Free 299 Days IX: The Restoration by Glen Tate Page B

secure and that the civilians could be controlled so they didn’t swarm the place. He also needed to make sure there were no Limas hiding among the civilians and trying to detonate a suicide bomb.
    “Put up signs for the hospital, prisoner processing, and kitchen,” Grant remembered telling someone who ran off and, presumably, followed his instructions. Franny asked Grant if the brewery had any refrigerators or freezers. “Try the Baskin Robbins up the street,” Grant suggested.
    The radio was full of urgent messages. Everyone in the Patriots’ Olympia forces seemed to have something to say to the civil affairs hub or ask the hub for. And, though Grant was technically in charge, most of the time he had no idea what he was doing. He was just doing. Occasionally he would hear himself talking and was amazed at how authoritative and knowledgeable he sounded.
    After a while, Grant’s voice was getting hoarse. He had to stop and … just not talk. He was getting woozy again so he tried to eat an MRE, but he couldn’t. He tried to lie down and get a quick nap. He couldn’t. He had to continue doing all the stuff he was doing.
    Keep going. This is no time to stop.
    He jumped back up, full of energy and ran at full speed until dark.
    He saw some of the Bravo Company squad leaders coming up to the fourth floor, which had become the command post.
    “Any casualties?” Grant asked the squad leaders.
    They nodded. “Two,” a sergeant answered.
    “Who?” Grant asked. He was praying it wasn’t any of his.
    “A couple of ours, Lieutenant,” the sergeant said. “Your guys are all fine.”
    Grant tried not to act happy. Two Bravo Company men were casualties and that wasn’t good news.
    “How bad?” Grant asked.
    “One KIA,” the sergeant said, meaning killed in action, “and one with some shrapnel to the legs. He’ll be okay.”
    “My condolences,” Grant said to the sergeant who nodded slightly at Grant.
    That reminded Grant that they needed a place to put bodies. He had a runner find Don to see if any place in the brewery had a functioning refrigeration system. Nope. Don and the commander of the medical unit came up with a temporary solution and Grant didn’t want to know what it was.
    Pastor Pete and a couple other chaplains had set up a makeshift chapel in one of the brewery’s office buildings. They were counseling soldiers one on one. Lots of grieving over lost comrades. Lots of people who had never seen or done what they had just seen or done, like killing people. Or watching people kill and be killed. Or seeing horrific injuries. There were lots of Anne Sherrytons. Nice people doing horrible things and trying to figure out what just happened.
    Grant saw the Team coming up to the fourth floor. They looked tired.
    “Welcome back,” Grant said. “How’d it go?”
    “Shitty,” Pow said. “We didn’t see any action.”
    The Team went on to tell Grant about how they slowly made their way down the main street to the capitol only to hear of the surrender right before they got into position. There were Limas running away from the capitol and straight toward their general position.
    “Bravo Company got a bunch of them who wouldn’t drop their weapons,” Wes said. “We were holding an intersection and the bad guys went the other way.” Wes was a little disappointed.
    Capt. Edwards came up and said to the Team, “Get something to eat and maybe a nap. We’re going back out in an hour. Night patrol.” The Team nodded slowly. They wanted to go back out and kill some bad guys, but … they were so tired.
    Grant pulled Edwards aside. “Can I ask a favor?” he asked Edwards after a bright idea jumped into his mind. “I need to motivate some of my guys.”
    “What do you have in mind?” Edwards asked.
    “Could my Team do a motorized patrol with you guys?” Grant asked.
    “Sure,” Edwards said. “As long as you supply the motor.” He looked at Grant, “Why a motorized patrol?”
    “Kind of an inside