The War After Armageddon

So he couldn’t talk. And the smoke meant he couldn’t get a clear look at the mound. McGinley was KIA or WIA with the last charge up in the mess of blasted shrubs, twisted chain-link fence, wire, mines, and corpses.

It wasn’t like Iwo Jima, Kosinski decided. It was like World War I.

What now, Lieutenant? He mocked himself with the immemorial question. Now that you’ve got a minefield behind you, the enemy’s got clear fields of fire if you go forward or pull out, your chain of command wanted the mission accomplished hours ago, the light’s failing, and, although there seemed to be fewer of them now, enough Jihadis remained alive to dump the wrath of Allah on anything that moved.

Artillery rounds shrieked overhead. But the shells were headed elsewhere.

Okay, okay, Kosinski thought. I can’t talk. But they can’t talk, either. I’ve got the U.S. Army behind me. These bozos are in for Mohammed’s Last Stand, and they know it. The battalion S-2 had briefed them all on suicide units that would never surrender. Roger. But there had to be some damned weakness.

They didn’t cover this at Benning.

Okay. They had to work in closer. Try to get to McGinley. Get the satchel charge. Which the engineer had described as almost a mininuke. And get it into the mouth of the damned tunnel.

I choose Course of Action B, sir.

You are a no-go at this station.

The Jihadis launched a pair of rifle grenades in Kosinski’s general direction. Maybe to check if any Americans were still alive. The smoke from the grenades immediately began to drift off. But the light was going. And with all the flashes on every side, the night-vision gear wouldn’t be worth much.

What now, Lieutenant?

Forward, sir.

Kosinski motioned to Staff Sergeant Wasserman. You. And Winchell. Move out. Left. Then he signaled to Sergeant Baker, Martinez, and Liu. Covering fire, then move. Classic fire and maneuver. Bounding overwatch. Except this wasn’t an exercise with dummy rounds in the Georgia clay.

Let’s go. Follow me.

“Father. You stay here. You’ve done your part.”

The priest shook his head. He took off at a run before Kosinski could get over the lip of the crater.

Okay, follow the priest.

The Jihadis didn’t open up immediately. The smoke grenades might have obscured the tunnel’s defenses, but now the last wisps obscured the Americans.

Were the J’s low on ammo?

No. They’d have plenty in there. Stacked up.

Run. Run.

Kosinski caught up with the chaplain and yanked him into another crater. Just as interlocking fires from two machine guns swept the ground at thigh level.

Kosinski couldn’t see any of his soldiers now. He wondered if any had obeyed his order to move out. Past a certain point, he realized, a lieutenant’s authority reached its limit. The platoon — what remained of it — had probably passed it.

Machine-gun rounds ripped overhead. You could feel the air getting out of their way.

Couldn’t blame his soldiers much if they were still hunkered down. They’d followed him a damned long way. Maneuvering up to approach this Megiddo lump of dirt from the north, they’d hit the first belt of mines. Screams, and men squirming. Lost the weak ones right there, the newbies. Koskinski had watched the engineer major leap into the air like a super-hero. Except that his legs separated from his torso and flew off in their own eccentric directions. For all the noise of battle, he’d heard the thud when the major came back to earth. Anyway, he thought he’d heard it.

Dark coming. Not good news. Mission unaccomplished.

The machine-gun fire ceased. For the moment.

Kosinski looked around in desperation. And found only the priest.

Okay. Game over. Time to pay up. Time to at least look like a leader.

Course of Action C, sir?

It was up to him now. His turn. Go in and find McGinley. And the charge. Give it to the bastards.

Or.

No “or.”

Just give it to the bastards.

He already saw himself running forward, saw it all play out. It did not end well.

The priest had read his mind. He laid a staying hand on the lieutenant, forcing Kosinski back down as he began to rise. Father Powers inched close, until their uniforms met and the warmth beneath their sleeves connected. So human it made Kosinski wince. With the noise and stink of war roiling around them. In the loneliest place on earth.

“Listen to me,” the priest shouted. Or it seemed like a shout. “I’ve been there. I know where the tunnel starts.”

Their eyes met in the dying light. And Kosinski saw something in the other man’s eyes that he never found a word for. Maybe his mom was right and priests knew secrets.

“Stay here,” the chaplain commanded. “I’ll handle it.”

Kosinski felt as though a spell had been cast, as though the priest’s authority superseded that of generals. Later, he sometimes asked himself if he’d just been a coward. But even in his most cynical moments, he knew there was more to it than that.

The priest leapt into the dusk, running forward. Alone.