Divided We Fall (29 page)

Cal stepped up to me. I brought my fists up, ready to fight. He held his hands up, open palmed. “Come on, Danny. Calm down.”

“You know what?” I shouted. “Forget this. I don’t need this shit tonight. See you around!”

Throwing open the door, I took the steps two at a time and hurried across the lot toward the Beast.

“Danny, wait!” Becca called from behind me. She caught hold of my arm right as I reached the driver’s side door. “Danny.”

“What?” I was shaking mad all over, and half of me wanted to storm back into that trailer and knock TJ on his ass.

“Hey.” She gripped me by both shoulders. “Hey, look at me. Come on.” She looked up at me with those deep green eyes. “She’s been crying, Danny.” I gave her a look like,
Yeah, right
. Becca nodded. “She’s been crying a lot. She’s worried about you. She misses you. Told me so.” She cocked her head back toward Cal’s trailer. “Why don’t you come back inside?”

I thought about it. I kind of wanted to, but decided against it. “Naw. I don’t think I could deal with TJ right now, and it would make more drama if I went back in. I need to get some cold-weather gear and get back to the Guard.” Becca seemed so sad right then, looking down and shivering in the cold in her little Hank McGrew T-shirt. “You’re freezing,” I said. I rubbed my hands up and down her arms.

When she met my eyes again, a tear trailed down her cheek. “I miss you too.”

I gently wiped the tear away. “You’re so cool,” I said. “Always so, you know, understanding or whatever.”

She put her arms out for a hug, and as we came together, she leaned her face forward so that for a moment I thought she would kiss me. I stopped, then moved forward again, but this time
she
stopped. We laughed and finally simply hugged. She squeezed me tightly. “Goodbye, Danny,” she whispered in my ear. “Be careful.”

I pulled away from her and opened the door to the Beast, then took one last look at the trailer, wondering if I should go in and try to work things out. I decided I better not. I gave Becca a little fake punch to the shoulder, climbed in behind the steering wheel, and drove away from a disastrous night.

With my one and only chance to be with my friends totally jacked up, I figured the least I could do was get something good to eat, and the Bucking Bronc bar on Main Street had the best tenderloin sandwiches in the world. When I stepped inside, though, I was surprised to see the place so empty on a Friday night.

“There he is,” said a man with a beer at the bar. “The kid who started all this.”

Great. Why couldn’t I go anywhere without people giving me shit?

“Leave him alone, Gary,” the woman behind the bar said.

A woman sitting at the end of the bar played video poker on an old bar-top game console. “Oh, he’s just messing around.” She spun on her stool to face me. “You Idaho Guard boys keep up the fight, hear?”

“Well, there’s really no fight, ma’am,” I said. “We’re making sure they leave us alone.”

“Yeah, well, can you make sure they allow some beer through?” the guy said. “I’m a Budweiser man, and I can’t find one single can or bottle anywhere.”

The bartender tossed back her bleached-blond hair. “I ordered as much as my cooler would hold as soon as the blockade started, but they only brought half my order. Anyway,” she said to me. “What would you like? We’re out of most everything, and I’m thinking you might not be twenty-one.”

“Can I get a tenderloin?” I said.

“Sorry. Ran out last week.”

“Hamburger?”

She shook her head. “I can get you a fish sandwich. I might have some chicken nuggets left. Maybe one of those frozen pizzas. That’s about it.”

I had the fish, but once again ordered it to go so I wouldn’t have to listen to people talk about me or the standoff with the Fed.

As I neared my house, the street was mostly empty. The last few reporters must have finally given up after I went to the Guard full-time. But one strange pickup was parked on the street in front, its back bumper covered in stickers.
DON’T TREAD ON ME, PROTECT THE SECOND AMENDMENT
, and one that was a simple drawing of a white eagle. Someone was in the cab.

Right away I reached under my seat for the nine mil. I had been asking my chain of command for a holster since I came on duty, but they hadn’t found me one yet. I checked to make sure the safety was on, then slipped the gun into my cargo pocket.

Parking a few car lengths behind the pickup, I climbed down out of the Beast and closed the door quietly. If this was someone who wanted to mess me up, I didn’t want him to know I was here. Should I come up to him with my gun drawn? Ignore him, go inside, and wait to see what he would do? In the end, I knocked on his window. The guy inside jerked awake, and the next second I had a .38 revolver pointed at me.

I jumped back and started to reach for my nine mil, but the guy was out of his truck and waving his gun like I should get my hands up. “Who the hell are you?” the man asked.

Damn it, how could I have been stupid enough to get stuck like this? There was no hiding my identity. I was in uniform with my name tape on my chest, after all. “Private First Class Dan Wright.”

“Oh!” The man put his gun back in his truck. “Sorry, man. It was dark, and I couldn’t see you, and you kind of snuck up on me there.” He held out his hand, and after a moment I shook it. “Jake Rickingson. Wow, it’s an honor to meet you. I was wondering if I’d ever get the chance.”

Why was this guy honored to meet me? I was just a kid with a cold fish sandwich who really wanted to go inside and take a long, hot shower.

“I’ve been pulling the first night shift for a couple weeks now, keeping watch over the house. I’m really sorry, but one night I was coming off a long shift at the mill, and I kind of dozed off in the truck for a minute. Next thing I know, these punk kids were up on your porch about to spray-paint something on your house. I fired a warning shot in the air right away, and they ran off, but they left that one little dot. Dab of white paint will cover that right up.”

“Thanks,” I said. What else could I say? “You’re one of Sheriff Crow’s friends?”

“Yep. We’re real close. Nathan and me go way back. Anyway, he says you’re one of his friends, so that makes you one of mine. I sure appreciate what you’ve done and what you and the Idaho Guard keep doing every day.”

“I have to get some things from the house, clean up a little, and then I have to go back to the line,” I said.

“Oh, sure, I don’t mean to keep you.”

I thanked him and went inside. The house felt cramped and stuffy. I wished I had time to air the place out. I left a trail in the dust on a shelf in the living room, running my finger past a bunch of photographs. There was Mom and Dad’s wedding picture, a family photo of me and her taken shortly after Dad died, a picture of us at a rodeo last year, one of me in my dress blues Army Service Uniform at basic training graduation, and a photo of me in that uniform standing with Mom. She was looking at me instead of at the camera in that last picture, and she looked so proud.

I video called her, hoping she was okay.

“Danny!”
she said when she popped up on-screen.
“It’s so good to see you!”
She tilted her head like she was trying to look past me.
“Are you at home?”

“It’s good to see you too, Mom. I have a pass until midnight. I came home to get a few things.”

“Is everything all right? Are you okay? Are you safe?”

“Oh yeah, Mom, I’m great!” If I didn’t fake a lot of happiness, she’d worry more. “Everything’s fine. The Army is taking good care of me. How are you?”

“I’m okay. Delores has me using my sick days now. They’re doing all they can for me, but if I can’t get back soon … Well, they say I’ll have a job with them as long as I want one, but I’m worried they’re going to let me go. I’ve looked for jobs around Spokane, but there’s nothing going. Everybody I talk to says so many people were out of work even before the blockade, there were people lined up just to apply for an opening at McDonald’s.”
She wiped a tear from her eye.
“I really think I ought to come home.”

“Mom, you can’t. Soldiers have the whole border blocked off on both sides.”

“But I’ve been looking at some maps. There’s a store here in Spokane that sells nothing but maps. I think I’ve found some places where I can sneak across.”

I rubbed the bridge of my nose with my thumb and index finger. “Mom, we’ve been over this. It is not safe to try to cross that border. People have been hurt. The Fed will stop you. I don’t know, maybe arrest you.”

Tears sprang to her eyes.
“But I can’t stay here, Danny. I have bills to pay, and … and I miss you. I want to come home.”

“I miss you too, but Mom, you have to try to relax. I can take care of stuff over here. They’ll probably be promoting me soon, and I’ll be making more money then, so I can pay for some more stuff. I have a little bit in a savings account too.”

She smiled, but not too happily. “
When did you grow up so much? You’re only seventeen.”

“Me and you, Mom. It’s been that way for a long time. We’ll figure this all out.”

“I worry about you, though.”
She bit her fingernail.
“Things are scary here in Spokane. At the fairgrounds and at different places around the interstate, there’s lots of Army stuff. Trucks and tank-looking things. It’s like the whole town has become an Army base.”

“I’m sure they’re only rotating troops in and out of the blockade.”

“Maybe. But a few nights ago, someone set off a homemade bomb and messed up an Army Humvee. Now they’re talking about ordering a curfew here.”

If things were that bad in Washington, it was only a matter of time before people started getting hurt. But I didn’t dare say that to Mom. “That’s nothing for you to worry about. Get some rest and, you know, have some fun maybe. There has to be some cool things to do in Spokane. I’ll take care of everything. I promise.”

We talked for a while longer, even though neither of us had much more to talk about than we did the last time I’d called her. The blockade had everything stuck. After we tapped out, I ate my crappy sandwich and soggy fries. Then I was grateful for enough hot water to take a shower for as long as I wanted, unlike the usually half-cold showers we had once a week at camp when the hygiene trailer came around. After that, I gathered some coats, sweatshirts, hats, gloves, and blankets and headed back to the Beast. I had another hour or two before I had to report back to duty, but what was the point?

As I drove, I thought about the night. If I was honest with myself, I’d have to admit that I’d acted like a jerk back at the party. The problem was that even if JoBell didn’t want a relationship with TJ, I knew that prick wanted
her
. Everything in my whole life already felt like it was slipping away, so to walk in and see TJ sitting next to JoBell was like all those rumors the media had been kicking around brought to life. It was too much to take.

And if I was
really
honest with myself … Yeah, like I said before, all couples fight, but I don’t know. Maybe … Maybe me and JoBell hadn’t fought enough. When we were both yelling at each other at Cal’s, it felt like we were saying a lot of stuff that had been on our minds for a long time — stuff we’d been holding back since the Battle of Boise. I don’t know, maybe something had been building up between us even before that horrible night. We never talked about it. I never wanted to think about it. I sure as hell didn’t want to think about it now.

A cop was parked outside the Gas & Sip when I pulled up to the pump. As I was opening my gas cap, he stepped out of his car and approached.

“Evening, soldier,” he said, loud and friendly. He leaned against the gas pump. “What’re you doing?”

What the hell did it look like I was doing? I put on a smile and answered. “Getting some fuel.” I noticed the price display on the pump. “Whoa. Ten ninety-nine a gallon?”

“Did you check with the attendant inside with your ration card?”

“What?”

The cop rubbed his nose. “The pump won’t work until the attendant activates it. For that you have to show her your ration card to make sure you’re allowed to buy the gasoline. Then it’s prepay only.”

“I don’t … I mean, I never got a ration card. I’ve been on the line with the Idaho Guard.”

“You look familiar,” said the officer. Oh no, not again. “I’ve seen you on the news or something.”

I tapped my name tape on my chest. “I’m PFC Danny Wright. I have to buy some gas so I have enough to get back to my duty post before mid —”

“Oh yeah! I thought I recognized you. Listen.” He took a card out of his wallet. “Law enforcement has their own cards, and we charge the fuel for our cars to the state. I was given a nice promotion and raise after the guy in charge of me freaked out about the blockade and left. I owe you big.” He was about to swipe his card, but I held out my hand to stop him.

“No thanks.” I’d had enough handouts and special treatment lately. Cheating on a rationing system didn’t seem right. “I have enough gas to get out there and back. I’ll get the ration card later and buy my own gas.”

He looked confused. “You sure?”

I told him I was, and then climbed up in the truck to drive back to my post, praying all the while that I really did have enough gas for the trip.

I returned at about twenty-one hundred to find Sergeant Kemp at the fighting position. Instead of leaving right away, he stayed on watch and let me get some sleep. Shortly after midnight, though, he woke me up and left. I was alone then, on duty until zero seven, watching over nothing.

Back when I’d enlisted, the Idaho Guard had issued me layers and layers of cold-weather gear. Long underwear, poly pro undershirts, a Gor-Tex jacket, an Army field jacket, leather gloves, wool glove inserts, and stocking caps. That night, as I waited for Sergeant Kemp to get back from his pass, all of that, along with my Freedom Lake High School sweatshirt, extra-big mittens, and the anti-drone thermal cloak was simply not enough. The M240 Bravo machine gun that used to look so tough was now a lump of cold, boring metal, and my M4 was an uncomfortable pain in the ass that I had to have with me at all times, even when I went to the latrine. A sharp cold front had come in and a fierce, freezing wind whistled through the valley. I wouldn’t have been surprised if it had started snowing.

By zero five thirty the contour of Silver Mountain was coming into focus out of the dark as the eastern sky began to lighten. I took off my night vision glasses and rubbed my tired eyes. Soon I could put them in my pocket and stare at the nothingness without them. An hour and a half left of my shift. Impossibly long. Way too tired. I bit my lip to try to stay awake.

My head jerked up. It was brighter out now. Crouching down behind the wall to keep the light from my comm out of view, I checked the time. Zero six fifteen. I slapped myself in the face. I couldn’t be falling asleep like this. Guard duty was boring, but it was important, and the most holy commandment of guard duty was “Thou shalt stay awake.” I squeezed my eyes shut and then opened them wide again to fight sleep.

Something moved down in the valley. Or at least I thought I saw something move. Sometimes when I was this tired, my mind started thinking nonsense thoughts or I would need sleep so bad that I would see things that weren’t there.

But whatever I thought I’d seen moved again. There really was someone down there. Cold dropped in my stomach and spread all the way through me. My heart beat harder, and I was awake now.

It was a soldier. He put up a hand signal. Someone else crept out of the tree line on the Washington side.

“Oh shit,” I whispered. Fed troops. They were coming. I squeezed Becca’s butterfly hair clip in my pocket, hoping for some extra strength and courage. “Why? Why now?” I threw my mittens off, ran to the shitty field phone, picked up the receiver, and turned the crank as fast as I could. “Come on, come on …” Nothing. I cranked some more. “Pick up the damned phone, you sleeping bastards!” They didn’t answer.

I dropped the phone and ran back to the gun port on the bunker. It was a whole squad, moving in a file across the clearing. We must have done a great camouflage job on our fighting position, because they hadn’t spotted me yet.

Using my teeth, I yanked both gloves off so I could better use my fingers. I wasn’t cold anymore anyway. Then I went to the handheld Motorola radio they’d assigned to this bunker. We were supposed to use it as little as possible. Batteries were precious, and it wasn’t a secure frequency. It could be easily monitored by anyone willing to drop sixty bucks on another radio at Walmart.

I keyed the mike and spoke quietly. “Rattlesnake base, rattlesnake base, this is position three, one, alpha, over.” I had identified myself as the fighting position for third platoon, first squad, alpha team. Why weren’t they answering? Were the batteries still good on this thing? I spoke louder, hoping the squad below wouldn’t hear me. “Rattlesnake base, this is position three one alpha. Pick up the damned radio! Over!”

“Three, one, alpha, this is rattlesnake base. Go ahead, over.”

It was Specialist Crocker, the idiot who worked the comm back at the TOC near the wire obstacle. Great. “Rattlesnake base, be advised I have eyes on at least a squad-sized element moving across the border from Washington into Idaho. They’re armed with standard squad weapons, but I think at least one of them has an AT4 rocket launcher. Request instructions. How copy, over?”

“That’s a good copy. Wait one, over,”
Crocker radioed back.

“I can’t wait one, damn it,” I whispered. Soon the Fed squad would be up tight against the cliff where I couldn’t see them. Then they could go anywhere. Sneak around behind us. Lob grenades up at me. I didn’t have time for Crocker to wake up the first sergeant or whoever he was going to go get. By the time they were on the radio, it would be too late.

“Get ahold of yourself, Wright,” I said. I was a trained soldier. I could handle this by the book. What did my ROE card say? My primary mission was, basically, to keep the Fed out of Idaho. Four
S
’s. “Shout, Show, Shove, Shoot,” I said. What did the card tell us to shout? Oh, who cared about the stupid example on the card?

I went to the machine gun. I bet anything that shouting and showing came really close together. We’d been over and over the procedure for loading the M240, but could I remember? What was first? I couldn’t think of it. I flipped the cover up. Obviously, I had to get the belt of rounds onto the feed tray. Holding the rounds in place, I closed and locked the cover. Then I pulled the cocking handle to the rear to lock the bolt back before easing the handle forward again. The weapon ought to be ready. I prayed I wouldn’t have to use it.

I lifted the machine gun and pointed it out the gun port. “Hey!” I yelled. The Fed soldiers stopped where they were, and suddenly I remembered what the ROE card told us to shout. “Halt! You are not allowed to enter Idaho!” Then I added, just in case they hadn’t spotted me, “I’ve got you all covered with an M240. Get back on your side of the line. Now!”

The first soldier motioned them ahead and ran toward the cliff. Shoving was out of the question. Was it time to shoot? I had my orders. I could not allow these soldiers to enter the state. I’d fire, not to hit anyone, but enough to show I meant business and to scare them back into Washington.

I aimed the weapon for what I hoped was a point about ten feet in front of the lead soldier. I had maybe a minute before he’d be too close to the cliff and under cover. I had to fire. I had to shoot now.
Now
. “God forgive me,” I whispered. I pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened. “Damn it!” I clicked the safety to fire, aimed, and squeezed the trigger. The weapon jerked as it blasted rounds downrange. Puffs of dust popped up where the rounds impacted, a littler closer to the squad than I had hoped. I squeezed the trigger again, walking the impact back from the squad, but making sure the rounds hit close enough to scare them away. The noise was deafening inside the bunker, the tracers making red-hot streaks through the air. “Get back on your side of the line!” I yelled over the roar. “Get back! Get back! Get back!”

I let off the trigger. The machine gun was supposed to be fired in three- to five-second bursts to save ammo and so the barrel wouldn’t overheat and melt. Some of the federal soldiers had run back to the tree line and were firing at me. Muzzle flashes sparked back in the shadows under the trees. Their bullets cracked against the rock wall in front of my position, rock chips flying everywhere.

But their lead soldier was rolling around on the ground, screaming and holding his leg. I’d hit him. Oh God, I’d hit him. More shots rang out from the trees. This time, like an idiot, I ducked. Could they see me? Could they get a good shot? If I got the machine gun back up in my firing window, would they have me pegged?

The lead soldier kept screaming. Another crawled out across the clearing. “Hang on, buddy, I’m coming!” he shouted.

“Get the hell out of here!” I yelled as loud as I could, putting the machine gun aside and grabbing my M4. I could aim and control the M4 a lot better. “Get back on your side!” I sighted the rifle, aiming about six feet in front of the crawling soldier. I fired. The crawling soldier covered his head. I let go three more rounds, walking each shot in a little closer until he started crawling back.

Another machine gun opened up from their side of the woods. I could see the flash, then suddenly I was in the snare drum from hell as bullets pelted my bunker. How long before some of these rocks cracked and the wall began to crumble? Would those logs overhead come crashing down on me? I couldn’t let that happen. I grabbed the 240, jumped into the firing window, and opened up, aiming for where I thought the machine gun had fired from.

Forgetting the barrel, I kept the trigger squeezed, and the end of my ammo belt approached. I had another, but it would take forever to reload with no other cover fire. Then I saw puffs of dirt and dust shoot up from the ground on the Washington side of the border, and twigs and small branches started falling off the trees there. The other half of my squad must have finally woken up and started shooting.

I fired off the rest of my belt, concentrating on the tree line but keeping my eye on the crawling soldier and the wounded guy. Wounded Guy was still moving, but not as much, and he didn’t seem to be yelling anymore.

When my ammo was gone, I grabbed the second belt, but in the pause between the other team’s bursts of fire, I could tell the Fed was no longer shooting back. Instead, I heard the moans from the wounded man.

These guys were idiots for crossing into Idaho. If that soldier weren’t already bleeding, I’d want to punch him for making me have to shoot. But he was still an American soldier, just like me. He had sworn to protect his country, he had a family somewhere, and he was bleeding bad. I could see the redness from up here. I thought of that girl lying dead on the ground in Boise and how I had been too late to help her. I couldn’t let that happen again.

I grabbed the radio and keyed the mike. “Three one bravo, this is three one alpha. Cease fire! Cease fire! I’m going down there! Three one alpha, out.”

“Negative, three, one, alpha.”
It was PFC Nelson on the radio.
“Do not go down in that valley. Maintain position, over.”

Nelson could stuff it. No way was I going to sit up here and watch that soldier bleed out. I dropped the radio, slung my M4’s strap over my right shoulder, grabbed our medkit and an extra Freedom Lake sweatshirt, and ran out of my bunker to the path below, scrambling down the steep embankment. I waved the white sweatshirt above my head. “Cease fire! Cease fire! I have a medkit,” I yelled as loud as I could, hoping they could hear me all the way back in those trees. With my weapon slung and no cover, these guys could pick me off easy.

A couple shots went off, and shards of rock hit me as the bullets struck nearby. I dropped to the rock face, skidding and tumbling the rest of the way down. I pulled out my M4 and pointed it at the trees, stupidly standing ready for a fight I could not win.

When no shots came, I ran to the wounded soldier. Another soldier ran from the Washington trees, waving a white rag over his head. “Medic! Medic! Don’t shoot! I’m a medic.”

When I reached the wounded man, acid burned in my throat as I looked at him. A pink-white bone flashed through the torn flesh of his leg, and deep-red blood soaked the dry grass around him. I could see he was slipping out of consciousness. Bleeding out.

“Come on, buddy, stay with me,” I said, ripping open my medkit and pulling out a field dressing. “You’re good. Breathe and stay with me.” We’d been over combat field medicine in basic training a hundred times. Now I had to do it for real.

When the other soldier skidded to a halt next to me, I looked up only long enough to catch sight of his rank. If this specialist wanted to shoot me or capture me, I was in trouble, but right now all I cared about was saving this guy if I could. “I’ll try to stop the bleeding,” I said.

“I’m going to run an IV.”

I ripped off the paper and spread out the gauze pad. “Sterile side to the wound,” I mumbled.

“Can you handle that?” said the medic.

“Yeah, I got it, damn it. Get the IV in him.”

The wounded soldier coughed and rolled his head around a little, floating on the edge of consciousness.

“Hey, buddy, stay with us,” I said. I wrapped the green cloth bands around the back of the leg and brought them up to cross over the center on top of the white bandage pad. Then I looped both straps again and tied the ends. “We need you to stay awake. We’re going to get you fixed up and back to a hospital. No problem.” If the bleeding didn’t stop, I’d have to apply a tourniquet above the wound to stop the blood flow. If I did that, this guy might live, but he’d lose his lower leg.

The bright crimson blood soaked into the bandage, dulling to a sort of brown, but that was to be expected, right? Doing this stuff in training was a lot different from doing it in real life. “Here.” I stood up and held out my bloody hands to the specialist. “Let me hold the IV bag. Can you check this bandage? I can’t tell if it’s stopping the bleeding enough.”

The medic handed me the bag before inspecting my bandage. “You did a pretty good job.” He straightened my ties a little. “I think this is going to work. I think he’s going to make it.”

I closed my eyes and let out a sigh. He’d live. I wouldn’t have his death on my conscience. I smiled. I knew I was right. Soldiers are soldiers, and America was still united enough for me and this medic to save this guy’s life.

“No thanks to you.”

“What?”

I opened my eyes to see the medic with his nine mil drawn.