with any of them, soldier to soldier, and talk as if there isn’t any rank between them.
Unlike many of the others, she really doesn’t mind being on the road. It’s the close camaraderie of being in the field with her team mates that she enjoys. It’s not that she doesn’t appreciate warm meals and a comfy bed to sleep in, but there is a freedom associated with being out.
She’s good at what she does. That doesn’t mean she likes shooting at others, the adrenaline rush, or any of the other facets of being in action. To her, it’s more a matter of being there for her comrades. If her actions can save or help any of her team mates, that’s what she is there for. Although a cliche, she’d take a bullet for any one of them. Her preference though, is to put a round in those against them first.
She’s never been terribly afraid after the first few times she saw combat. Having grown up in the gang- controlled streets, she became used to gunshots at an early age. It’s not that she doesn’t feel nervous or fearful, it’s just that she isn’t afraid to die. That fear left a long time ago, and overcoming it is freeing. It doesn’t make her reckless or that the lack of fear is replaced with stupidity — she’s seen that one a lot in her career — it just means that she isn’t stymied in her actions by that fear. She is more afraid for her teammates than she is for herself.
Her thoughts wander around to her team. She and McCafferty have bonded well, they are sisters-in-arms. They’ve talked at length about a myriad of things, sharing a few secrets here and there, and have become very close. At first glance, McCafferty seems like one of those sweet girls who are most comfortable as the princess of a fair or giggling with friends over boys. Her cute looks and diminutive stature belie the toughness within. Her hundred and ten pounds soaking-wet-weight houses the heart of a lion. Gonzalez has seen her in combat many times fighting off hordes of night runners; holding her own and fearless, without a hint of fleeing. Yeah, Gonzalez trusts her implicitly and knows that McCafferty has her back at any time.
Henderson and Denton are both the quiet types. They hang with the rest of the team but don’t really say much. Henderson is the boy next door type, neither handsome nor ugly. He is a little more vocal and jokes around when it’s just the team together but is silent when others are around. The silence has nothing to do with his competency though and Gonzalez is glad to have him on the team. Both he and Denton are sharp shots with the M-110, to the point that she almost feels sorry for anyone that happens to fall in their crosshairs.
Denton is more like the surfer type, but without the outgoing aspect. He’s laid back and easy going with a ready smile when someone cracks a joke but doesn’t speak up much. He seems content to just be part of the group. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t take it all in though. He and Henderson seem to have hit it off pretty well and maybe it’s different when it’s just the two of them. Many times when they are hanging out as a team, Denton is usually taking his M-4 or M-110 apart and cleaning them. Not in a spooky or sinister way, but Gonzalez gets the impression that he’s a perfectionist.
Robert is a chip off of Jack. She sees the gears always turning in his head and knows he is a natural leader if he can only gain the confidence. He has matured a lot in the past few months but he second-guesses himself too much. His fear is that he will make the wrong decision and let the others down. Once he has confidence in his decision-making ability, he will be one of those that others follow. He just needs experience. Of his courage, there is no doubt. He has been in some of the fiercest firefights Gonzalez has ever seen and, with little to no training, he’s stayed right in there. And being able to fly an aircraft at his age? Yeah, he has a lot of abilities.
And then there’s Bri. She really likes Bri and thinks of her as another sister; although her feeling goes beyond that. Gonzalez feels a strong bond between them. Taking Bri under her wing was a natural thing to do. Perhaps it’s because Bri reminds her of herself at an earlier age. There is an inner toughness and she is always watching and learning. Gonzalez can see that there isn’t much that gets by Bri. Gonzalez relishes in teaching her and wants to pass on what others have taught her — teach her to be a soldier…to be tough yet keep her femininity intact…be strong yet supple enough to react…be flexible to a changing environment…teach her that she can be tough yet retain her humanity. Too often the toughness that soldiers in combat attain brings a coldness that they deem necessary in order to survive mentally. That means a repression of their humanity. Gonzalez knows now, through many trials by fire, that both can be achieved. The most important thing is to keep your humor and know what things to let slide off and what things to keep inside. Bri is a tough little warrior and Gonzalez intends to impart what knowledge she has to Bri.
Rays of natural light flood into the compartment as the ramp is lowered and hits the ground with a clang. There is the shuffle of feet as soldiers rise to empty out into the daylight.
“After you, little warrior,” Gonzalez says to Bri when it’s their turn to exit.
Bri smiles in return and runs down the ramp. Gonzalez follows and slides to her knee next to Bri on the sandy soil. Robert slides down a short distance away as the team forms a perimeter around the Stryker.
The remote, barren plains pass by. It’s apparent that the area was once a great basin for agriculture. The fenced-in fields are indicative of that, as is the farming equipment sitting abandoned in several of the fields. Heading west toward Sturgis, we pass an airport with a runway that looks long enough for the 130. It has a small ramp and looks like it serves the town. I imagine the airport is busy when the motorcycle rally comes to town, but I seriously doubt the runway itself will handle the weight of our aircraft.
The road begins a gentle climb. We pass a complex of buildings which the faded signs by the side of the road indicate to be Fort Meade. Just beyond the fort, we drive along the base of tree-lined hills, the only greenery for miles around. Rounding a corner in the highway, the area opens up and the town of Sturgis comes into view. Still on a significant rise, most of the town spreads out before us. I have the Stryker halted so we can get a better look before proceeding.
The ramp is lowered and the sound of boots pound down the metal surface, breaking the stillness of the area. The two teams quickly form a small perimeter at the edges of the road around the Stryker. I marvel at how tight we have become in just a few months. No shouts of command are necessary. Everyone knows what has to be done and does it like a well-oiled machine. That’s what we need if we are going to survive. The major hesitation I had when encountering Captain Leonard was that the inclusion of another command might disrupt the tightness we have. That is always a possibility as we include more and more people into our group but, for now, we are running smoothly.
The other thing that worries me is the constant stress. At some point, that will come to a head and we will see this smoothness falter. We’re going to have to begin incorporating some downtime for the teams into the schedule. We have been going full bore since we began setting up our sanctuary and that pace can’t continue. When we get more people through the training and see an increase in the number of teams, we’ll be able to put aside time to relax. Right now, though, we barely have enough to keep up with what we have going.
With binoculars in hand, I climb onto the Stryker. The air is still and only the sound of the idling Stryker can be heard. I feel the vibrations under my feet and have to sit in order to see clearly, steadying the glasses on my knees. It really doesn’t help that much though. Looking through the field glasses, a magnified view of the city unfolds. Directly below us is a cemetery.
Several partially dug graves lie on once well-tended lawns, now brown and overgrown. Looking farther into town, the main highway transits the north end. The central part of ‘downtown’ is a block south of the main highway. It looks like most other small towns — a wide street with commercial type buildings situated along the main thoroughfare. The main residential areas stretch to the south, east, and west sides. Most of the roads are covered in brown dirt with only a little light-colored gray asphalt or concrete showing through in places.
As with the base, drifts of sand and debris are piled up against the buildings, houses, fences, and cars. As I look over the rest of the town, I don’t see any signs that someone is around. It looks like one of the old west ghost towns. The only thing missing are tumbleweeds blowing down the streets and barroom doors swinging in the wind.
Without seeing an indication that anything has been there in some time, we pile back in the vehicle and make our way down. We drive over the sand-blown roads into the heart of the town. The central area is only four or five blocks long. Along Main Street are several banks, restaurants, gift shops, bars, real estate offices, a laundry, a center for the arts, a casino, and a small building named ‘Sturgis Motorcycle Museum & Hall of Fame’.
Stopping along the street and disembarking the teams, I see firsthand what I saw from afar. Sand covers the roads and is piled in deep drifts in the storefront doorways. Several parked cars along the street are almost
