Free Shock of War by Larry Bond Page B

stopped heaving, and he slowly rose from the ground.
    â€œWe’ll hide in one of the trucks, and go as far as he takes us,” Zeus said. “Come on.”
    He walked back to the line of trucks. He decided it would be better to hide in one of the smaller vehicles, since they wouldn’t have to worry about opening the rear door. But the cargo area of the first truck was jammed tight with canisters that appeared from the colors to be acetylene and oxygen, and there was no room except on the top of them. The second was only half full: some furniture and boxes were secured in the front, leaving a good space on the bed. The truck was a flatbed with sides made of wooden staves, covered by a canvas tarp. Lying on his belly, Zeus could see off the sides as well as the rear, while from the distance he figured he would look like one of the furled rugs poking between the cab and the boxes.
    â€œSay nothing,” he whispered to Christian as he slid into the back.
    Christian, head hanging down, complied.
    *   *   *
    A week before, Zeus would have enjoyed seeing Win Christian crumble. The truth was, he hated the son of a bitch with a passion. He’d been an obnoxious, holier-than-thou type at West Point, and had gotten worse as time went on. Most recently, he had been Zeus’s main antagonist at the Red Dragon computerized war simulations, cocky and full of himself before the simulations, brimming with unjustified overconfidence. Cutting him down in the sims—Zeus had won every confrontation—had been the highlight of his posting.
    But now Zeus only felt disgust at himself, not Christian. Because, if the truth be told, he suddenly felt just as weak. He should have stopped Christian from going nuts back at the airport. That was his responsibility, wasn’t it? He’d known Christian was getting edgy. He could make excuses, explanations—he was damned tired himself—but what did they matter? They were where they were because he hadn’t done anything to fix it.
    Kill a civilian?
    That was murder, pure and simple. Even if they were at war, it was wrong. Wrong. He had been trained, taught, better than that.
    Much better. Zeus had served as a captain in Special Forces. He’d seen combat, real combat; not as much as a lot of other guys, including most of the men he’d led, but enough to have been tested and survived. And now he was falling apart without anyone even firing at him.
    The truck rocked on its springs. Zeus turned back to Christian, ready to punch him for moving. Then he realized it was the driver in the cab. He’d woken up.
    Zeus put up his finger and held it to his lips. Christian nodded.
    They waited for a minute or two, lying silently on the bed of the truck. Finally, Zeus realized that the man had gone back to sleep. He curled back and put his face close to Christian’s ear.
    â€œWe have to just be patient,” he said.
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œWe’ll get out of this.”
    One of the tractor-trailers ahead of them rumbled to life. The motor was loud, and the vibrations from the tailpipe so strong that the bottom of their truck rattled.
    Zeus squirreled himself around, trying to make himself more comfortable. He also took the gun from his belt, keeping it ready in his hand.
    He didn’t want to kill civilians. But if it came down to it, if it was him or them, what would he do?
    He’d always thought kill-or-be-killed was an easy question. But now he wasn’t sure. Was survival more important, or surviving as a moral man?
    If you believed in eternity, if you believed in God and heaven, then surely being a moral man was more important.
    But hell, he was Catholic. He could always confess his sins.
    The irreverence struck him as funny, and it was all he could do to keep himself from laughing.
    There was more shifting in the cab. The truck started. Its muffler was shot, and the whole vehicle vibrated with the engine’s loud, uneven