right here. That man’s got the coolest head in the game. Cooler than the fucking Buck and way cooler than you, that’s for sure. I’ve seen him think his way out of worse situations than this.”
“Pancho,” Bigfoot said softly. “She’s right. You shoulda seen him up on the flight deck. He must have taken out forty of those apes from the Tomcat, and then another fifty in the chopper that he tossed off the bow. He’s taken care of ninety of them all by himself. Now, I know you liked serving with the Buck, but you gotta move on. This guy’s not better or worse than the Buck, he’s just different. Why don’t you cut him a break.”
This was a big moment. Bigfoot was Sanchez’s closest friend in the unit, his former teammate under “Buccaneer” Broyles.
Sanchez scowled. “I got a question then. In R7, in Florida, back in ’04, the Buck beat everybody except him.” He jerked a nod at Schofield. “Led by him, you guys evaded us for forty-one hours, till the exercise was over. How did you guys do that for so long?”
Mother indicated Schofield: “It was all him, all his doing. He saw a pattern in the Buck’s moves, and once he found that pattern, he could anticipate every move you guys made. You had a numerical advantage, butsince he could predict your every next move, it didn’t matter.”
“What pattern did he see in our moves?”
“Scarecrow realized that the Buck employed the same tactic repeatedly: he’d always use one sub-team to push his opponent toward a larger, waiting, force. You see, that’s Scarecrow’s biggest talent. He spots patterns, the enemy’s patterns, their tactics and strategies . . . and then he uses those patterns against them.”
“But he didn’t use anything against us in R7,” Sanchez said. “He just avoided us. He didn’t
hurt
us in any way.”
“Oh, yes, he did,” Mother said. “By evading you guys till the end of the ex, he deprived you of the one thing you wanted most of all: a clear win.”
Sanchez growled. This was true.
Her point made, Mother turned to look back at Schofield—
—only to find him gazing directly back at her, his eyes alive.
She said, “Well, hey there, handsome. What’s up? Whatcha thinking?”
It was as if a lightbulb had lit up above his head.
“The Buck . . .” he said.
“What about him?”
“He’s here. Now. Commanding these ape troops.”
S CHOFIELD SPOKE quickly.
“Think back. In the observation tower above the indoor battlefield, the apes on the ceiling drove us
forward,
toward the other force of apes in the forward hangar. The
larger
force.
“Then in the aft hangar, they let us try for the portside elevator but then removed it, knowing we’d have to come
back
through their larger force. They were always driving us toward the larger numbers. It would also explain why the Corps disbanded the Buck’s unit a few months ago—he was being assigned to a special mission. This one.”
Astro said, “But that scientist, Pennebaker, said the exercise had gone pear-shaped. If the Buck was here, he’d be dead, too, killed by the gorillas.”
“And where’s Pennebaker now?” Schofield asked. “He was last seen ditching us in the aft hangar, during the gorillas’ main assault. Either he felt he was safer on his own—unlikely—or he was part of something bigger, a messenger sent to give us information. Mother, gentlemen, I’m not convinced the ‘exercise’ here at Hell Island went pear-shaped at all. In fact,I’m starting to wonder if it’s still going . . . and we’re a part of it.”
There was a silence.
Sanchez said, “Okay. So if the Buck’s here, where is he?”
“Somewhere on the boat?” Astro suggested.
“No, I don’t think so,” Schofield swapped a look with Mother. “The power drain.”
Mother nodded. “Concur.”
“What are you two talking about?” Sanchez asked.
Schofield said, “Back on the bridge, we detected a power drain going off the ship and onto the island. The Buck—and
“Pancho,” Bigfoot said softly. “She’s right. You shoulda seen him up on the flight deck. He must have taken out forty of those apes from the Tomcat, and then another fifty in the chopper that he tossed off the bow. He’s taken care of ninety of them all by himself. Now, I know you liked serving with the Buck, but you gotta move on. This guy’s not better or worse than the Buck, he’s just different. Why don’t you cut him a break.”
This was a big moment. Bigfoot was Sanchez’s closest friend in the unit, his former teammate under “Buccaneer” Broyles.
Sanchez scowled. “I got a question then. In R7, in Florida, back in ’04, the Buck beat everybody except him.” He jerked a nod at Schofield. “Led by him, you guys evaded us for forty-one hours, till the exercise was over. How did you guys do that for so long?”
Mother indicated Schofield: “It was all him, all his doing. He saw a pattern in the Buck’s moves, and once he found that pattern, he could anticipate every move you guys made. You had a numerical advantage, butsince he could predict your every next move, it didn’t matter.”
“What pattern did he see in our moves?”
“Scarecrow realized that the Buck employed the same tactic repeatedly: he’d always use one sub-team to push his opponent toward a larger, waiting, force. You see, that’s Scarecrow’s biggest talent. He spots patterns, the enemy’s patterns, their tactics and strategies . . . and then he uses those patterns against them.”
“But he didn’t use anything against us in R7,” Sanchez said. “He just avoided us. He didn’t
hurt
us in any way.”
“Oh, yes, he did,” Mother said. “By evading you guys till the end of the ex, he deprived you of the one thing you wanted most of all: a clear win.”
Sanchez growled. This was true.
Her point made, Mother turned to look back at Schofield—
—only to find him gazing directly back at her, his eyes alive.
She said, “Well, hey there, handsome. What’s up? Whatcha thinking?”
It was as if a lightbulb had lit up above his head.
“The Buck . . .” he said.
“What about him?”
“He’s here. Now. Commanding these ape troops.”
S CHOFIELD SPOKE quickly.
“Think back. In the observation tower above the indoor battlefield, the apes on the ceiling drove us
forward,
toward the other force of apes in the forward hangar. The
larger
force.
“Then in the aft hangar, they let us try for the portside elevator but then removed it, knowing we’d have to come
back
through their larger force. They were always driving us toward the larger numbers. It would also explain why the Corps disbanded the Buck’s unit a few months ago—he was being assigned to a special mission. This one.”
Astro said, “But that scientist, Pennebaker, said the exercise had gone pear-shaped. If the Buck was here, he’d be dead, too, killed by the gorillas.”
“And where’s Pennebaker now?” Schofield asked. “He was last seen ditching us in the aft hangar, during the gorillas’ main assault. Either he felt he was safer on his own—unlikely—or he was part of something bigger, a messenger sent to give us information. Mother, gentlemen, I’m not convinced the ‘exercise’ here at Hell Island went pear-shaped at all. In fact,I’m starting to wonder if it’s still going . . . and we’re a part of it.”
There was a silence.
Sanchez said, “Okay. So if the Buck’s here, where is he?”
“Somewhere on the boat?” Astro suggested.
“No, I don’t think so,” Schofield swapped a look with Mother. “The power drain.”
Mother nodded. “Concur.”
“What are you two talking about?” Sanchez asked.
Schofield said, “Back on the bridge, we detected a power drain going off the ship and onto the island. The Buck—and
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