That got a head nod from Gaddis, but Mike turned to me with disbelieving eyes. “Would you have done it, before? Killed him in cold blood?”
I shrugged. “I never got a chance to find out. Think of it as an intellectual exercise.”
Master Sergeant Burghoff gave me an icy stare. “Son, this is no intellectual exercise tonight. You can’t go off plan, and you cannot bail out if the shit opens up. I still say there is no way you are going to endanger my men by going.”
I met his cold blue eyes with a stare of my own. “I don’t have your training or skill, Master Sergeant. I’m just a kid. I can’t operate a radio using proper procedures, or perform more than basic first aid if one of your men is injured. But I can get to that house in the dark without being seen by the security. And I know where all the cameras are located. Or at least, where they were before.”
“And can you kill a man if you have to, Luke? Up close and personal, while they are breathing out their last breath in your face?”
That got an unexpected response, as Staff Sergeant Barlow gave a grim laugh. “Are you shittin’ me, Johnny? This here’s the Traveler. That’s what they call him back home. Gut shot and bleeding out, he killed twenty raiders with a pistol and a knife back in McAlester. True story.”
That was not what I expected to hear. Shoot. I was hoping to leave that story behind.
“Seriously?” Captain Marino asked.
I shrugged. “It was only fifteen, and I used my rifle for some of that. And a grenade. But as to your question, Master Sergeant, yes, I can do that. Done it plenty of times before.”
The darkly tanned man seated to my right seemed to be looking for something in my face. I looked back, hiding nothing.
“Like the captain asked, you going to be able to set aside your beef with the congressman if we let you go?”
“Yes. They have my dad and Sheriff Henderson. I’ll do whatever it takes to get them back. That includes letting McCorkle live, if that’s what it takes.”
So, somewhat against their better judgment, the master sergeant and the captain agreed to let me accompany the scouting mission as a guide. I was to follow the master sergeant’s orders to the letter and not deviate from the plan. So I was in for the scout mission.
And now I was slogging through the cattails, wondering why I insisted on going. There was nothing to be gained by my presence, and I could have easily marked off the camera locations for the six men approaching the darkened house.
It wasn’t revenge, I decided, as I slithered over a log and felt a spider web slide across my darkened face. I tried to avoid noise as I moved but of course, nobody could make any progress that way. So I tried to maintain the pace without doing that herd-of-elephants thing my dad warned about.
These men were just so much better than me that I could only try to avoid blowing their approach. I was at least up to practice using the NVGs, and I think I surprised some of the men when I managed to produce my own set. Not that I had a pair, but that they were the same generation as their own.
We approached at an angle, moving across the carefully sculpted forest bordering the sprawling mansion and coming up from behind and to our right, moving past the vacant and ill-kempt tennis courts and around the darkened pool house. I didn’t tell any of these men, but this was as close as I had ever dared creep back before.
Yes, I’d observed the house from several angles, but only once did I approach past the property line and invade the congressman’s sanctuary. And that was when I knew the congressman was out of town. Dad had dropped me off at the campground nearly ten miles away, and I’d hiked the distance the second night. After that, I spent six hours watching by the light of the full moon as I sketched the layout and the various security features I could make out.
Looking through the green-tinted world, nothing appeared out of place but the house was clearly still inhabited. Just as Captain Marino’s two scouts had indicated. I didn’t know at the time I was making my pitch that they had already crawled all over every inch of the grounds and gave a succinct and detailed report to Captain Marino and the master sergeant.
So we could tell someone was home from the lights and from the smell. The air stank of diesel exhaust and rotting food, probably the trash, and every light in the house seemed to be lit up. This was also reported.
As the men melted into the night in a noose formation around the back and sides of the looming, two-story massive structure, I followed the lead of the Master Sergeant and sank down into the soft, damp earth. We’d had rain earlier that day, and more clouds loomed as we anticipated an additional downpour.
So, we waited for the next four hours as evening gave way to early morning, and none of the men so much as rustled that I could see. I found myself drifting off after a while, and slept in short catnaps that rarely lasted more than twenty minutes. I wasn’t on watch, so nobody gave me any grief about it. I think the soldiers were trading off for some shuteye as well, but nobody said anything to me.
When Burghoff lightly tapped my boot, I awoke feeling…well, I still felt tired. The big sergeant’s face was inches from my own and I could just barely hear his words from that close range.
“Cap called it a go,” he said softly. But without whispering. I noticed none of the words had a ‘s’ sound, and I wondered if that article I’d read about ‘s’ sounds being more easily heard at night had some merit. Maybe it did after all.
The first step, the scout mission, was completed then. I didn’t know how many men guarded the mansion, but I didn’t need that information at the moment. I was dead weight for the soldiers, and I wondered if Burghoff would simply tell me to wait outside. Obviously, they didn’t need my help.
But I saw the master sergeant’s hand beckon in the dark, and I turned on the night vision and gave it enough time to cycle up. The world was still green, but the brighter light sources from just a few hours ago now appeared muted, or dead. The house was bathed in a curtain of darkness now, but one the goggles made penetrable.
By the time Burghoff and I reached the opened back door, two dark shapes lay sprawled under a window. Shoot. I never heard a bullet or any sound out of the ordinary. These guys weren’t just good at their jobs, they were uncanny. I guess multiple tours in places like Afghanistan and Iraq, or Syria and Yemen, made for quite a bit of practice.
Burghoff led me a roundabout route and then ushered me inside. This was a part of the back porch, but an access point that allowed for staff to come and go without intruding on the family’s enjoyment of the rear deck area. Easy peasy, and I was glad my electronic theft of the online building plans might have helped in at least formulating their approach.
The men flowed through the house like ink across a page, and I hardly noted the sound of their suppressed pistols as they eliminated the standing sentries. Whatever the hell they were using, sure worked better than anything we had at the ranch. Maybe they would show Mike how to make those suppressors. Yeah, that was going to happen.
I didn’t see what happened, but suddenly a gunshot, unsuppressed, sounded like a bomb going off across the long expanse of the living room. I hit the floor and drew my pistol, scanning for targets. In just a few seconds, gunshots began to erupt in the blackness like lightning flashing on a midnight sky, and then the roar of dark sky thunder rolled across the green-tinted gloom.
All of the SF soldiers wore subdued cats eyes on the backs of their helmets, something faint enough that they were only visible with night vision, as a way to avoid blue on blue shootings in the dark. That was great, but I saw several forms lacking the glow and I couldn’t tell from my angle if that meant they were hostiles or face on to me. Remembering Burghoff’s admonishments, I stayed low and tried to avoid becoming a target. I heard the dull roar of the suppressed HK417s of the SF soldiers as they transitioned from quiet to loud and cut a swath through the guards.
“Crash” came the call on the radio and I only remembered the meaning of that code word at the last second. I ripped the night visio
n from my eyes and curled into a ball as the flash bang exploded in the middle of the room.
With my back to the blast, I was able to recover quickly and spin, suddenly seeing half a dozen strangers crouched down and trying to reset their overloaded night vision optics. The latest generation didn’t burn out, and shut down for a moment to prevent this from happening. In the flickering glow of the still burning incendiary, I began firing.
I emptied the magazine in my unsuppressed XD, then rolled and crawled across the carpet to huddle behind a massive stone fireplace. I reloaded, replaced my night vision goggles, and prayed I’d done the correct thing by firing. I was certain those weren’t our guys, but I’d also not gotten the master sergeant’s go-ahead to fire either.
I heard a few whiffs, maybe the suppressed pistols, then the men on the net began checking in, their voices sounding more like golf announcers than men just seconds past a pitched gun battle at insanely close range. Finally, I heard a voice ask, “Luke?”
“Here,” I replied, hoping my voice didn’t squeak.
“Good shooting. Now get the fuck over here,” Master Sergeant Burghoff ordered, and he still sounded like this was a practice round at the shooting range.
“Crawling, now,” I said into the mike and slid over to where I’d heard the senior NCO’s voice. He was crouched over another soldier who seemed to be fighting the urge to make a sound. I could see his shoulders hunch, then relax.
“Bobo took one in the leg,” Burghoff said. “You said you got a little first aid training?”
“I do,” I replied, and took the proffered aid kit from the bleeding man’s hands.
“Then help him. And watch our backs down here. We’re headed upstairs.”
“I can go, Burg,” Bobo said, and even I could see that might be a bad idea. The bullet tore out a chunk of flesh on the outside of the thigh, about six inches above the right knee. The bleeding was steady but not gushing, so no artery, but the man didn’t need to be running around on that kind of wound. Unless he needed to, that was. I had a feeling these guys had a lot of experience in having to do just that kind of thing.
“Just be cool. Luke here’s going to patch that up. You know we gotta watch the stairs, anyway. Might as well be you, sitting on your ass.”
Bobo was the nickname for one the younger soldiers, a staff sergeant, I thought. Other than the captain and the master sergeant, the other men were introduced by rank and a nickname. Unless Marino and Burghoff were nicknames too, and we just didn’t get the reference. That could happen, I realized. Not that it mattered now.
As the master sergeant hustled off to rejoin the rest of their group, I got Bobo to continue applying pressure while I tore the wrapper and laid out the bandage. I recognized this as one of the good ones, with all the adhesive in the right spots and a clotting agent in the woven, absorbent material at the center.
“You done this before?” Bobo asked softly, his voice now almost conversational.
“No, but I had a good class. Advanced first aid,” I said, not explaining it was for a merit badge. He didn’t need to know that. Still, I made short work of the chore.
“You need something for the pain? I got some stuff here,” I asked, feeling a little better myself now that the wound was properly bandaged.
“Nah, I’m good for now,” Bobo replied calmly, and I wondered if he might have already medicated himself. I know I would have. “I want to be clear headed in case Burg or the boys need me.”
“Gotcha. Just sit here and we’ll keep an eye on things. You want to watch the stairs or the doors?”
“Doors. No offense, but that’s likely where trouble will come. Nobody but our guys are coming down those stairs.”
“None taken. I think it was a mistake, me being here. You guys are the experts. I just wanted to see this through.”
Bobo was silent for several minutes. So long I didn’t think he was going to reply. When he did, the soft words nearly escaped my still ringing ears. “They got your father. I’d fight Hell if I could get mine back.”
I thought about what he said for a second, my eyes never wavering from the stairs. I heard more shots up there, but no calls or sounds that brought a concern to the forefront of my mind.
“Yeah. I came all this way, you know, crossed the middle of the country to get back. I find out raiders killed my grandpa, and today these fuckers killed my uncle and three other people at the ranch. And that Dad is being held prisoner. For helping the sheriff do a better job of protecting the county. My dad’s what holds us together. We have to get him back.”
“Barlow talked about you. Said you were a good troop. Saved one of his men who was wounded, too.”
“The medic did that. I just arranged transport. And gave them a little cover fire.”
“Luke, from a civilian, that’s a lot. We’re in the business of training forces, you know. Your dad spent some time teaching you didn’t he?”
“Yes, he did. And if we can somehow forget that whole thing about me having the floorplans for this place, or what I was thinking about doing, that would be great. My mom already thinks I’m a sociopath. No need to feed that misguided opinion.”
“Sorry, kid. I think that boat has sailed. Civilians won’t get it, but…hey, it was just a thought, you know? We all have those kinds of thoughts, time to time.”
Yeah, I knew. I think I figured it out, too. At least to my satisfaction. The question had been nagging me for months now. If the lights hadn’t gone out, what would I have done? All that training, and the research, and for what? The truth was, I couldn’t say for sure, but…
I don’t think I would have done it after all. Not Bryce in Chicago, and not Chad here. Not before. Now? Please.
Then Staff Sergeant Benny, the team medic, came down to check on Bobo. He pronounced Bobo healed, and then said, “Nah, just fucking with you.”
“Screw you, Benny. I got another Purple Heart coming out of this.”
“For a paper cut?” Benny teased as he peeked under the bandage, and then added a squirt of something that made Bobo wiggle and gasp lightly. Since the man had endured the pain so far with a stoic demeanor, I didn’t want to know what would cause that reaction.
Finishing his inspection of the wound, he told Bobo to stay off the leg and that Tinker, one of the other men, was coming down to help stand watch until the rest of the force arrived. In the meantime, Master Sergeant Burghoff wanted Luke upstairs.
“On it,” I replied and rose. Pausing, I gave Bobo a friendly pat on the shoulder and started climbing.
Since the lights went out, I’d witnessed my share of really bad stuff and despicable human beings. I was curious to see where a United States Congressman ranked on that scale.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN
I was met at the head of the stairs by one of the other soldiers, this one nicknamed Hammer, and led to the master bedroom at the end of the hall. Since the lights were on up here, I pushed the night vision goggles back on my head and looked around. I spotted three more dead in the halls, all men wearing their underwear and sporting matching headshots.
“Any trouble?” I asked, and the silent soldier just gave me a look that said, Really?
“Guess not,” I muttered and stepped over a corpse. The floors up here, like downstairs, were a blonde walnut wood, and I wondered how hard it was going to be to get the blood cleaned up. Glad it wasn’t my problem.
The layout was exactly like I had envisioned based on the floorplans, except more nicely decorated than I had anticipated. I guess money can buy style after all. Or at least pay for a good interior decorator. Not what I would have done with the place, but my sixteen-year-old tastes were still developing, as my mother would have insisted.
In the bedroom, I found Master Sergeant Burghoff standing over the pasty, hairy form of Congressman McCorkle, and this time he wasn’t swaddled in the American flag like he always appeared on television. No American flag lapel pin the size of a rodeo belt buckle, either.
&n
bsp; No, this time McCorkle was zip-tied hand and foot, and strapped to a massive wooden chair that would not have looked out of place in a museum for French royalty. Instead of the navy blue power suit from some super expensive tailor I would never have heard of, he was wearing tight satin boxers and nothing else.
The congressman was a short guy and had always appeared stocky, but without the suit, he was clearly a little butterball of a man. His belly hung low over his red underwear and appeared capable of lapping over his junk. His man boobs were matted with thick tuffs of gray hair, and the hairy pelt looked like it extended down his belly and across his back in a jungle of wiry gray fur. All in all, not a very visually pleasing picture.
“Congressman,” I said with a nod, trying to hide a smirk. Now was so not the time.
The bound man didn’t so much as look up at my words, since he was busy trying to get Burghoff to cut him loose. Alternating between begging and demanding, really. Not that his cajoling seemed to have any effect whatsoever.
“Sir, you will be detained until such time as a military court has an opportunity to hear your case,” the master sergeant responded in a monotone. Probably not the first time he’d uttered that phrase this morning.
“But you cannot do this. I am a member of Congress. And a representative of the reorganized government of the State of Texas. You have no authority here, and no jurisdiction.”
Wow, already with the law talk. I wondered if that would get him anywhere.
“Bingo,” I heard a voice call from the adjoining room and saw Birdman step through the open doorway. He was one of the unit’s two intelligence experts, and with the other apparently still busy in Nacogdoches, Birdman was working hard to turn up some dirt. And judging from the familiar style of that hardened, metal encased laptop, he was already finding some success.
Walking in the Rain (Book 4): Dark Sky Thunder Page 20
