The Suicide King (The Grave Diggers Book 2)

by Chris Fritschi

  “I’m fine,” mumbled Rosse waving at Wesson. He rolled onto his side and smiled at Wesson through a face of caked dirt and blood. “Just rung my bell is all.”

  “Welcome back,” asked Kaiden. “Get back on your gun.”

  He looked wrecked, but no one had time to spare for him. Bullets gouged the dirt around them chewing though the thin metal of the RV. Wesson swiveled her gun left and right trying to suppress the incoming fire, but the shooting was intensifying.

  “Reloading,” yelled Wesson as the bolt of her gun locked open. Smoke was trailing up from the hot barrel and she worried how soon before the gun overheated. She grabbed another box-magazine and snapped it into place. The gun kicked into her shoulder with a loud thwack and the box-magazine flew off. She grabbed it and saw a ragged hole in the front of it.

  “Come on, Sergeant,” urged Kaiden. “We need that gun.”

  “They hit my mag,” said Wesson snapping the magazine back on the gun. “I think it’s…” She cycled the bolt and pulled the trigger. Her gun barked twice and jammed. “Screwed,” said Wesson.

  Suddenly the ground flared in front of them with intense heat and the stench of gasoline. Fire splashed on the side of the RV narrowly missing Kaiden. “Molotov,” she yelled as she crawled further under the RV. “Tate, our cover is about to catch fire. Wesson’s gun is out and Rosse’s hurt.”

  “We had some trouble figuring this thing out,” said Tate. “Get ready to break cover.”

  Over the blaring music and gunfire came the scream of twisted metal as the seventeen-ton APC ripped the barn door from its tracks. The scavengers cheered and waved their guns over their heads, but that all stopped as Tate appeared through the top hatch and grabbed the mounted machine gun. The fight turned into complete chaos as scavengers ran, and others stood and fought. Tate raked their lines with bursts of fire sending spouts of dirt and blood into the air. The APC turned and drove up to the mangled RV hiding Kaiden, Wesson and Rosse. The heavy armored back door of the APC swung open and the three piled in as bullets shattered into the vehicle’s side. Rosse pulled the door close, muffling the sounds of the anarchy outside.

  Tate shouted down to Fulton in the driver’s seat. “Circle the camp.”

  “Copy,” yelled Fulton and pressed on the gas.

  The APC lurched forward as Tate swiveled the machine gun firing bursts at knots of scavengers until, finally, nobody was shooting at them. Tate swung the gun around and ripped the loudspeaker to confetti silencing the wailing music. The APC rumbled to a stop near the bonfire amid the wreck and gore of the camp and Tate yelled for them stand in front of the APC. He closely watched them as the few remaining scavengers held up their hands and gathered in front of the APC. From nowhere their gangly leader appeared with a make-shift white flag.

  “Ota,” said Tate into his radio. “You see anyone else?”

  Ota scanned the carnage for signs of movement. His crosshairs lingered where he couldn't tell if the flickering light was playing tricks, giving movement to inanimate objects until he was satisfied. "Looks clear from here, Sergeant Major," said Ota.

  "Squad," said Tate over the radio, "we're clear. Assemble on my position and secure the prisoners."

  Wesson, Kaiden and Rosse crawled out from under the wrecked RV and joined Tate and the APC.

  The scavenger leader, Slash, held up the white flag as he grinned up at Tate. "That was a wicked trick, boss," said Slash laughing. "You sure know how to use that meat chopper, huh? You got us good." Slash looked around at the scattered dead then back to Tate. "Kind of a shame. Your people and mine, what's left of them, could join up."

  Fulton got out from the driver’s seat of the APC and walked up to Slash who mistook him for the team's leader.

  "I was just say'n to your man on the chopper," said Slash, "your people and mine could own…"

  The crack of a gunshot caught everyone by surprise as Slash stumbled back with blood trickling from a hole in his head. A wisp of smoke trailed from the barrel of Fulton’s gun as he let it drop to his side. "You aren't people," said Fulton coldly. Slash wobbled on his feet a moment then crumpled to the ground. Fulton walked off into the shadows without a word.

  "Rosse?" said Tate kindly, "would you…"

  "I'm on it," said Rosse and went after Fulton.

  "Secure the rest of them," said Tate, "then we'll police the camp and make sure the dead ones stay that way."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  SPOILS OF WAR

  By early dawn the team had piled the dead scavengers in the back of a pickup. While searching for possible hiding scavengers they discovered an old man and two children locked in a makeshift cage. The children clung to the old man's legs as they looked at the Grave Diggers with distrust. The old man told them they had been looking for food when the scavengers grabbed them. Why they hadn't killed him and the children were a mystery to him because he had seen horrible things happen to all of the scavenger's prisoners.

  Apart from dehydration, Rosse found no serious injuries and Tate gave the old man and kids food, water and soft beds in one of the trailers to sleep in, but the old man was anxious to leave. He'd been separated from family and wanted to get back to them. Tate had explained about the relocation program, but the old man respectfully turned him down.

  "Wadda we gonna do with them?" asked Rosse gesturing to the small knot of surviving scavengers.

  Anticipating that question Tate had already come up with a solution. "The old man is taking them in his truck," said Tate. "From what he told me about his village, these bastards have a lot to answer for."

  "What about the old man," asked Rosse, "and the kids? We're gonna let them stay out here. It ain't safe."

  "No, it's not," said Tate, "but he grew up here and wasn't going to give it up even with Vix all over the place. Nobody said the relocation program was mandatory. He's free to live where he wants."

  "But them kids?” protested Rosse.

  "Do you want to try and take those kids away from him?" smirked Tate.

  Tate's radio crackled, "I'm in the barn," said Kaiden. "You're going to like this."

  "On my way," replied Tate. "Double check the scavengers are securely tied up," Tate told Rosse. "Give the old man a pistol and any assault rifle he wants. Lots of ammo. Make sure he's got enough food and water before he goes."

  "Hey, you can't do that," yelled one of the scavengers. "This guy's family… What happened…" the scavenger faltered a moment then came at his protest from a different direction. "You don't know what they'll do to us."

  "Well," said Tate. "I have a pretty good idea."

  "We didn't do anything to you," pleaded the scavenger. "Who are you guys?"

  Tate reached into his pocket and flicked a playing card at the scavenger. It bounced off his chest and landed face down at his feet. On the back of the card was a red bordered shield with a black dagger plunged through an evil looking skull. In the red banner above the skull were the words, "REMORSELESS RELENTLESS".

  "We're the Grave Diggers, bub," grinned Rosse. "We do the hard work. All you gotta do is climb in."

  Tate gave Rosse a smile and headed to the barn to find Kaiden. She was standing with Wesson looking at a pile of stuff. Tate's eyes quickly adjusted to the shade of the barn and grinned creased the corner of his mouth when he realized what he was looking at.

  "See what I mean?" smiled Kaiden.

  In front of them was a battered, scorched, and chipped dark green crate. The scavengers had clearly spent a lot of time and energy trying to open it, without success. On its sides were stenciled cryptic letters and numbers that would be meaningless to the average person, but not to Tate. Among all of the identification marks that stood out was FSC 1005.

  "What is it?" asked Wesson.

  "It's an Army supply crate," said Tate. "The more important the contents the stronger the crate.” Tate appraised the beating the crate endured. “This is a poly-mesh hardened weave crate and can withstand a lot more than a blow torch or an axe. And that
FSC designation? That stands for Federal Supply Classification, and one, zero, zero, five means we just moved up in the world."

  Wesson looked even more confused than before. She could tell by Tate's smile it must be something very good, but that's all.

  “Guns, Sergeant,” grinned Tate. “Inside that crate are brand new guns.”

  “Easily distracted by shiny objects,” said Kaiden. Now it was Tate’s turn to looked confused.

  “This isn’t why you called me?” asked Tate.

  Kaiden stepped behind the crate and scattered pile of random items into the deeper shadows of the barn where she grabbed onto a large tarp and pulled. The tarp fell away with a hiss revealing something looking like a giant insect. Kaiden turned on her flashlight making Tate laugh out loud.

  “We have a helicopter?” said Tate in disbelief.

  “Most of one,” cautioned Kaiden. “It looks like they gave up trying to assemble it.”

  As his eyes adjusted, Tate could make out more details. The fuselage was partially intact but the rotor blades housings were missing from the sides along with the tail boom. “I think it’s a Viper,” said Tate.

  “Jackpot,” said Rosse, as he walked into the barn. “Is that a chopper?”

  “If we have all the parts,” said Tate.

  “How we gonna get all this stuff back home?” asked Rosse.

  Tate had been thinking about that too, but in reality they had no use for an APC or command vehicle. Their missions weren’t exactly within driving range of the base, and logistically who would maintain it? It would be like bringing home a St. Bernard and dumping all the responsibility on your neighbor to take care of it.

  “The small stuff we can take,” said Tate, “but the big stuff stays behind.”

  “What?” protested Rosse. “And leave all this loot?”

  “Loot,” pondered Tate. “That’s not a bad idea. Rosse, what are the chances we could move these through your veterinarian friend?”

  Rosse threw a quick glance around making sure nobody else was listing in and walked up closer to Tate. “Yeah,” said Rosse. “I think I could do that.”

  “We don’t deliver,” said Tate. “We give the buying the location where we’ll put these.”

  “Sure, makes sense,” said Rosse. “I’ll see what kind of deal we can make. Uh, wadda ya want for it?”

  “I don’t know,” said Tate. “What can I get?”

  “I dunno,” grinned Rosse, “but it’ll be awesome whatever it is.”

  * * *

  Tate leaned back on the couch and looked around Kaiden’s quarters with some surprise. When he brought her into the team it was a struggle to find housing for her, but with some arm twisting he had got her a roof over her head, but not much more. He didn’t know when, or how, she’d gotten new quarters, but it made his place look like a cheap motel.

  Given the choice Tate would have rather been nursing a beer, stretched out on his bed and getting an early start on a long night’s sleep. The moment the Blackhawk’s wheels touched down he felt like a one-legged man in a butt kicking contest. The doctor had cleared Monkhouse for duty and the timing couldn’t have been better because the engineer was losing his mind from boredom. All of that changed when Tate presented him with the battered mystery crate. Monkhouse excitedly guaranteed he could open it, but his enthusiasm blossomed into near euphoria when Tate told him they’d found a helicopter. He made arrangements for Rosse and Fulton to return to the captured scavenger’s camp and try to rebuild it. For a horrifying moment Tate thought Monkhouse was going to cry, or kiss him, or both.

  Fulton, on the other hand, was badly shaken. The murder of the little girl and his shooting of the scavenger’s leader had catapulted him into an emotional turmoil. Rosse had been the one to suggest Tate send Fulton and himself to help Monkhouse. From the beginning, Fulton had seen Rosse as something of a father figure and Rosse thought he could use the time together helping Fulton sort out his emotions. Rosse was the last person Tate would have picked as the nurturing type, let alone talk about feelings, but Fulton did look up to him, so he’d agreed.

  Tate was encouraged by the way the team had performed on the mission. Reading through their mission reports he could piece together how each had not only supported the other team members, but had done so under fire. He was pleased, but recognized they were still rookies and the only thing that honed a soldier into a warrior was experience.

  “Just like the old days,” said Kaiden sitting next to him on the couch.

  Tate had to admit this last mission did have a familiar feel to it. Many times, the Night Stalkers had deployed for an operation where all the carefully laid out mission plans had gone out the window hours after they were boots on ground. Tate could feel his heart beating faster as the memories came faster and faster.

  Tate’s eyes refocused and saw Kaiden frowning at him. He realized he’d been a million miles away while she had been talking to him.

  “Sorry,” said Tate. “I was somewhere else.”

  “I asked you over to show you this,” said Kaiden as she put a file on the coffee table. “After you told me about the Suicide King and his plan to smuggle poisoned coke into the north united states I did some checking around and learned a few things.”

  “What do you mean checking around?” said Tate sitting up.

  “Did I stutter?” frowned Kaiden not liking Tate’s tone.

  “I’m sure this guy doesn’t have a social media page,” said Tate, “and unless he’s giving interviews you went outside with classified information, without telling me? We have no idea who all of The Ring members are, if they’re watching us, or where they’re placed. They could be anyone. A Secret Service agent on the President’s detail, or the corporal shoveling our food in the mess tent. Damn it Kaiden, how do you know you can trust anyone with this information?” Tate flipped open the file growing angrier as he scanned over the first page. “This is CIA spook level intel. Who the hell do you know that has that kind clearance and access to intel about the Suicide King?”

  Tate found himself suddenly looking at Kaiden with new eyes. There had always been an inscrutable side to her that was a complete blank. Each member of the Night Stalkers knew the others so well you could finish their sentence for them, but with Kaiden, while a trusted member of the unit, you only knew what she wanted you to see. Tate began to wonder if she was really who she said she was, or was that a lie? Had she been playing him all along? He remembered she brushed shoulders with military intelligence, but was that all? Distrust and doubt flooded through Tate.

  Kaiden’s expression was unsettlingly blank. Her cool, grey eyes gave nothing away and if Tate hadn’t been so angry he would be cringing uncontrollably.

  “My memory’s a little foggy,” said Kaiden flatly. “Who came to me for help two years after bailing on the unit? Who did I save from bleeding out in Munich? How many operations did I pull out of the fire because I had intel nobody else had?” They both knew the answer and with each memory came a growing realization that if anyone was keeping score, Tate owed his life to Kaiden more than a couple of times. “When I brought useful intel to the game you never questioned my methods and were happy in your ignorance. But that was back when you were a hard-edged fire eater. You got soft, Tate. Paranoid. You look at me like I’ve changed. Like you can’t trust me anymore. You’re so full of bullshit you can’t even see the truth. You lost trust in yourself. You’re filled with more doubt than confidence, but because you don’t want to admit it you turn it on me.”

  Kaiden stopped and let her words hang in the air. Tate’s inner conflict didn’t keep him from seeing the truth in what she said. He recognized he’d put all his attention and energy on training and improving the team so he wouldn’t have to face dealing with his own flaws.

  Would a real man have run out on his grieving wife? A real man would have been home protecting his family, his little girl. Self-disgust and loathing boiled up in Tate with every damming condemnation.

  “H
ey,” said Kaiden, snapping Tate out of his thoughts.

  His fists were clenched so tightly Tate wondered if his palms would be bloody when he opened his hands. Close. Even though he kept his nails trimmed short they had dug deeply into his skin. Kaiden gently put her hand on his arm. The gesture took Tate entirely by surprise and his anger evaporated. Tate felt emotionally and mentally wrung out like he’d just been white water rafting without the raft. He wasn’t sure what to think, or feel. He felt Kaiden squeeze his arm and brought his attention back on her.

  Kaiden looked at him in that eerie way like she could read minds and smiled. “I’m going to forgive that rush of shit to your brain,” said Kaiden, “if you’re ready to get back to work.”

  Tate nodded and Kaiden went back to work like nothing had happened. He wondered how she could effortlessly switch gears, leaving the past behind, while he felt mired in self-conscious awkwardness.

  “Brigadier General Guillermo Rojas,” said Kaiden, “aka The Suicide King, is a real piece of work. He was in charge of the 42nd brigade out of Cali. Infantry, counterinsurgency, and a joint task force. He was also getting a sizable paycheck from the cartel to keep his troops out of their hair. When the DEA began counter-drug operations in the area, Rojas saw an opportunity to fatten up his wallet and with some bribes in the right pockets; he got himself assigned as the head of the Colombian counter narcotics joint task force. Now he was getting paid by the cartel and the DEA. The cartel would give Rojas sacrificial coke shipments to distract the DEA from the big shipments. The DEA were making busts, but not making progress and the general was feeling the pressure to produce more. Next thing you know the general is stacking up body bags, claiming his men are taking out the cartel’s sicarios.” Kaiden handed Tate pictures of the general and his soldiers standing among dead bodies. Tate had seen the aftermath of enough battlefields to know that men don’t die in random places and never out in the open. In real combat a bullet finds them shooting from around corners, over walls, in a hollow of ground or any place they can find cover. In these pictures the bodies were scattered around like they had been running away in every direction.