stop a tank. We go in there, we’ll be trapped in the ditch, no doubt
at all.”
“So what the hell do we do?” Johnson said.
The Marine officer shrugged.
“Bring me some engineers,” he said. “The gap they blew is only about
twenty feet wide. We can bridge that.”
“How long will that take?” Webster asked.
The Marine shrugged again.
“All the way up here?” he said. “Six hours? Maybe eight?”
“Way too long,” Webster said.
Then the radio receiver in McGrath’s pocket started crackling.
THIRTY-NINE
REACHER WAS HIDING OUT IN THE WOODS, WORRIED ABOUT THE dogs. They were
the only thing he wasn’t certain about. People, he could handle. Dogs,
he had very little experience. He was in the trees, north of the
Bastion, south of the rifle range. He had heard the Chinook hit the
ground from a mile away. It hit tail first, smashing and tearing into
the wooded slope. It looked to have slipped sideways in the air and
missed the courthouse by two hundred yards. No explosions. Not from
the courthouse or from the chopper itself. No sound of fuel tanks
going up. Reacher was reasonably optimistic for the crew. He figured
the trees and the collapse of the big boxy body might have cushioned
the impact for them. He had known chopper crews survive worse.
He had an M-16 rifle in his hand and a Glock in his pocket. The Clock
was fully loaded. Seventeen shells. The M-16 had the short clip.
Twenty shells, less the one that had killed the guy with the missile.
The second M-16 had the long clip. A full load of thirty. But it was
hidden in the trees. Because Reacher had a rule: choose the weapon you
know for sure is in working order.
He felt instinctively that the focus of attention would be in the
southeast direction. That was where Holly was being held, and that was
where the Chinook had come down. That was where
QOC
the opposition forces would be massing. He felt people would be
turning to face southeast, apprehensively, staring down into the rest
of the United States, waiting. So he turned his back and headed
northwest.
He moved cautiously. The bulk of the enemy was elsewhere, but he knew
there were squads out looking for him. He knew they had already
discovered Fowler’s body. He had seen two separate patrols searching
the woods. Six men in each, heavily armed, crashing through the
undergrowth, searching. Not difficult to avoid. But the dogs would be
difficult to avoid. That was why he was worried. That was why he was
moving cautiously.
He stayed in the trees and skirted the western end of the rifle range.
Tracked back east around the parade ground. Fifty yards north, he
turned again and paralleled the road up to the mines. He stayed in the
trees and moved at a fast jog. Used the time to start laying out some
priorities. And a time scale He figured he had maybe three hours.
Bringing down the Chinook was going to provoke some kind of a violent
reaction. No doubt about that. But in all his years in the service,
he had never known anything happen faster than three hours. So he had
three hours, and a lot of ground to cover.
He slowed to a fast walk when the rocky ground started rising under his
feet. Followed a wide uphill circle west and cut straight in to the
edge of the bowl where the mine entrances were. He heard diesel
engines idling. He bent double and crept across to the cover of a
rock. Looked out and down.
He was just above halfway up the slope surrounding the bowl. Looking
more or less due east across its diameter. The log doors of the
farther shed were standing open. Four of the missile unit’s trucks
were standing on the shale. The four with the weapon racks in back.
The troop carrier was still inside.
There was a handful of men in the bowl. They were set in an
approximate circle around the cluster of trucks. Reacher counted eight
guys. Fatigues, rifles, tense limbs. What had the kitchen woman said?
The mines were off limits. Except to the people Borken trusted.