Triumphant Return
After a brief night in Carson City, we pushed out again through the dark of early morning, bound for Tahoe. Our small column of steel wound through the rugged cut of Carson Canyon, and the moment we reached Glenbrook and the vast sheet of Lake Tahoe opened in front of us, a breath of relief slipped out of me before I could stop it.
It felt like coming home after a campaign I had grown thoroughly sick of. Only a short while ago this place had been nothing but a temporary stop, yet in that brief span I had, without quite noticing, grown deeply attached to Tahoe's slow, easy days and the people who lived them. After the endless barren desert of Nevada, this blue lake and these dense woods felt like the last oasis left on earth.
We ran the lakeshore road toward South Lake Tahoe. We were almost at the rest-stop camp when the scene ahead stopped me cold. Then Gunner's rumbling laugh rolled over from beside me.
"Haha. Looks like those folks think you're some kind of Caesar riding home in triumph."
The roads around the rest-stop camp were packed with people who had come out to meet us. The truckers who had been with us when we left, the TSP officers, Anderson and the sheriffs — even a handful of Tahoe civilians who had apparently caught wind of the news.
It was not an orderly gathering, but the waving hands and the cheering were not the noise of a crowd chasing a spectacle. They were glad to see us home. A few TSP officers held back excited civilians trying to spill onto the roadway, and the whole thing looked like a parade welcoming a baseball club back from a World Series win.
The moment I climbed down from the truck, Dave came running. He caught my shoulders and looked me over from head to toe, his voice thick.
"Chan! Let me see, let me see… you're in one piece."
"Of course I am."
"Hahaha. I was worried about you, buddy."
Frank chimed in, his face lit up.
"Boss, you really did a hell of a job."
Then Dave's mother Eleanor came forward, with Sarah and Raven beside her. Eleanor took my hand, her voice warm with relief.
"You've been through so much."
"Thank God you're safe."
Anderson, Smith, and Walker followed, taking off their hats as they approached.
"It's a proud thing, standing with Polar Bear."
Then the sheriff and Jackson pushed through the crowd toward us.
"Polar Bear. You've done one hell of a thing."
"It needed doing, that's all."
Jackson said it with real admiration. The sheriff, for his part, could not hide his astonishment as he looked at the trucks belonging to Bulldog and Tank, standing behind us.
"You brought back every last truck and every last load — even the ones that fell behind. I still can't believe it."
I didn't answer.
"How did a handful of you nearly wipe the Road Warriors out? It's astonishing, that's all it is."
That was Jackson's question. Gunner, standing beside me, answered in his usual blunt way.
"That's the boss. He prepares so hard it's almost disgusting."
The sheriff smiled and delivered one last piece of news.
"The mayor asked me to pass along his personal thanks."
I stayed quiet.
"Those two tankers you brought in are rain in a drought, but that's not even the half of it. Because this convoy took Nevada's biggest headache off the board, the state government has promised us additional support. You saved every one of us."
Once the somewhat chaotic welcome had run its course, I took a look around the camp. To my surprise, the supplies we had been promised under the original transport contract were already stacked neatly off to one side.
When I asked about it, Frank grinned.
"Hahaha. When the mood's this good, you collect what's owed while the collecting's good. And that's not all — I talked them out of a few extras, too. Heh."
After we had finished the various checks and repairs, we all gathered at last in Jake's motorhome for a warm evening meal.
"Whoa. Somebody went to a lot of trouble tonight."
Even Dave was impressed. The table held a feast: fresh-caught salmon and trout steaks, omelets folded around smoked bacon, and roast chicken with the skin roasted to a perfect crackle.
The conversation drifted, as it was always going to, to the fight with the Road Warriors. When Liam and Adam asked with shining eyes, Gunner answered in his usual deadpan.
"Out of more than forty of them, exactly one vehicle made it back alive."
"Well now — our boss showed a little mercy at the end."
Dave said it with a laugh. Frank clicked his tongue, looking almost disappointed.
"Ah, hell, why'd you let that one go? Should've wiped the slate clean."
"No. You chase them at a time like that and you're asking for trouble. Anyway, what I regret most is not seeing Hawthorne Army Depot with my own eyes."
At Mike's words, Bill started in on the sheer scale of the place, and I joined the conversation.
"This last fight made the limits of small arms painfully clear."
"I'd expect so."
Mike agreed, then grinned at Frank.
"But our man Frank here scored himself something spectacular. Haha."
When I showed interest, Frank puffed up with pride.
"The rotating gun turret they mount on a Humvee — the ring you drop an M2 onto. I got two of the damn things!"
Mike jumped on it at once.
"Good. Then let's put one of them on the roof of Gunner's F-550!"
"Is that even possible?"
I asked, and Jed stepped in.
"You pull the back seats, beef up the roof and the chassis frame, and she'll take it just fine."
"Huh. I've been wanting an M2. This works out."
Gunner smiled, satisfied. Then Mike looked at me and made an even bolder suggestion.
"While we're at it, let's put a rotating turret on the rear roof of the boss's trailer, too."
I stared at him. He spoke as if he had already finished the blueprints.
"We raise the rear roof just a touch and build a half-level turret bay over the ramp door. That way you get a clean second-story turret with a full three-sixty — and you never have to drop the ramp to use it."
That was when Cody, who had been staring at his phone, spoke up in an excited voice.
"Whoa, the Tahoe subreddit is going crazy right now!"
He turned the screen toward us and kept going.
"The mayor just officially announced they're raising the fuel ration from five gallons to ten. And he posted a special thanks to the TSP, Polar Bear, and every trucker who took part in the operation."
Nobody spoke for a moment.
"The comments are overflowing. People are saying Polar Bear gave them hope — that he's their guardian."
Mike chuckled, looking pleased.
"Heh heh. They won't be treating us like outsiders anymore."
After the peaceful dinner, I took a walk around the camp with Wolf. I breathed in the cold night air and turned over the events of the past few days. The Crossroads mission that had begun in Tahoe had been carried out to the letter, and the Road Warriors — the greatest threat in the Nevada desert — had been put down.
Relief washed over me, but at the same time I found myself thinking again of just how large that force had been. If we had simply left Tahoe and run into them in the middle of that desert, we never would have shaken them off as cleanly as we had — and never without a cost.
The thought led, as it always did, to Hawthorne Army Depot.
Hawthorne… it's going to be a target for every faction now.
The states were still watching one another, none of them willing to commit to open war. But if a real war ever broke out, anyone could see that that vast arsenal would become the first objective that decided the course of the fighting.
With those thoughts still chasing one another, I ended a long and weary day.
The next morning, I headed to the marketplace with Frank. I wanted a bit of rest, and I figured I might find a new toy or a snack for Wolf.
As we walked the stalls, I felt a change in the air that was impossible to miss. People who had once watched us with suspicion and wariness now came up first to say hello.
"Polar Bear, good morning!"
"Thank you. Truly. Polar Bear."
"This whole town is talking about you."
I smiled, a little awkwardly, and returned their greetings. Operation Crossroads had never been just a supply run. It had been a turning point that completely changed our standing and our role inside the Tahoe community.
A few peaceful days passed like that, and then Bill came looking for me.
"Polar Bear. Gears and Bulldog want a word with you."
"Something wrong?"
I called the two of them to my trailer. Bill and Tank were already inside, and Gunner as well.
The moment we sat down, Bulldog got straight to the point.
"Mind if I… join your crew?"
I hesitated, and he pressed on.
"I'm not talking about working together as truckers. I mean I want to be part of the crew, the way you all are. Even if you leave this place, I want to go with you."
When Bulldog finished, Gears spoke up.
"Same here. My wife and my boy, too… would you take all of us?"
For a moment I thought of Bulldog's stubborn sense of duty — the way he had refused to abandon his truck in the fight against the Road Warriors — and of Gears, who had done his job without a word of complaint. They were people you could trust.
"If nobody in the crew objects, then yes."
Both of their faces lit up. Then Bill, a little carefully, put forward another proposal.
"Boss. There's one more thing."
"What is it?"
"We've got a fair number of truckers together now. What do you say we form a little transport union while we're at it?"
"Hmm… do we need to?"
"The other guys who ran the last operation with us all want it. This isn't a world where you haul freight alone anymore, is it? And word's gotten out — the Nevada truckers over in Carson City are stirring, too."
Tank muttered it in his usual flat tone.
"Huh. So that's why you called us all together."
Bill went on.
"The other truckers are saying they won't move unless you sign off on the haul, or you're on it with them."
Tank tossed out a remark, his expression dry.
"What, you gonna make a Polar Bear flag and fly it on the trucks?"
But Bill's eyes lit up.
"That's actually a damn good idea! The roads are already thick with the story of Polar Bear smashing the Road Warriors. The truckers want a piece of that reputation."