Wynne's War by Aaron Gwyn

Author:Aaron Gwyn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

Over the next several days, their way would take them through arroyos of sandstone polished smooth by winds and weather, overhangs of granite. The soldiers, staring up from their horses at these vaults, saw, etched in the rock, ancient pictographs, runic engravings, who could say from what millennium: sun and moon and stick-figure representations of hunters and the beasts they pursued. They slowed their mounts to study the carvings, then emerged into bright daylight, the trail winding down into a forest of twisted juniper and pine.

On the fourth day, pausing to take their midday meal, a shadow fell across Russell’s lap where he sat on the ground cross-legged, and he turned to see the captain, blocking out the sun. The man beckoned him with a brief twitch of his index and middle fingers, and Russell rose and followed him to the other side of the trail about fifty feet from where the soldiers sat eating. Wynne passed a hand across his face.

“We need to check on our scouts,” he said.

Russell regarded him a moment, and Wynne added, “I’m thinking Zero and Corporal Grimes.”

“I can go,” said Russell, but the captain shook his head.

“Yourself excluded,” said Wynne, “those are the two best riders?”

Russell thought, excluding himself, the captain was their best rider, but he said, “Yessir. Ziza and Wheels.”

Wynne considered this for a long moment, his blue eyes fixed on something at the horizon’s edge.

Then he nodded. He turned and began to call orders to his men.

Russell helped Wheels drop gear, sort through his saddlebags, strip his load-out light as he could get it: three MREs, twelve pints of water, ten thirty-round magazines for his rifle. The two Rangers stood there in the noon heat with the air buzzing on the bare rock slopes and their nerves tight as a snare. Russell boosted his friend into the saddle, held the reins while Wheels got himself situated, and then handed them up.

“I don’t reckon I got to tell you to be careful,” he said.

Wheels looked down at him. His eyes quivered back and forth.

“You see any bad guys,” said Russell, “do not engage.”

“Don’t need to tell me about engaging,” Wheels said, gesturing toward Ziza. “Tell him about engaging.”

“Just try not to get shot,” said Russell.

“Will do, doggy daddy.”

“And don’t let Ziza get you in a tight. You can hurt a horse at this altitude. You can hurt a horse in this heat.”

Wheels nodded. He squared his ball cap, crimping the bill with both hands and then smoothing his palms across his thighs.

Ziza was already in the saddle. He rode up beside the two of them and looked at Wheels. Then he chucked up his horse, pushed it to a slow trot, and started down the bed of cracked clay they’d be using for a trail. Russell tapped his fist lightly against Wheels’s shin and the man glanced down at him.

“See you this evening,” he said, and pushed his horse forward to follow the commando. Russell watched the riders maneuver along the creek bed and disappear around a ridge.

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