Uprising. Douglas L. Bland

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      “No.” He glanced at the body on the ground. “Nice job, sir.”

      He meant it. One reason people followed Alex, in the army and now on this raid, was that he always led from the front. A simple concept, and not exactly stamped Top Secret, but a lot of officers never seemed to get it: leading means being in front. How else can you know what’s going on? Call it “operational problem solving” or “dealing with the unexpected 101,” just like bloody “Foxhole U,” army staff college. You will have problems, like this one. Stay on top of them.

      Alex hadn’t wanted to get stuck with any prisoners, but of course he’d considered that it might happen. So what to do? Taking her along was out of the question. But he had a more immediate worry. The dispatcher would get suspicious and raise an alarm if she didn’t report in soon. Buy some time and get things moving, he ordered himself.

      And sure enough, the car radio crackled. “Three-two, this is three, what’s your location?” the dispatcher droned over the MP radio net. “Three two, come on, Newman. If you stopped for a leak, wipe it and call in. Out.”

      Alex grabbed Newman. “Listen,” he said, jamming his face into hers, “you get on that radio and tell them you’re on your way, nothing to report, and if it’s okay, you’re stopping for coffee at the base coffee shop. I’ll make a deal: you play the game and you go free – screw up and you’re coming with us … at least part way. It won’t make any difference to the base commander if you’re a hero, prisoner, or corpse. You decide.”

      Newman looked into his eyes briefly, then reached into the car for the radio. “Three, this is three-two. Addy, I ought to report you to the CO, but he’s worse than you are. I’m done for now and going for a coffee. Over.”

      “Three, yeah. You scare the crap out of me, Newman. Call in after your doughnut. Out.”

      “Good choice,” said Alex. “Sounds like a swell unit.”

      He turned to Christmas. “Take the car into the back of the compound and hide it. Put her in it, tie her up, gently, and leave off the mouth tape.”

      He took a quick glance at his captive’s name tag. “Have a good night, Corporal Newman, and just relax. They’ll find you by morning.” He nodded to Sergeant Christmas, who pushed the MP onto the floor in the back of the car. Alex left to check the section leaders. Best to move things along.

      The sections returned to work, a bit more subdued. This minor incident drove home that this was no game. Leroy mumbled to no one in particular as he struggled to hoist a backboard loaded with M72s onto his shoulders. “That bitch had a gun and if she’d panicked or seen something, well … shit, it’s a long way to the beach.”

      Alex was considering the return trip as well. Was there a code in that MP’s message? Not likely. Security at Petawawa was generally as lax as it seemed. But still … And besides, how long would they wait for her to have a coffee and call in? Fifteen, twenty minutes? Likely a bit more. Unless some other incident came up, or another meathead decided he needed a doughnut too or they wanted some at the desk. Too many scenarios. Hope for luck but don’t count on it. It’s about thirty-five to forty minutes to the beach carrying all this stuff, fifteen minutes to load and get off the shore – at least an hour to comfortably break contact from here. No time for pissing around.

      The section commanders reported loaded and ready. Christmas checked in. “The guest’s resting well, although it looks like she may have wet her pants in the excitement. She seems tough and cocky enough, but Christ, sir, I still can’t get used to women in the army …”

      Alex laughed. “Give it time, sarge.”

      “Yeah, sure. Who’s got that much time?”

      “Okay, call in Villeneuve at the double.” Alex watched the sections fall into formation, then waved the first one out the gate. He grabbed the two scouts and sent them on a jog back the way they had come, down Crest Road to the first intersection. Leaning close, he whispered into Jock Tremblay’s ear to impart urgency, not panic: “Double your section down the road for four telephone poles, then walk them fast another four and double again. No bunching up and keep them quiet. You know the drill: if a vehicle approaches, slip into the bush and stay still; if we get separated, go to the beach and get across the river. Move out.”

      He passed the same instructions to each leader in turn. Only Helen Pendergast hesitated. “These loads are heavy and running with them …”

      Alex grabbed her lapel and got very close to her. “Do as you’re told! You move them along. I’m counting on you. Now’s the time to lead.” She swallowed hard and nodded. He let go of her jacket and his frown relaxed. “Go!” he said.

      Turning to watch her section clear out, he glimpsed Steve Christmas, cool as usual, gathering up Villeneuve and fading into the darkness fifty metres behind the last section. Rearguard and follow-up. Then, out loud: “Everybody gets to the beach.”

      The plan had been to take a different route back to the beach, through a trail Alex and Steve had discovered in the bush. It was the classic patrol tactic – one way in, another way out. But good commanders change plans when they need changing. So far his warriors had done just fine, but time was short and he sensed them getting jittery. The first priority now was to get away from the compound, off the high road, and down onto the plain as quickly as possible, keeping the patrol together and under control, with no stragglers and no panic. The road was the fastest way.

      If the MPs came looking for Newman, he assumed they would come from the main base, headlights on, worried about an accident, not an incident. If, for whatever reason, an MP happened to come from the other direction, from lower down, they’d be lit up and scanning the edges of the road for the missing car, and be most unlikely to see his patrol before his scouts saw the approaching lights. Yes, speed mattered more than stealth at this point. Alex jogged up the line of huffing warriors to his position behind the first patrol.

      Run, walk. Run, walk. Measured steps. Get them into a rhythm. Encourage the leaders. “Good show. Keep it up, not too fast. Steady pace now. You all did well. Everybody remember to breathe.” The comment brought snickers down the puffing line.

      One hundred metres from the compound. Now two hundred. No lights, no sirens. Nothing but dogs barking in the distant married quarters and, close by, heavy footsteps, bouncing loads, and laboured breathing.

      Clang! Bang! A couple of loads came undone and crashed to the ground. Some warriors kept moving, others stopped to help comrades rebuild their treasures. Soon the patrol looked like a Santa Claus parade – scattered individuals jammed up here, small groups bobbing up and down there. Only three hundred metres down the road. The wind picked up, rattling the trees, or were they guards moved by the spirits? Those who hadn’t stopped picked up their pace.

      Things were unravelling.

      Alex fumed. I’ve got to stop this! He hustled forward to the first section leader. “When you reach the intersection and the scouts, move on down the road twenty metres, then stop and get your section together. You check personally that you have all your people – touch each one. Then let me know you’re ready, wait till I give the word, then move out at a steady walk. Got it?”

      “Got it. Are we okay?”

      “Yes, right on schedule, just as we planned it,” he fibbed. “I’m going to call the boats in to shore as soon as we close up, sort ourselves out, and get moving again. You just worry about your people. Remember: make sure you have everyone СКАЧАТЬ