Chapter Four
Willowfield, Los Santos
1992
An ambulance whipped past Colin for what seemed to be the hundredth time in the past hour. Like the firefighters, these paramedics were fighting a losing battle. The city was in turmoil. People ran in every direction--looting, murdering, or just plain running amok.
All this over one crooked cop, Colin marveled. A bullet whipped past his head, and he was snapped back to reality. He turned to the Private on his left flank and pointed. The Private nodded, firing on the rioter. He went down like a sack of bricks.
Somehow, Colin had been reluctant at first when informed of his assignment, but orders were orders. They were to assist the LSPD with containment until the riot could be brought under control. The whole of Echo Company had been brought in to aid in the reclamation of the city. First Platoon had been helicoptered into position from the National Guard Depot near the docks to Santa Marina Beach. Second Platoon was in Mulholland, suppressing rioters in the hills. On the Northeast side of the city, Third Platoon was working inward from East Beach, through Los Flores.
That left Fourth Platoon, under his command, to strike out toward the heart of Los Santos from the National Guard Depot in a Northwesterly direction. So far, his troops had managed to get Willowfield back under control, and were now working their way into El Corona. The area was not known to be under the control of any gangs, unlike the Balla-controlled territory of Willowfield, but the border between the two areas was a racial hotbed, with El Corona's mostly Hispanic population mixing in with the predominantly African-American population of Willowfield. He was prepared to see just about anything.
A burst of gunfire erupted from the left as a pair of men, clad in black tank tops and grey pants, emerged from behind a building. Colin and his men dropped to the ground to avoid the spray of automatic rounds being dispersed into the air where their heads had been moments ago, but a cry from Colin's right told him that one man had been a second too late.
"Jernigan!" one of the other Privates shouted. Colin returned fire with his M-4, stitching a line of bullets across the chests of the two men. The assailants fell, and Colin got to his feet, rushing to the side of the wounded Private.
PFC Jernigan was down with a slug to the upper chest, near the right shoulder. He was clutching his hand to the wound, but his blood still oozed between his tense fingers, mocking his attempts to staunch its flow. Colin yanked his radio free from its holster and called in for a medevac.
"It's not bad, S'art," Jernigan gritted. "Just hand me my weapon--I seem to have dropped it over there."
Colin shook his head. "Stay down, Private. That's an order. You need to sit still until the chopper comes in."
Jernigan started to protest, but the shock of the injury was wearing off. Pain had started to kick in. Colin watched as his body spasmed, and he realized that time was running out for the fallen soldier.
The wail of another siren pierced the night air, and Colin's head snapped up. He saw the ambulance coming in the distance, and stepped out to stop it. The ambulance driver, startled by the sudden appearance of a soldier in full urban camo, nearly swerved off the road. He recovered in time and brought the bus to a halt. Colin came around to the window.
"I've got a man down with a gunshot wound to the upper chest," he explained. "Got any room in that bus?"
The paramedic nodded. "I was on my way to Willowfield to pick up some more injured rioters, so I'm empty right now."
"Can you get him to County General ASAP?" he pleaded.
The paramedic sighed, thinking about his options. "Let's get him loaded," he said finally. "I'd rather save somebody who's out here cleaning up this mess than someone who's out starting it, given the choice."
"Good man," Colin affirmed, and the two of them, with the help of another couple soldiers, got Jernigan onto a gurney and into the back of the bus. As Colin was stepping out of the back of the ambulance, Jernigan called to him. "Sergeant Fox?"
Colin turned. "You're in good hands, Private. I'll see you back at the depot when this is all over."
He climbed out of the bus and shut the door. The paramedic jumped back into the driver's seat and took off with his patient. Colin watched them go and thought about something someone had said to him two years earlier.
"You think there's any chance for guys like us...up there?"
Colin reached up to his chest and felt, underneath the BDU top and T-shirt. On the chain, along with his dogtags, hung the cross his mother had given him when he was twelve. It's familiar shape brought him a moment of comfort, and he turned back to his remaining soldiers.
"Fall in! Let's move out, men!"
Pershing Square, Los Santos
Six Hours Later
Colin could see the LSPD HQ, the predetermined rendezvous point, up ahead as his platoon made their way along the base of Verdant Bluffs. All sorts of radio reports had been incoming during the past twenty minutes. Third Platoon reported a chase involving a fire engine near Ganton, followed by a massive crash. The truck went over the side of an overpass and crashed onto Grove Street. Orders were given by HQ not to interfere--let the civilians handle that one, Captain Collins had said. The last report to come in was that the driver of the fire engine had been none other than the corrupt police officer whose acquittal had resulted in this civil unrest.
Thank God, Colin thought. Maybe now this madness will wind down.
His platoon arrived at Pershing Square fifteen minutes later. Second Platoon was already there, and First Platoon was ten minutes away. Third Platoon, having been delayed by the accident in Ganton, was on its way, but still another half hour out. Even now, the riots were drawing to a close. The LSPD had regained control on most of the streets, and Pershing Square was now almost quiet. All that remained was a wasteland of overturned cars and burning trash...and the occasional body of a civilian who took a potshot at the wrong person.
"How'd you do, Fox?" Sgt. Riordan called out in greeting as Colin called his soldiers out of formation. Sgt. Riordan was a lanky, fair-skinned first generation American from Liberty City. His parents were full-blooded Irish. Much to their annoyance, their son had lost the brogue early, but he retained the temper of his bloodline. While he and Colin had been in Basic Training, several recruits had misjudged Riordan's size and temperament, and paid dearly for it.
Colin shook his head. "Lost Jernigan around Willowfield. He's at County General. An ambulance came by and snatched him up, thank God."
Riordan nodded. "Indeed. If he'd have had to wait for a medevac..."
"I'd rather not think about it," Colin replied, cutting his friend short.
The other two platoons arrived shortly thereafter, and Echo Company returned to formation. Captain Collins emerged from the HQ a few minutes later to debrief them, and transport trucks arrived within the hour to carry the soldiers back to the depot.
As they rode back, PFC Michaels spoke up. "S'art?"
Colin looked up. "Yes, Private?"
"Someone told me your enlistment's almost up, S'art."
Colin nodded. "Someone's got a big mouth, but they're right. I'm supposed to sign my papers tomorrow."
"You are gonna re-up, right, S'art?"
Colin shrugged. "I dunno, Private. Three days ago, you asked me that question, I'd have said hell yes. Now..."
Colin's voice trailed off, and the PFC let the conversation end. The rest of the trip back to the depot was spent with only the sound of the diesel engine to be heard.
National Guard Depot, Los Santos
The Next Day
Colin knocked on the door of Captain Collins' temporary office and waited. "Enter."
Colin stepped into the room and saluted. Collins half-heartedly returned the salute. "At ease, Sergeant. Take a seat."
Colin took a seat at the desk, across from the Captain. "Echo Company is on its way back to Battalion Headquarters this evening. I heard a disturbing rumor this morning that you would not be with us on that return trip. Is that correct, Sergeant Fox?"
Colin nodded. "Yes, sir. I decided not to re-enlist, sir."
The Captain sighed. "Well, in the time that you've been with Echo Company, it's been a pleasure to have you. You're a hell of a soldier, Fox. I hate losing you, but after the incident here in Los Santos...well, let's just say I can't hold it against you. If you ever change your mind, you'll know where to find us. I know I speak for most of the troops when I say I'd be glad to have you back."
Once a Dragoon, always a Dragoon, Colin thought as he got to his feet. "Thank you, sir." Captain Collins stood, and Colin saluted. "By force and valor, sir."
The Captain returned the salute. "By force and valor, Sergeant."
Colin executed a sharp about-face and strode out of the office. He had a flight to catch.
