A
braham stood on top of the Wall with his head down. The Red Tunic Zann was dead.
Zann’s brother, Skitts, sobbed behind the battlements. “He shouldn’t have gone. He didn’t have the King’s Armor on. He died because of me. He’s just a kid.”
“No, he was a man,” the iron-jawed Bearclaw said. “A soldier. Soldiers die so others don’t have to. He gave his life the same as all of us. There is no shame in it.” He cast his dark stare at Skitts. “They are brothers. There is no shame in his weeping. It will pass.”
Vern had his boot up on the Wall with his eyes on the tanks. “We should all be dead by now. Every day is a miracle, if you ask me. Sooner or later, the rest of us will have it coming. It used to be that way before you came. You’ve spoiled us by surviving.” He spat over the Wall. “Take heart, and move on.”
“I wish it was that easy.” If Abraham could’ve stopped his heart from clenching in his chest, he would have. But he couldn’t stop it. He wasn’t a general that led thousands of troops into battle to see many if not all slaughtered. Death bugged him. He’d rather no one die at all. He didn’t use to be that way either. He was more callous in terms of war, with so many veterans in his family that had done soldiering. But when Jenny, Jake, and Buddy died, that changed his perspective on life. He realized he cared for people. He cared deeply. Abraham cleared his dry throat.
Vern passed him a skin of water. “Drink the wine, and pray you live to drink again.”
“Huh.” Abraham drank deeply and wiped his mouth. “You know, back in my world, there were wars where millions of men fought at land and sea. One of the most famous soldiers was a man named General George Patton. My coach used to play his speeches to the troops in the locker room before the games we played.” He took another long sip.
Vern and Bearclaw shared a mutual high-eyebrow glance.
“Do you know what he said?” Abraham could feel the eyes of the lingering Henchmen on him. “He said, ‘The object of war is not to die for your country but to make the other bastard die for his.’”
Horace was sitting on the back side of the Wall with his leg bandaged. He said, “I like this General Patton. Tell us more.”
“Yes,” Vern and Bearclaw agreed.
Abraham took another pull from the wineskin and said, “Okay, let me see what I remember.” The slightest guilty smile broke out on his face. “My father, Earl, used to quote him all the time too. Hmm… this is kind of therapeutic. Let’s see.” He started the list.
“May God have mercy upon my enemies, because I won’t.”
“A good plan violently executed right now is far better than a perfect plan executed next week.”
“Wars may be fought with weapons, but they are won by men.”
Abraham passed the wine around for the others to share. Skitts tried his wine. Abraham’s back straightened, and the strength in his voice slowly returned.
“A pint of sweat saves a gallon of blood.”
“Nobody ever defended anything successfully. There is only attack and attack and attack some more.”
Pratt was standing away from the company, but he lifted up his voice and said, “Hear! Hear!”
Abraham added a few more.
“Courage is fear holding on a minute longer.”
“Americans love to fight. All real Americans love the sting of battle.”
“When you put your hand into a bunch of goo that, a moment before, was your best friend’s face… you’ll know what to do.”
Skitts sniffed.
Abraham finished with “It is foolish and wrong to mourn the men who died. Rather, we should thank God that such men lived.” He walked over to Skitts and hugged him tightly.
“Hear. Hear,” Skitts said as he returned the firm embrace. “Hear. Hear.”
“Sorry to spoil the moment.” Sticks was sitting between the battlements. “Shouldn’t the iron chariots have fired by now? “It’s been an hour.”
“Has it?” Abraham said. He moved to the spot where Solomon was standing. “I lost track of time. What do you think?”
“Let me check my watch.” Solomon looked at his wrist. “Oh, sorry, I left my watch in the Fort Pitt tunnel. Do they still use watches back home?”
“Yeah, sort of.”
The tanks hadn’t moved, and no one had popped out of the hatches either. The field remained dark and overcast.
“I haven’t seen anything budge,” Sticks added, her assault rifle laid across her lap. She rolled a bullet between her fingers. “Maybe they ran out of those shells.”
“No,” Abraham muttered. “Big Apple isn’t stupid. Maybe he’s on to us.” He hated to think that Zann had given his life for nothing. “Let’s give them a few minutes. Perhaps we spooked them.”
The minutes became an hour.
An hour became two.
The wee hours of the night dragged on.
The morning sunlight peeked over the tall hillsides.
Pratt strode over to Abraham and said, “Your plan bears no fruit. What is the second option?”
“They aren’t attacking. That ought to count for something.” Abraham rubbed his temples as a nagging headache was coming on. “Be patient.”
“What about your General Patton? He was an attacker. You should attack,” the horse-necked guardian said.
“Sure, I’ll attack, but only if you are going to let me lead all of your men. How does that sound?”
Pratt rubbed his lantern jaw and said, “No.”
“Abraham, the iron chariots move,” Sticks said.
The Henchmen leaned over the Wall.
The tank turrets turned away from the Wall. Their rattling treads backed away.
Abraham slammed his fist on the Wall. “Devil’s donuts!”
