Slaughterhouse

TWENTY-TWO.

“Sir, you’re out of your fucking mind,” Turner said, his voice a low rumble.

“Yeah, that is kind of new for you,” Muldoon added.

Lee looked at the two men in the dim glow of the sliver moon that hovered high overhead. The convoy had finally come to a halt, three miles from the boundary of Fort Drum. To their south, the town of Watertown was a lunatic’s shooting gallery.

“Guys, I don’t understand the problem here,” he said.

“It’s pretty simple, sir. You’re the commanding officer. You don’t lead from the front,” Turner said.

“Going on a recon is hardly ‘leading from the front,’” Lee said. “Besides, I held two phase lines and came under attack both times. This isn’t any riskier. At least this time, we’ll be mobile and have the ability to maneuver.”

“You want to be a captain, then that’s fine. Execute some recon missions,” Turner said. “You want to be a lieutenant colonel, you’re going to have to learn to stand off and watch.”

Lee grunted, but he understood. While it wasn’t unheard of for field grade officers to venture to the forward lines and do some real work, that kind of mission usually rested with company grade officers. Lee had several good ones at his disposal, along with a menagerie of noncommissioned officers possessed of refined fieldcraft that left his in the dust. But in his mind, Lee was still an operator. While he was an officer, at his core he still believed in walking the walk, not just talking the talk. And it was time to do something other than huddle up inside his Humvee and wait for Death to rap its knuckles on the uparmored door and invite him to step outside for one final dance.

“I appreciate your opinion, Sergeant Major,” Lee told Turner. “But we’re all in this one up to our necks. We need to know what we’re up against.”

“Not in disagreement about the mission, sir, just with you personally leading it,” Turner said. “Hell, I’ll do it. I’ve got a lot of miles on my odometer. This kind of stuff is second nature to me.”

Lee shook his head. “You’re the man with the institutional knowledge here, Sergeant Major. Of the two of us, you’re the least expendable.”

“Sir, I’m a soldier—”

“With almost thirty years of experience. A shame to waste it, or even worse, you get infected and then all that knowledge and expertise gets handed to the Klowns. Right?”

“Cuts both ways, sir,” Turner said firmly.

“Colonel, maybe we should make another pass with the drones.” Major Walker said. He was leaning against Lee’s Humvee, his arms crossed over his harness and body armor. He wore his MOPP overgarment, but the mask hung from his belt.

“How many passes will be enough, Major?” Lee asked. “We’ve already gotten good optics on the area. We’re clear on this side of the Black River, and the part of the post across from us appears to be deserted. But we need to get eyes on target in order to find the enemy’s main body, and we can’t have the drones flying all night long.”

“I understand the desire to act, but I’d argue for a more conservative approach,” Walker said. “We have other troops who can do this mission and probably just as well as—”

“Stop worrying, people. I’ve got John Wayne with me.” Lee pointed at Muldoon, who rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“And who are you supposed to be, sir?” Turner asked. “Jimmy Stewart?”

“I had him pegged for Dean Martin,” Muldoon said. “Just not as drunk. Unless you’d like to make a confession here, sir.”

Lee made the decision final. “I think we’re done,” he said. “Walker, you have operational control of the battalion until my return. Lean on Sergeant Major Turner here if things get tough, and don’t forget the company commanders. They’re all warfighters, and they’re ready to close with the enemy and kill him if he gets too close.”

“Roger that,” Walker said, but there wasn’t much enthusiasm in his voice.

“We’ll have the drones up in the air, sir,” Turner said. “We’ll keep eyes on you for as long as we can. But maybe instead of trying to sneak in, you could just radio Mountaineer Five and tell him we’re in the neighborhood?”

Explosions erupted in the distance, followed by a long volley of gunfire. Fifty cals and if Lee wasn’t mistaken, some Vulcan twenty-millimeter cannon fire. There were no aircraft in the sky other than the drones, and the chances they were being engaged by the Vulcans was negligible. The Ravens were just too small to be seen at night. That meant the folks at Drum were using air defense weaponry against ground targets. Mixed in with all of that were volleys of small-arms fire.

“We can’t be sure Mountaineer is still alive and that his TOC hasn’t been compromised,” Lee said. “I want to put eyes on target before we make any calls.”