by J. J. Holden
Ethan went to the terminal to wait for it to finish compiling, with his hand on the mouse. “A lot of great intel going out to the Resistance today. The guys in Virginia were almost surrounded, but I found them an exit route to West Virginia. They can hide among the partisan camps in the Appalachians through winter at the very least. I had almost written them off.”
Amber frowned. “Wouldn’t the ’vaders know they left a hole open? Could it be a trap?”
Ethan let out a long, frustrated breath. “Of course it could. But if our people don’t take the chance, they won’t be around to see winter anyway. I’ve been having partisans in Maryland step up guerrilla raids, so the ’vaders are sending some of their Virginia units up there in response. They can’t draw troops out of the cities, at least not yet—they’re barely hanging on in the big cities as civilian survivors and partisans get more desperate and violent. So there’s at least a chance it isn’t a trap. They’ll have to move at night to avoid all those damn helicopter patrols down there, but most of them have a good shot at making it through. As soon as ’vader reinforcements start to arrive, I’ll warn the Maryland partisans to fade away again.”
Amber nodded in approval. She’d learned basic tactics fast, and Ethan had been keeping her briefed as things developed on the ground out there. She’d been a very quick study though she was still learning the fine art of guerrilla strategy. Still, she had learned enough to be dangerous to the ’vaders in her own right if the two of them ever got the hell out of the stupid bunker. Ethan’s successes against the ’vaders had built his confidence. Real-world results proved how sharp his sense of strategy and on-the-spot tactics had become. And Amber’s recommendations showed she was catching up fast.
Ethan sighed. “I can’t wait to see daylight again,” he said, his brow furrowed. “It’s getting to be an overpowering urge, and twice I’ve barely stopped myself from leaving. The last time, I had my hand on the locking wheel before I talked myself out of it.” He put another red pin up on the map, showing a new ’vader field HQ.
Amber frowned. “Yeah… Well, we’ll both go nuts from cabin fever pretty soon, and that’ll put you at risk of making mistakes and hasty decisions. We have to figure something out soon.” She wrung her hands as she spoke, lips pursed in frustration. Clearly, she felt the same way he did.
“I’ve been working on that. Supposedly there’s a Marine Reserves company still operational, originally based out of Harrisburg. I’ve sent word to them to head this way to help deal with Peter’s group and set us free. Harrisburg was a total loss to the ’vaders anyway, so the company was already on the run. They might as well have something useful to do besides dodge and hide.”
“You sent them this way, instead of west toward Gettysburg? But I thought those Michaux Militia folks and the ’vaders in Gettysburg were stalemated? Can you imagine what a whole company of Marines could do for us down there? It could open up the entire front.”
Ethan put his hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. “I know, Amber. I know. Not that there’s really a ‘front.’ But the Michaux Militia can always retreat into their National Forest if they get overrun. If I can’t send them the intel they need to be effective, though, they’ll be overrun anyway. It was a tough decision with no right choice—just the least wrong one, I hope. The good they can do here is real and immediate, and not just for you and me.” God, he hoped he was right.
The computer beeped, loud and annoying. Ethan made an apologetic grimace and Amber rolled her eyes. Their conversation had distracted them both. He grinned at her and turned to the terminal, where he prepared to send out the day’s batch of messages. It took only a minute to get everything set up. Then he hit “Enter” on the keyboard and waited. The damn hourglass came up, of course. No surprise. But then it kept going. And going.
“What the hell?” he muttered, and pulled up a diagnostic routine he’d coded during their copious free time. It took only seconds to find the problem. “It’s not connecting to the main relay antenna. I can’t send out the HAMnet.”
Amber smirked and said, “Isn’t it just a fancy HAM radio? You need a main antenna? What about the little whippy antenna you see on trucks, don’t you have one of those?”
Ethan shook his head. “This isn’t some trucker CB. I need a real antenna, with enough power to reach dozens of other relays all over the region—other people who disseminate the intel I send, even though they can’t make sense of the message. But they know it’s important. If I can’t get the message to them, they can’t rebroadcast it.”
Amber nodded. She knew how important Ethan’s broadcasts had become. But then her jaw dropped, and the color went out of her face. She put a hand on the table to steady herself, and then sat down abruptly. “Ethan, you sonofabitch, don’t you dare go out there to fix this thing. There has to be another way. If they catch you, you won’t be able to send the message anyway, right? Think about this. Please, they might be waiting for you there!” She snapped her jaw shut, realizing she had started to sound desperate.
Ethan gave her a smile, mostly to show he appreciated her caring about him. For some reason, she seemed to be getting mad at that, so he dropped his confident smile. Anyway, he felt no real confidence. He just knew he’d have to “bravo it up” to get her to go along with the plan, and he’d need her to help if he wanted to get it done. Whatever was wrong with the antenna, he’d need her to look up the checklist and run him through it while he was out in the field, looking for damage or failures. If he even made it to the makeshift tower alive in the first place, that is. He had no illusion that a skill at strategy would translate into success in an action like that.
“I’ll be careful. We have cameras everywhere. I’ll need you on the radio, both to run me through the checklist to fix the antenna and to keep an eye on all our cameras and get me safely through the maze of assholes with guns. This is going to happen, because it has to. Amber, I’m going out there, and I am going to fix it. But it doesn’t have to be Mission Impossible. Help me, and it’ll be easy as raiding Blackburrow with a fiftieth-level Shaman.”
That got the reaction he wanted. Despite her inner turmoil, she snorted back a laugh and then let out a long sigh. She always thought his online gaming references were funny, not to mention adorable. “Fine, you win. Just wait until it gets dark if you want me to get involved. It’ll hinder them, and the cameras see just fine at night. Tell me what you need me to do so you can get back in here with me to keep doing your 20s magic.”
Ethan immediately saw the irony of the situation. Before, he could barely get a moment with her as Frank was a constant wedge between them. Now they had all the time in the world together, and of course something else had replaced Frank as that wedge.
Ethan said, “Sounds good to me. Let’s ‘get ’r done,’ shall we?” He pulled up four PDF documents on the computer and squared his shoulders. “Alright, let’s go through these while we wait. They’re manuals on the principles and operation of HAMnet broadband. They show how I connected our routers to the bigger network out there.”
* * *
1900 HOURS - ZERO DAY +31
Taggart looked at his scout, one eyebrow raised, as he considered the man’s report. “So we found another entrance to the tunnel segment they encamped in? That’s excellent. We’ll have to keep eyes on them, soldier. Send two scouts ahead to make that happen. It’s imperative that Black’s forces do not become aware of our presence though. When the trap springs, I want them caught flatfooted.”
* * *
2200 HOURS - ZERO DAY +31
Ethan waited at the entrance of the bunker, listening through his earbud to the radio as Amber kept him updated on his surroundings. “Okay, the last guard is passing you right now. In ten seconds you can sneak out and go north for twenty yards. That’ll put you in the north food forest. Good cover there.”
Ethan acknowledged, and then slowly counted. At ten, he pushed gently on the wooden wall of the escape hatch, swinging it upwa
rd. The hatch was really a wooden box with a mass of vines growing over it, carefully trimmed to let it swing open but still look like the bramble bushes that grew randomly all over the farm when it was down. He crawled out and swung the hatch shut again, restoring the illusion.
“You have ten seconds before the next guard comes around the corner. Get moving!” Amber said through Ethan’s earbud. Perfect; he’d only need about four seconds to make it to the woods, even loaded down with tools and such.
Half crouched, Ethan jogged to the edge of the woods, holding his gear close to keep it as quiet as possible. Then he slowed to a walk and disappeared into the food forest and out of Amber’s direct view until he got to the hilltop paddock beyond. “I made it to cover,” he said simply.
He focused next on crossing the woods in the dark without setting off any Clan trap. The White Stag people hadn’t bothered to risk finding and disarming them, so many traps were still in place, waiting for an enemy. He knew where they all were, in theory, but in the dark, things looked different. It was slow going. He’d move a couple steps, then stop to reexamine his surroundings, comparing small visible details to his memory of trap locations. “Rinse and repeat,” Ethan muttered as he struggled to keep his attention on the task at hand. That had always been a challenge for him, but the terror of being seen and shot, or stepping into a trap, or falling over roots while his tools clattered to the enemy, helped to keep him focused. Mostly. After what felt like forever, he looked up and, to his surprise, found himself almost at the tree line. He looked at his watch and cursed—it had taken nearly twenty minutes to cross the roughly one hundred yard span of the north food forest. He was already badly off schedule.
“I don’t know how special ops people manage this over and over in training. My brain is fried from searching so hard for the traps, and I think I could have crawled just as fast,” Ethan said into the radio.
“Yeah, that took forever,” Amber replied. “I thought maybe I lost you. I think I see you now on the edge of Camera Fourteen’s view. Stay put for a while. Their guard is awake and looking around. Wait until he ducks down for a smoke or something.”
Ethan shook his head. Screw that. It could be quite a while before the guard had to take a leak or light up, and that wouldn’t take long enough to keep him out of view anyway. He had to neutralize the guard without firing a shot. Ethan felt at his hip to reassure himself the taser was still firmly in place. Good, he hadn’t lost it in the woods. He set down his pack and other gear. He’d have to sneak up on the guy, tase him, tie him up, and blindfold him. He wasn’t sure if people could still yell when tased, but he didn’t think so and they were pretty far from the nearest sentry. Then he could safely repair the directional antenna.
“Where is he now, in relation to me?” Ethan asked.
“Inside the paddock, facing toward you. Oh wait, he turned around. He’s walking to the far side. Now he’s staring down the north face of the hill. He’s sitting down now, and lighting a smoke. Good time to move.”
Perfect. With only his knife, pistol, some zipcuffs, and the taser, Ethan moved out of the tree cover and speed-walked up the hill. He didn’t dare run, afraid of drawing the guard’s attention if he made noise, but it didn’t matter; in only moments he was at the simple three-strand cattle fence that faced the food forest, and crawled through. He crept to the small barn with the animals’ feed, keeping it between him and the guard, and caught his breath. Adrenaline had him panting. “Status,” he panted into the radio.
“He’s still smoking. Sitting down, leaning back on his elbows, staring at stars or his bellybutton or something. You’re clear. Be careful. Beginning radio silence.”
He appreciated that. He’d need to focus and didn’t need Amber trying to talk at him until this situation was dealt with. He spared a moment to consider how hard it must be for her, sitting in safety, watching him attack the guard and being unable to help.
Ethan drew the taser and moved out, sliding first to his left, to position himself directly behind the guard, then crept forward. He took a step, paused. Took two steps, paused. Then another, and another pause. The guard took a languid draw off his cigarette, held it, and slowly exhaled. Ethan kept moving. Now he was ten feet from the guard. Six more feet and he could reach the man with the taser. Three more steps…
Ethan’s foot hit a small rock and it skittered across the dirt. Shit. He rushed forward.
The guard’s head whipped around and he leapt to his feet, bolt action rifle in hand. He swung the rifle barrel toward Ethan, his eyes wide with surprise.
Before he could bring the rifle to bear, Ethan grabbed the barrel with his left hand and thrust the taser at the guard with his right. The guard let go of the rifle and jumped back, narrowly avoiding the menacing click click click of the taser, and then raised his booted foot and thrust it into Ethan’s undefended chest. Ethan flew backward, and the rifle went flying as well. The guard rushed toward his fallen foe.
Ethan sat upright and thrust the taser forward. The guard must have seen the move because, without losing momentum, he kicked with his right foot and connected hard with Ethan’s wrist. The taser, too, flew away. Pain shot up Ethan’s arm, radiating from the wrist; his whole arm felt heavy and refused to obey.
Ethan instinctively clutched his wounded hand to his body. The guard didn’t lose a beat, however, and taking a step forward he drove his knee into Ethan’s face. Ethan felt his nose break and blood flowed freely as he saw stars. The force of the blow knocked him backwards so he lay on the ground grabbing his face with both hands, heedless of the pain in his right wrist, while the guard stood over him. Ethan rolled over, panicked, trying to get away from his foe and clear his rattled mind. He crawled to get away, trailing blood behind him.
The guard laughed. “I don’t know who you are, but you done screwed up. Dumbass.” He followed Ethan, kicking him in the ass every other step, which knocked him to the ground. His wounded hand just couldn’t hold him up.
Ethan felt the guard grab a fistful of his hair and cried out as he was yanked upright, onto his knees. “Please,” he begged, and spit out a mouthful of blood. He moved his right hand toward his boot, where he kept his knife—a Ka-Bar fighting knife. The pain in his wounded wrist made it hard to undo the snap holding the blade in its leather sheath, especially with his pants leg in the way, but he fumbled at it while he spoke: “Why are you doing this to us? We never hurt you…”
It worked. The guard paused, and Ethan discreetly tried to free his knife.
“Your leader led the invaders to us. My family was wiped out,” he said, panting, his words pushing into the back of Ethan’s head. “She’s on all your heads. Say goodbye, Clanner.”
Success! The knife slid from its sheath, and Ethan drew it around to the front of his body, and his mind raced through the fog, trying to figure out what to do with the damn thing. Then he felt the guard shift his stance. With a jolt, Ethan realized the man was forcing his head forward and down from behind to put him into a prone position, the perfect position to simply grab Ethan’s jaw with his free hand, twist with both hands, and snap Ethan’s neck.
Ethan felt a surge of adrenaline course through him as his final moment ticked closer. The world seemed to slow down, and his vision crystalized. Every detail of the dirt and pebbles toward which his face was being thrust became clear. Two ants crawled through the dirt, oblivious of the life-and-death struggle taking place over their heads. Somewhere, a mockingbird chirped and the happy sound was completely at odds with Ethan’s situation. It was surreal.
With the knife held like an ice pick, point down, Ethan drew his strength and then, in a sudden burst of effort, let his left arm collapse and flipped over in one fluid movement. He felt his hair tear away from his scalp, a huge clump left in the guard’s hand. He whipped his other hand around at the same time, and felt a thrill of victory as the deadly knife point plunged into his attacker’s right hip. His momentum continued, and Ethan landed on his back with a solid thud that knocke
d the wind out of him.
The guard screamed, eyes bulging in surprise, and his right leg buckled. This left him straddling Ethan. His hands went to the knife and Ethan’s wrist and pried at them with a strength Ethan couldn’t believe.
Ethan felt the bones in his wrist grinding and fire shot up his arm, and heard the “pop” of the cracked radius bone separate from the scaphoid, ligaments tearing with the sound of shredding paper. He lost his grip on the knife.
The guard snarled in pain and fury, face red and contorted, and pulled Ethan’s knife out of his hip. With total clarity, Ethan saw blood ooze from the wound in pulses, in time to his heart beat, and knew he’d bleed to death soon—but not before he could ram the knife down into Ethan with the full weight of his body, and with Ethan’s wounded wrist there was no way to stop it. The guard raised the knife over his head and held it in both hands, point down, and screamed.
Ethan saw his opportunity, his one chance at life. His legs were pinned under the man straddling him, but the rest of him was free. He grabbed the man’s shirt with his left hand and pulled as hard as he could, at the same time sitting up with all the power left in him and tilted his head down. With the combined force of his sitting up while pulling his enemy down toward him, he smashed his forehead into the guard’s nose. Ethan’s face was immediately covered in blood, which geysered from the guard’s ruined nose.
Then Ethan wrapped his right arm around the guard’s back, pulling him down toward him as Ethan fell backward. The guard fell on top of him—and the knife missed.
The guard’s leverage was gone, but he tried to swing the blade toward Ethan’s head anyway. Ethan grabbed his wrist with his left hand, but the guard’s full weight was on him, and he found himself pinned. The guard strained to drive the knife into Ethan’s face or neck. Somehow he got his wounded arm in front of him and used the length of his forearm to thrust at the guard’s neck, trying to shove him away. For an eternity, the two sat locked in that deadly embrace, both wounded, both growing weak from blood loss, shock, and exhaustion.
