A New World: Conspiracy (18 page)

“Yeah, we appear to be, but I think it’s
time that we call it a night. We need to get this aircraft on the
ground,” I answer.

“What in the hell was that?” Robert
asks.

“We hit a propane storage facility,” I
answer.

“Fuck me…I need to look closer,” I hear him
mutter.

The mushroom cloud off to the side has
expended its energy and is breaking up, the smoke drifting slowly
northward. I turn the aircraft toward the hole in the clouds and
slowly descend until we are once again below the overcast. The area
below us is devastated for a half mile around where the facility
was. Everything there has been vaporized. I radio base to let them
know that we are on the way back. I hold off telling them what
happened. It’s not like they can meet us with emergency
equipment.

On the return flight, I look for damage on
the wings and have others look along the fuselage. We run through
the structural damage procedures, but it looks like we escaped
without harm. We’ll still conduct our approach as if there is.

The strip carved out of the field looks
small in the glow of the night vision goggles. It’s a long strip,
but not overly wide. The runway wants to keep sliding to the side.
I’m still a little shaky from what happened and my post-adrenaline
rush isn’t helping much. I keep bringing the nose into alignment as
we descend ever closer. It’s hard to judge the glide path at night
without nav instrumentation or glide slope lighting, especially
seeing as how the NVGs aren’t that great with presenting a three
dimensional picture. Craig calls out the airspeed and altitude as I
adjust the throttles in accordance.

I finally reach a point where I think I can
see the runway without the aid of the NVGs and peek out. Sure
enough, the picture resolves itself into a better dimensional
representation.

“Okay, I have a visual,” I tell Craig.

The aircraft thumps down on the dirt landing
surface and we slow, turning onto the ramp Bannerman had carved
out.

“I’m not sure which hurt the aircraft
more…the explosion or that landing,” Craig says.

I hear more than one chuckle on the
intercom.

“Thanks for volunteering to help out the
mechanic tomorrow,” I reply.

Frank meets us with several Humvees in tow
as we shut down. I brief him on what happened as we make our way
back to Cabela’s and hand him the tape of our sortie.

“Show the entire camp the combat footage.
I’m thinking they need an uplift after this week and need to know
that we are doing something positive. Oh, and you can leave out
that little episode where we are tossed around the sky.”

“Will do, Jack,” Frank replies.

The debrief with the crew is quick. The part
with the propane storage is covered by only mentioning that we need
to take a closer look at our surroundings before delivering
explosives. There’s no need to harp on this as the lesson was
learned by everyone seconds after the facility was hit. I do,
however, record the devastating effects in the back of mind. It’s
not like we can drop fuel-air bombs, but it bears thinking
about.

* * * * * *

Gonzalez leaves the debrief and makes her
way to her cubicle. Plopping down on her bunk, she leans, resting
her elbows on her legs. She’s exhausted to the point where untying
her boots seems like a chore beyond her power to complete. She
stares at them, willing them to undo themselves, but they remain
glued to her feet. With a heavy sigh, she reaches down and unlaces
one boot, pulling it off with effort and dropping it to the floor.
She then stares at her other boot as tired thoughts drift through
her mind.

The flight tonight only emphasized a point
she has known throughout her career – that anything can happen at
any time. Jack and Craig downplayed it during the debrief, but she
knows they were moments away from plummeting. She thinks on how
small, seemingly insignificant things can make such a difference.
If they were a hundred yards closer to the explosion, it might have
been enough to toss them out of the sky. There was one time that
she moved away from a position only to have it shelled seconds
later. She didn’t have any feeling of foreboding or that she should
move, it just happened. Or Jack bending over when he did. He would
have been hit and Allie would be sitting here sharing a joke or
story with her. It’s not that it is good or bad, it just is.

The thought of McCafferty causes her to sigh
heavily through pursed lips. Gonzalez’ shoulders sag farther as she
continues to lean on her legs, staring at her one boot, not truly
seeing it anymore. Allie’s death has really shaken her. She’s lost
friends before, and yes, they shook her then, just not to the
extent Allie’s has. Perhaps it’s the times they live in now, or
that Allie was really her last friend. Before, she had other
friends, and they would console each other – help each other
through the hard times. She doesn’t have that now. There are the
others in Red Team, but it’s not the same. She doesn’t feel as if
she can share like she and Allie could…or her other friends.

A tired tear runs slowly down her cheek.
It’s soon joined by others to create a stream. Her vision blurs;
she wipes one hand across her eyes to no avail, the tears keep
coming. Her shoulders shake with the first sob. Emotions pour out
of her as grief takes hold.

No matter what happened the previous day,
she would always wake ready to take the world by the horns and give
it a ride – she would experience it fully. Sometimes exhaustion
would make that a short ride, but she would meet the day with what
she had. She is finding that hard to do now. With the daily stress
and constant threat to their survival, it seems like they are
hanging by a thread. And Drescoll leaving. He just gave up. She can
see the ‘why’, but to leave like that. There are people that
depended on him…cared about him. Not in the way Allie did, but
cared nonetheless. She wishes he could have seen that and used it
for strength.

Her thoughts wind back to Allie. Gonzalez
sees her face with that silly grin she always wore when the team
was joking around. Her small stature and features made her seem
like the eternal high school princess. The look of determination
she exhibited when fighting loomed near – completely fearless.
Something you wouldn’t expect from just looking at her. Gonzalez
remembers the mischievous grin Allie had when they discovered the
Twinkies and her pure joy when she brought them out to share with
the others in that strange town. Her spirit lifted the team up when
times were hard. Allie was her friend and she misses her.

With her elbows on her knees, Gonzalez wraps
her hands at the back of her head and grips her hair. Sobs wrack
her body as she remembers her friend and the times they had
together, even if just for a short time.

Other thoughts come in a jumble – the night
runners coming down from the north, the group apparently targeting
them, the larger group of night runners somewhere in the vicinity.
When will we get a break?

She cries herself out and places her arms
back on her legs with a big sigh.

Quit whining like a little girl
, she
tells herself.
We have a secure location with good people. And
we have the ability to strike back and strike back hard. We’re
alive right now, and that’s all that matters.

Gonzalez reaches down to undo the laces to
her other boot, removes it, and drops it next to her other one.
She’ll fight, as she and the others have always done – for the
soldier next to her and for those they protect.

Wiping the last vestiges of tears away, she
settles back on her cot. Tomorrow is another day and she’ll face it
as she has all of her other ones. She’ll experience it.

Tempered steel…
her last thought as
she slips into an exhausted sleep.

* * * * * *

Robert climbs the stairs slowly, watching
Gonzalez scale the steps ahead of him. He’d like to catch up to her
and talk about this evening, but he also doesn’t want to talk with
anyone right now. It’s a contradiction within him – the need to
talk with someone, yet not wanting to hear the recrimination he
feels he deserves. With his hand on the railing, guiding him up
another step, he shakes his head. He feels bad about what
happened.

I almost killed us all
, he thinks,
nearing the top of the escalator.

If only he’d looked closer he would have
clearly seen those propane tanks. He plays that picture over and
over – that one just before giving the order to fire. In his head,
he sees those tanks clearly and wonders why he didn’t then. His
dad’s only words during the debrief were ‘lesson learned…for all of
them’ and that was it.

It beats the shit out of Robert how his dad
can brush off significant things like that as if they mean nothing,
yet he’ll harp on the smallest of things. Robert remembers asking
him about this once. He remembers his dad turning to him and
saying, “Because it’s paying attention to the details that’ll keep
your ass out of the fire. If you do that, the bigger things will
fall into place. Let the larger picture guide you but focus on the
details. You can’t create a building if you don’t meticulously lay
each brick. On the other hand, you can’t just haphazardly lay
bricks and expect a grand building to materialize.” Yeah, his dad
loved his metaphors.

However, Robert feels like he let the whole
team down. He was given a chance at leadership and he almost killed
them. Robert fully expects his dad to relieve him. Oh, he’ll do it
quietly and make it seem like it’s not a negative thing, but he’ll
do it nonetheless. And Robert doesn’t blame him. They can’t afford
mistakes like that. He feels sick to his stomach as he climbs the
last step and watches Gonzalez as she makes her way to her
quarters.

Standing at the top of the stairs, he rubs
the back of head. It still feels tender where he bumped it and he
feels the beginnings of a headache coming on. Those terrifying
moments play through his mind…

The numerous night runners filling the
screen. His watching intently as he gives the order to fire and
watches for the explosion on the monitor signifying a hit, ready to
follow up with the 40mm and 25mm Gatling gun to finish off any
survivors. The monitor going completely white. His confusion. The
shout of his dad yelling ‘hang on’ and the aircraft lurching
violently to the side. The sudden movement knocking him off his
feet from where he was standing behind Gonzalez’ shoulder and
slamming him into one of the tables – thankfully he was wearing his
helmet.

He remembers trying to scramble to his feet,
but unable to do so because of the continued buffeting of the
aircraft. Barely able to hear the instructions his dad was yelling
and knowing they were as good as dead. They were going down and it
was his fault somehow. He still didn’t know what had happened. The
panicked fear that the 105mm round had exploded inside the aircraft
and tore them apart. Then, suddenly, they were upright again.
Climbing to his feet and finding out what had happened. The sick
feeling returns in strength to his gut.

He looks over to see Michelle giving him a
warm smile near the balcony. Giving a half-hearted smile in return,
he walks slowly toward her.

“What’s wrong,” Michelle asks as he draws in
front of her.

“Nothing. I’m just tired,” Robert
responds.

“Well, let’s get you to bed then,” Michelle
says, wrapping her arm in his and leading him toward their room.
“How was the flight?”

“It went okay, I guess. We made it back,”
Robert answers.

He wants to tell her what happened but, with
the sick feeling he has and the oncoming headache, he just doesn’t
want to right now. As they draw near the entrance, he hears his dad
call from behind. They both turn to see his dad approaching.

“If I could steal him for just a moment
longer,” his dad says to Michelle. “I promise I won’t keep him
long.”

Oh boy, here it comes
, Robert
thinks.

“I’ll be right in,” he says to Michelle and
walks with his dad to the balcony overlooking the first floor.

“Okay,” she replies and waits near the
doorway.

With his elbows resting on the wooden
railing, he looks over to his dad leaning over the balcony in a
similar position. He looks tired. He’s seen his dad tired before
but not like this.

“Look, Dad—” Robert begins.

“Nope. This is where I get to talk and you
get to listen,” his dad interrupts. “I know what you’re going
through and that you feel like it’s your fault. You feel like you
let everyone down and that you shouldn’t be in a leadership
position.”

“Yeah. Well—” Robert begins again.

“No, you’re talking again. Now listen. First
of all, it’s not your fault, so you can toss that crap out of your
head. No one blames you. Yes, you should have taken a look at the
surrounding features, but I missed them as well. I was the
pilot-in-command and therefore any fault with anything, and I mean
anything
that happened, is ultimately mine,” his dad says.
“Look, leading isn’t about being perfect, but learning from every
mistake – one made by you or others. It’s showing by example and,
if you do make a mistake, you own it and rise above it. You don’t
hang your head down, but lift it up and say, ‘Fuck, I guess I won’t
do that again’. The one thing you can’t do is let it destroy your
self- confidence. If you do, the mistake wins. If you rise above it
and tuck the lesson into your bag of tricks, you win.

“Tonight was a good lesson, and one you need
to take to heart. As a leader, you’re going to make mistakes. The
world knows I’ve made more than my fair share. It’s what you do
afterwards that counts. Awareness, on all levels, is vital. You
can’t let the mistakes of the past cloud your mind or you’ll never
be able to make a decision. At some point, you’ll need to make snap
decisions. Sometimes, they won’t be the right ones, but you’ll make
that decision based on instinct. That instinct is driven by the bag
of tricks you carry. As you progress, that bag will grow as you
stuff more experience into it. You’ve heard me say many times that
making a decision, any decision, is better than not making one at
all. A leader was once asked, ‘How do you make so many good
decisions?’ The answer given, ‘Because I made so many bad ones in
the past’. Collect the lesson and move on. Does any of this make
sense?”