by Trent Reedy
By about sixteen thirty our squad had finished. Sergeant Meyers and bravo team unrolled the coil of shock tube as they started back toward the wire obstacle on the highway. As a combat engineer who hadn’t yet gone to engineer school, I’d heard about explosives a lot, but I’d never seen them set off. As Staff Sergeant Meyers hooked up the M81 fuse igniter — a little green plastic tube with a metal pull ring on the end — everybody gathered around.
“This is going to be so huge.” Specialist Stein held up his comm. “Okay if I start recording now, Sergeant Meyers?”
“Yeah, roll it,” Meyers said. “Who wants to do the honors?” A bunch of soldiers volunteered. “How about a new guy who’s never done it before? Wright?”
I didn’t feel right setting off the system without ever having been trained on it. “That’s okay, Sergeant. I’m good.”
“Come on, Wright. Don’t be such a pussy,” Stein said.
“Fine,” I said. “How do I do it?”
Meyers handed me the M81. “You give this metal ring a quarter twist one way and then the other, and then pull it hard. You can’t be a little sissy girl about it.”
“It’s not that difficult,” Specialist Sparrow said.
At first, I thought she was making fun of me, but one look at her told me she was just tired of Meyers like usual. I grabbed the ring, twisted it, and pulled hard.
Up on the hill, a white flash appeared around the base of the trees and a huge gray cloud popped into existence. Everything was silent.
“What the hell?” I said.
A second later, a sound like a million cracks of thunder hit as the shock wave passed by. I could feel it vibrating through me like one heavy bass beat from a badass subwoofer.
“I love that!” Luchen shouted.
Chunks of dirt and wood scattered through the air. Trees wobbled and began crashing down in all different directions. In seconds we had taken down a wide strip of forest.
“Timber!” shouted PFC Nelson from the other team.
We waited for about a half an hour to make sure no secondary explosions were going to go off. Then the first sergeant and Staff Sergeants Meyers and Torres went downrange to search for any unexploded ordinance. When they found none, the ICC charged into action with chain saws, cutting up the enormous pile of lumber. About an hour later, second squad set off a similar explosion south of Elk Road, and for the rest of the day we worked on improving our fighting positions as we listened to the buzz of the saws.
By about twenty-one hundred we had good cover and concealment at our position, even laying newly cut logs as a roof over our stone basin. Staff Sergeant Meyers had our squad gather at my team’s position. “Everybody take one of these thermal cloaks and a Rules Of Engagement card.” When he’d made sure we all had them, he sat on a rock. “Listen up. Standing orders for whenever we are out here. Starting now, every soldier will wear his thermal cloak between sixteen hundred and zero eight hundred hours. No exceptions. Tomorrow, you will cover the roof of this position with mud, not only to fill the cracks between the logs, but to cover the logs themselves. There will be absolutely no smoking and no fires at the fighting positions. All soldiers will keep artificial light and heat sources to a minimum, and the use of such sources must always be under a thermal cloak, even inside your positions.”
I unfolded my cloak. The fabric was stiff, like one of those space blankets they sold in sporting goods stores, but instead of having a silver side, both sides were a dark green. “Sergeant, what are these for?”
“Drones,” said Meyers.
“Even the most basic Predator drone has a full night vision and infrared surveillance package. We want to keep these positions and the positions of individual soldiers on patrol hidden from the Fed,” said Sergeant Ribbon.
“Speaking of the Fed,” said Sergeant Meyers. “Everybody take out your Rules Of Engagement card. Standing orders. Every soldier will keep this ROE card on his person whenever on duty.” He held the laminated card up and pointed to the bold letters written across the top. “This here is the number one thing to remember. Your primary mission is to protect the state of Idaho by preventing the unauthorized entry of armed soldiers or law enforcement personnel. Does everyone understand that? Sparrow, that means that no matter how handsome you think some Fed soldier is, you cannot let him enter the state.”
Meyers laughed, but Sparrow acted like she’d barely heard him. “Yes, Sergeant,” she said coolly.
Meyers continued. “Let’s go through the steps of graduated force. It’s simple. All you have to do is remember the four S’s.” He went on to explain, in as lengthy and crude a way as possible, what took me about thirty seconds to read.
“Any questions?” Sergeant Meyers said when he finally finished reading the ROE card.
“Kick-ass,” Specialist Stein said. “The Fed better not come anywhere around here!”
Everybody in bravo team except for Sergeant Ribbon laughed. Luchen thought it was funny too until Sparrow elbowed him. I caught Sergeant Kemp’s eyes and knew he was thinking the same thing I was. We were all hoping this situation would remain peaceful. That was looking less and less likely all the time.
—• Mr. President, can you confirm reports of a firefight in northern Idaho between federal soldiers and members of the Idaho National Guard?”
“I’ve addressed this issue several times already. There was no firefight. It is true that US soldiers were conducting movement in northeast Washington, but the explosion that occurred on the Idaho border was an ill-advised and deliberate effort of the Idaho National Guard to bring down trees. Despite whatever rumors you may have heard, the explosion was absolutely not the result of any armed conflict or missiles fired from Predator surveillance drones operating in the area. In accordance with the Safe Skies Act of 2017, there are absolutely no armed aerial drones operating in US airspace.”
“Hart Wibley, CNN. Mr. President, why were federal soldiers on maneuvers in northeast Washington in the first place?”
“I’m afraid the answer to that question is classified.”
“Is this a preparation for an armed mission into Idaho?”
“I’m not going to answer that, Hart. That’s what classified means.”
“Nikki Aberall, Fox News. Mr. President, how do you respond to Senate Majority Leader Griffith’s criticism that you are being too lenient with the Idaho crisis? Is this a sign of a larger split in your party?”
“I spoke at length with Senator Griffith this morning. I certainly understand her sense of urgency in resolving this situation. However, I think she misunderstands the delicate nature of what we’re dealing with here. Yes, this standoff cannot be allowed to continue forever, but it’s important to remember these are Americans we’re talking about in Idaho. We cannot simply charge in there, guns blazing. I want to assure you and the American people that I am working constantly toward a peaceful resolution to this situation. However, if necessary, in order to make sure Idaho is in compliance with federal law, no option is off the table, including the use of force. •—
On Monday morning, everybody was talking about either the football game or the awesome things they’d done over the weekend. Randy, Brad, and Brad’s girlfriend, Crystal Bean, walked by. They stopped. “Wright, did you have a good drill?” Brad asked.
I could have told him about the explosives or about how I’d spent all the rest of the weekend helping to build Fortress Idaho. I could have told him about Lieutenant McFee. But I didn’t want to talk about any of it. “A boring training exercise.”
“That sucks you couldn’t make the game. We took Grangeville down, bro!”
Randy pulled both hands to his chest like he was snatching a football out of the air. “TJ had this great catch. You should have seen it.”
“That’s great.” I made myself look really impressed so I wouldn’t seem jealous. The three of them went off and were lost in the morning crowd in the hallway.
I bit my lip. The problem was that I was jealous. Not o
f TJ — I could handle that idiot. I was jealous of the other guys who had fun beating the snot out of Grangeville at the game, and then afterward making it with their girlfriends instead of being stuck out in the woods. I was jealous of everybody in this whole damned school whose biggest concerns were homework and sports and parties and having fun, while I was trapped in the middle of the so-called Idaho Crisis.
I started walking toward Mr. Shiratori’s class. Becca popped out of the crowd and laid her hand on my upper arm. “You okay? I know you have to be down after missing the game. And JoBell said you had to set off some freaky big explosion?”
“JoBell worries too much and then exaggerates,” I said. “It was a big boom, but not freaky.”
“Oh” — she shrugged and elbowed me — “you just blew up a forest to bring down all the trees. No big deal. You’re crazy, Danny. And you know, we all worry about you. Me especially.”
“Well, don’t. There’s nothing to worry about. Drill’s over. Things will start to calm down soon.”
JoBell came around the corner and started walking alongside us. She took my hand in hers. “Becca! There you are. I’ve been thinking. We need to get to some of these real protests like the ones they’re having in New York or San Francisco. The little local rallies are pathetic. Maybe we could road-trip to Seattle for the big demonstrations there.”
Becca put her arm around JoBell. “Gas costs a fortune.”
“I know. But I feel so helpless, so disconnected from the people who are trying to end this crisis. And it’s important, you know. I want to do something about it.”
“So study hard,” Becca said. “Become a lawyer like you always said you would.”
“I will,” said JoBell. “And when I’m a lawyer, I’m going to specialize in bringing scumbags like the Butchers of Boise to justice.”
I hurried us along to class without saying anything else.
* * *
That Wednesday, I was in Mr. Cretis’s advanced woods class. The shop was in the back of the school next to the weight room, facing the football field. Not many people made it through the first two classes to take the advanced level. Today there was just me on the belt sander, Dylan Burns over on the drill press, a junior named Chase Draper who never seemed to be able to measure stuff right, and Cal, who was down the hall taking his usual third-hour bathroom break.
Mr. Cretis had two rules for most of his classes. The first was safety. The second was that he would help us with nearly any project we wanted to work on as long as we kept busy and tried to figure out how to do it ourselves first. He’d taught me all sorts of different cuts, wood joints, and finishing techniques. He was a cool guy.
“Danny!” Mr. Cretis yelled.
Except when he was mad. I shut off the belt sander, checked to make sure I’d been wearing my safety goggles, and looked up at him.
“Danny, Mr. Morgan just called on the intercom. You’re supposed to go to the office.”
I frowned, wiping some powdery sawdust from the hair on my arms. Ms. Pierce, the school secretary, almost always called people to the office on the intercom. If the principal himself had called, this was serious. “Right now?” I asked.
“He said ‘immediately.’”
“Sounds like trouble, dude.” Dylan started the drill and cranked the lever to bore down into a wooden block.
I shrugged, dropped my goggles on the table, and left the shop, trying to guess what this was all about. Morgan and me had tangled before, mostly after I’d shot my mouth off at some teacher or for peeling out in the Beast in the school parking lot. But with everything that had happened this year, I hadn’t given anybody trouble here at school.
The school’s shop was down a weird little back hallway. As soon as I entered the main hall, someone slammed into me and shoved me back the way I’d come. It happened so fast, I couldn’t see who it was, but I pushed him off me and cocked my fist back, ready to go.
“Dude, chill,” Sweeney whispered, holding up his hands.
“What the hell are you doing?”
The bathroom door opened and Cal came out. “Hey, guys. What’s up?” The stench that rolled out of the bathroom after him was powerful.
I pulled my T-shirt up over my nose. “Damn it, Cal, what have you been eating?”
“Quiet!” Sweeney hissed. “Come on, follow me.”
“I have to go to the office. Morgan called me,” I said. “What’s going on?”
Sweeney put a hand on each of our shoulders and led us back toward the shop. “I was in chorus, and you know how Mrs. Henderson hates using comms for our music, and says the glow from the screens looks bad during performances —”
“No, ’cause I’m not lame enough to take chorus,” Cal said.
“Shut the hell up!” Sweeney said. “All the girls are in chorus. How’s it lame to be getting all the girls? Anyway, Henderson tells me to go have some music copied in the office.” He stopped us outside the door to the shop, but kept looking back toward the main hall. “I get in there and there’s all these guys in dark suits. One flashed a badge, mentioned the FBI. He had a gun holstered under his jacket. They told Morgan to call you to the office.”
“Oh shit.” My stomach felt cold. “So much for things going back to normal.”
“It’s a setup, Danny,” Sweeney said. “They know.”
“Know what?” Now Cal was keeping watch down the hall.
“Later.” Sweeney pulled Cal back to us. “Right now, we gotta get out of here.”
“Maybe I should turn myself in,” I said. “Maybe I’ve been too chicken, you know. Selfish.”
“What did you do?” Cal asked.
Sweeney shot me a look like, Can I tell him? I nodded. “You have to swear you won’t tell anyone about this,” Sweeney said. “That shooting in Boise? The one that’s been all over the news? Wright was there. He was hit in the face with a rock and his gun accidentally went off.”
“Whoa,” said Cal. “Did you —”
“I don’t know,” I said, knowing what he was about to ask. “All I know is I only fired one round. Total accident.” That gave me an idea. “Maybe if I go and explain that to them, they’ll —”
“No way,” said Sweeney. “You give yourself up now, within an hour you’ll be on a flight to DC. Who knows if you’ll get a fair trial or even a trial at all? And do you even know if they’re after anyone else? What if you’re the only one they’ve identified?”
“It ain’t fair if you have to be punished and nobody else does,” Cal said.
We were wasting time. It didn’t take this long to walk from the shop to the office. They would have figured that out by now and come to check on us. “Okay, I can work out whether or not to turn myself in later. Right now, I have to get out of here. How many agents are there? Do you think I can get to the Beast?”
“We’re not taking the Beast. That gas hog will never outrun these guys. Here.” Sweeney flipped me his keys. “You’re a better driver. We’ll take the ’stang.”
“You guys aren’t coming with —”
“We’re in it together,” Sweeney said.
Cal gave me a light punch on the arm. “ ’Sides my dad, who’s always on the road, you guys are the only family I got. I’m coming with you. My dirt bike’s in the shop. We can go out through the garage door.”
“This is all kinds of jacked up,” I said.
“No shit,” Sweeney said.
We headed back into the shop. “Be cool,” I said. “Act like nothing’s up.”
Mr. Cretis looked up from the tape measure he’d taken to something Chase was working on. “Danny?”
“Oh, Mr. Morgan wanted us to move Cal’s bike.” I said quietly to Sweeney, “Get the door,” then louder to Mr. Cretis, “This will only take a second.”
“Why do the two of you need to help Cal?” said Mr. Cretis. “Eric, where are you supposed to be?”
Sweeney threw the garage door up. I let out a little breath of relief when there were no federal agents right beh
ind it. Mr. Cretis put the tape measure down. “Danny, did you even go to the office? Mr. Morgan called down here again just now.”
Cal mounted the bike and started the engine. Sweeney climbed on behind him. That left only a very little bit of room for me. “Yeah, he probably wants us to hurry with the bike,” I said as I hopped on. Then I tapped Cal on the shoulder. “Go, dude, go!”
Cal eased the bike out through the door, then hooked a hard left and gunned it to speed down the back service road to the senior parking lot. “Damn, I forgot my helmet,” he shouted back to us.
It felt good to laugh. Helmets were the least of our problems. I kept checking all around us. A black car was parked halfway in the grass down the highway from the school. It might be trouble, might not. So far, though, we were in the clear. Cal pulled to the edge of the lot under a maple tree right next to Sweeney’s black Mustang.
I pressed the button to unlock the doors and rushed to the driver’s side. A car pulled up right behind us. If it was the FBI or whoever, they had us. I spun around to see Becca driving with JoBell in the passenger seat. They parked and stepped out of the car.
“You guys cutting class without us?” JoBell said.
“What are you two doing here?” Cal asked.
“We were volunteering over at the elementary,” said JoBell. “These cute little second graders were working on reading this story and —”
“What’s the matter?” Becca said.
I went to JoBell and kissed her, squeezing her close to me. If this went wrong, this might be the last time I could touch her. That alone was reason enough to run from these guys. “I gotta go.”
“What’s going on?” JoBell asked.
“Wright! Come on, dude!” Sweeney called from the passenger side of the Mustang.
I started toward the car, but JoBell held my hand. “Danny, you have to tell me. Please.”
The school door opened and three men in dark suits rushed out. One of them had drawn a revolver.