by Joe Nobody
No, what began to eat at the young officer’s core was the fact that his superiors seemed more than happy to play along. These were the men he had admired, valiant leaders and brilliant military minds giving inspiration to the young officer. Until he began to work at the Pentagon.
He watched senior officers sell their souls for the promise of a corner office after retirement. He witnessed reports being faked and test results being altered in order to keep the pipeline of money flowing in the right direction.
All the while, no one seemed the least bit concerned about the citizens who had volunteered to serve and protect their country. No one had the common soldier’s best interest at heart, and it poisoned the Colonel’s soul.
Within three months, he had requested transfer. Within six, he considered resigning.
And now… now he was the man behind the curtain, pulling levers and pushing the buttons of that very same machine. He was now in charge of the beast that consumed men. It was his finger on the big trigger, and he despised it.
The hatred and bigotry against the Alliance was just such a charade. Like those officers before, the truth was being twisted, manipulated and ignored. There was a cadence in the air – a march toward war.
Like the overpriced, underperforming weapons systems of before, the president knew none of the insiders cared one bit about the men and women who would die if conflict came. No one addressed the suffering that would occur on both sides. That was far away from Washington. Any battle would occur in the Southwest, and wasn’t that mostly wasteland anyway?
Rising from his lunch, the president left the dining room and decided on a stroll to help him think. The cigar he retrieved from his desk on the way out would do its part in helping clear his mind.
He needed a solution to the growing problem in New Mexico, the dilemma both complex and a political hot potato.
Strolling through the perfectly manicured grounds of Camp David, the Commander in Chief realized this wasn’t the first time he’d been taxed with the burden of a pending civil war.
His thoughts returned to a time when the Independents threatened to tear the country apart. Massive numbers of troops and equipment had chosen to follow their leadership, and it had almost spelled the destruction of what little remained of the nation.
How had they avoided that?
Grunting, the president thought about his old employee… and now friend. He visualized Bishop toiling on that patch of desert scrub he called a ranch. The image of his former contractor wearing a western hat, sweat-soaked shirt and worn work gloves actually brought a smile to the chief executive’s face.
“What a waste,” he grumbled. “One of the best shooters I’ve ever seen, and he wants to spend his days chasing cows around a worthless pit of sand and rock.”
“Sir?” Agent Powell asked, another Secret Service man and he stepping closer to the POTUS as they continued to shadow him.
“I’m sorry, Powell. I was just thinking aloud about an old friend of ours. You remember Bishop, don’t you?”
A scowl crossed the agent’s face, his hand subconsciously moving to rub his jaw where the Texan had landed a particularly hard right hook. “Yes, sir, I remember him.”
“I know you don’t like my comrade down in Texas, Powell, but you have to admit, there’s never a dull moment when he’s around.”
“Are you asking my opinion, sir?”
The president thought he knew, but what the hell. “Yes, I am.”
“That man is out of control, sir. He is a danger to anyone around him, and I’m surprised someone hasn’t killed him before now.”
Chuckling, the Commander in Chief thought to have a little fun with his bodyguard. “It seems he’s a hard man to kill, wouldn’t you say?”
“He’s lucky, sir. That’s all there is to it. The man is a loose cannon, and that kind always end up in the same place – a 6x3 farm with a headstone for an address, with lots of their friends residing nearby.”
“Oh, I’ll admit Bishop is a cowboy. No doubt about that. But sometimes the world needs men who act on passion and honor alone. He’s bailed me out more than once.”
“Yes, sir,” Powell replied, thinking he’d said too much already.
The three men continued their stroll, the president puffing on his stogie, apparently admiring the landscape.
With an abrupt motion that surprised his escorts, the president turned and looked at Powell. “Yes, sometimes the world needs a cowboy. I need to talk with Miss Brown. Someone hook up a call… or transmission… or whatever you call it.”
“Yes, sir.”
And then the chief executive hesitated. “No, never mind. Belay that. There’s something more important right this second. Where are my grandchildren? It’s time to have a talk with them about their father.”
Bishop was helping his wife with the laundry, the hot tub’s spring-fed water providing a handy place to clean their wardrobes.
Terri had procured a new type of soap during her last visit to Alpha, the mushy, yellow substance having come from the core of a cactus common to the area. Who knew?
It didn’t smell bad, but its bubble yield was disappointing – a fact that made Terri’s face wrinkle. “The real test is your son’s dirty underpants. I look forward to the day when somebody starts making disposable diapers again. Washing out these cloth rags just plain sucks.”
Bishop grinned at his wife’s complaint, thinking of comparing her remarks to a recent encounter he’d experienced with the windmill pump, but decided against it. Then, he just couldn’t hold it any more.
“I thought you had friends in high places? You need to set the record straight with Diana and the council, help them realize the error in their priorities. To hell with antibiotics, insulin, law and order, and electricity for all… we need diapers!”
His response was a splash of water, the airborne wave catching him across the face. I hope that was from the rinse tub, he thought. Still, it was better than a rock.
Peace again returned to the desert, Bishop deciding there was wisdom in silence while he twisted each item, wringing out the excess water, and then hanging the article on a nearby line.
Trying to scrub the stain from one of Hunter’s better efforts, Terri held the swath of cloth up to the sunlight to see if the new detergent was the equal to her son’s bodily functions. “Not bad,” she noted.
Smiling at his wife, readying to make a smartass remark, Bishop’s face flashed to serious. “Company,” he warned, dropping a damp shirt and moving for the nearby rifle.
Terri turned, shielding her eyes from the bright sun. She could see the trail of dust rising up from what could only be a car driving across the ranch. “Before you ask, no, I wasn’t expecting the Avon lady.”
The couple, now both armed, watched as the pickup approached their home. “I hope that’s not bad news from Nick’s venture into New Mexico,” Bishop said.
“I hope so, too,” Terri responded, glancing over at Hunter napping in his stroller, and moving to put herself between the visitors and her child.
The Texans watched as the truck rolled to a stop, both doors opening to reveal a young man and woman. Shielding his eyes from the sun, Bishop ventured, “Teenagers? Maybe they were out for a joyride and got lost?”
“With the price of gas?” Terri responded. “Better not be.”
And then Terri recognized David and Samantha, the Colonel’s grandchildren. Bishop was right behind her.
The reunion was joyous, hugs, handshakes and observations of, “My, look how you’ve both grown!”
Hunter received the same comments.
During it all, Bishop knew why the now-president’s grandchildren were in Alpha.
Remaining polite, and genuinely thrilled to see both teens doing so well, Bishop let the conversation go on about Meraton, David’s flying, his sister’s studies, and the general well-being of their grandpa.
Bishop and David reminisced about Bones, the stripped down Humvee the Texan had stolen from the
Columbian drug dealers and used to procure medical devices to save the Colonel.
The celebration moved inside, Terri pouring cold water, and offering the visitors what little they had in the way of snacks.
Both kids, after a knowing look at each other, declined. “Actually, we’re here on business… sort of. Our father has been taken prisoner, and the whole situation is getting out of hand. We came to ask both of you to help Sam and me,” David admitted, looking Bishop straight in the eye.
“You don’t say,” Bishop replied, skepticism written all over his face. “And what kind of shit storm does the Colonel want to pull us into now?”
“Actually, grandpa forbade us to come here. We’re probably going to be in trouble when we go back. We kind of… err… borrowed an airplane,” Sam confessed.
The Texan started to scold the two youths, but once glance from Terri stopped him short.
“It must be pretty serious,” she said in a sympathetic voice. “What’s going on?”
“Well, it’s more than just our dad,” Sam pleaded. “A friend of yours… Kevin? Right before we left, grandpa was reading the reports and told us that a guy named Kevin had been taken prisoner as well.”
Bishop looked at Terri, asking the unspoken question of, “Have you heard of any of this?”
She responded, “Diana wouldn’t let me stay with her while Nick was gone. She said she was a big girl, and that I had a family to take care of. This is the first I have heard of this.”
The frustration of finding out their friends were in trouble via such a remote, unlikely source, didn’t sit well with Bishop. While he appreciated Nick and Diana respecting their privacy, it seemed they’d taken it too far.
Turning to his wife, Bishop said, “Why don’t you pack some things? I think we’re going to be gone for a while.”
Nodding, Terri flashed a smile of worry. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
“So you’re going to help our dad?” Sam asked.
“Maybe. If I can, but no promises. Now I want you two little plane thieves to get your butts back to Camp David before the Colonel has the entire U.S. military out looking for you. The last thing I need right now is to have some jerk trump up charges that we kidnapped you, and given my past experience with being a wanted man, I wouldn’t put it past them.”
Hugs, handshakes, and goodbyes went quickly, Bishop and Terri obviously worried about their friends.
Twenty minutes after the kids had left, the couple were pulling out as well, the truck’s bed filled with hastily gathered belongings.
“I didn’t finish the laundry,” Terri remembered as they turned onto the paved road leading to Alpha. “I guess it’ll still be there when we get back.”
“One can certainly hope not,” Bishop grinned, accelerating the pickup. “Fort Bliss or bust,” he added.
Being back at the base hospital brought back a flood of memories for both Bishop and Terri. They had rushed to Bliss at full speed, the partial information delivered by David and Samantha making the trip seem like they were driving forever.
They passed through the MPs guarding Nick’s ward without incident, walking quickly down the long, sterile hall while glancing at the room numbers. Diana’s voice drifting through the corridor told the couple they were close.
A few moments later, Terri’s smiling face peeked in the door. “Some people will do anything to avoid getting hitched,” she teased, entering the room.
Bishop was right behind her, carrying Hunter on his shoulder.
In a flash, Diana was up and in Terri’s arms, the two women shaking with the release of emotion as both broke down crying. Bishop and Hunter moved to the bedside, the Texan mumbling, “You okay, big guy? You look like shit.”
Nodding, Nick’s gaze centered on Hunter, his eyes growing cloudy with moisture. “Spend all the time you can with him,” the former Special Forces operator whispered. “You never know when they’ll be taken away.”
“What the hell has happened to the Army?” Grim demanded. “Has the whole world lost its fucking honor? We do not leave anyone behind. Nowhere, no how, no way. I only asked for a couple of Blackhawks and two rifle squads. Butter and I would have taken care of the rest. And what did I get? First, a nice young LT tried to blow hot air up my skirt, telling me he was confident the authorities would address the matter. Then a captain refused to let me see General Owens personally, informing me that I should use the established chain of command. When I let that little pipsqueak fucker in on the fact that I was no longer a subscriber to Mother Green’s hierarchy, he tried to shoo me away to the Office of Civilian Affairs. And that’s when I finally got pissed.”
Bishop sat across from his friend, expressionless, letting the man rant until he was out of breath. Experience had taught the Texan that might take a while.
Rattling the chains that secured his wrists to the heavy table, Grim continued his tirade. “And now look at me. Chained like a common fucking criminal. I’m telling you, Bishop, somebody from the Alliance council needs to come over to this base and kick some ass.”
Bishop sighed, a smirk forming on his lips. “You put two MPs in the infirmary, Grim. According to the major that let me in here, it took another four men to settle your ass down. You broke three windows, smashed two chairs, and destroyed a bookshelf during the… err… ongoing discussion.”
“And a partridge in a fucking pear tree,” Grim responded, rolling his eyes. “I was a little upset. They wouldn’t let me go back in after Kevin.”
The Texan studied his former teammate, knowing exactly why Grim had reacted with such outrage. The man was convinced he’d messed up and gotten his commander shot up and Kevin captured. With Butter in the hospital, Grim was the last man standing, and the guilt, deserved or imagined, was eating him up inside.
Bishop understood. He’d been there. It was as debilitating as any bullet’s wound, the closest the Texan had ever come to ending his own life.
“A little upset? Really?” Bishop replied, shaking his head. “Let’s go through it, Grim. From the top. How did you insert?”
An hour later, Bishop stood and stretched. He stepped to the door, hit the electric buzzer, and asked that the prisoner’s shackles be removed. The MP had strict orders to do as Bishop asked… and instantly produced a key.
“That’s it? I’m free?”
“No,” Bishop responded gently. “It just occurred to me that those chains were unnecessary. Now, keep going, what happened when Butter and you heard the gunfire?”
Grim’s mind returned to the skirmish in New Mexico, the pain leaking from the man’s soul and filling the small room. “When the first shot rang out, I knew instantly where they’d gotten hit. Butter and I were 200 meters beyond that little pasture, waiting on Nick and Kevin to catch up. I even told Butter it was the perfect place for an ambush when we were crossing that same open space.”
“Go on.”
“Well, it was obvious Nick and the kid were in trouble. There was a lot of small arms fire, screaming and shouting. We were tearing ass to get back and help.”
“What kind of terrain were you in?” Bishop asked, already knowing the answer from his interview with Butter, and well aware it was a key point during the encounter.
“Oh, shit, it was nasty stuff. Some sort of vines with briars were just everywhere. Even the trees were a pain in the ass, low branches snagging everything from our hats to our slings. Between tripping on the undergrowth and navigating through the limbs, it seemed like it was taking forever to get back there. It was like one of those nightmares… you know… the ones where the alligator is chasing your ass and you can’t run. Your feet won’t move fast enough.”
Bishop didn’t say anything, waiting on Grim to continue without prompting.
“We hit the edge of the wood line right as the shooting stopped. The grass was chest high there. I could see movement about 50 meters in, but I couldn’t tell what was happening. Butter and I charged in, hoping our guys were still alive.”
&nb
sp; Again, Grim’s thoughts drifted from the room, his conscious mind wandering back to that fateful encounter. The rugged, seen-it-all contractor quickly brushed a tear from his cheek. “We slogged through to the location where the fight had occurred. Five of them had Nick down. I thought he was dead. One was going through his pockets, the other trying to wrestle his watch off his wrist. Butter and I tore into their asses…. We hit ’em with everything we had.”
Bishop knew Grim was telling the truth, Butter having already relayed a nearly identical story. The Texan also knew Grim had to get it all off of his chest.
“It was CQB (Close Quarters Battle) out the ass in those weeds. Every combatant had time to fire his weapon about once, and I don’t think any of us hit a damn thing but air. And then it degraded into hand to hand,” the contractor confessed with a low, monotone voice.
“Other than Nick, I’d never, ever, seen a big man move like Butter. He took out three of those fuckers just ‘wham, bam, thank ya, ma’am.’ I know he snapped that one dude’s neck with his bare hands.”
This is where the story finally differed from Butter’s version. According to the team’s newest member, it was Grim who stacked up the corpses at his feet. It doesn’t matter, Bishop thought. At least not right now.
“And where was Kevin?”
“I guess they’d carried him off before we got there. I looked around. All around. Under the bodies… around the weeds… in case he had crawled off. I called out, shouted his name a dozen times. I swear I did! But the kid wasn’t there. During the fight, one of the guys we were taking down had yelled for help. I couldn’t understand the words, but it was pretty clear he was hoping for reinforcements.”
“How long did you look?”
Grim’s answer was full of pain. “Not fucking long enough, that’s for certain.”