Chapter 9 #2
He glanced at Maggs. “Military working dog?”
“Was. She’s retired.”
“You retired?”
I nodded. “Sort of.”
He held out his hand.
“Chris Martinez.”
“Max. She’s Maggs.”
“Ranger?”
“Just the school,” I said. “Long time ago. Never in the battalion.”
That was an important distinction and one Martinez appreciated. Ranger School was two months of suck. The Ranger Battalion was actually being a Ranger on missions; the most elite light infantry in the world. I’d worked with them on a couple of occasions, but I couldn’t bring that up.
He looked back toward where his patrol was hidden. "They’re on day nineteen. About ready to fall over. Had to medevac a foreign student last night. But they’ll give him his tab anyway. Politics. We’re the host country. Can’t piss off the foreigners.”
“War is politics by other means,” I said.
He frowned.
“I didn’t make that up,” I said. “Some Prussian general named Clausewitz.”
He laughed. “Figures. A fucking general. What were you? Infantry?”
“For a while,” I said. I didn’t want to get into my past.
“’For a while’,” he repeated. He didn't push. Professional courtesy. “You thru-hiking?”
“That's the plan.”
He looked back up the trail where the ambush was set up. “Mostly second lieutenants, straight out of their basic courses. Trying to teach them how to keep their troops alive.”
“And what they’re made of,” I added. “To figure out they can do more than they thought they could.”
“True that,” he said.
“There’s a former jarhead coming up behind me,” I told him. “Lost a leg in Afghanistan. You have a medic attached to you?”
He nodded. “Got one within radio range.”
“Could you call him and have him take a look at this Marine? His prosthetic is fucked up and he’s going to hurt himself if it doesn’t get fixed.”
“Sure,” Martinez said. “I can give him a ride out if he needs it.”
“He’s a Marine.”
Martinez laughed. “He’ll crawl his way to the end.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” I said. We shook again. “Good hunting,” I said.
“Safe travels, Max.”
I was only 15.7 miles from Springer Mountain when I arrived at the Gooch Mountain Shelter. Sixteen miles in two days was a joke. I’d done the 12-mile forced ruck in the Q-Course in under two hours. I reminded myself to tell Luke how slow I was moving. He’d be thrilled.
And there were already a half-dozen hikers stopped at the shelter as I came up, despite having an hour of daylight left.
Slackers.
The shelter was basically a wood lean-to, open in the front, with a second deck where people could also sleep.
There were also open, flat cleared spaces all around for tents.
I grabbed one of those, farthest from the shelter, dumping my ruck.
There was a picnic table in front of the shelter and a couple of the hikers had their stoves out and were making dinner.
The others were inside. I caught snippets of conversation.
I’d already had my conversations for the day and had no doubt more hikers would arrive before dark.
I considered moving on for another mile or two.
I didn’t see Claire and Boone and hadn’t passed them.
Which meant I’d really been moving slow, unless she’d gotten off the trail before here.
I recognized a couple of people from the parking lot yesterday.
No one came over to shoot the shit, which I appreciated.
That is until another hiker came in. I heard him before I saw him. The jingling was unmistakable—metal on metal, carabiners clinking, something that sounded like pots and pans having an argument. Maggs' ears perked up, and she gave me a look that clearly said, “What fresh hell is this?”
I wondered if Sergeant Martinez and his patrol had heard this guy?
He was a walking example of a failure of noise discipline.
I remember being patrol leader in Ranger School and having my men jump up and down to make sure they didn’t make a noise.
Black electrical tape was a Ranger’s friend.
As was ‘dummy cords’; tying off anything that could be lost, but especially your weapon and your map, to you with 550 cord.
This guy was maybe mid-twenties and built like he lifted weights.
Solid and broad. But despite his size, his pack towered over him.
He had dark hair, but a fair complexion.
I wasn’t the only one who watched him march into camp.
He was hard to miss. He stomped up, then slowly looked around as if evaluating all of us. Whether we were worthy of his presence.
I avoided eye contact, but too late.
He headed in my direction.
He stopped a few feet away at the small level tent spot closest to me and dropped his backpack with a heavy thud. Just great. I’d fulfilled my talking quota for the day and this guy spelled trouble.
His pack had to be at least seventy pounds.
Not counting all the stuff strapped on the outside.
If he moved off trail, he’d be hung up on branches and vines within two feet.
There was a camp shovel, a folding axe, a bright red first aid kit, and a coil of climbing rope and a plastic case that looked like it held a flare gun because there was a small label on the outside that read flare gun.
“You’re bringing a dog on the trail?” he asked, by way of saying hello.
I looked at Maggs, then at him, then back at Maggs. “Yeah.”
“Does she have her rabies vaccination?”
I blinked. “Yep.”
“Current?”
“Yes.” I answered in a tone that Rose wouldn’t have allowed, trying to end this.
He was not deterred. “What about Lyme disease prevention? Tick collar? Flea treatment?” He pulled out a small notebook, flipping through pages covered in dense handwriting.
I noted that his shirt was soaked with sweat.
Carrying that ruck took a toll. He was still a little out of breath, but he wasn’t letting that deter him.
“She’s got everything she needs,” I said with forced patience. “We’re good.”
“Snakebite kit?”
“I’ve got basic first aid.”
His eyes widened. “Basic first aid? What if she gets bitten by a copperhead? Rattlesnake? What's your protocol?”
I didn’t want to tell him Maggs killed snakes for fun.
And then we’d cook them and eat them. Tastes like chicken.
Seriously. And we had a much higher chance of being hit by lightning than being bitten by a snake.
Really, snake bite is an extremely low probability event.
Lightning from the entity that controlled my simulation, was always a possibility.
“I have a comprehensive guide.” He was already digging into a side pocket of his pack, which seemed to contain more compartments than a Swiss Army knife. “Organized by threat level. Reptiles, insects, mammals, poisonous plants—”
“Thanks, but we’re good.” He seemed completely unaware he was bothering the most dangerous creature on the Trail.
He stopped and looked at my gear. “Hmm,” he said. “New to hiking,” he said, not a question.
“Not really,” I said. I glanced at the shelter and could see this was entertaining the other hikers. They were all relieved he’d chosen me. I wonder why he hadn’t gone in there. There was still plenty of room, even for his pack.
“How many days of food are you carrying?” he asked, which I felt was kind of personal.
“Enough.”
He shook his head, looking at my ruck, which was a third the size of his. “What if there’s a storm? Trail closure? Long range forecast is some bad weather coming.”
“Then I’ll figure it out.” Kill you and eat you, I thought.
“’Figure it out’.” He shook his head slowly, genuinely distressed. "You have a dog dependent on you, and your survival strategy is ‘figure it out’?"
This was why I avoided people. I was already thinking about what I would text Rose. A couple of the other hikers were edging closer so they could hear. Maggs stood up and moved closer to me, pressing against my leg. Even she could sense this conversation was going nowhere good.
“Look, I appreciate the concern—”
“Do you have water purification?” he asked.
“Yes.” I settled back. Now, I wanted to see how far he was going to go with this.
“Backup water purification?”
“I have a filter and tablets.”
“What if the filter breaks and you lose the tablets?”
“I'll boil water.”
“What if your stove breaks?”
“I'll build a fire.”
“What if it’s raining and you can’t start a fire?"
I forced myself to smile. “I can start a fire in the rain.”
He shook his head sadly. “Over-confidence is a sin.”
I took a deep breath. This wasn’t as bad as doing a stream crossing in Ranger School in freezing temperatures. “I’m Max.” I nodded. “And that’s Maggs.”
He blinked, surprised to be interrupted in his questioning. “Louis.”
“You know, Louis,” I said, “you can’t plan for everything.”
His face fell. “You can plan for everything. That's the whole point. Let me show you my system.”
Before I could say no, not that he going to listen, he began opening up his ruck. He started to lay out the contents like he was defusing a bomb. More of the other hikers came closer to see. This was trail entertainment.
Louis pointed. “Food: twenty-seven freeze-dried meals, organized by caloric density and type.”
“You’re not going to do resupplies?” I asked, thinking how food had been the last priority when we’d loaded our rucks for an infiltration. It’s better to lose weight than get killed.
“Sure,” he said. “But twenty-seven is the minimum for worst-case scenarios. What if I get injured and have to hole up? What if there’s a freak blizzard?
” He looked up. “The weather this next week isn’t looking good.
” He continued pulling items out. “First aid: trauma supplies, medications for every common ailment, snakebite kit, bee sting kit, comprehensive suture supplies, antibiotics—”
“You have antibiotics?”
“Ordered them online. You can't be too careful.”