Kemper walks away, nods to McGraw, and continues down the hall, which suddenly grows increasingly loud and chaotic as the NCOs begin ordering and dressing their squads for the movement. Adding to the confusion is the fact that the CO made some last-minute changes to the order of march, promoting some of the sergeants to the rank of LT, combining squads, and otherwise rebuilding a new overstrength company on the fly from the wreckage of a battalion. Some of the boys are shouting out names, panicked; entire squads appear to be missing.
Mooney turns around and sees Martin and Boomer tagging along with their .30-cal M240. Martin gives him a thumbs up. Mooney frowns. He never knows if Martin is being nice or an asshole. In Iraq, giving somebody a thumbs up is the same as giving them the finger.
“You know what’s going on?” he whispers.
Martin shakes his head, grinning.
“No talking,” McGraw says.
They turn the corner and enter an empty hallway. Soon, the sounds of what’s left of First Battalion recede into the gloom.
Kemper switches on the SureFire flashlight attached to his carbine.
“Turn that thing off,” a voice says in the dark. “I’m right here.”
“Yes, sir,” Kemper says.
Captain Bowman steps out of an empty, dusty-smelling classroom, a glow stick dangling from his load- bearing vest. The monochromatic light stick, like the NVG phosphor screen, is purposefully colored green since the eye can distinguish between more shades of green than other phosphor colors. He’s the only one of them who has a light source.
Kemper says to the MGR and AG, “I want you to set up the thirty-cal here, pointing that way. We’re going to the end of this hallway. If you hear shooting, you keep your cool and hold your fire. If I say shoot, you start shooting anybody with a flash light or a glow stick. But only if I tell you to shoot. Is that clear, Specialist?”
“Hooah, Sergeant,” Martin says.
“Good man.”
The Captain gives Mooney and Wyatt the once-over. Mooney stands at attention and says, “Sir, Private Mooney reports!”
Wyatt echoes the ritual.
Bowman smiles at them. “Always you two. At ease, men.”
“What are we doing here, Sarge?” says Boomer.
“It’s personal,” Kemper answers.
Martin and Boomer finish setting up the M240. The group moves down the hall.
Ahead, in the darkness, Mooney hears murmuring voices, occasionally punctuated by a strident yell. His stomach begins a series of flying leaps. He suddenly feels certain that something bad is happening. And that something very, very bad is going to happen.
The Captain is talking into his handheld.
“I’ve got a couple of the men with me, but I’ll be coming around the corner to talk to you alone,” he says into his handset. “All right?”
Mooney gave up his own radio after his recon mission, so he doesn’t hear the response. But the Captain keeps moving, so it must be all right.
“Here I come now,” Bowman says, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Hold your fire. Don’t shoot. We’re just going to have a conversation.”
The Captain turns the corner and disappears.
Kemper follows closely until he reaches the corner, then squats down, listening. McGraw whispers to Mooney and Wyatt to prepare for action on his command.
Mooney drops to one knee, feeling the comforting cushion of his kneepad, sweating in his BDUs. His heart pounds against his ribs and his blood is crashing in his ears. The moment Captain Bowman disappeared around the corner, the tension began mounting until it has now become almost impossible to breathe.
“Todd, sorry we have to meet like this,” a voice says.
“Same here,” Bowman answers.
“Well, we’re not going, as you can see. We’re going to stay here and rebuild.”
“I understand.”
“We don’t want anything to do with your war. We’re not in the Army anymore. And we’re not going to die to keep the memory of a dead country alive.”
“I understand. But I still need to talk to the men.”
“Go right ahead. There’s nothing you can say to change their minds, though. They already survived one massacre. They’re not going to walk into another.”
“Men!” Bowman says.
The Captain’s voice echoes through the hallways until it becomes a ghostly murmur.
“Men!” he repeats. “You can stay here. We’re not going to force you to come with us. What’s done is done. It’s all right.”
“That’s nice of you,” Bishop warily. “What do you want in return?”
“One of you is a traitor against the United States, and must be punished.”
“And who—what are you doing?”
A pistol bangs loudly, echoing sharply in their ears with an almost physical impact, making them flinch.
Another
Mooney can sense McGraw tensing ahead of them. He can smell the man’s nervous sweat as he prepares to rush forward and provide cover fire for the Captain. But nothing happens. The seconds tick by. The deserters do not shoot.
The ringing in Mooney’s ears slowly fades.
“What’s done is done,” Bowman says. He calls out into the gloom, “If we are forced to return, you will be accepted back into the Battalion with no questions asked. If we don’t come back, take good care of the civilians. I am intending to tell the General that you volunteered to stay behind. There will be no dishonor for you, as long as you stay true to yourself and the people in your charge. While they remain alive and well, you are still in the United States Army.”
After a few moments of silence, Bowman adds, “Well. God be with you men.”
“Thank you, sir,” the boys whisper in the dark.
Moments later, Captain Bowman returns, his glow stick almost glaring in Mooney’s eyes. The light is trembling, and it takes Mooney a moment to realize it is the Captain who is shaking. The man just shot down a fellow officer while a dozen, two dozen—it could have been scores—of deserters aimed a variety of automatic weapons at him.
“We can’t use them if they’re broken,” Bowman says. “We have truly become a volunteer army tonight.” He looks dazed and exhausted. “Bishop was a traitor, though. That I did to fulfill my duty to the Army. Things may be falling apart, but we still are the U.S. Army.”
Kemper and McGraw nod somberly. There is no need to explain.
Bowman sees Mooney and Wyatt, takes a deep breath, and smiles. “Thanks for the backup, men.”
“You’re welcome, sir,” Mooney rasps, his mouth dry.
“Now let’s see if we can get the hell off this island tonight.”
Thrust and hold, move.
Withdraw and hold, move.
Attack position, move
The boys file out of the school’s front doors two by two, a long tan line that snakes through the dark, bristling with bayonets. The first squad in the column fans out to form a wedge, making the formation look like an arrow. The NCOs walk alongside the column, keeping a tight grip on their squads. While they will be moving in company strength, each squad will be acting independently, since there is no talking and no talking means no communication up and down the chain of command.
