Them Bones

THE BOX XIV

Smith’s Diary

Colonel Spaulding duffed out during the night.

Nobody saw him leave. There were no shots fired during the night and no commotion from the Indians like they always make when they capture one of us.

Major Putnam is in command. He’s demoralized by Spaulding’s desertion, more than by anything else that’s happened to us so far.

Spaulding had been keeping in his bunker. I saw him once yesterday afternoon. He had his Book of Mormon opened before him. I noticed the pages were more tattered every time I’d seen it, which was a lot. Spaulding seemed weighed down with worry. We’d lost more than half the group since the flu went through the Indians and started the siege.

I’d come to report that Sergeant Croft caught an arrow in the foot a few minutes before. He had leaned out to refill a sandbag. The arrow had come from the woods and into his boot. We didn’t bother to return fire.

We knew they had at least eleven of our weapons. They had used them only a few times. One of the CIA men thought it was because they couldn’t. Three of our people were dead from bullet wounds, and several of the horses had been wounded before we got enough bunkers built to hold them. The Indians were saving the carbines for something big. Besides, the arrows worked just as well in this short-range siege.

‘How is Croft?’ asked Spaulding.

‘He’s all right, but it’ll be weeks before he’s ready for duty.’

‘Weeks!’ said Spaulding. ‘Soon you and I’ll be the only ones left on duty.’ He stared down at his book.

‘Some of the men want to clear the woods back another fifty meters to each side.’

‘What are the chances of doing that without taking three or four more casualties?’

‘Not very good. They’re everywhere, more of them all the time.’

‘Lamanites,’ said Spaulding.

‘Beg pardon?’

He pointed down to the book.

‘Oh,’ I said.

‘They’ll all be here soon. All the nations. We’ll have to kill them all. It’s so stupid.’

I didn’t say anything.

‘All right,’ he said, regaining his demeanor. ‘Have them put down two random grenades per day to each perimeter quadrant. We might discourage some of the sniping, anyway. Could you have the supply chief come over? I’m sure we’re going to have to eat the last of the horses soon.’

I left. Splevins the CIA man passed me, heading toward Spaulding’s tent. He didn’t look happy. I dodged and crouched my way between bunkers.

That was the last time I saw Spaulding.

I was in the command bunker when the supply chief came in to see the major this morning.

‘Things are missing,’ he said to Putnam. ‘Damnedest things.’

‘I didn’t think you kept inventory since Christmas,’ said the major.

‘Some things yes, some things no. We just ran a tally on Spaulding’s orders yesterday. They weren’t there today.’

The major sighed. ‘What did he take?’

The supply chief had a clipboard. He read off the expected things first – ammo, lurp rations, grenades, two ponchos, survival kit. Then:

‘Grid maps. In series. From here through Mississippi, Tennessee, Kentucky, West Virginia, Pennsylvania to western New York state. Like he knows exactly where he wants to go.

‘Tin snips. Two three-ring clip binders. Thin tin plate we had for repairs. Cold chisels. Flashlights. A small radio beacon assembly. Tack hammer.’

‘What the hell’s he gonna do with that stuff?’ asked Putnam.

The supply chief shrugged. I went over to Spaulding’s footlocker. I opened it. Most of his things were there, personal and issue.

‘Not even a note,’ said the major. ‘I already had a look. His Bible’s gone, though.’

‘How should we list him on the morning report?’ I asked.

‘Missing in the line of duty,’ said Putnam.

‘Very good, sir,’ I said, and left.