“Which part? The killing innocent people part, or the burying Chuckies alive part?” He knew it was the wrong thing to say, but he didn’t want this to be easy either. “This isn’t a video game, Mellie. Real people are going to die.”
“Well, isn’t it good we got ourselves a group conscience?” Weller growled. “Tell me something, Tom: you get all soft and gooey on patrol?”
“I got my job done,” Tom said.
“Glad to hear it.” Weller unscrewed the thermos and splashed coffee into his cup. “I guess that explains why you’re here instead of there.”
He saw Luke and Cindi exchange startled glances, and a surge of anger brought the blood to his face. “Listen,” Tom began.
“Tom?” Mellie pushed to her feet. “Let’s walk. Weller, why don’t you come with us?”
Weller’s expression suggested he’d rather hug a cobra, but he recapped the thermos and followed. Mellie waited until they were behind a thicket of denuded scrub oak and a lonely jack pine. Then she crossed her arms over her chest. “Something on your mind, Tom?”
“You know what’s bothering me,” he said.
“Yes, I do. So let me be clear. This is not a rescue mission. We need to make sure those monsters do not survive.”
“At the cost of innocent lives?”
“Don’t tell me about innocent lives. You know Daniel and the rest of my kids never made it.”
“But that doesn’t mean they’re dead,” Tom said. “They might have gone their own way.”
“Unlikely.”
“Then has it occurred to you that they might be there, in the mine?”
“Of course it has, but we’ve seen no children. Even if we had, that changes nothing. This has to be done.”
“I don’t know what your problem is,” Weller put in. “You’re not a cherry fresh outta basic. Collateral damage is part of the game.”
“It’s not a game,” Tom said. “This is like storming a concentration camp.”
Weller snorted. “Jesus.”
“No, Weller,” Mellie said. “He’s got a point. But, Tom, those people are dead men walking. If we succeed, some might live. Many won’t, but we don’t have a lot of choices. You’re a soldier. Don’t tell me you never fired on enemy targets when there were civilians around.”
Not as a first choice, no. They were under orders, although his captain had changed his tune after an ambush killed his sergeant and wounded another. Tom hadn’t fired the javelin; that wasn’t his job. But he saw the house cave in and, later, the three small bundles of bloodied sheets. The father was dead, too, and so were four Taliban holed up inside. No one fired a shot from that house ever again.
Now he said, “It wasn’t my call to make then, but this will be. We go through with this, it’s on me.”
“This is a war,” Weller said, like that was supposed to be explanation enough. “Us against the Chuckies. Us against Rule. Taking out that mine is the first step.”
Hard choices. Collateral damage. Mellie and Weller were very fond of catchphrases. “What about the people who have no say? The ones trapped in that mine who can’t get out?”
Weller cursed, then tossed the dregs of his coffee onto the snow. “I’m not debating this anymore. You’re not in charge of this operation.”
“You’re not my CO either,” Tom said.
“Well, lucky me, ’cuz ain’t he dead? In fact, it’s a good bet your entire brigade’s gone, isn’t it?”
The words dropped like hammer blows. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Because we’re what’s left. I was in ’Nam before your parents were in diddies. There is nothing about war I don’t know. You want to see Alex again? This is how we do it.”
“Weller.” Mellie planted a palm on the old man’s chest. “We need to work together here.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Tom said, roughly. Later, when he was alone, he’d probably put a fist through something, but right now there was Alex to think about. “I’ll do my job.”
“All right then.” Weller’s mouth worked as if he’d like to spit. “No harm, no foul.”
Liar. But he kept his mouth shut. He’d taken his best shot. There was absolutely nothing he could say to this old man that wouldn’t be a mistake right now.
“Oh, Tom,” Mellie said. She reached for him, but he sidestepped and left her grabbing air. Her sympathetic expression slipped then firmed, but didn’t quite leak into her eyes. “We’re all on the same side,” she said.
“Sure,” he said.
68
Cindi feathered the mag on her Big Eyes. “Hunh.”
“What?” Luke asked.
“I think . . .” Yup, she was sure of it. The sun wasn’t below the horizon yet and the light was behind her, so she could see pretty well. The image coalesced and resolved. “Remember that pack of Chuckies, the ones who wear those wolf skins? They’re back.”
“Yeah? How can you tell?”
“Come here.” She waited until he wormed over on his belly and peered through her tripod-mounted binocs. “It’s the flutter. You know, the wolf skin is loose, so it catches the wind? Dead giveaway. It’s still the same girl, but the guy she’s with is new.”
“Okay, I see it . . . whoa,” Luke said. “What’s going on with her face?”
“Dunno.” Either the girl had the world’s worst zit or she was sprouting another eye on her cheek. And who was this new guy? What had happened to the old one? Dead, maybe. Boy, that would be okay. The more Chuckies that bit the dust, the safer they all were. Besides, those wolf-people were a little freaky, kind of Mad Maxy with those wolf skins.
“There are a bunch of new guys with those wolf-people,” Luke said. “Check out the hardware.”
“Yeah, I saw them.” Some serious firepower there: a couple Uzis, for sure, or maybe MAC-10s—she wasn’t that much into guns. One kid wore this very funky bandolier slotted with what looked like huge bullets. Those brass heads must be the size of her fist. “Scoot over. I want to check on how many normals they got.”
“I think at least five,” Luke said, making room. “The way they kind of walk, you know? All shuffly?”
“Uh-huh.” She eased her eyepiece into focus, then said, “Oh boy.”