Brad had been leery about hiring Asher for the rescue
because of the man's age. Now sixty-four is not that old--
he wasn't even eligible for social security-- but when your
twenty-one, sixty-four is knocking at death's door. I would
have looked at it from a different point of view: the man
had good references, so he obviously didn't avoid trouble.
Therefore, if he'd been able to dodge bullets for nearly
fifty years, he must be good.
But Brad didn't think like that.
See, he believed that the ultimate soldier should have
a chest as wide as a house and should be able to benchpress
a tank. The truth is, the larger your chest, the better a
target you are, and brute strength makes little difference
when a sniper puts a round between your eyes at five hundred
yards. In fact, large men often do not fare as well in
combat because what a soldier needs is endurance. Brad was
learning that lesson the hard way.
"Hey... Hey, Asher. Wait up!" panted Brad, from
fifteen yards behind the older man.
Asher stopped and immediately dropped to a kneeling
position as he waited for Brad to catch-up. "Don't call out
again," he stated in a low voice. "We can't be sure whether
there are listening devices nearby. If you want to get my
attention, hiss quietly... I'll hear you." Brad moved
beside Asher and fell to his knees in exhaustion.
Asher rose to his feet, and began to press on.
"Ssst... SSST!" hissed Brad, angrily.
Asher returned to where Brad sat upon the sand. "Look,
you wanted to come along. Surely you didn't think this was
going to be a picnic?"
"We've been walking two hours, and it's all been
uphill. Aren't we there yet?"
"Where?"
"The bomb range."
"Oh... I guess so, but we haven't found the compound
you mentioned yet, have we?"
"No," answered Brad in a tone of voice similar to that
of a scolded child.
"Then we better keep going, bettern't we?"
"Can't we take a break?"
"We've covered about twelve klicks, and have about
three more to go to get across the base of this mountain.
From there we'll have a clear view of the valley. We'll
rest there for about half an hour. But for now, we keep
moving." Asher stood, and continued his march.
"How far's a klick?" asked Brad after forcing himself
to his feet.
"A klick... kilometer... about six tenths of a mile."
Brad had done 'legwork' as a reporter, but this was
ridiculous. Melanie had dropped them on the east side of
the Pahranagat Mountain, a forty-four hundred foot peak at
the north end of the bomb range. Asher's map showed the
range's border started a few miles south of the summit, thus
saving Brad from having to scale the mountain. Being a
conscientious military man, however, Asher had chosen to
skirt around the mountain several thousand feet above the
valley under the pretense that one should always take the
high ground. By placing himself at such a height, he also
guaranteed that he would have an elevated vantage point when
he cleared the mountain's last ridge.
As with crossing any mountain, the terrain was never
level. The two men crossed numerous ridges, valleys,
boulders, and dry creek beds that Brad likened to small
canyons. This was actually a fairly accurate appraisal as
the crevices channeled the flash flood waters down the peak
to the valley below. By ten o'clock, they crested the last
ridge, and Asher lead Brad to an outcropping where they
would rest.
"Damn, I'm tired. Are we going to camp here tonight?"
asked Brad.
Asher turned to Brad, and the only thing that kept Brad
from seeing the disgusted look on his face was the near
total darkness of the valley. "Were not going to camp until
a few hours before dawn, so don't get too comfortable-- and
don't unlace those boots," he advised when he noticed Brad
reaching for his feet. "If you take off those boots, you
may not be able to get those tender feet back in them."
Ninety percent disgusted and one hundred percent
exhausted, Brad relaxed against his pack and looked at the
stars. "How are we going to be able to see anything in the
dark?"
Asher withdrew the cylinder they had taken from the
false back of the cabinet from his pack. He unscrewed the
cap, and slid what appeared to be a large riflescope from
inside. "This is a PVS-2B Surveillance, Target Acquisition,
Night Observation Device-- that's STANO for short. Some
people call it a Starlight scope because it amplifies
ambient light ten thousand times to allow the user to see in
darkness even if the only light is from the stars in the
sky. Take a look."
Brad pushed his eye against the retractable eyecup
until he could see a pale white image generated on a small
video screen inside the unit. He noticed, as he scanned the
area, that the device seemed to function just like a
camcorder except for the need to focus. Asher explained
that it magnified the target image, so the unit wouldn't
focus on anything less than twenty meters. Any target
further than that distance, on out into infinity, would
always be in focus.
When he pointed it straight up, Brad noticed that it
allowed him to see thousands more stars than were visible to
the naked eye, but when the scope moved with the slight
tremblings of his hands, they left trails as if they were
comets. Again, Asher explained that the scope amplified the
light to such a degree that a light source was temporarily
burned onto the screen or the retina of the eye. Brad had
seen this same effect with the camcorders he'd used,
especially when filming inside or near exposed light bulbs.
"The starlight scope is pretty handy to have, but it's
nothing compared to the new thermal sights the military has.
They let you see through smoke, fog, and driving rain.
Thermal is still too expensive for me to mess with," stated
Asher as he put the scope to his eye and started to scan the
valley from side-to-side. "I used to use infrared, but it's
got some major disadvantages, like the fact that normally
invisible infrared light shows up on Starlight like a
flashlight. Not only that, but Starlight's got more range
and is more compact."
Asher pulled his eye from the scope to look at Brad,
and noticed he was asleep. He let him sleep as he continued
his sweep of the valley. Brad jerked in his sleep several
times, but only stirred once when the air around him was
filled with an unearthly rumble that lasted too long for
thunder. He opened his eyes long enough to see Asher's
unconcerned silhouette still investigating the valley.
Brad maintained his state of exhausted unconsciousness
for several more minutes, before Asher shook him awake. "On
your feet, soldier. Time to move out."
For several seconds Brad fumbled with his pack, trying
desperately to regain his senses. When his mind surfaced
from its sea of sleep, he became acutely aware of a strange
and distant noise. "What's that sound?"
"Chopper-- OH-58-- across the valley. He's flying a
search pattern."
"I don't see it."
"He's blacked-out; flying without his running lights.
Typical military thinking: turn off the lights so no one can
see you, than make enough noise to be heard for miles
around."
"Is it looking for us?"
"Could be, but he's going to end up helping us without
knowing it."
"How?" inquired Brad.
"For one thing, there is what appeared to be a town in
the valley. I had thought we would go for a closer look,
until the helicopter hit it with its spotlight. When he did
that, I could tell the town was actually a cluster of flimsy
buildings that the Air Force must use as a target. On top
of that, he's working his search from north to south,
heading back the way he came in."
"That's normal because if he were low on fuel or had
engine trouble, he would be closer to his base. With each
pass he gets closer. I'd bet that means our compound is to
the south." Asher went on to explain that they would follow
the ridge they were on for a few miles, to a distant
hilltop, where he'd use the Starlight scope to make another
recon.
With just a taste of sleep Brad found himself more
tired than he had been to start out with. He trudged after
Asher mechanically, as if he were not even controlling his
own movements. His brain called to him to listen to reason,
but Brad forced himself to follow the older man with
thoughts of fame and riches that awaited him at the end of
his quest. Though the distance traveled was only slightly
more than half that of the first leg of their journey, Brad
was far more exhausted, because he had been exhausted to
start out with.
Moments after Brad had set his pack on the ground, he
fell asleep, missing the diligence and expertise with which
his mercenary guide once again searched the area around
them. The thought of dreaming never crossed Brad's mind, as
his brain had slipped into the survival mode. It realized
that it needed rest, knew it wasn't going to get enough of
it, so it threw Brad into a deep meditative sleep as soon as
possible to maximize the rest it would get.
Waking Brad up this time required a great deal more
effort than Asher actually wanted to exert. Just as he was
reaching the point of violence, Brad stretched, yawned, and
looked around as if unsure where he was. "Come on,
Dartmouth. Time to beat feet."
"What time is it?"
"Have you got a dentist appointment?"
"I was just wondering," stated Brad flatly. He looked
at his own watch and saw it was half-past one. "Did you see
anything? Did the helicopter come back?"
"There's another target about a mile to the west; it
looks like a simulated airfield. It doesn't seem very
interesting, so I don't think we'll go any closer. What is
interesting was the helicopter. It ran a pattern to the
east, flew through this valley to our south, and seemed to
set down for a few moments on the opposite side of hill."
"Both the search patterns it ran fanned out from that
hill. The hill forms a saddle that would hide a camp on
three sides. I think that hill will be our next objective,
but that will mean crossing a couple miles of open desert.
Do you think you're up to it?"
"What if the helicopter catches us in the open?" asked
Brad.
"He's running a search in the southwest sector now.
When he's finished he'll most likely go back to the north.
That will leave the southeast open for us to cross."
Brad nodded in the darkness, slung his rucksack over
his shoulder, and fought the burning pain in his muscles
that begged him not to go on. "Asher, how in the hell are
you able to do this?"
"What?"
"Walk dozens of miles without stopping to rest or due
to sore feet."
"I run two miles every morning, for one thing.
Besides, this is nothing. Now, back in '50 when I was in
the Corps and we marched out from Chosin Reservoir-- that
was a real march."
"Where's Chosin Reservoir?"
"Shit! Chosin Reservoir's in Korea: My division was
caught thirty miles behind the lines after the Chinese
Thanksgiving offensive. General Oliver Smith saw that each
day line was pushing farther and farther from us, so after a
few days, we pulled out."
"It was December, most of us had frostbite on our hands
and feet, we knew we were cut off from any support, but we
marched-- and fought-- our way to the sea where we were
evacuated by ship. It took almost three weeks to cover
fifty miles, because we were surrounded, outnumbered, and
constantly under attack from one hundred twenty thousand
Chinese soldiers. But almost every man made it out."
"That's incredible! You mean no one was killed?"
"No... Around a thousand Marines were killed."
"You just said every man made it out," Brad pointed
out.
"Yeah. We had a few trucks, so we packed our dead in
the trucks and drove them out with us."
"Damn..." stated Brad in disbelief. "That's wild. But
you know what? After all you've been through, like Korea
and Afghanistan, you'll probably die in your sleep."
"I hope not."
"What do you mean, you hope not? That's the best way
to go."
"When I die, I want to go out in a blaze of glory... I
want my eyes open so I won't miss it."
"You're crazy-- nobody wants to die like that. You'll
be in pain, scared, fighting it all the way; that's a
horrible thought."
"Dying is a once in a lifetime experience, Dartmouth.
I don't intend on sleeping through it. When my time comes,
I want to be on my feet with a rifle in my hand, and rounds
ricochetting all around me. I want to die the way I lived."
Brad left the conversation at that, but let his mind
dwell on the blaze of glory concept as they moved across the
valley. Brad's body had reached the point where it no
longer listened to the calls for rest from the brain, and
his brain ignored the moans of pain from the muscles. It
was the same phenomena that allowed a marathon runner to
push through mile after grueling mile even though he knew
he'd be dehydrated, deprivated, and so internally bruised
that he'd piss blood for two days.
Every inch Brad covered looked exactly like every
other. No scenery dotted the landscape, as everything was
varying shades of gray to black. No colors fed his eyes,
and the only sounds to enter his ears were the continued
thump, thump, thump, thump of his feet as they fell upon the
sand, and wheezing of his lungs as they fought the straps of
his pack to draw in air. He tried desperately to think, but
his mind was numb. The minutes passed like seconds, and the
seconds passed like hours. The numbness became his ally,
the ever-moving shape of Asher's silhouette became the
nightmare image of a thing relentlessly chased, but never
caught.
In time, the two reached their objective.
Asher peered through the Starlight scope at the valley
below them. "Bingo! There's another group of buildings out
there-- maybe a mile out," whispered Asher excitedly. "From
this range I can't see any detail... We'll have to go
closer."
Brad watched in total horror as Asher placed the
Starlight scope back into his rucksack. "Aren't we going to
rest first?"
"One mile, Dartmouth. One short and insignificant mile
between you and your goal. We won't even go the whole mile;
we'll stop five or six hundred yards out."
"I can't make it," pleaded Brad, near tears. "I've got
to rest."
"Don't be a wimp. I thought you wanted this pretty
bad... bad enough to pay me, but now I see you don't. Well,
if you haven't got the balls to go just one more mile, then
you can count me out. I'm heading back to the pickup
point." Asher shouldered his pack and turned to head out
the direction they'd come in.
"Asher..." The man kept walking. "Ssst! Asher! I
can do it-- please don't leave me."
The mercenary turned around and rejoined Brad. "Your
pretty pitiful, boy. It's going to take a hell of a lot
more work for me to make you into a soldier." Asher lead
the way down the ridge to the blacked-out compound below.
"I don't want to be a soldier, Asher... I just want my
story," panted Brad, miserably.
"Yeah," replied Asher, "and I just want my other five
grand."
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