Read Online Hell's Fortress by Daniel Wallace, Michael Wallace - Free Book Online

himself on his remaining leg.
    Three soldiers climbed out of the Humvees and approached slowly with M16s at the ready. Kemp still couldn’t see insignia or service.
    “Corporal Joe Kemp, 1st ID,” he announced when they drew closer. “Honorable discharge. This is PFC Tippetts, 10th Mountain, and Corporal Kapowski, U.S. Marine Corps. The rest are civilians. What’s your unit?”
    The lead man lowered his weapon. “Kemp? Is that you? Sonofabitch, it is.”
    The man tore off his helmet and grinned. He was sunburned, a fresh scar across his forehead, but the face was familiar.
    “Sarge? Oh, my God.”
    The two men embraced.
    It was his sergeant from the Gulf, Lance Shepherd. During staging in Iraq, Shepherd had been the biggest asshole in the army, running his men relentlessly. It was like being back in basic, and dudes started calling him Old Shitbeard. Shepherd was a vet of the Afghanistan campaigns, back during the War on Terror, and had a dim view of guys who loafed around behind the lines.
    When they invaded Iran and found themselves facing the Revolutionary Guards, then irregular militias, then finally old ladies in chadors ululating as they suicide-charged your position with AK-47s, suddenly the platoon had a more enlightened view of Shepherd’s merits.
    “You know this dude?” Tippetts asked.
    “Damn straight. Sarge saved my butt in Tehran. Remember the story about the exploding donkey? That was this guy.”
    “Thought you signed up for another tour,” Shepherd said.
    “I should have,” Kemp said. “But my brother needed to get out of Vegas, so I took my three Purple Heart exemption. Besides, they were going to stick me stateside. I didn’t like the thought of killing Americans, know what I mean?”
    Shepherd’s face darkened. He hooked his finger toward the bus. “Is your brother on board this deathtrap?”
    “Terry didn’t make it.”
    “Sorry, man.” Shepherd turned to his two companions. “Go back and tell them it’s all right, they’re good. Oh, and get Alacrán on the radio. Tell him we’ve got some new Rs.”
    “Alacrán?” Kemp said as the other two soldiers trotted back to the Humvees. “Wait, Rs ? You’re not talking about recruiting me for some bogus mission, are you?”
    Shepherd ignored the questions. “So that was your bus coming out of Blister Creek this morning. Would have told the boss to recall the birds if I’d known.”
    “That was you? Doesn’t the Air Force control the drones?” Kemp looked over the sergeant’s uniform with new scrutiny. It was filthy, insignia missing. He didn’t recognize the unit patch. “What’s with the scorpion? Who are you with, anyway? What’s going on?”
    Shepherd took his arm. “Come here for a sec.”
    Kemp turned to Kapowski and Tippetts. “Take a look at that engine, will you? See if you can figure out what’s going on.”
    As Shepherd led him away, Kemp looked at the man with growing suspicion. “Shoot straight with me, Sarge. What’s going on?”
    “So you know what happened in Las Vegas?”
    “You heard me, I was in it. Big battle. Siege. Not over yet, far as I know.”
    “And it won’t be anytime soon. We can’t hold the city against the Californians. Too many battles. Supply lines stretched too far. That’s why we pulled in irregular troops. You see any of them?”
    The question raised bitter memories. “Yeah, I saw. Armed mobs. Irregulars held us at gunpoint while they raped our women and girls. My sister-in-law killed herself after.”
    “Sorry, man.” Shepherd rested a hand on Kemp’s shoulder. “We learned hard lessons in Vegas. I blame the general for emptying the prisons and handing out guns. In retrospect, that was a mistake.”
    Kemp pulled away from the man’s touch. “Ya think?”
    “The president is yanking us out of the Middle East. Even Saudi. The oil fields are burning anyway and there’s nobody to put them out.”
    “That’s old news. Let those ragheads eat their oil, if they