by Mich Moore
board?"
Bosely already had two syringes at the ready. "Ho."
Palladino checked his watch. The time was slipping away from them. "You've got six minutes."
Boseley hoisted Clambake's left arm around his shoulders and pulled him towards Vic who carried the portable surgery kit. "No problem."
Pete and the other DATs gathered to stare at the quarter-sized drops of blood glistening on the road in the streetlights.
Palladino whistled at them for attention. "A lot of bad guys out there, but don't worry. We'll get 'em." Connie's head jerked up and the major froze. Something was stirring behind those Mona Lisa eyes. Bewilderment?
Auggie Smith jostled his arm. "Gene, take a look at this."
The two men walked over to Clambake's truck. Smith fingered two fresh bullet holes in the driver's side door. He pointed past the blown out window to the CB apparatus seated beside the rearview window. The unit was practically in shreds.
"The first bullet took out communications. The second got Clambake in the leg."
"And the third?" Palladino asked.
That is when Bosely walked up and tossed something at them. Palladino caught it in midair. It was a rugged cell phone that would never make a call again. There was a neat hole right through its center.
Palladino's eyes went half-mast. "The eye of the sparrow."
The medic nonchalantly hitched his shoulders. "Show of force. They just wanted to scare him off."
"Yeah," Palladino concurred. "We must be in the right place."
"At the wrong time," Bosely added with foreboding. He began putting his surgical tools back into the various sterilizing chambers inside the surgery kit. "Clambake's gonna hitch a ride with the East St. Louis PD. A blank should be here in thirty seconds."
"Are we ready to roll?" Palladino asked him.
Bosely jangled a ring of loose metal. "Got the keys right here."
Palladino's eyes swept the streets fore and aft. "Then let's get to work." He spoke into his lapel microphone. "Flem, let's go."
After herding the DATs and the horses into the big rig's trailer, Mackey got behind the wheel—Palladino beside him—and pulled out into the deepening night.
They arrived at the target at exactly eight-thirty. The three-story brownstone was located in the middle of the block. The brass at Redstone had persuaded East Saint Louis's mayor to force an immediate evacuation order onto everyone within a ten-block radius. From the looks of it, it had worked. No light shown out of any of the many tall windows and lobbies. The men breathed a collective sigh of relief. Martial law was in effect even in the well-behaved neighborhoods. Curfew was sundown, but you could always count on some knucklehead doing their part to thumb their nose at the rules.
Mackey cut the truck's lights and drove slowly around to the back of the building and parked in one of the five parking slots. Palladino sent Flemish to stand lookout on the roof opposite the target building. Then he had Clayton help Pete and Colleen do a detailed security scan of the building from top to bottom. They turned up several manual locks on the door leading to the basement but little else.
Mackey and Smith comprised the search team. Palladino addressed them. "Check the basement first."
Smith patted his tool belts until he found a stout pair of bolt cutters.
"And take Connie and Daniel and make sure that all of their AV equipment is turned on. Those Redstone engineers are monitoring tonight."
Clayton grimaced. "Snoops."
Palladino fondled the butt of his handgun. "They're just doing their jobs."
Clayton and Smith retrieved the two chosen AIs from the big rig, and the four of them descended the inky stairwell that led to the basement's locked door.
Palladino and Bosely took up casual positions on the brownstone's stoop. From there they could intercept any unexpected visitors while the hot team hopefully located the weapons cache, took pictures and fingerprints, and then set the timed charges. Within minutes, Smith's baritone voice was filling their ears. "Bingo! We've got maybe a hundred SAMs down here. They've got them in freezers."
"Are the freezers working?" the colonel asked.
"Yeah. They're cranking out real ice. Surprised that they've got the juice for this. This area was supposed to have been cut off last month."
Palladino grunted. "They've probably got a generator around here somewhere. We'll have to worry about that one later. Go ahead and set the C5."
"Right."
Palladino began to fidget.
"What's wrong?" Bosely asked.
"Too easy. And the security scan should have turned up a machine capable of putting out that kind of power."
Bosely looked uneasy. "What are you thinking, boss?"
"That those electrons are coming from a power grid. Which means that someone downtown has his finger on the light switch."
"Working with a cartel?"
"Money always talks. Which means that this entire area is probably under Cabo surveillance."
Bosely frowned. "And we're outnumbered."
"Yup."
That was a truly terrible thought. Bosely brightened. "Could be some locals who knew how to reconnect to the power supply. That's happened before."
"Maybe," Palladino replied slowly, not wanting to entirely shut down hope.
A woman's sharp scream, full of pain, split the quietness. It was followed by soft, easy laughter.
Palladino and Bosely stepped down to the sidewalk and craned their necks to get a better look at the entire front face of the building.
"Lights coming from a fourth story window," Bosely whispered sharply.
"Crap," was Palladino's only response.
"You want we should check it out?"
"Hell, no," he snarled back. "But it's in the profile, so ... " He radioed Clayton. "Clay, we've got people in the building. Fourth floor. We're taking Pete. Set the timers on my call in. Do you copy?"
"Copy that."
After a brief three-way conference call with Flemish, the two men and Pete stealthily made their way up the stairs. The power to the upper floors had not been off more than a week, but already the walls were slick with ambient moisture. The interiors were completely dark, and they switched to night vision. When they had finally reached the fourth floor, they waited for more audio cues. They did not have to wait long. Something hit a wall hard, followed by frantic scuffling noises.
Bosely pointed down the hall towards the last door on the right. Palladino acknowledged. They both proceeded to move silently towards the new target, Pete between them matching their slow pace. They reached the apartment and flanked either side of the doorway. Luckily for them the front door was ajar. Palladino signaled Pete to get behind him. The two soldiers withdrew their pistols. Bosely also pulled out his shotgun.
Palladino caught Bosely's eyes and mouthed the word "Now."
Bosely toed open the door to reveal a hellish scene. Bathed in an eerie blue light, the room was alive with pale, naked bodies. Two muscular men had a woman thrust up against a far wall and were taking turns ramming themselves into her. Closer to the them, two males wearing expressions of lighthearted enthusiasm had an Advance South soldier pinned to the floor while a third was busy trying to saw off one of his arms. Lying on the floor in the kitchen were the sprawled bodies of two more enemy soldiers. Spent syringes and cigarette butts lay scattered about the tossed furniture.
Palladino and Bosely stepped inside.
On the colonel's eye signal, Bosely delivered bulls-eye shots to the heads of the rapists and then blew the other three HCs to the floor with center-of-mass blasts from his shotgun. The woman slid to the floor, her hands clutching her stomach. Palladino was at her side in an instant.
"Ma'am, it's all right. You're safe now." He held out a hand to make contact.
She shrieked, "DON'T TOUCH ME!!!" She fell to her knees and then to her belly and began to crawl in short, painful hitches towards a long sofa. A wide trail of blood—and something else—followed her.
"Oh, G
od," Palladino groaned.
The woman reached the stubby couch legs and with one last heave rolled herself underneath. There were a few mewing cries, a gurgle ... and then nothing. Palladino and Bosely exchanged quick, dispirited looks.
Palladino motioned for Pete to stand beside him. The soldier unlocked the DAT's gun bays. Bosely watched him do it but did not say anything.
Palladino gave the AI a reassuring pat on the head. "Pete, search for sheets or blankets. Weapons at ready. There may be others." Pete edged past the carnage and disappeared down a short hallway.
Bosely spat at the body of one of the rapists. "You want them tagged?" he asked.
Palladino pulled a rag out of his pants pocket to wipe his brow. "No. But we'll let the other side know that they've got casualties. They can do collection on the assailants if they want."
The sole surviving Advance South soldier began to writhe and moan. Palladino and Bosely knelt down beside him.
The colonel laid a steadying hand on one bucking shoulder. "Kid, you're losing a lot of blood. We're gonna have to tourniquet that arm, okay, but you're gonna have to hold still."
The young man's eyes rolled around their sockets a bit and then suddenly focused and grew wide. Palladino turned his head. Pete had returned, clutching a beach towel in one arm.
The Advance South soldier cringed. "Oh, my God. Am I in hell?"
"Not yet," Bosely replied.
The front panel on Palladino's jacket fell open to reveal the small patch representing the presidential seal that every American Army officer wore. The wounded soldier saw it. Blood was pumping out of his body, but the young man had enough pep left in him to snarl through gritted teeth,
