When a truck approached from the rear of the column, the men parted to allow it to pass through them and to the front. An excited soldier exited the vehicle and ran to Master Sergeant Masterson. A drill sergeant at the head of the column raised a fist, stopping the column’s movement. Jacob prowled to the shoulder of the road, taking a knee and surveying the surroundings. After a short wait, he dropped to his belly and crawled into the high grass, taking up a security position. The rest of the men did the same thing without being instructed, the halt procedure now deeply ingrained in their subconscious.
Masterson moved past Jacob and stood in the center of the street just behind Jacob’s feet, waving the other sergeants to his position while sounds of distant explosions and gunfire echoed off the heavy cloud cover. Explosions that at one time sounded far away and distant now seemed close, like an advancing thunderstorm. Some of the blasts were close enough that the concussions seemed to rattle the ground. Jacob lifted himself to his elbows, trying to listen in on the drill sergeants’ huddle.
“They ain’t ready,” he caught one of them say.
Masterson grunted and spit on the pavement, using the toe of his boot to scrape at the spot. “We're in the best position to intercept. It’s an opportunity for some of this bunch to get some real trigger time and stop an incursion in the process. This isn’t up for discussion; I’m taking five with me in the truck. Get the rest of the platoon back on their feet and return to the barracks.”
Jacob strained his neck, trying to get a better look and made the mistake of locking eyes with Masterson. The elder drill sergeant pointed a finger at him. “You, and you four; get up and get in the back of the truck. The rest of you prepare to move your asses back to the barracks,” he said, waving his hand to a group of five. He then turned and headed to the cab of the waiting truck.
Jacob pushed himself to his feet and stood, looking confused, not wanting to be the first to step toward the open back of the pickup. He watched as Jesse ran forward and jumped into the truck bed, pulling others in behind him. Jacob felt a shove from behind as one of the drill sergeants pushed him forward. “Get moving. Time to earn your pay, troop,” the sergeant said.
Jacob stepped to the truck, his boots feeling heavy as lead. He placed a foot on the rear bumper and raised his hand. Jesse dragged him in just as the truck moved ahead.
The vehicle cut off the road and turned directly into a high-grass field. The recruits in the back bounced as the truck rolled through uneven terrain. Jacob felt his teeth rattle and struggled to keep his helmet on his head as he was tossed back and forth in the vehicle’s bed. Finally, the truck steered out of the high grass and onto a gravel road. The driver turned right and raced onto the dirt surface, tossing a cloud of dust behind them.
“What’s this all about?” Jesse said, leaning in close to Jacob’s ear.
Jacob turned and looked back. “I don’t know; Masterson said something about an incursion.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Jesse asked.
“No idea, but we’re headed in the direction the explosions have been coming from.”
One of the other soldiers scooted forward. “I thought that was just other training groups, artillery practice and range time.”
Jacob nodded in reply and leaned back so he could see ahead in the direction the truck was moving. He spotted an open gate with two vehicles parked on either side. Jacob’s truck raced past them without slowing then continued down the road and up a long hill, stopping just below its peak. The doors opened, its occupants spilling out.
“I think we just went outside the wire,” a recruit whispered.
“Dismount!” Masterson yelled. “We ain’t got a lot of time so move your asses. I want a skirmish line formed up in that brush over there, overlooking that far tree line,” he ordered, pointing just ahead and to the left of the vehicle.
Jesse jumped from the truck and dropped the tailgate to allow the others to spill out. Jacob moved to the spot indicated then walked slightly beyond it, finding a place of deep cover with good views, the way his instructor had taught him to. He waited for Jesse to find a position farther up and watched as he fixed the bi-pod for his machine gun, then dropped to the prone, with the other men online around him. Masterson stepped toward them, the driver of the truck following close behind. He moved up to the crest of the hill they’d aligned themselves with and dropped to his knees, raising a pair of binoculars to his eyes.
Jacob scanned the distance with his scope, seeing nothing but golden grasslands that butted up to a tall line of deep green pines. They were on a high overlook, the terrain dropping steeply down the far side before moving against a thick forest. He lifted his eye from the scope to see Masterson next to him, consulting a map. “What are we looking for, Drill Sergeant?” Jacob asked, immediately regretting his decision as Masterson shot him a cold glare.
Masterson turned his head to Jacob as he folded the map and passed it to the man behind him. “You’re Anderson, right? The one from Chicago? They say you were at the Battle of Museum Park.”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant. I was there,” Jacob said, trying to avoid the man’s cold stare.
“Well, you survived; not many of us did. Look down at the tree line; see the split tree, blackened like lightning struck it? The trail moving to the left of it?”
Jacob raised the rifle back to his
