“I know,” Rogers said. He exhaled and edged to a stack of empty pallets sitting on their edge. “We’ll go, but we need to be suited up; I have a feeling those globes brought more than just bombs.”
James led them out after lunch, patrolling up the hill. Jacob stepped in front of Rogers, watching James further ahead of him, with Duke leading the way with his nose. He felt bad about leaving Katy and Laura alone with Jesse, but she understood. They were blind out here all alone, and she wanted to know the state of things just as bad as the rest of them did. Seeing the rifle slung over Laura’s shoulder as she hugged him goodbye, Jacob was amazed at how their lives had changed—from hiding in a bedroom, to him going on patrols while she protected the camp.
The patrol’s first objective was to check out the helicopter pad; then Rogers wanted to visit the radio tower overlook at the top of the ridge. He wanted to gather intel on the neighboring village; he needed to find out if it was really bombed, and if not, why it was burning. The men still hadn’t seen a globe since they left the base, and he was growing concerned the things may have landed. If they landed, he wanted to know what they brought with them. They were all thinking it was an invasion, yet none of them would say the words out loud.
Jacob patrolled forward, watching every step as he navigated the well-worn trail that was married to a ridge line. He could see the place was heavily used by tourists at some point; the sides of the trail were marked by posts indicating popular hiking paths that jutted off the main trail. At one open spot there were several wooden benches with names carved into it. Farther up, was a picnic area with tables and permanent barbecue pits. Jacob looked to the front and watched Duke trotting along with a relaxed posture, only occasionally stopping to stand point at a squirrel or sniff a raccoon track.
The team passed several identical small cabins, each of them rustic with a small covered porch and a single window in the front. The patrol checked the first two, stopping to peek inside and seeing the empty beds and cold wood stove. They were not only empty, but also bore no signs of people, or any clue they’d been used recently.
Just below the ridge line, the trail broke off to the south. A post in the ground indicated it would lead to an athletic field. James made the turn following the path and guided them onto a trail that doubled in width as it rounded a bend. Jacob could see bright sunlight breaking through the trees, indicating that the clearing was ahead. The point man put up a flat hand, then stepped off into the tall vegetation on the side of the trail. Jacob followed the guide’s lead, and knelt to the side as Rogers brushed past him to creep close to James.
Jacob adjusted his position so he could watch the back trail while the others planned. A breeze gently moved the trees and, lifting his face, Jacob smelled tobacco smoke. He turned his head as Rogers crept up beside him. Rogers held fingers to his lips, mimicking a cigarette, and pointed in the direction of the clearing. James looked back and waved them forward as he stepped up and led the way.
They moved into the clearing together, more relaxed knowing that the Deltas didn’t smoke, but still on alert for strangers. The field was a bit larger than a double football field. A Blackhawk helicopter was at one end, its blades staked down and a cover tossed over much of the body of the aircraft. On the far side of the bird was a small block building and a covered picnic area. The building had a stone chimney climbing to the top and small patio in front of a covered open porch. To the right of the porch sat a man leaning back in a wooden chair. He had a vintage western cowboy hat resting low over his eyes, and his feet were up on a loose stack of split firewood.
As Jacob moved closer, he could see a cigarette in his right hand with a long smoldering ash.
“So what’s his story?” Jacob whispered as they crept closer.
James turned his head, scanning before looking back ahead. “You mean Buck? He’s a good cat. A Nam’er … retired in the early ’90s. Guess he was on a beach down in Florida, and somehow found his way up here driving a crash hawk after things went to shit. Don’t get me wrong, Buck is a good catch. He knows his stuff, but he’s a bit of a lush when it comes to the sauce.”
The man in the cowboy hat shifted in his seat and let out a hacking cough, somehow startling Duke and causing the normally quiet dog to release a loud string of barks. The man kicked back with his boots and fell over in the chair. Rolling and scrambling to his feet, he fought against the straps of a holstered sidearm.
Jumping ahead with his hands up, Rogers announced, “Calm down, Buck, it’s just us.”
The silver-haired man relaxed, falling exhausted against the building, taking deep breaths while holding a hand over his heart and wiping sweat off his forehead with the other. “Dang, guys, I nearly killed all of ya. Ya can’t go sneaking up on me like that.”
“Wasn’t much sneaking up. What the hell are you doing sleeping out here in the open, you old fool?” Rogers said.
The old man fanned his face with the hat. “Shoot, ain’t nothing going on up here.”
“You don’t know about the attack, do you?” Rogers asked.
“What,
