Uprising. Douglas L. Bland
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MP’s message? Not likely. Security at Petawawa was generally as lax as it seemed. But still … And besides, how long would they wait for her to have a coffee and call in? Fifteen, twenty minutes? Likely a bit more. Unless some other incident came up, or another meathead decided he needed a doughnut too or they wanted some at the desk. Too many scenarios. Hope for luck but don’t count on it. It’s about thirty-five to forty minutes to the beach carrying all this stuff, fifteen minutes to load and get off the shore – at least an hour to comfortably break contact from here. No time for pissing around.
The section commanders reported loaded and ready. Christmas checked in. “The guest’s resting well, although it looks like she may have wet her pants in the excitement. She seems tough and cocky enough, but Christ, sir, I still can’t get used to women in the army …”
Alex laughed. “Give it time, sarge.”
“Yeah, sure. Who’s got that much time?”
“Okay, call in Villeneuve at the double.” Alex watched the sections fall into formation, then waved the first one out the gate. He grabbed the two scouts and sent them on a jog back the way they had come, down Crest Road to the first intersection. Leaning close, he whispered into Jock Tremblay’s ear to impart urgency, not panic: “Double your section down the road for four telephone poles, then walk them fast another four and double again. No bunching up and keep them quiet. You know the drill: if a vehicle approaches, slip into the bush and stay still; if we get separated, go to the beach and get across the river. Move out.”
He passed the same instructions to each leader in turn. Only Helen Pendergast hesitated. “These loads are heavy and running with them …”
Alex grabbed her lapel and got very close to her. “Do as you’re told! You move them along. I’m counting on you. Now’s the time to lead.” She swallowed hard and nodded. He let go of her jacket and his frown relaxed. “Go!” he said.
Turning to watch her section clear out, he glimpsed Steve Christmas, cool as usual, gathering up Villeneuve and fading into the darkness fifty metres behind the last section. Rearguard and follow-up. Then, out loud: “Everybody gets to the beach.”
The plan had been to take a different route back to the beach, through a trail Alex and Steve had discovered in the bush. It was the classic patrol tactic – one way in, another way out. But good commanders change plans when they need changing. So far his warriors had done just fine, but time was short and he sensed them getting jittery. The first priority now was to get away from the compound, off the high road, and down onto the plain as quickly as possible, keeping the patrol together and under control, with no stragglers and no panic. The road was the fastest way.
If the MPs came looking for Newman, he assumed they would come from the main base, headlights on, worried about an accident, not an incident. If, for whatever reason, an MP happened to come from the other direction, from lower down, they’d be lit up and scanning the edges of the road for the missing car, and be most unlikely to see his patrol before his scouts saw the approaching lights. Yes, speed mattered more than stealth at this point. Alex jogged up the line of huffing warriors to his position behind the first patrol.
Run, walk. Run, walk. Measured steps. Get them into a rhythm. Encourage the leaders. “Good show. Keep it up, not too fast. Steady pace now. You all did well. Everybody remember to breathe.” The comment brought snickers down the puffing line.
One hundred metres from the compound. Now two hundred. No lights, no sirens. Nothing but dogs barking in the distant married quarters and, close by, heavy footsteps, bouncing loads, and laboured breathing.
Clang! Bang! A couple of loads came undone and crashed to the ground. Some warriors kept moving, others stopped to help comrades rebuild their treasures. Soon the patrol looked like a Santa Claus parade – scattered individuals jammed up here, small groups bobbing up and down there. Only three hundred metres down the road. The wind picked up, rattling the trees, or were they guards moved by the spirits? Those who hadn’t stopped picked up their pace.
Things were unravelling.
Alex fumed. I’ve got to stop this! He hustled forward to the first section leader. “When you reach the intersection and the scouts, move on down the road twenty metres, then stop and get your section together. You check personally that you have all your people – touch each one. Then let me know you’re ready, wait till I give the word, then move out at a steady walk. Got it?”
“Got it. Are we okay?”
“Yes, right on schedule, just as we planned it,” he fibbed. “I’m going to call the boats in to shore as soon as we close up, sort ourselves out, and get moving again. You just worry about your people. Remember: make sure you have everyone and that they’ve all got their loads.” Alex repeated the word to each section leader, while encouraging individuals as they passed him in the road.
Sergeant Christmas came out of the darkness. “Fine night, sir. A guy should be getting home to the old lady, don’t you think?”
Alex smiled. Who’s encouraging who now? “Yeah, piece of cake.”
“Reorg?”
“Yeah, Steve, I told the section leaders to pull their people together just past the intersection and then we’ll force march them down the hill and across the plain. I’ll call Annie in a few minutes and get the boats moving. I think we can trust Villeneuve and Patty to bring up the rear after we pass the intersection. You get ahead and mark the beach. Give us a quick light if necessary and guide us to the boats. Let’s make it a smooth move into the boats and off the beach.”
“Got it. See you on the beach, sir.”
After stopping and sorting themselves out, the patrol was looser. Alex was relieved to find that they hadn’t lost anyone or apparently any gear. But this was no time to relax. He’d seen this a hundred times, even with trained soldiers: once you got past the critical point, a little rest, a bit of adrenaline come-down, and the giggles and joking start. It’s a dangerous mood. Alex had to use their confidence to cover the next few kilometres quickly, without letting it cause carelessness. He knew Christmas had picked up on the mood too and could hear the sergeant encouraging and admonishing the troops in the same sentence as he moved down the line to get forward.
“Morrison,” Christmas stage-whispered for everyone to hear, “if I see you drop Her Majesty’s ammunition again, I’ll call your mom to come and carry it for you. You’re an idle crow, Morrison.”
“Actually, I’m Cree, sergeant.”
“You’re a no good smart ass! Get your gear sorted out!”
The others snickered at the exchange, partly glad not to be the butt of the sergeant’s feigned wrath, but partly disappointed too. Thank God, Alex thought to himself, I have Steve Christmas as my second-in-command.
Alex saw the mood improve as if high morale were wafting through the air from one warrior to the next. Without any direction from him, they picked up the pace, improved their spacing, and started encouraging one another. Comments like, “Okay, let do it”; “Let’s go, guys”; and “Beat you to the boats” replaced the furtive “Let’s get away” of only minutes before.
And there was still no response from the base. Alex got a familiar sweet feeling of a mission coming to a successful close as he joined the dog-trotting warriors moving in good order down the hill towards the river. Pulling out his cellphone, he called Annie and gave her the code phrase to bring in the boats. “Hi, sweetheart, we will be home in about fifteen minutes. Can you open the doors to the barn?”
“Sure thing, I was getting worried, it’s late. So you drive carefully. Bye.”
As the patrol crossed Passchendaele Road, Alex saw Steve Christmas’s light flashes marking the place on the beach, about a hundred metres to the west of the original landing point, where the boats were waiting for them. Christmas waited, counting his charges through to the beach. The rear guard came in a bit off course, but in good order.
Alex joined his sergeant, just as young Villeneuve came up.