One lazy morning, not long before what became known as Grace's War began, Crystal counted the scars on my body and came up with the number thirty-three. We found it amusing at the time that I boasted more scars than years. I had the obvious half shot off ear, missing testicle, and angry gunshot and knife wounds, but I also had accumulated clusters and constellations of white raised tissue from shrapnel, hot gun barrels, and an abiding lack of competence with any sort of tool. I could remember where most of them came from. Some taught me lessons and, I guess, everyone had to hurt.
I know now that the worst wounds are the ones that no one can see, the deep scars that remain on your soul and hurt for a lifetime, a chronic pain that ebbs and flows with the season. Everyone has scars, but the secret of life is to not let them define you, even the ones that cut to the marrow. There is the platitude “time heals all wounds.” I've found that to be utter nonsense. Some wounds never will heal and all we can do is try to live with them. With time there is a certain distance that makes it easier, a perspective in which we may be able to grasp at some kind of understanding, but those deep scars remain. I miss Grace every day, and I will until I die.
*
I had sent my family, somberly but with Crystal's blessing, back to Lamar Valley in a single engine Cessna airplane. Hawk had expedited a Black Hawk and a small contingent of experienced fighters days before to reinforce our position there, and instructed them to train the civilians, fortify the valley, and get help from surrounding groups.
“What do you want to do about the Governor?” Hawk said. We sat at a metal table in his command bunker on the airfield. I'd been back in Jackson for one day, which I spent alone in quiet grief and contemplation sitting on a rock on Rendezvous Mountain. The next morning, before my formal briefing, I'd put on a mask of calm and tried to barricade my own hurt behind a wall of steel in my mind.
“Put him with the other Gideonites in the camp,” Chilli suggested.
“How much support does he have from the general population here?” I asked.
“Almost none,” Hawk stated. “Word spread fast that he betrayed you. The troops are loyal to us, not him. And most of the workers and civilians didn't care either way to begin with. All they know is that we've been attacked.”
“How many Gideonites did you round up?”
“We're holding about three thousand down in the elk sanctuary. A few of them blew up a greenhouse, another group used TNT on the rail line to Sinclair.”
“So they were planning this?”
“It looks that way. The bombers killed themselves after doing as much damage as they could, so we couldn't interrogate them. Obviously, I'm worried there are more.”
“I'd say putting the Governor in with them is a good idea, then,” I said. “Maybe we can use him.”
“I'm for it,” Hawk said. “Eventually we're going to have to come up with a better solution for the prisoners. It's a waste of manpower and food. Plus most of those people are innocent. It doesn't sit right with me. But for now it is what it is.”
“We've got workers repairing the tracks night and day,” Hawk said. “If we get lucky with the weather, we might be able to improve our time.”
“Why don't you use the prisoners?” Chilli said. “At least some of them. Hold the women and children in the camp, but put the men to work.”
“Hadn't thought of that,” Hawk said. “It's brutal, but it's effective.”
Lieutenant Col. Dan Majors, a compact, lean man with gray hair and pale blue eyes whom I had met on previous trips, said “We're spread too thin. We have too much to defend.” He was Hawk's second in command, a former Air Force pilot. Our last encounter had been a friendly debate over literature, from Tolstoy to Dickens. His voice was deep and full of rocks, as though he had spent a few too many years smoking his pipe and yelling. Every word came out like a growl.
“And Anchorage has their hands full with the damn Russians right now,” he said. “They're sitting this one out.”
“Where are we weak?” I asked.
“Where aren't we?” Majors said. “We lost our edge on air superiority in the initial attack. Our jets took theirs down when they attacked here. They crippled our airfield and have effectively prevented resupply of fuel for at least a month. I've got birds on the ground, sitting ducks if they hit us again.”
“We returned the favor,” Hawk interjected. “They don't have an Air Force either. We leveled Hill Air Force base, which is about thirty miles north of Salt Lake City. They had a lot of aircraft there, and we bombed the airstrips at the international airport in Salt Lake City itself. We still have our Patriot batteries operational, here and in town. And we've got mobile stinger missile crews on rooftops.”
“We have to protect too many places,” Majors said. “We need to reinforce the refinery at Sinclair, because that is our only source of fuel, and Gideon knows that. He's sure to attack there.”
“What about armor?” Chilli asked.
“We've got M-1 Abrams main battle tanks, mobile Howitzer units, Strykers, armored personnel carriers, and they all need fuel.”
“And the enemy?” I asked. “How much can they bring to bear?”
“We don't really know. I'm guessing they've got us heavily outnumbered in terms of a standing army,” Hawk said. “But nobody is going to be launching any kind of ground campaign until the passes are clear. We've got small forward operating bases at those. We're moving more men there now.”
“What about weapons of mass destruction?”
“We don't have any nuclear weapons,” Hawk said. “After the last war, we disarmed all of the triggers and buried the missiles under ten feet of concrete.”
“The enemy?”
“We just don't know,” Hawk admitted. “After the last war, everybody was supposed to disarm. Gideon wasn't quite so loony back then. Hopefully he complied with the treaties.”
“And,” Chilli said, “if he had those weapons I would assume he would have used them already.”
“You can bet he's trying to locate some as we speak,” Majors said.
“So what is the bottom line?” I asked.
“Number one, we need to reinforce Sinclair and ensure that we've got fuel for our aircraft and our armor,” Majors said. “Number two, we need intel on what kind of force we're facing. Three, we need to fortify every one of those passes. If we can hold the high ground and prevent them from breaking through, their superior numbers won't matter. Finally, we should find some WMDs and prevent the enemy from doing the same.”
“How should we use you, William?” Hawk asked plainly.
“You're in charge, my friend. You tell me.”
“I think we should be the intelligence part of this operation,” Chilli said. “We can drop in behind enemy lines and count force strength.”
“How do you propose to do that?” Hawk said.
“I'm guessing you can't spare a helicopter?”
“We can't spare the fuel, and we've only got two birds ready to go now. We need those for defense here, so yeah, no helicopter.”
“What about a puddle jumper?” I asked.
“You'd get shot out of the sky,” Majors said.
“How about ultralights then?” Chilli suggested. “They'd show up as a flock of birds on radar. I'll bet there were some lying around here for recreational use after The Fall. My team went on two missions in Pakistan using them. They can be highly effective.”
“Yeah,” Hawk said slowly. “Those things are tricky to fly. You're talking about a long trip. And then how are you going to get back?”
“We'll steal a plane,” I said, warming to the idea. “Send a pilot with us.”
“They won't be expecting that,” Majors said. “It's got potential.”
“I used to fly them for fun,” Hawk mused. “Surfing and paragliding. It's been a lotta years.”
“Teach me,” I said.
*
Training took two weeks. The first few days were spent on the ground, learning the aircraft, and then we began tandem flights. Finally, I learned to fly solo, and it was glorious. For brief moments I could soar in the present among the mountaintops feeling quick and powerful without the dead weight of the past pulling me inexorably down. But no matter how fast I flew, the sorrow was always waiting for me, patient and heavy. Hawk clearly wanted to go on the mission, but ultimately decided he would be more of use staying in Jackson and overseeing all that needed to be done there.
Our four man team consisted of myself, Chilli, Max, and an earnest young Mormon named Arthur. Arthur was only twenty and could hardly recall the world before The Fall, but he'd been flying planes with Hawk for almost a decade. Hawk and his wife had raised Arthur as their own son. Max still had stitches, but felt he was ready.
I threw myself into the rigorous training and I tried not to think about the things that really mattered to me. I did hundreds of sit ups and pushups every night to push myself beyond the point of complete exhaustion, hoping the exertion would help me to sleep without dreams, and that physical pain might numb the pain in my heart from a Grace-shaped hole that could never be filled. The thought that I needed to stay alive for Ryder and Crystal kept me going, helped me to keep up a facade of normalcy where I could smile for a moment or even laugh at a ribald joke, but underneath it all was that constant, relentless, grief, and it was revenge and a desire for blood that gave me the most strength.
*
Before the evening we were planning on leaving, I sought out the Governor. I passed the checkpoint into the long, flat area of the elk preserve. Women and children huddled around campfires in front of tents and shacks. Some stared at me with frank curiosity while others averted their eyes. A woman with long, stringy dark hair spat on the ground in front of me as she passed in the other direction. She was carrying a bucket full of feces.
A fresh faced blond girl in her late teens finally pointed me to the Governor's tent, and I found him sitting on a log with his back to a small campfire. His suit had been replaced by animal skins and he looked desolate. His face was streaked with ash and his thinning hair was greasy and limp. I came upon him from the side.
“Governor,” I said.
He looked over his shoulder and met my gaze, then pushed himself slowly and with great effort to his feet.
“William,” he said. He looked at the ground. “I guess you're here to kill me.”
“No,” I replied.
“What do you want then?”
“I want to look you in the eye. I want you to be sorry for what you did.”
“I was just trying to look out for the Alliance,” the Governor said. “I didn't want war.”
“So you told Gideon I was coming.”
“Yes.”
“And people died. My daughter died. And we still have war.”
“Yes.”
“You should have left me alone. I didn't want any part of this. You are the one who insisted the Alliance needed me.”
“William, I'm sorry. If I had it to do over again, I'd do it differently, believe me. When you are in charge you have to make hard decisions. If you give me the chance, there are still things I can do. You need me to—”
I punched him in the nose. Not a terribly hard blow, not a roundhouse, just a quick jab. He fell down in the snow and hunched on all fours, panting and bleeding. Women were pointing and talking in hushed tones several tents away.
“I don't need you to do anything. You're lucky you are still alive,” I said. I leaned down and whispered into his ear, “I'm going to give you one chance. I want you to convince these people that you're on their side. I want you to find out everything you can about Gideon, his organization, and his intentions. And then you're going to tell me. Nod if you understand.” He struggled to his feet again and nodded his head shakily.
“I don't really think you are evil,” I said quietly, “otherwise you'd be dead. Redeem yourself.”
“Okay.”
Then I bellowed for effect, “The next time I see you I'll have you drawn and quartered.” I stomped away.