The Rabid Brigadier (13 page)

The sides of the hole kept slowly sliding down but Stone took his tarp, spread it over as much of the inside of the space
as he could. It seemed to help. They both got inside and after getting all their feet and legs in the right place it appeared
usable. The mud squished beneath Stone’s tarp, making them feel like they were lying on a waterbed, but it kept out the water
oozing in the dirt just below them. All the recruits who were digging kept glancing over at Stone to make sure they were doing
it right, and followed suit, putting down their tarps over as much of the muddy interior as possible.

“Now give me your tarp,” Stone told Bo, who handed it over. Sitting up, Stone placed it on each side of the ditch over them
and put some of the mud along the edges to hold it in place. Then he pulled his head back under, pulling the tarp along with
him over his head until they were almost sealed in. Within minutes their body heat began collecting so that they actually
felt warm.

The rest mimicked Stone down to the last detail. Then they all got in, pulled the movable roof tarp over them and presto:
instant home with all the amenities. Bull and three of the “tough guys” of the lot who had sat on their tarps watching it
all and making obscene comments at the assholes who were doing more work suddenly heard loud clicking sounds
coming from the shadows at each end of the mud field. Suddenly a hailstorm of slugs came migrating across the ground. The
four macho men dove into the dirt, pressing their faces into the earth for dear life as they could hear countless bullets
whistling by overhead. The firing kept up for nearly two minutes. At last it stopped and a voice yelled out from the darkness.

“That time we fired a yard above the ground. Next time it’s going to be twelve inches. Get your foxholes built, assholes.”
But Bull and the others had gotten the message. They teamed up and grabbed their shovels and started digging like steam shovels.
Within ten minutes they had likewise created underground homes that, following Stone’s design, were not all that uncomfortable,
considering. The next machine-gun burst came exactly fifteen minutes after the first. And true to word, it was a foot off
the ground. Someone whose ass was poking up just a little too high took a flesh wound and let out a quick scream. They all
pulled down a little deeper, squashed their faces a little harder into the mud-bulging tarps and lay motionless in the oozing
holes as a thin drizzle descended through the now moonless night like a dark gossamer veil of the gods. And thus, some of
them were even able to get a little sleep between machine-gun firings.

CHAPTER
Thirteen

W
AKEUP CALL was two small artillery shells going off at each side of the mud field, ripping the recruits from their semi-dozes
and making over half of them bolt upright, so they sat up straight and ripped the tarps from right over their heads.

“That’s the WRONG thing to do, idiots,” Sergeant Zynishinski screamed at them as he stood in the center of the vaguely circular
pattern of foxholes. “When you hear an explosion, get your head DOWN, not up. Now everybody rise and shine ’cause today’s
the day we
really
have some fun.” The men groaned and burped and farted and slowly emerged from their muddy holes in the earth like zombies
rising from the dead. And with their mud-splattered clothes, their hair covered with dead grass and twigs—a few of them even
sporting various species of beetles and grubs that had crawled onto them during the night, seeking warmth and perhaps a few
bites of something tasty—they looked like
something out of a horror movie, like something that should just crawl back into its grave and die.

The sergeant walked back and forth in front of them, inspecting the recruits. “So you cowbrains figured out to stay dry. Better
than I expected,” he commented, spitting a gob of the chewing tobacco he seemed to always have in his mouth at their feet.
“And maybe you even got a few minutes sleep, that’s good. Because you’ll need everything you got for today—everything.”

“What about food,” one whining voice asked from somewhere.

“No food,” the sergeant said brusquely. “All right, let’s go. Leave the tarps and shovels where they are. Follow me!” The
D.I. started jogging off and Stone and Bo took off right behind him, followed grudgingly by the rest of the trainees. They
ran along the side of the electric fence, about two yards from it. Along the bottom Stone could see blankets of dead insects—moths,
flies, wasps—that had touched the high-voltage wire. Here and there along the outside was a dead animal—raccoon, prairie dog,
even a deer or two. Their faces were still stuck to the steel-mesh structure as the current created a magnetic pull between
their bodies and the electricity surging through the metal. Stuck forever as if kissing that which had killed them.

Sergeant Zynishinski led them right up to the side gate, protected by two guard posts on each side. The guards shut off the
electricity for their section, opened the gate, let them all through and when the last man was out closed it again and started
the current up. There had been a number of attacks lately. They couldn’t afford to slacken for a moment. It was the first
time Stone had been outside the walls of Fort Bradley in almost a week—and it felt wonderful. He hadn’t realized how cramped
being inside of walls made him until
he was out. But the bush land and nearby forest gave him a sudden jolt of joy. They ran for about half a mile down a dirt
road and then came to a clearing with a number of NAA troops gathered around, along with various vehicles, including a tank
parked on the grassy shoulder to the side.

“This is it,” the D.I. said. “You went to school yesterday; today is the graduation exam.” He pointed toward what looked like
hardly more than a deer trail leading off through some low thorn bushes. “That’s the test. We call it the “manbreaker,” because
it’s broken plenty, believe me. It’s an obstacle course. But like none you’ve ever seen or heard about. This one’s different.
But I’m not going to tell you all about it and spoil the fun. That’s for you to find out. Suffice it to say, you will be forced
to use everything you learned yesterday—and every other bit of knowledge you got crammed into those amoeba-sized brains.”
He looked around at them as if he had never seen a more incompetent gathering of fools and shook his head with mock sadness.

“There are arrows pointing the way. Just follow them. If you get wounded or maimed, stay where you are. We’ll get to you when
we can—if we can. See you on the other side, idiots. If you make it all the way, you’re in this man’s army.” The big trooper’s
face softened for just a second. “Good luck,” he mumbled. Then with gusto, “Now get your dumb asses in there… and keep your
fucking heads down.” Stone walked up to the first arrow pointing into the thorn patch, breathed out to relax himself and started
in. Behind him Sergeant Zynishinski was already in a jeep and heading off down one of the several roads that intersected at
the clearing. The rest of the recruits followed one by one after Stone, looking paranoically around although there was nothing
more than a few birds diving for insects amongst the
vegetation, chirping angrily at the humans who dared disturb them.

It was easy going at first but after several minutes Stone found that the thorns got thicker and longer, their entangled branches
higher and harder to push through. The tips of the barbs kept biting into his legs, nipping little stabs into his flesh. Seeing
that it only got thicker ahead, Stone stopped in his tracks, took off the heavy NAA combat jacket and spread it around as
much of his lower part of his body as he could, tying the sleeves of the garment around his ankles. It was a strange arrangement
and made it hard for him to move, almost like being in a potato sack. But it worked, for as he moved on ahead, the jacket
protected him from ninety percent of the thorns and the extra protection enabled him to force his way right through the ripping
plants as if he were armor-plated. The others behind him took heed and followed suit and the whole crew stomped on behind
their involuntary leader.

The thorns lasted for about a half mile, then were gone. Stone saw a sign with an arrow and moved on ahead onto a one-lane
dirt road that passed between two low mountains. He started jogging at a slow speed, letting everything hang loose. He was
still sore as hell from the events of yesterday and he didn’t want to cramp up. The other recruits stumbled out of the thorns
and took off after him. They had all come to depend on Stone for knowing what the hell to do, and didn’t want to be left behind.
Bo came up beside him, running hard, and Stone grinned over at the man who stood inches over him but couldn’t have been over
seventeen. Bo grinned back. He should’ve been out feeding the cows, Stone thought with pity, rather than out here learning
how to kill men. The guy didn’t have it cut out for him.

“Why you here, Bo?” Stone huffed as he heard other recruits
breathing hard yards behind them. “What the hell the NAA have that you want?”

“Well, Mr. Stone.” The mountain lad thought hard for a second, keeping an even pace alongside of him. “Tell you the truth,
I probably wound’t be here exceptin’ a gang of bikers came through my hills, killed my ma, pa, all my brothers—I had nine
of ‘em. No sisters. I come back from hauling coon, and there was no one left. Just bloody carcasses with—with their scalps
missing.” Stone’s head jerked when he heard the words.

“Scalps were missing? Well, I can tell you one thing if it’s any consolation at all: the man who did that to them is dead;
I killed him with my own hands. His name was Straight, named after the straight razors of which he carried dozens.”

Bo could hardly believe the words but was too dimwitted to even imagine Stone might be lying. “I—I—I’m grateful for that,”
Bo stuttered, almost faltering for a second and losing pace. “I ain’t one for words, but if I wasn’t a man I’d cry from them
words you just tol’ me. I thank you. I won’t forget it.”

But there wasn’t time for emotional displays, for as the last man came out of the bramble thickets, the first explosion hit
just behind them. Then another. Stone picked up speed and the rest followed behind. They tore down the road as there was no
place really to hide on the steep rocky slopes of the mountains on each side. Still the explosions followed them—going off
just behind them or to one side—and Stone realized they were being channeled, guided like hamsters, made to run with exploding
prods. The thought disgusted him, but he sure as hell didn’t slow down. They followed the road for a half hour and the barrage
didn’t let up; if anything it came closer so they had to haul ass as if they were doing wind sprints. After another five minutes
of
full-blast running, just as they came to the end of the five-mile-long valley, the shelling stopped. The air seemed bizarrely
quiet with the explosions gone and each man could hear his own heart beating like a metronome gone mad.

Stone rested for exactly one minute, knowing there would be something to prod them along soon enough. He saw the next arrow
sign pointing toward a fairly thick forest about a hundred yards off and headed toward it. None too soon. For those who had
dawdled two stench bombs landed in their midst, sending out an acrid, nauseating odor that made them gag and vomit as they
staggered toward the woods. But the moment he reached the edge of the dark forest—a canopy of twisted leafless branches woven
into a maze of wooden webbing—Stone saw that this wasn’t going to be so easy either. Stakes filled the forest floor with what
looked like excrement or something foul smeared on their pointed tips. They were everywhere. It appeared that the godlike
beings who were guiding their every move wanted them to play Tarzan for a while.

Stone started up the side of the nearest good-sized tree and then along a branch that extended nearly thirty feet into the
forest and mingled with the other high branches. He started along it and though the branch shook up and down slightly it was
thick enough to hold him. The branch of another tree was just within reach and he grasped it and jumped across to the other.
It wobbled wildly but as Stone hung upside like a bat for a few seconds, the branch slowed down and he oozed out a sigh of
relief. The wooden stakes below stared up at him with sharp eyes that seemed to see right into his heart. At least the concept
worked. He edged down the branch to the middle trunk of the tree, still about twenty feet up, and searched around through
the smaller branches for another bark bridge on which to continue his journey forward.

Most of the other recruits, after doing a double take when they saw Stone do his monkey man thing into the trees, started
up after him, following the exact route he was taking. A few, of course, Bull included, had to try things the hard way first.
They started into the forest, walking on the ground, trying to weave their way between the spears that appeared to grow out
of the hard soil. But it was no go. They had scarcely gone ten feet when Bull, in the lead, got wedged in between two chest-high
sets of spikes. When he pulled back one of them ripped into his upper arm, going in a good two inches. He howled and ripped
it out and then slowly pulled out backwards. Though he hated Stone and everything he did, Bull knocked the next guy on line
out of the way and started up the first tree.

With Stone in the lead, whether he wanted it or not, the entire crew made their way through the high branches of the forest.
It was rough going. Especially for the larger men, whose weight seemed to pull the branches to their limits. But somehow it
all held, and slowly, like aged gorillas who had forgotten quite how to do it, they headed along branch by branch, tree by
tree, through the spider web of wood. It seemed to go on forever, at least growing lighter as the sun started coming up far
to the east, dimly lighting the dark entanglement of wood into a mosaic of a million shadows. Stone heard a sudden scream
and stopped, turning around. He could see that one of them had fallen and was lying on the ground below, pierced through the
side of his leg. The man just kept screaming, reeling this way and that, standing on one leg on the ground, the other pierced
cleanly through by a stake. The recruits stared down dumbly, frozen above on different branches.