Add it to the never-ending list of woes, Tyce thought as he squatted next to the loyal pooch and pulled snowballs off him. He glanced at the others resting in the snow against their packs. He’d kept the breaks to a few minutes at a time and forced everyone to drink water from canteens they’d stashed inside their snowsuits to keep them defrosted. He pulled out his canteen cup and poured out some water and laid it in the snow. Trigger lapped it up greedily.
He looked back at Copper, who was resting against his pack, and smiled, “You ready to go, old man?” he asked, trying to squeeze out a little more encouragement.
Copper’s eyes and smile remained fixed on Tyce, but he didn’t move.
“Okay, no rest for the weary.” Tyce tried to put up a good front, but he was as dog tired as Copper and yearned to lie down a few minutes more as well. Tyce walked over to him and pulled his skis out of the ground and laid them next to Copper’s boots.
“Here we go.”
When Copper still didn’t move, Victoria came over and waved a hand before the man’s face. She laid her fingers against his throat, then turned to Tyce and shook her head. She closed Cooper’s eyes and looked up at Tyce sorrowfully. Tyce called Blue over and not surprisingly, Blue pulled out a Bible and asked permission to say a few words. After their prayer, the other two looked at Tyce.
“What should we do?” asked Victoria.
“Leave him.” said Blue, “We can come back for him later.” The old mountain man was used to death and didn’t see a reason to slow their progress if they didn’t need to. He’d killed lots of things in the snow and returned to get them later.
“No,” said Tyce, “We take him with us. I’m not leaving another man behind.”
No one argued, but Victoria glanced at him as if he were talking nonsense. She knew he was almost out of strength and literally carrying deadweight would slow them to a crawl.
“It’s okay.” said Tyce, “We’ll trade off, but we’re getting this man back to his family.”
Leaving Snowshoe and escaping the Russians was only half their trouble. Now, fighting across a hellish, mountainous landscape with a wounded dog and a dead man was going to be the other half. In fact, as Tyce snapped back into his skis and hefted Copper’s lifeless body onto his back, he realized that escaping the Russians had been the easy part.
Until gunfire erupted from the opposite slope. Someone had tracked them all night and finally caught up.
CHAPTER 30
Monongahela National Forest
For the time being, it looked like they had lost their Russian pursuers. It had been six hours since they were last taken under fire. The fire had been inaccurate and at long range, enough to keep them trekking at an anxious pace and constantly looking behind. Six hours fighting through the snow, but the afternoon and even early evening sun had warmed their bodies and their moods a bit.
Tyce struggled with Copper’s body, even rigged up and towed behind on his skis; the added weight was taking its toll. Blue had traded off for many of the hills, but Tyce cheated the time line and took more of his share carrying him. Tyce had ditched almost all of their gear to lighten the load. Both packs were first to go, Copper’s body armor and parka, then Tyce’s flak jacket and helmet, finally mag pouches, combat webbing, and extra grenades. Now his weary mind kept returning to the possibility of just leaving Copper in the snow. It would be immensely easier and perhaps twice as fast. He was slowing down and endangering the rest of his small, fleeing band.
No, that was exhaustion taking over. He must let his rational thoughts win. He knew they’d never find Copper again. Without a GPS lock or a firm location on his map, it would be a huge challenge to ever find Copper’s body. That is, if wild animals didn’t find him first and make him a midwinter snack. Tyce shuddered at the thought of one of his men being eaten.
No way, Tyce thought. No man left behind. Even if it means sacrificing my own life in the process.
His men would never follow him again if he treated their fallen with such disrespect.
A crackle of gunfire broke out behind them again, and they sprinted up the last steps of the hill, snapped skis on, and skied as fast as they could down the other side.
* * *
Night was coming, snow was whipping up again, and their visibility was reduced to a few meters. Trees became obscured, like a white sheet had been drawn over the forest. Tyce glanced behind, hoping the renewed snowstorm would obscure their tracks. His eyesight was blurring, and the snow obscured more than twenty meters back, but he could still discern neat cuts through the snow that the Russians would surely be able to follow.
“Hey!” Tyce yelled against the storm.
He’d stopped too long and could no longer make out the other two. He looked around; disorientation from the fatigue had taken over. The snow fell even in huge, downy flakes, adding to his confusion. He glanced around and back again, hoping to see something that would at least tell him what direction he was going. Copper’s body tied to the skis and laid out parallel to his at least told him he hadn’t inadvertently turned. His tongue lolled out and his mouth hung open. He could feel his heart beating irregularly.
“Stop! he yelled, then to himself, “I can’t . . . can’t go on.”
Victoria and Trigger materialized ahead of him through the nearly impenetrable white mass.
Thank God, he thought. Then as Victoria neared, “I . . . where . . .”
“Tyce,” she said, pulling down the balaclava and revealing a huge smile on her lips, “Blue went on ahead. He caught sight of something. Let’s go.”
She held Tyce by the shoulder, and together the four of them forged forward another hundred meters. Then they saw Blue racing toward them and yelling. Ahead a flicker of light, maybe a streetlight or a house, but definitely a sign of civilization.
“Aim for those lights!” Blue shouted to them gleefully, the sound of the wind nearly drowning him out. Victoria turned back, the balaclava around her face and neck thick with ice and snow. She nodded and yelled ahead to Blue something Tyce couldn’t hear. Blue came back, grabbed Tyce, attached a strap to him and started to tow Tyce and Copper. Trigger came up and bit Tyce’s gloved hand and started to drag him forward. Together, they made it the last full measure.
Several buildings became visible through the snow.
“It’s a bar!” yelled Victoria in Tyce’s ear trying to encourage him onwards. It worked.
Another twenty feet and they could see people through the glass windows. The place was packed. A generator and the glow of the hearth showed why practically half the town was gathered there. Warmth and power were just about all anyone could want in a storm and during the crisis of an invasion. That, plus some human company to reassure them and, of course, a little bit of alcohol to make the invasion a bit more digestible.
Tyce crashed through the doors. Blue came next, dragging Copper’s body inside with him. Victoria and Trigger came next. Tyce tried to say something, but collapsed down to the floor. Victoria removed Tyce’s skis while Blue pulled Tyce to his feet, Copper’s body still tucked under his other arm. The entire bar crowd pivoted and stared at the three snow-and-frost-covered figures. There was a brief moment of uncertainty as Tyce surveyed the place and the locals stared back at them. The last thing he wanted was to involve the locals in his battles, but he and the others could barely stand, Tyce most of all.
“We’re U.S. military, there is a Russian assault unit just behind us. They’ve followed us all day and night. They’re going to kill us, and we’re out of ammo.” Victoria said through numb, blue lips.
There was no response, just vacant looks.
“Does anyone here have a Goddamned gun?” Tyce managed to squeak out.
A chuckle started in the corner of the bar. An older man in overalls with a huge, flowing white beard started a big belly laugh, then those around him joined in, and in moments, the whole bar erupted in laughter.
“He’s serious!” said Blue, “There’s Russians just behind us.”
>
Tyce held his carbine up, shrugged his shoulders, pulled the magazine, and stared into it. Looked like about four more rounds. He turned his back on the bar, propped himself up against Blue, and prepared to fire at the next thing that came through the doors.
The man with the beard stopped laughing. He casually slipped off his bar stool and walked up to Tyce. He came in front of him and looked him right in the eyes.
“You all look exhausted. Why don’t y’all just sit this one out?”
At which point, he pulled out a Smith & Wesson 45 silver long barrel that glinted in the firelight. “We can take it from here.” The old man motioned to the lady bartender, who poured three coffees, then added a liberal amount of whiskey to top them off.
One by one, the men and women in the bar pulled out pistols and hunting rifles, donned their coats, and patted or saluted Tyce, Blue, Trigger and Victoria on their way out into the blizzard. No one seemed to be coordinating their movements, but Tyce watched through the snow as they set up just in front of the building. Blue dragged Tyce over to a bar stool and plopped him down heavily, then put the hot coffee and whiskey drink in his hand. Victoria sat next to Tyce and Blue next to her and all three sat and stared like they were watching an evening’s action flick on the TV.
In less than a minute, muzzle flashes blazed from every corner. The blizzard muted most of the weapons’ reports, but it was all over before the trio even fully realized what had happened. In ones and twos, the town reentered the bar, some reloading lever guns, others dumping out brass from wheel guns, and still others replacing spent AR magazines with fresh ones. They each went back to their seats and their drinks, drained them in one gulp, and called for refills while discussing amongst each other if there would be more Russians coming and whether to leave the bodies in the snow or not.
The man with the beard was the last one back inside; he and another man carried a third, who had been wounded. Blood was running down his leg, but you would have barely known he was wounded to look at him. Either he had had enough to drink to dull the pain, or he was just made from the tougher stock the West Virginia mountains seemed to be known for, because he had a huge grin plastered across his face and kept chanting, “got me two of ’em,” holding up two fingers like a peace sign—“Got me two”—and collecting cheers as they carried him over and laid him on top of a big oak table. Several others gathered up some bar rags and a bottle of whiskey—careful to grab some of the cheapest the bar had on offer—and poured it on the rags, then wrapped it around his bleeding thigh. He winced in extreme pain, but yelled out, “Got two of ’em, the bastards.”
Victoria pulled off her snow jacket, grimacing at Tyce as she watched the men perform their drunken triage. She grabbed her medical bag and stomped over to bring the men’s field medicine back into the twenty-first century.
The old man with the beard came over to Tyce and shook his hand. “Drink up, soldier, you ain’t got no Russian problem no more.” And he pointed to Tyce’s whiskey and coffee.
“There’ll be more. They’ll come looking.” He managed some sips of the hot beverage. It was over-the-moon tasty.
“Probably, but the snow will cover them over for now.” said the old man, feeding Trigger bits of beef jerky. Trigger’s tail thump-thumped against the bar. “And later we’ll go out and recover the bodies and give them a Christian burial in the woods behind the chapel.”
The warm room and whiskey, coupled with exhaustion and an empty stomach, started to make Tyce’s head swim.
The bearded mountain man smiled again and clapped Tyce on the shoulder. “You just take a rest, Major Asher. We’ve got you all settled now.”
Tyce was about to ask how they knew his name, but all he could manage was, “Where are we?”
“You in the free city of Davis, West Virginia, boy.” said another local.
“And a Mountaineer is always free,” said another, raising his glass to Tyce.
The old man chimed in again, “The guest cabins are empty. We can set you and you all up there for a spell. Y’all look like you could use some rest.”
The last thing Tyce remembered was Victoria and Blue catching him as he fell off the bar stool, unconscious.
CHAPTER 31
Davis, West Virginia
Tyce awoke with a start and sat bolt upright. Completely disoriented, he looked around the room. Wood-paneled walls, a worn woven throw rug displaying a hunting scene, old wooden crossed skis on the wall. A warm fire in a fireplace. The place smelled like pine, and the warm glow was inviting. All this added to Tyce’s confusion.
He tried to pull his arm from under the blankets to check his watch, but it obeyed him only slowly and with great effort. He cringed. Nearly twenty-four hours on skis had caught up to him. Dull, throbbing pain in both arms from dragging Sergeant Copper and pushing ski poles. His thighs throbbed, and a different, sharper pain stabbed at his fingers and toes.
Frostbite? he thought.
The pain jogged his memory. Clouded thoughts returned. A long trek through a blizzard, a risky firefight, townspeople killing their pursuers. What time was it? A window—it was dark outside. Nighttime. But how long had he been out? Hours? Days? He’d lost all sense of time.
Surely there are Russian reinforcements coming. They have a unit missing, he thought.
A cold, prickly sweat swept over him, and he reached around for his M4 carbine. When he didn’t feel it by the bedside, he took a moment to steady himself. Then, with great pain, he pulled his knees up toward him and half-rose, half-rolled out of the bed. His feet touched the warm floor, but his ankles and knees gave out, and he fell in a heap onto the hunting rug.
The sound of footsteps scurried toward the room. He turned his head toward the door to see Victoria looking down at him with the usual disappointed curl to her pretty lips. He was too pained to get up.
“Well, if that isn’t some real bullshit. You are supposed to stay in bed,” she scolded him, then sat down in a chair and looked him over. “But since you’re finally up, we’ve been hard at work while you’ve been laying down on the job,” she gibed at him. “Some of the townsfolk and I did some calculating. Do you realize we skied almost sixty miles? And you carried Copper most of that whole way.”
“Who . . . I mean, how . . . ?”
“Don’t worry. I sent Blue away when I undressed you. And also when I dressed you back up again.” She smiled. “I had to look you over for injuries and frostbite. You went down pretty hard. You should be glad I managed to save your fingers and toes . . . and other extremities. I warmed them slowly, so you didn’t lose anything. And I promise, I didn’t look . . . much.” She giggled.
“I’m in no mood for joking, Commander—”
“Okay, can we just go by first names again? After all, we’re the same rank, and we’re also in private, and we have some time.”
“What about—”
“Blue and Trigger are fine. And the town took Copper to a cellar. He’ll be buried in the morning.”
Tyce heaved a sigh of relief. “How long have I been out?”
“About eight hours.”
“What time is it? Shouldn’t we get going?”
“It’s about four in the morning, and no, you need to rest. We can get up and move again in the morning after a hearty breakfast. The bar we were in last night said they’d serve us up some bacon and eggs tomorrow.”
Tyce’s stomach grumbled loudly at the thought of food, and Victoria giggled again.
“I brought us some snacks, just in case you woke up early. Be right back.”
She hopped off the bed and returned with a plate of cheese and bread and a bottle of red wine.
“The bread is good carbs, you need them. The cheese, too—some dairy will be good for your empty stomach.”
“And the wine, doctor?” said Tyce, a hint of humor returning.
“The wine . . . well, that’s for me. A reward for dealing with a stubborn old goat of an infantryman.”
Victoria had been bus
ily answering Tyce’s rapid-fire questions, but now she locked eyes with him. The look lasted just a second too long for two workmates, and a heartbeat too long for two friends.
“Should I pour us some wine?” She reached over him and grabbed the glasses off the nightstand, her arm brushing against him and her chest coming close to his face.
“Why . . . I mean. Victoria, it’s not right. I have a mission . . .”
“This isn’t about you, Marine. It’s about me. I’m tired of racing around. I want this. No, I need this.” Tyce, as tired as he was, was more than a little taken aback by her forward nature. “And quite frankly, I’m tired of listening to your self-doubt. Maybe a romp in the hay will do your damn machismo some good. You’re a combat leader, for Christ’s sake. Act like one.”
“That’s not fair. You only know me—”
“I know you plenty. I know you through the eyes of your men. I know you in the way you look out for them every day, even when they don’t notice. I knew you the first time I laid eyes on you. You are what our nation needs in a time like this. You are what the Corps made you—”
“Ha!” It was Tyce’s turn to interrupt. “The Corps tossed me aside a long time ago. When leaders in the infantry—men I looked up to—said I wasn’t worthy. A medical board. With doctors like you. They said I wasn’t . . . that I wasn’t a whole . . .”
‘Oh, bullshit. More self-pity. You’re here, aren’t you?” She took a long sip of wine and then put the glass up to his mouth. Tyce sipped at it, reluctantly. He took the glass from her. He needed the drink. He downed the glass and felt the wine warm him inside and quiet his mind. She smiled and poured another. She drank some, gave him the glass, then kissed him full on the lips. It felt good. Too good. Tyce shook his head.
“I’ve . . . I’ve just killed a lot of men.”
“That’s what warriors do.”
“I mean my men. They died. Because of me, my decisions. And it’s not just them. The mothers, the families. The blame.”
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