry said with a frown. “I think we’ll be too late. I talked to Tim a few days ago, and he thinks they’ll get hit soon.”

  “That’s not good. You think it’s a fool’s errand at this point, I guess,” Johnson said. “Have you told the men yet?”

  “No, they’re still pretty motivated. I’d like to keep it that way for a bit longer.”

  “I see. I hope everything is alright out there.” Johnson looked out of the bridge windscreen at the vast, empty sea.

  “So do I. Tim has his shit well secured, and if anything, he’ll send them packing with their tails between their legs. I just wish we could have been able to get out there sooner," Williams said, and as the last words left his lips, one of his men, who had taken over the radio duties, came in, his face grave.

  “Sarge, I just got off the horn with Arizona,” he said.

  “And?” Williams asked. The man shook his head and handed him a piece of paper.

  “I wrote it down, so I didn’t screw up the message. It’s from that Marine, Jimenez.” Jerry took the offered paper, read it, then looked back at the man. “Are you sure it was him?”

  “Yeah, it was over the sat-radio. I recognized his voice. He was pretty upset.”

  “I’ll bet,” Jerry said. “Goddamn it!” he shouted, walking out the wing bridge and leaning over the rail, staring out at the wake of the ship, foaming white, in deep contrast to the blue of the ocean below.

  Johnson got up from the chair and asked the radioman, “What was it?”

  “Not good, sir, a lot of people are dead out there in Arizona,” the man replied, slowly shaking his head.

  Johnson walked out to the wing bridge and came up alongside Jerry. “So, let’s have it.”

  “They got hit yesterday,” Jerry said, handing the message over to Johnson, who read it rapidly. “Now, I think, we just ought to turn this boat around and head back to Pearl,” Jerry said angrily.

  Johnson read through the handwritten message again. “He says they took him, and they’re heading to Washington.”

  “Yeah, it’s a big kick in the nuts. I can’t believe Holly and the baby are dead.”

  “He didn’t say how it happened,” Johnson said, tossing what was left of his coffee overboard and crumpling the message up into a tight ball with one hand before tossing it into the ship’s wake.

  “He didn’t have to. He said the plane is total write-off, so that tells me they either were shot down or it crashed. Let’s turn this dog and pony show around and head back home.”

  “Jerry, what if we got you and your men to Washington?”

  “Now I think you’re the crazy one,” Jerry replied with a sad laugh.

  “I’m serious. I know you can’t drive your Bradleys across the whole country. What if we got you close enough to DC?”

  “And rescue Tim? That’s about the craziest thing I’ve heard since all this shit began,” Jerry said, shaking his head. “What will you do, go through the Panama Canal?”

  “No, that would be completely blocked with derelict ships.”

  “Then how for Christ’s sake?”

  “We go the long way!” Johnson said, and then retreated to the bridge, Jerry following, a bewildered expression plastered across his dark face. Johnson breezed past the helmsman, going over to the chart table. He rummaged around for a minute, and
then pulled out a large chart that he unrolled on top of the table. “We’ve got enough fuel in the bunkers right now to get us as far as Lima, Peru. We can stop there, refuel and re-provision, and then keep on heading south, into the South Pacific.” He traced a line with his finger on the map. “Around Cape Horn and then into the South Atlantic.”

  “How long do you think that will take?” Jerry asked.

  “A month, maybe two, and it’ll be a rough passage. This time of year, the waters around the Cape will be treacherous,” Johnson said, looking into Jerry’s eyes to gauge his thoughts.

  Jerry turned away from the chart table and walked over to the hatch leading out to the wing bridge. He leaned on the sill, his back to Johnson. He was silent for a few moments, and then, without turning around, said, “Won’t we be too late again?”

  “We already know from the other messages from Tim that it took almost that long for that little army to get to where he was. Shouldn’t it take at least that long to get back?”

  “Maybe. The roads must be pretty overgrown, especially back east,” Jerry said. He returned to the table. “It’d be a long shot.”

  “A million to one odds, I agree,” Johnson told the big sergeant.

  “You’re right, though. We’ve come too far to let Tim’s dream go up in smoke like that.”

  “We can’t. We’re all that’s left of what could be good in this shitty world of ours,” Johnson agreed, folding his arms across his chest.

  “What exactly do you think we can do once we get there?” Jerry asked.

  “That, my good friend, I will leave up to you. I just know I can’t turn this ship around and give up. I’d never be able to live with myself if there was a possibility, however remote, that we could have done something, and we crawled into a hole and hid.”

  “What a way to start a day,” Jerry sighed. “Okay. I’ll have to put it to the men first. It’s too big of a decision to make on my own. I’ll see what they think, and I’ll get back to you.”

  “That’s a given. It’s got to be one hundred percent agreement on this.”

  “I’ll do it now,” Jerry said, walking over to the bulkhead where the growler phone was located. He picked the handset out of its cradle, switched it to public address, pressed the push to talk button. “Now hear this! All hands, meet in the cargo hold with the vehicles in fifteen minutes. This is not a request.” He replaced the handset. “I’ll let you get back to running the ship, Bill. I’ve got to sell this idea to the men.”