Blue Wolf In Green Fire

by Joseph Heywood

  Gus nodded. Service watched his friend work his way up to Grinda, who immediately slid down to Gus’s abandoned position. “That woman killed two people at Vermillion,” Service whispered to her. “She’s shot our undercover. Gus will find him and get help. We’ll stay with her.”

  “Take her now?” she asked softly.

  Service looked at the sky. “Not yet. I want Gus to get to Carmody and I want her to make a move on the wolves. If we get into darkness, we’ll have to wait for first light.”

  “If she stays in place.”

  “She’ll stay,” Service said. She wanted the blue wolf. “Got on your long johns?”

  Grinda smiled. “Long janes,” she whispered.

  Night fell, the wolves did not come, and there was no word from Gus. The woman lay motionless on her perch, her weapon pointed into the clearing below. Service was impressed with her discipline. Only a trained sniper or a psycho could endure this.

  A partial moon threw slivers of light across the hills and valley below.

  Sometime during the night Service saw a glint from where the woman lay, and then the brief red flash of a dot of light on the snow below. He bit his lower lip. She had a laser sight attached to the scope on the rifle. If that dot touched a target, it was going to be dead when she pulled the trigger.

  He had his night-vision device along but couldn’t risk scoping the field below. The slightest glint would give them away, and a shootout in the dark was too dangerous.

  Maybe the wolves would not come back until morning.

  His gut was tight.

  At 6 a.m. he heard the Cessna again.

  It came in low over the hill, passing close to McCants and her team, and fluttered along the length of the valley before banking to the north, climbing and disappearing, its running lights blinking red and green as it disappeared out of sight. Were the wolves moving back? Was it Nantz or Fulsik? It would be useful to know if they had picked up a signal, but he didn’t dare use the radio right now.

  He started to lean toward Grinda when he heard voices shouting below them.

  “Ya fookin’ cunt!” Carmody roared in pain and fury.

  “Yer a bloody obstinate man, Mr. Carmody,” the woman said in a thick brogue. “Ye’ve wasted the walk,” she added icily.

  Grinda was suddenly beside him. “It’s going south,” she whispered, her voice calm.

  A handgun suddenly barked below, belching a muzzle flash.

  Grinda said, “SIG.”

  Her own weapon was already in her hand and she was standing up.

  “I’m tough to hit, eh Minnis!” the woman shouted.

  Grinda was immediately on her feet and shouted, “DNR!” as Service tried to unholster his weapon, stand up, and move a couple of paces to her left to give them separation.

  There were three more shots all at nearly the same instant, and a grunt as Grinda collapsed beside him and slid down into the snow, coming to rest at his feet.

  One muzzle flash from below, two from beside him. He moved his eyes left and right trying to sharpen rod-and-cone night vision.

  “I’m okay, I’m okay,” Grinda grunted from his feet, her breath coming fast. He felt her writhing around against his leg and groaning.

  Snow suddenly crashed behind Service and he swiveled to face the sound. “It’s Gus, it’s me,” his friend said. “That fucking cocksucker, that fucking cocksucker, he took my weapon, the cocksucker.”

  Service kept his eyes on the area below. “Shut up, Gus,” he whispered. “Check Sheena.”

  “I hate that name,” Grinda complained.

  “Grady?” a voice crackled over the handheld. It was McCants.

  “We’ve got two down,” Service said. “Hold your position until we can see. Stay off the radio.”

  Click-click.

  Two shots from Grinda, why? At night you were trained to use a muzzle flash as your aiming point, the theory being that the shooter would be directly in line with the flash, which was the source of the most pressing threat.

  C’mon sun, he told himself, trying to will it above the trees to the east.

  “No blood,” Gus whispered.

  Service peeked down at where Haloran had been, but she seemed to be gone. He heard Gus tell Grinda to relax and stop squirming.

  As the sky began to lighten, Service could see the snowy shelf below. A body was stretched out on its back under some small spruces away from the lip of the area. Carmody? Where was the woman?

  No sign of the fifty-cal or Haloran. He took out his radio. “Candi, we have two down and the subject and weapon are gone.”

  “You want us to come to you?”

  “No, hold your position and keep your heads down.”

  Click-click. She didn’t ask if anybody was dead. In the midst of shitstorm you had enough distractions without worrying about the fate of others.

  Service knelt beside Grinda and began to examine her. “Copping a feel?” she said through clenched teeth and a pained grin. “The vest stopped it,” she said breathlessly. “Middle of my solar plexus. God, it hurts.”

  He felt. “There?”

  She winced. “I wonder what it feels like without a vest.”

  “You don’t wanna know,” he said.

  He looked over at Gus, whose head was covered in blood.

  “Gus?”

  “I found the cocksucker and put a tourniquet above his knee. He belted me when I was trying to help him! Took my piece. There’s no gratitude in this line of work.”

  Grinda tried to sit up but Service pressed down on her shoulder. “Stay down. She’s gone and so is her weapon.”

  Service got on the radio.

  “Candi?”

  “Here.”

  “Any sign?”

  “I think there’s a set of fresh tracks cutting across to the slash on the other side of the opening,” she said. “I can sort of make out a path. The snow was disturbed where someone came down the hill. It looks like a rough landing.”

  “Fell?”

  “Sorry, I’m too far to read it.”

  Service got out his binoculars and eased into a place between two small boulders where he could see and have some protection. He scanned the clearing and saw the tracks. Had she fallen or had she slid down intentionally? He tried to find a blood trail, but couldn’t. Assume no blood, he told himself. He debated calling for backup, but by the time help could arrive, Haloran could be long gone. Six against one should be enough. Except for the damn fifty. If she could get up high, she might be able to pick them off one at a time. But there was no high ground where she had gone; his people held the best ground.

  He keyed in his mike. “Candi, stay where you are.”

  “What if she runs?”

  “We’ll deal with that as it comes. She’s got a fifty and she can use it.”

  Click-click.

  “The light will help us,” Grinda said.

  Service slid down to the terraced area below and went directly to Carmody. His pulse was weak. The tourniquet had loosened. Service retightened it and opened the man’s coat to find a plume of blood spreading down the chest.

  He looked up above and said, “Gus.”

  His friend came sliding down behind him.

  Service cut open Carmody’s shirt. The entry wound was in the high belly. He looked at Gus, who was opening their first-aid pack and pulling out gauze. “All we can do is pack it and maintain pressure,” Service said as he broke open a space blanket and began to work it around Carmody.

  “We’ve got to get EMS in here,” Gus said.

  Service got on the radio and called the Delta County sheriff’s department dispatcher, gave their location, and told her they had shots fired and two down, one of them dicey. They needed EMS and backup and they n
eeded them to run silent. He gave the dispatcher their location, and asked her for a read-back to make sure she had it right. She did, and promised help was rolling.

  “Are you under fire?” the dispatcher asked.

  “Not at the moment.”

  Service tried to think fast as Gus touched his hand to his head and stared at the blood.

  “She’s not gonna be all that mobile with that big fifty,” Service said. “We need to push her, keep her moving, not give her a chance to set up. I’m going to go down the back of the hill and circle around. You stay with Carmody.” Service climbed back up to Grinda, who had struggled into a sitting position and winced as she reached for her rifle case and began to slide out her weapon.

  Service looked at her.

  “We’ve gone way south of south,” she said with a look of resignation.

  Service knew she was right, but they had limited options. He could use Kota to come in below and help him, but Kota’s authority didn’t extend off the reserve. Besides, it was too dangerous. If he went alone, he had only to worry about Haloran. Trying to hook up with Kota would add to the danger and present a potential distraction.

  He slid Gus’s rifle case down the incline to where his friend was still working on Carmody.

  “Take the radio,” Grinda said.

  “No. If I go down, that cuts commo for you and Gus.”

  Grinda nodded and Service helped her over to a rock where she could make a rest for her rifle. He gave her his night-vision equipment. “If this thing stretches into darkness, use it.”

  He had moved quickly down the back of the hill and circled wide of the clearing, approaching from the east. He had been at it all day, taking it slowly and deliberately, and still had not cut Haloran’s trail. He was within a hundred yards of the clearing. Had she set up in the woods on the edge so that she could shoot upward? Possible. Assume nothing, he cautioned himself.

  Service didn’t need to check his watch to know that he had about thirty minutes of light remaining. He had gotten into the cedars on the far side of the clearing and was cautiously crawling forward, checking for movement and taking it slow. Maybe Haloran had fled, but he doubted it. In her circumstances he would find a hidey-hole and wait for an enemy to come to him, take him out, and then move to the next target. When you were outnumbered, the best tactic was to whittle down the odds one at a time until you could get into a superior position. Right now it was purely one on one, and Haloran had the edge because he was in the position of trying to find her. All she had to do was sit tight and wait and he had already seen that she was up to it.

  In the waning light he was about to resign himself to another cold night, but movement to his right caught his attention. He froze, moving only his eyes, and saw a cedar limb shudder slightly, spilling snow. Below it protruded the barrel of the fifty-caliber rifle pointed toward him. The bore looked big enough to shoot a round the size of a walnut.

  The fact that it was pointed in his direction didn’t mean she had seen him. It was too hard to swing such a heavy weapon around. More likely she had it pointed in a general direction. She wouldn’t aim until she had a target to shoot at. He suddenly thought of the red laser and cringed. Assume the worst.

  He lay still, watching the barrel, hoping to see movement.

  “There ya be,” a voice said from behind him.

  Service didn’t move.

  “I wanted the bloody wolf, but you’ll have to do,” Haloran said. “Gracious of you to come alone,” she added. “But I’ve always loved an audience.”

  He tried to quickly assess the situation. She was behind him, how far he couldn’t judge. He had heard no sound from a weapon, which meant she had used the fifty as a decoy.

  He assumed she had another weapon and a round in the chamber. He carefully unholstered his SIG.

  “Youse can have it standin’ like a man, or lyin’ dere like a mongrel. It’s yer choice.” There was no hint of Irish in her accent now. She sounded pure Yooper. How the hell could she sound like two different people, clicking it on and off like a recording?

  “I’ll stand,” he said.

  “Slowly,” she warned. “Use two fingers to grip the barrel of the weapon and hold it up. I want to see the other three fingers pointed up. If I don’t see what I’m askin’ for, youse’re dead, eh?”

  He had just gathered his knees under him when he heard a plop of falling snow and in what seemed like the same instant a shot exploded from the hill where he had left Gus and Grinda. He instinctively threw himself flat, held tight to his weapon and scrambled under a log, taking a load of wet snow down his neck.

  The shot had come from the hill. Good old Gus, he thought as he huddled under the log, frantically piling up snow to help reduce his profile. When he felt secure, he used his hand to cut a small opening in the snow. No sign of her. Maybe she was hit, but he wasn’t going to chance it by moving now. She had already snookered him once.

  He spent the night under the log, trying to remain alert and think warm thoughts, and failing miserably, the cold all through his body like a blood replacement. He moved only when he heard snowmobiles approaching in the clearing behind him. McCants and Gus had waited for daylight before green-lighting help. He would have done the same. Struggling to his feet, he stayed bent over and began to approach the place where he thought he had heard Haloran’s voice. As he got close he saw blood spattered on the snow for several feet.

  Kate Haloran was on her left side, the top of her head gone, particles of brain and bone slung across the snow in a fan shape. A forty-millimeter SIG Sauer was two feet from her hand, mostly covered by snow. Gus’s weapon.

  Simon del Olmo came cautiously through the trees and Service waved for him to join him. Simon looked from the body to the hill.

  “Helluva shot.” Then he bent forward and sank to his knees.

  Service asked for del Olmo’s radio and called Grinda.

  Gus Turnage answered.

  “Great shot,” Service said.

  “Sheena,” his friend said. “Not me.”

  “Can she talk?”

  “EMS is working on her now. She refused to go with them last night when they took Carmody out.” Service could hear admiration in his friend’s voice.

  “Put her on.”

  “Yeah?” Grinda said. She sounded worn out.

  “Thanks,” Service said.

  “Is she? . . .”

  “She’s in custody,” Service said. He would tell her the facts later.

  Grinda said nothing, but he guessed she knew.

  Gus came back on the radio. “Sheena’s got a broken rib, maybe her sternum too. She’s hurting, but she’s tough.”

  “You?” Service asked.

  “Headache. Carmody didn’t have my piece.”

  “I’ve got it. How’s Carmody?”

  “Still alive when he left here. The tourniquet may have saved his life, but it’s probably gonna cost him his leg. He lost a lot of blood, Grady. EMS took him to Marquette. That’s where we’re going too.”

  “See you there, Gus.”

  He took del Olmo to the fifty-cal Haloran had used to divert his attention. The bolt-action weapon was nearly six feet long and had a massive scope attached. He saw harris gunworks engraved on the lower barrel as he bent over to look at the weapon, careful to not touch it. The scope was a twenty-power Leupold MKIVM1, a model developed for the military. The laser sight was built into the scope, controlled by a box attached to the scope mounting. It was a lethal weapon. Service leaned down and saw that the serial number had been filed off the weapon and the area was discolored, suggesting acid had been used.

  The younger officer said, “We had those suckers in Saudi. They’re deadly to twenty-two hundred yards. You guys had them in ’Nam, right?”

  “Not like this,” Service said.
“What we had we jury-rigged on the spot.”

  “Hey,” del Olmo said. “You could be its daddy.”

  It was a discomfiting thought, that things spawned in Vietnam more than thirty years ago were still intervening in his life.

  There were small patches of frozen blood on the snow by the fifty. They followed the drops and Haloran’s tracks to her body. She had been hit twice, once up on the hill and again by the rifle. Had Carmody gotten the first round in her, or had Sheena? Forensics would have to sort it out.

  The younger officer knelt and examined the body. “She’s hit here,” he said, pointing to the right side of the woman’s chest. Service stared up at the hill across the clearing and shook his head. She had come all the way to cover with minimal bleeding. He had seen this happen before with animals and humans. It also explained why she had not pushed on. She was hit and hurting, waiting for somebody to come to her, had crawled into cover to wait, must’ve seen him approaching, left the fifty as a decoy, and worked her way behind him. He wondered whether, if they had all just sat tight, she would’ve died from the initial wound.

  Simon del Olmo patted him on the back. “I predict incoming paperwork, jeffe.”

  Grady Service sat heavily on a log and lit a cigarette, watching his hand shake as if it were not part of him.

  His friend sat beside him, took out a tin of Bullshido Chew and stuffed a pinch into his cheek. They sat quietly for a long time, waiting for others to arrive to take control of the body. In the distance they heard a wolf raise its voice, and a second animal answer. Wolves had settled in the Mosquito Wilderness, his wilderness, and as a cold and exhausted Grady Service sat with his young friend, he wondered what it was going to take to protect the animals from the only predator they needed to fear.

  32

  Grady Service marched into the reception area of the Emergency Services unit at Marquette General Hospital and asked a nurse to point him to the morgue. Minutes later he was standing in a room looking at a wary technician. There were two autopsy tables with stainless-steel tops and a wall of stainless-steel drawers. The room was cold.