Fire From the Sky: Friendly Fire

by N. C. Reed

  FIRE FROM

  THE SKY

  BOOK SIX

  FIRE FROM THE SKY: BOOK 6: FRIENDLY FIRE

  by N.C. REED

  Published by Creative Texts Publishers

  PO Box 50

  Barto, PA 1950a

  www.creativetexts.com

  Copyright 2019 by N.C. REED

  All rights reserved

  Cover photos used by license.

  Design copyright 2019 Creative Texts Publishers, LLC

  The Fire From the Sky Logo is a trademark of Creative Texts Publishers, LLC

  This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

  The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual names, persons, businesses, and incidents is strictly coincidental. Locations are used only in the general sense and do not represent the real place in actuality.

  ISBN: 978-0-578-51060-6

  FIRE FROM

  THE SKY

  BOOK SIX

  N.C. Reed

  For the Ranger, I hope you can see what I've done.

  For the Clerk, I hope you're proud of me.

  For the Chef. . .damn I miss you, man.

  This has been one of the most exhausting projects I have done so far. So much drama, so many changes and so much realignment in order to get to the next part of the story. There were times I wanted to scream in frustration and a few times when I just wanted to quit.

  But those of you who were waiting for this book, you kept me going.

  Thank you.

  No project like this is made in a vacuum. Without assistance from different areas and sources, there wouldn't be a book. Or an N.C. Reed, for that matter. As always, I have to thank my wife and nephew who are my sounding board. When they say something like 'well, I don't know', what that really means is 'you should probably redo that'.

  (you didn't know I was a translator, did you? Ha!)

  They also take up the slack when I'm trying to write twelve hours a day. I literally couldn't do it without them.

  Thanks are also due to Creative Texts and the team there who try their best to make me look like a real writer.

  Man, have they got their work cut out for them.

  Thanks Dan. I appreciate it.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  PROLOGUE

  I-65, North of Decatur, Alabama

  Clifford Laramie disengaged the line carrying fuel from the tanker he was driving to the school bus he had been fueling and looked up at his 'boss'.

  “That's it, Shane,” he said softly. “She's dry as a bone.”

  “Everyone full up, though?” Shane asked, clearly running numbers in his head.

  “Everyone but me,” Clifford nodded. “I'm at three-quarters full. With the tank empty, we could drain the fuel from the truck and leave it here,” he suggested.

  “Not enough working rigs left in the world now that we can afford to abandon one,” Shane shook his head, pulling a map from his vest. “We're here,” he showed the fuel truck driver. “And we're headed about here,” he traced his finger up the road to a small map dot that said 'JORDAN'. “Can you make it?”

  “Assuming nothing happens, then yes,” Clifford nodded as he carried the fueling line to the truck and stored it. “It's not that far in favorable conditions.”

  “I doubt conditions ahead are any more favorable than they have been,” Shane's voice and look were grim. “But we are nearing the end of the journey. That has to count for something I hope,” he sighed.

  “You seem awful sure about this guy, and this place,” Clifford mused. “How well you know him?”

  “We all served together,” Shane didn't take offense. Everyone on this convoy was taking a huge leap of faith. “We all concocted this plan together, and then worked to get the money to make it possible. Once we figured out it wasn't going to be a nuke exchange, us four decided we'd stay closer to home. As you can recall, that was a mistake.”

  “Miscalculation is more accurate I'd say,” Clifford finished securing the line, locking it in place. “No one could have seen all that coming, man.”

  “Maybe,” Shane nodded slowly. “Regardless, here we are. Bossman is our fall back. He's better situated than we were, ultimately. We should have come here when Bear and the others did,” he shook his head slowly.

  “Well, I'm kinda glad you didn't, to be honest,” Clifford admitted. “’Cause I'd still be in the middle of that war.”

  “Suppose so,” Shane sighed. “All right. We're fueled up. Time to head out. Sooner we get there, the sooner we might be able to relax even if it's just a day.”

  “I’ll take it,” Clifford nodded, crawling back into the tanker truck. “I’ll take it.”

  Shane was already moving back to his own vehicle. He keyed his radio as he went.

  “Rattler to all units. Fueling complete. We are on the road in five. All units check in.” He listened as each vehicle in the small convoy checked in as ready to travel.

  “Rattler from Red, come back.” Shane sighed. Red was riding drag on this one.

  “Go for Rattler.”

  “We definitely have a hyena behind us,” Red reported cryptically. “Two in fact. At least two Tangos in each. They are watching us from that last overpass just now.”

  “Roger that,” Shane sighed. The two vehicles had been with them off and on for two days now. He had hoped at first that it was just someone else that had managed to keep vehicles running, but that now appeared to be unlikely.

  “We need to shake them off sooner than later,” Red added unnecessarily. Shane shook his head at Red's never-ending eagerness to shed blood.

  “Affirmative,” Shane replied. “But we need to throw off anyone they're reporting to. Rally up,” he ordered everyone to move to his position.

  “Moving.”

  “Son-of-a-bitch.”

  ***

  “Okay,” Shane had his map spread over the hood of an abandoned Cadillac left on the Interstate. “We are here,” he pointed to a spot on the map. “There is an overpass here,” he pointed to a spot ten miles down the road. “We need to get a unit up there and make sure the area is clear, then make sure that the hyenas see us leaving the Interstate. We’ll lay an ambush there and try to take them without their having time to report in. If we can, then whoever they are talking to may assume we continued down this road,” he traced the Alabama State Highway on the map.

  “We could be riding into an ambush ourselves, here,” Kevin Bodee noted. He was one of the old team members, and went by the call sign Arrow. He had taken a lot of ribbing over his 'handle' when they had returned from darkest Africa to see a television show bearing that same name.

  “That's why we need someone to run ahead and check it out,” Shane resisted the urge to rub
the bridge of his nose. “We’ll send one of the cop cars up there to make sure it's clear. If they have something that will take it out then we're in for a fight that will probably end our trip anyway.” Their group had plenty of ordnance. What they didn't have was an abundance of people who could use it.

  “Assuming it's clear, we let them see us taking the ramp up,” Shane continued. “We send Wilcox with the rest back down the on ramp on the other side and let them idle there while we wait for our friends. If they follow us then we hammer them flat while Wilcox leads the rest on up the road at a slow pace, say 20 kilometers an hour. Once we're finished we mount up and catch up. If we manage to get them quick enough, then whoever they're working for, assuming there's more, will think we took off down this highway,” he traced State Highway 231 East. “Even if they decide we didn't go that way, it will buy us some time.”

  “And if there's too many?” Stacy Pryor asked thoughtfully. His official nickname was 'Straight Razor' due to the fact that he carried a straight razor in his boot and was prone to use it as often in combat as he was in shaving, saying he 'learned it from his favorite uncle'. He normally answered to 'Straight Edge' or just 'Edge'. “For all we know there are a bunch of them back down the line. Or hell, ahead of us for that matter. I don't know about this, Shane.”

  “Got any better ideas?” Shane asked him. “We can't lead this bunch to Bossman's place no matter what. That means we gotta get these fleas off our back and the sooner we do it the better off we are.”

  “I'm not saying it's a bad plan,” Stacy admitted. “I'm just saying we need to consider what can go wrong. And being outnumbered or overwhelmed is very wrong.”

  “I'm not really concerned about a bunch of redneck amateurs out-performing us,” Xavier said calmly. “We've seen only two vehicles thus far. If they try to follow and report in, then there's no problem. Even if they call for help first, there would have to be a great many of them.”

  “And there just might be a 'great many of them',” Stacy was nodding as if Xavier had made the point for him. Xavier Adair, call sign 'Red', was from somewhere on the east coast, above D.C. His speech and accent placed him in a high society east coast family, but 'X' as he was usually called was not forthcoming about his background past his joining the Army. It was obvious he had a good education and excellent upbringing, but he was careful to avoid any mention of his background. As for why he had left such an environment to join the army and ultimately become part of the CTG element, well . . . X had some . . . issues. To put it nicely. He wouldn't care if there were a hundred of whoever were following them. In fact, he might prefer it.

  Stacy didn't, and he was fairly certain Shane wouldn't either.

  “Look,” Shane exercised as much patience as he could. “We have to stop this. Here, preferably. We can't let them keep following us and that's just the way it is. The closer we let them get to Bossman's place, the easier it will be for them to find his place, and us. So stop this shit, and give me workable ideas and not a bunch of biting and scratching. I'd really like to make it today, and maybe sleep without an eye open tonight.”

  “Easiest thing to do is booby trap an area behind us and let them drive into it,” Kevin Bodee offered a simple solution. “Remote detonate some C4 on some of these abandoned cars and catch the followers in the blasts. Maybe use Claymores instead, or with them. There's a lot to work with out here on this highway. No reason not make use of it.”

  “Puncture some gas tanks in the blast area,” Stacy Pryor agreed with a slow nod. “Create a FAE (fuel-air environment) type of environment. Even if we don't get them all, we’ll still slow them down if not stop them altogether. And we only risk whoever stays to detonate the explosives.”

  “I’ll do it,” Xavier said at once, surprising no one.

  Shane considered everything for a minute, then nodded once.

  “All right. If we do this with the ambush, we can't run ahead and do it because it's too dangerous for the convoy to drive through all those vapors, assuming there's any gas to be found in these cars,” Shane was tapping the map with an index finger as he spoke. “But . . . someone can get ahead, find a good spot and set the charges. X wants to drop the hammer, but he needs a sidekick.”

  “I’ll go,” Bodee said a second later. “Or stay. Whatever,” he shrugged. “We can find a good place where the cars that died are placed just so and set everything up. We’ll take one of the cop cars and leave you with the other?” he asked Shane.

  “Yeah,” Shane agreed slowly. “Yeah, that's probably best, I guess. I was thinking of using the Hummer since it would be faster, but you guys might need the firepower.”

  “Let’s gather our gear and be on our way then,” Xavier's cultured drawl finished the meeting. “We will notify you as soon as we've located a suitable position. We can use the next mile marker as a bulls-eye and then notify you where we are with the most recent marker we have passed. That will give you an idea where we are.”

  “Works,” Shane nodded, folding the map. “You guys don't work too far ahead, though, okay?” he added. “If we get hit before we can set this up, we may need you to ride in and save the day.”

  “We’ll mind it,” Bodee agreed. “Let’s go, X.”

  ***

  Shane gave the two a five minute head start before starting the convoy moving again. With Xavier gone, Shane had taken the rear guard in the remaining Cop Car. He snorted as he realized he was actually mentally capitalizing the letters in Cop Car. They had jokingly referred to the vehicles as such when they had first . . . acquired them.

  The vehicles in question were two M1117 Guardian Armored Security Vehicles, MRAP security vehicles used by Military Police units to patrol areas that were still contested by irregular forces or rebels. Based on an old armored car design from the 1960s, the Guardians were far too light to stand up to front line combat as an armored vehicle, but were perfect for use by MP units who used them for patrol, prisoner transports and for guard duty at sensitive installations. They were both better and worse than the Cougar MRAP in that the Guardian was fairly heavily armed and easy to maneuver, but was not quite as hardy when it came to surviving such weapons as RPG blasts. As with almost any military vehicle, it was good for some uses and unsuited for others.

  For the small convoy traveling across a broken country, the two Guardians had been a literal life saver more than once. Shane had used them exclusively as lead and trail units for the convoy, and more than once an ambush or trap had been evaded or outright destroyed by the presence of the two units. A convoy like theirs, with so many 'soft' targets, was bound to attract attention in a new world where moving vehicles were now a rarity. Armed with both a heavy and a medium machine gun as well as an automatic grenade launcher, the Guardians were well suited for the job of guarding the convoy.

  And now Shane watched as half that armored component and one third of his trained fighting strength rapidly disappeared down the road to their front. He knew that this was the best option for shaking their followers off, but that didn't mean he had to like it. As weak as they might be when all together, splitting up just made it worse. But needs must and all that.

  “We're rolling,” Shane heard former Staff Sergeant Virgil Wilcox over the radio. Wilcox was leading the convoy now in their armored Hummer which mounted a Browning heavy machine gun. His driver was a nineteen-year-old drifter named Kurtis Montana. Wilcox had been part of the 3rd Cavalry when Shane and his party had moved through Killeen Texas, where Fort Hood was located. The area had been good to their group, adding Wilcox and a few others to their number along with a good bit of equipment and supplies.

  “Roger that,” Shane replied. “Keep it close, people. And be sharp eyed. Things are about to get interesting.”

  The rest of the convoy replied in order. Behind Wilcox in the Hummer came a heavily armored Army semi, an Oshkosh 1070 pulling an equally heavily armored trailer. Two identical trucks followed that one, also pulling armored trailers. It had been primarily these three t
rucks that had caused the convoy to move so slowly, but the cost had been worth it. The lead truck had a trailer loaded to the ceiling with pallet’s of dry goods, MREs, field gear and other equipment that had either been purchased before the Event or . . . liberated from Fort Hood, Texas.

  The two following trucks were carrying trailers equally full of ordnance. Explosives, weapons, munitions, mines, the list was exhaustive as money or thievery could make it. The heavily armored trailers that had slowed them down were a must for transporting such a dangerous cargo.

  Next in line were two forty-foot motor homes, each pulling a thirty-foot box trailer filled with food and personal possessions belonging to the group. One of the motor homes also served as a communications and control vehicle, monitoring as many radio frequencies as possible to see if anyone nearby was talking and, if so, what they were saying. The storage areas of the motor homes were also completely loaded with cargo, making them nearly as ponderous as the semis they followed.

  Behind the motor homes was yet another semi-truck, this one a civilian model, hauling a trailer full of canned goods and freeze-dried foods.

  Next was a flatbed hauler carrying two 4x4 MRAP vehicles, close cousins to the six-wheel variants already in use at the Sanders' farm and acquired from the same source and at the same time. Both vehicles were also loaded full of supplies. Shane would have loved to have had the two Cougar four-wheel drives on the ground, armed and protecting the convoy, but simply lacked the manpower to make it happen. When they had 'found' the two Guardians, he had reluctantly trailered the Cougars until they reached their final destination. The two vehicles were still pulling their weight as they were loaded with spare parts, tools and accessories to keep the convoy vehicles running.

  Another flatbed hauler followed the loaded MRAPs, this one carrying a tarped down armored vehicle with a small attached trailer. This vehicle was a damaged M1133 Stryker ambulance with transmission problems. Initially Shane had balked at wasting one of the few drivers they had on hauling a damaged vehicle, but two of the people who joined them in Killeen were U.S. Army Doctor Captain Jaylyn Thatcher and her husband Roddy, a truck driver. The good doctor had insisted that the armored ambulance still had worth, especially considering that a mechanic with the proper tools and parts could make it operational again and that the ambulance provided a good platform for caring for injured people.