Dave put a strong hand on Will’s shoulder, the hardness in his expression falling a few levels on the Rockwell scale. “And how is Neo?”
Will shrugged. “Alive, barely. I wish I knew more, but none of us know much. The doctors haven’t given us much to go on. No one’s been allowed to see him.”
Dave nodded. “You…look tired, Will.”
“I am tired, LT.”
“Received. It’ll take a few to get checked in, deploy, and make some sense out of this mess. I’ll send a team down to relieve you double quick…and if it doesn’t happen fast enough, I’ll send myself down.”
“Roger that.”
Dave patted Will’s shoulder, then rotated and held his index finger high in the air, signaling the convoy that the time had come to move out.
Will stepped aside and watched each vehicle move past and kick up dust. He lazily smiled while sending nods and waves to faces he hadn’t seen in a while. Sanchez was riding passenger in the sixth transport to roll past. He sent Will a reassuring smile paired with a thumbs-up. Two more transports went by; then a baby blue Ford Bronco slowed as it neared him, receiving a horn beep from the truck behind it.
Santa stuck his head out the open window and raised a middle finger. “Hold your damn horses, shitbird! Ain’t no sense in that!” he hollered, then regarded Will. “Heya, Sharpie! How’s tricks? Damn, boy, you look wretched as hell.”
Will went to respond, but Santa tossed up his hand and continued on.
“S’okay, bud. Never fear, the motherfriggin’ cavalry is here!”
Twenty or so more vehicles piled with men, weapons and supplies moved past before a hodgepodge of automobiles and commercial trucks Will hadn’t seen before brought up the rear. He saw faces he didn’t recognize, fifty or more of them by his estimate. But who were they? The unit had indeed arrived, and it looked as if they’d brought along some friends.
“David!” Kim Mason squealed. She fell into her brother’s arms seconds after opening the front door and seeing his face. “My word! It is so good to see you.”
Dave squeezed her and gave her a peck on the cheek. “You too, Kims. It’s been entirely too long. And I’m very sorry it had to wait until circumstances called for it.”
Kim pulled away and wiped at a few faint, joyful tears. “Oh, nothing to apologize about. Not much we can do about them.”
“We’ll see about that,” Dave grumbled, peeking into the living room. “Where’s the old man? I brought along a gaggle of personnel and hardware I’d like to harvest his input on how best to deploy.”
“He’s napping. He’s been doing that a lot since he…well, you already know. Hasn’t really been himself since.”
Dave nodded. “I’ll hold off the inquisition until he pries his eyes open, then. What about Meg and the boys? The house looks empty.”
Kim looked away, biting into her lip. “Megan is in her room.” She hesitated, not knowing exactly what else to say. “The boys are…another story.”
“Oh?” Dave grinned deviously. “Let me guess…they got themselves hitched and moved out of the roost, didn’t they?”
Kim hung her head. “No, not at all, it’s nothing like that. We should probably talk about it another time.”
“I’m not tracking, Kims. Did something hap—”
The front door open behind them, and Woo Tang entered, halting Dave midsentence.
Kim excused herself, squeezing Dave’s shoulder. “I’ll explain everything to you soon enough. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She then disappeared into the kitchen.
Woo Tang moved to within conversational distance and shook hands with his CO. “You are a sight for sore eyes. It sure took you long enough.”
“What can I say? The older I get, the slower I get,” Dave jeered. “It’s good to see you, Tang.”
“It is good to be seen.”
“My apologies for the unpunctuality; organizing was a celestial shitshow. When Richie showed up to convey the newsflash, the unit was spread out over God’s green earth like misplaced free-grazing cattle. In view of that, wrangling everyone took more clock ticks than we would’ve liked.” Dave gestured to the door. “Let’s you and me take a walk and catch up.”
Woo Tang nodded. “After you, Kemosabe.”
The pair left the house and strolled side by side along the Masons’ driveway.
“Have you put together a record of casualties and losses?” Dave asked.
“A memorized one. Nothing transcribed as of yet.”
“Of course. Speak freely, if you would.”
Woo Tang divulged each man’s full name and rank in reverent fashion.
Dave humbly considered each one, sending a quick glance to the sky. “God be with them. I’ll pay a visit to their graves and offer my respects before day’s end. How’s our RTO?”
“He remains with us, critical but stable,” Woo Tang said. “Several surgeries were essential to remove shrapnel and mitigate internal bleeding. Burns remain the principal trauma his body endures.”
“Extent and severity?”
“Circa fifty to sixty percent. Predominantly second degree, some third,” Woo Tang explained with a sharp eye. “He has been isolated; no one has been allowed to see him, and I do not expect that to change. The doctors are expressly concerned with contagion and infection. Neo is healthy, young and resilient, giving him a better than satisfactory chance of survival and recovery, but that chance could vanish if his wounds become infected.”
Dave halted his pace, put his weight on a heel, and sighed. “Dammit. Just what in God’s name is going on around here, Tang? I soaked up Richie’s SITREP. What’s your take on this?”
Woo Tang squared off with him. “The report you received was founded on what little was known then, and predates what little more we now know,” he began. “There are few facts by which to go and next to zero intel with which to corroborate them. Relaying the obvious: the attack was perpetrated by hostile aircraft, effected in all probability by a UAV, the overall efficacy of assault, strike precision and absence of forewarning serving as indicators. Our damage assessment thus far has
