Part Four

McQueen did not remember reaching the river, but suddenly they were there, at the exact spot of their original crossing thanks to Damphousse's compass program and West's farm-boy affinity with the land. They got across without incident; even Hawkes managed not to panic going back. Silent and benumbed, they climbed back up the rock face of the chasm to the original site of their camp.

McQueen had them set a perimeter, and let them build a fire, but he nixed the tents. There were Chigs in the vicinity, or at least there might be. Those Chig fighters may have radioed back for reinforcements from where ever they had come. McQueen would not risk getting caught unawares in tents. There was no "home cooked" meal that night, either; no one was in the mood. The Wildcards just sat around the fire and picked at their MREs and water, as McQueen paced the perimeter and stared out into the night.

Finally, West got up and walked over to him. "I'm sure she's okay, sir," he said quietly. "She'll catch up with us..."

McQueen turned and looked at the younger man, a sharp retort on his tongue. The comment was never delivered. West just looked back at him, and the look in the boy's eyes said, 'I know, I know. I live where you are, right now.' McQueen swallowed hard, and nodded.

"You should get some sleep, Nathan," he said. "I'll take the first watch..."

West looked like he might protest. Then he smiled softly, and nodded. He went back to the others, leaving McQueen to stand alone.

When she finally came to, Barnes found herself looking straight up at tree trunk, inches away from her face. She was not even sure, for a moment, if she was actually alive. A little experimental squirming, however, let her know that not only was she not dead, she was apparently not seriously injured, and that she was also not immobilized. The tree had landed in such a was as to cover but not pin her. In fact, it had protected her from certain death from its brothers falling around. Wiggling carefully, Barnes extracted herself from under her protector, and sat up.

She had no way of knowing how long she had been unconscious. Her watch was smashed, and the heavy canopy above her prevented her from seeing anything that might have indicated the time of day. Even if the sky was not black with volcanic matter, which she was quite sure it would be. She might have been out for minutes. Or days. The jungle was so dark around her that she could barely see her hands in front of her face. Even her night goggles, when she put them on, did not help much. She reached for her helmet mike again, not very hopeful, but even that faint hope disappeared when she discovered that the antenna had been knocked off when she fell.

She got to her feet, and immediately found that she could not put pressure on her left ankle. It did not feel broken, though; just a bad wrenching, or at worst, a sprain. She worked it gingerly, finding, after a moment, that it would support her weight if she was careful not to bear down on it completely. She would need to hobble, but she could walk. Barnes dug her compass out of her pocket. That, at least, was still functioning. Taking her bearings, she settled her pack more securely on her shoulders, and started out again.

McQueen looked at his watch to find that only ten minutes had passed since the last time he had looked at his watch, which had been only five minutes after the time before that. It was 0437. He knew he ought to wake one of the others, and try to get at least a couple of hours sleep before they broke camp in the morning and hiked the twenty plus kilometers back to the extraction site. He just could not do it. The idea of laying down his head, in that moment, was anathema to him. He might fall down from exhaustion, but he could not make himself, voluntarily, go to sleep.

He looked over at the Wildcards, resting fitfully beside the now dead fire. West had gotten up around 1100 and tried to take the watch, but McQueen made him go back to bed. And Vansen had done the same about two hours later. He had sent her back to her sleeping bag, too. He simply could not surrender until there was no other choice. He knew the moment was only a few hours away when he would have to decide if they would radio for a new extraction rendezvous and go back and try to find her, or if they would leave, sending back SARs to locate A. J. Barnes' remains. There was no doubt in McQueen's mind that, by that time, remains would be all that the Search and Rescue teams would be looking for. And that it was unlikely they would find even those. As each minute ticked by, he became more and more convinced that the inkling in his heart that told him Barnes was still alive was just delusion, desperate thinking. She was gone. If not to the Chigs, then to the volcano. He touched his helmet mike for the millionth time since they made camp, received, and expected, only static. The air was still too highly charged for a transmission, even that far away from the actual eruption. If there was even anyone out there to hear. He wondered if she had been able to complete the download before the mountain blew up.

A sudden wave of anger washed over McQueen, fury that this woman who had come to mean so much to him had sacrificed herself on the off chance that the intelligence she might have gathered might be useful to someone. He knew his anger was unjustified. He knew he would have done the same thing, in her place. Had committed acts that, if viewed from outside, might seem even more irrational, perhaps even glory-seeking. He knew she had been right, and he respected her decision, intellectually. But his heart screamed wildly in pain. She was gone.

He walked the perimeter slowly, looking in the direction of the chasm, hoping against hope that she would suddenly appear over the rim and prove him wrong. The night was dead black, there was no moon, and the camp was lit only faintly by the soft glow from the perimeter "fencing". McQueen pulled off his night goggles and dropped them around his neck. Without them he could see nothing, could hear little beside the water fall ahead of him and the pulsing thrum of the generator. And the occasional boom of the volcano in the distance, still spewing its guts into the night.

He knew there was no decision to make in the morning. He had to get the Five Eight out, they had little food left, they were low on ammunition and they were all exhausted. He could not risk them in that condition on the chance that they might be able to find one member who was probably already dead. Marines always brought their men out, but it made no sense to risk the living against odds like this. The Chigs knew they were there, and there were no Earth Forces support troops anywhere on this side of the planet. And *no* number of troops could help them against a volcano. The 'Cards would fight with him about it, but they *were* going to leave. But McQueen also knew he was coming back with the SARs, even if he had to stow away on one of them. His chest suddenly contracted, and he breath caught in his throat.

He looked up, struggling for control, and wondered what was going on above the leafy canopy. There was a reason for the pitch blackness, even though one of Caldera's two moons should have been full that night. The sky was blocked out with ash and dust, it would probably be weeks before this part of the planet saw sun or light again. But the jungle protected them from the worst of the ash fall, and though their gear and bodies were covered with a fine film of soot, they were no longer being bombarded with cinders and bits of stone. Were the Chig fighters up there, searching for them?

He almost did not hear the soft crack of footsteps behind him, coming down from above the fall. Hesitating, he hunkered down, his M-590 at the ready. He slipped his night goggles back on, but could still see nothing. Then a vague outline appeared out of the dusk; crouched, helmeted, face plate pointed and obscure. A Chig commando, sneaking up on their camp. He *knew* they were out there... His stomach knotted; how many more of them were there? Chigs never attacked alone, whether they were in the air or on foot. There had to be at least two more out there, and maybe more. McQueen raised his rifle, sighted down the barrel. The figure halted suddenly, stood up and pulled its face off.

"Don't shoot," Barnes hissed, tucking her gas-mask, night goggles and helmet under her arm. "It's me."

McQueen just gaped at her, standing on the other side of the perimeter fence. He was helpless to move, the ebbing adrenaline leaving him weak-kneed. Disabled by disbelief.

"Are you going to let me in?" Barnes queried, watching him. McQueen shook himself and snapped off the generator. He reached through the perimeter line and dragged Barnes inside the camp. She stumbled awkwardly on her injured ankle as he let her go to reactivate the generator. Dropping her helmet and gas mask on the ground, she leaned forward to steady herself and get her breath.

"I didn't think I was gonna make it," she whispered. "I had to take a different route..."

"Where the *hell* were you!" McQueen stormed under his breath. He yanked off his night goggles and glared at her.

Barnes looked startled. "I told you, I had to go in a different direction, and work my way back," she whispered in defense. "Those Chig fighters were still strafing the encampment. And then I got knocked out in a quake... I came down from above the fall, I didn't expect it. I wasn't sure where I was. And my helmet radio was damaged..."

McQueen just sputtered at her. "If you'd come with us in the first place, instead of pulling this stupid, foolhardy... Disobeyed a *direct* order... risked you life... and for what?"

Barnes confusion dissipated, to be replaced by anger of her own. "I had a job to finish!" she hissed at him hotly. "I did what I had to do. *My* call, not yours. You knew that going into this."

"My responsibility is to the safety..." McQueen argued, charging her, nearly clipping her with his rifle barrel. Barnes leapt back.

"*Your* responsibility was to act as my advisor, if we ran into Chigs! And *watch* that thing, damn it!"

"We *did* run into Chigs!" McQueen snapped back at her, his voice rising. "You had no right risking your safety, the safety of the rest of the unit..."

"I did NOT risk their safety of the rest of the unit, *you* did, by waiting! My safety was, and is, my *own* responsibility, not yours. My mission is paramount..." She jerked her hand up in protest, and with it her own rifle, just missing McQueen's face. He shoved it away.

"Your *mission* is not worth dying for..." McQueen heard himself say the words, knew he was wrong, out of control, completely irrational. He did not care. She was still alive, and he was furious that she had frightened him so.

"Get your hands *off* my gun!" Barnes snarled. "That is *not* your decision. You have *no* right... Who the *hell* do you think you are!!"

They glared at each other with that wild rage brought on by the sheer exhilaration of relief. Then McQueen took a step toward her, grabbed her by the back of the head, and pulled her to him. He kissed her. Hard. Barnes went rigid, and for a moment McQueen thought she might punch him. Then she relaxed, bending to him, her body yielding against him, and she kissed him back. His grip on the back of her head loosened, and he slipped his fingers into her hair, holding her. She wound her free arm around his neck, pulling him closer, her lips parting under his. She tried not to poke him with her rifle. His tongue filled her mouth hungrily as the barrel of his weapon slapped her in the thighs.

Vansen rolled over and nudged Damphousse with her foot. West, already awake, was lying up on one arm. He made a face at Vansen, who grinned. Damphousse groaned at the intrusion on her sleep, then looked, and gaped. Wang stirred at the commotion, rolled over onto his stomach, and pushed up. He looked in the direction of his comrades' gaze.

"Thank God," he mumbled, sleepily, lying back down and putting his head in his arms. "It's about goddamn time..."

"What?" queried Hawkes, half sitting up.

It was actually the giggle that alerted McQueen to the fact that they were being watched. He let go of Barnes slightly, glowered in the direction of the faces smiling back at him. Barnes chuckled softly, under her arm, and he looked down at her. Pulling her close, again, McQueen decided it was not worth the effort to be embarrassed. He pressed his mouth against her hair.

"My God, I thought I'd lost you..." he murmured. He tightened his arm around her, and started to draw her closer to the circle of no longer sleeping Marines. Barnes stumbled. "You're hurt!" McQueen hissed.

Barnes shook her head. "I fell and wrenched my ankle, that's all," she assured him. "I think I might have sprained it."

"Let me see it..."

"No, leave it," Barnes said. "The boot is giving it as much support as anything you've got in the med kit."

Since there was no sense pretending to be asleep, Vansen got to her feet. "Major, thank God you're all right..." she murmured, as the rest of the 'Cards got up. "The Chigs?"

"Long gone, I think," Barnes said, as McQueen and Vansen guided her back to the circle. "At least I never saw them after I left the base. My biggest battle was with the volcano."

"Since we all seem to be awake," McQueen suggested, somewhat archly, "we should get moving as soon as it's light enough to see. Sooner, if we can risk not losing ourselves. The sun won't shine today, in any case..."

"What time is our pick up?" asked Barnes.

They made it back to the extraction site in plenty of time, though Barnes' ankle gave out toward the end and Hawkes had to carry her. The jungle had not completely obliterated the path they had cut two days earlier, though, and they were able to push their way through with a minimum of machete-work and delay.

"Let's go, let's move it!" the pilot shouted to them as they raced toward the open ISSCV. "There's a Chig squadron combing the area. I think they're looking for you."

Hawkes carried Barnes inside, and dropped her onto a bench, then reached back outside and pulled his staggering Colonel through the hatch. He deposited McQueen beside the Major as they all scramble to strap themselves in. Once they had escaped the atmosphere, though, Wang unbuckled, and went to the view port. He could see a huge black cloud covering the area they had just left. The cloud was laced in places with a red-orange glow.

"My god. Look at it..." he breathed, awed by what they had come through. "It looks like that whole quadrant is on fire... " Hawkes got up and joined him at the port.

McQueen hardly even looked up. Exhaustion settled over him like so much volcanic ash; he could not remember a time when he had felt so tired. It dawned on him, vaguely, than he had not slept, or even stopped moving, really, in thirty-six hours, maybe longer. Barnes slumped against him and he looked down at her. She gave him a wan smile. McQueen felt her finger brush the back of his hand, and he hooked his own finger around it. He closed his eyes.

Across the aisle from them, Shane Vansen watched with an almost maternal tenderness. She got up and pulled a blanket out of an overhead compartment. Shaking it open, she draped it gently around her Colonel, and Major Barnes. McQueen opened his eyes, started to sit up. Vansen put a hand on his shoulder, tucking the blanket around him.

"It's all right, sir," she said softly, nudging him back. "Just relax. It's okay."

McQueen looked up at her uncertainly, and she smiled down at him. After a moment he closed his eyes, again, and nodded. It *was* okay. He could relax. They were all right. They were *all* all right. He could surrender his diligence, now. He felt the close protection of the Wildcards close ranks around him, and he knew that the moment had finally arrived, after all the care, all the guidance, all the ass kicking and nurturing, when he could finally hand it back up to them for a little while, and rest. They would take care of it. A tear of exhaustion found its way out of the corner of his eye, and marked a dirty track down his blackened cheek. He did not mind, he was hardly even aware of it, at all. Under the relative privacy of the blanket's cover, he laced his fingers through A.J.'s, and leaned back until his head cushioned on the padded back of the bench.

And Lieutenant Colonel Tyrus Cassius McQueen of the United States Marine Corps, 5th Air Wing, 58th Squadron went to sleep.

The End

The sequel to this story is Deliverance also avaliable at this site.
There is an offshoot to this story Swimming also avaliable at this site.

Sheryl Clay
© 4/96