Foreign Enemies and Traitors

by Matthew Bracken

  “Americans are in charge, I’m fairly sure,” said Boone. “I think the foreign troops are being run under Homeland Security, so it would go from there to the president. But just in Tennessee and Kentucky, I think. And I think it’s being run out of Fort Campbell, that’s on the Kentucky state line a hundred miles north of us. Now, if somebody else is giving orders to the president—I mean somebody foreign—well, that’s way above my level of knowledge. I wouldn’t have a clue about that.”

  Boone removed a black plastic waterproof Pelican case the size of a big shoebox. The case was the largest item in the pack. He opened its latches and removed a black brick-sized walkie-talkie. The bottom third of the radio was a removable battery pack. A thick rubber-coated antenna was detached from the radio so that it could fit within the waterproof container.

  In the Pelican case there was also a portable GPS unit with a small LCD screen, a digital camera, a cell phone, an infrared aiming laser the size of a television remote control, a small tactical flashlight and a clear Ziploc bag full of AA batteries. There was also a small plastic container full of exotic batteries for the other electronic devices. There was nothing else in the Pelican case. In a separate plastic case, there was a pair of night vision goggles identical to his military PVS-7’s. The backpack also contained dry socks and other spare garments in a waterproof bag, ammunition, folded paper maps, candy, a water bottle, another sausage and two MRE military ration packs.

  Boone held the walkie-talkie, turning it over and showing it to the others. “This is a PRC-148; it’s used for talking ground-to-ground or ground-to-air. And for communicating anywhere else too, using an airplane or a drone as a relay. This was the traitor’s radio for contacting his headquarters, and for receiving his orders.”

  Doug said, “We’d better pull the batteries out of all of this stuff. Any of these things could be used as tracking beacons.”

  “The cell phone and the radio, for sure. But let’s turn on the GPS. I haven’t had a working unit for a long time.” GPS was now encrypted, and the encryption was changed frequently, so old GPS devices without current chips were useless. GPS had become a tightly restricted tool available only to the military and certain civilian industries, after terrorists began programming airplanes to fly bombs into government buildings. GPS plus an airplane flying on autopilot allowed almost anybody to create a poor man’s cruise missile. Besides the government, only airlines, shipping lines and a few other authorized users were now granted access to GPS. The position signals for these authorized civilian users were degraded to only quarter-mile accuracy, to prevent misuse. Only the military had access to the real thing, GPS signal accuracy down to a few meters.

  Boone pushed the power button, and the LCD screen lit up. In a few moments it had acquired its position. He scrolled the menu through screens until he found the map page. He zoomed in until it covered the area surrounding them. “See the dotted line? The trackback was programmed. Jenny, it shows every step of your path tonight. It might even show how the traitor got here, and where his headquarters is. This thing could be a gold mine of information. It’s even got a night vision mode, so the screen won’t be too bright to use with NVGs. It’s a damned good piece of gear.”

  Doug Dolan was already removing the battery packs from the hand-held radio and the cell phone. “What if the GPS can be activated as a tracker?”

  “Not likely,” said Boone. “Out of the box, it’s set up to receive only. There’s no reason for it to be modified to transmit a homing signal—the American traitor that Jenny killed wasn’t on that kind of a mission. He had the radio for sending out his position.”

  Boone knew that Doug was right to ask about the GPS. It was an old Special Forces trick to leave weapons, radios or other gear with electronic trackers secretly embedded in them, where guerrillas would “find” or “capture” them. The Americans could then use these covert tracking beacons to locate the enemy base camps. Boone had done this himself, in Colombia, Peru, Iraq and Afghanistan. Removing batteries provided little assurance of safety. A tracking device could be concealed anywhere, even within the backpack’s frame, or for that matter in the boots that Jenny wore. The bugs could then lay dormant, not turning on and emitting any detectable signal for days or weeks.

  The only assurance he had that no tracking devices were being carried by this girl was the fact that she had killed the previous owner to acquire them. That is, if he accepted Jenny’s story at face value. But it was just too far-fetched to believe otherwise. The infant was the deciding factor. Jenny’s arrival with a baby was too elaborate and bizarre to be a planned operation, designed to locate his tiny resistance cell. Her story of being Hank McClure’s niece fit what he already knew. Finally, he told Doug, “I suppose anything’s possible, but it’s a chance we have to take. I need this GPS for what I have in mind. Okay, here’s the new plan. Can you find Charlie Two without me?”

  “Yeah, I think so…” Doug sounded less than certain.

  “That’s not good enough—can you, or can’t you? Be sure, one way or the other. You’ve made the trip with me a few times: can you find it at night, without me?”

  “With night vision goggles, yes.” Doug pulled the new NVGs from their case and turned them on. A single light amplification tube in the center split into two images and poured green light from both ocular lenses. He held them to his face and adjusted the straps around his head. “You’d better—you have to. Okay, here’s what we’ll do. I’m taking the GPS and the cameras, and I’m going to find Jenny’s ravine. No pack, and no long weapon—I’ll be moving fast, and I might have to move in daylight. The bodies were left uncovered in the open, and that was a big mistake by the Cossacks. We need to take advantage of it. I’m going to take pictures and try to collect some forensic evidence. Wallets, ID cards, that sort of thing. Hair for DNA, maybe. Solid, undeniable proof. If they’ve massacred hundreds of the people from around here, then they’ve crossed a big red line and they can’t go back. They’re taking their counterinsurgency to another level: total scorched earth, no holds barred. This changes everything. After this, it’s a whole new ball game, with new rules. But I need to get the proof, so this is our new top priority.”

  “I’ll go with you,” offered Phil Carson. “I can cover your back.”

  “No, this is a solo mission. No offense, but I’ll be traveling too fast, and I can’t risk your getting injured and slowing me down. That area will be thick with enemy soldiers, and one man means fewer tracks and less chance of compromise. I’ll be at the cave before dawn, day after tomorrow. If I’m not, well…it’s over. What I mean is resistance in Radford County is finished. We can’t operate here any longer, not if Mannville was wiped out. If I don’t make it to the cave, head for Mississippi, to Corinth. But with a little luck, I’ll see you at the cave by tomorrow night, or Monday morning at the latest. Doug, make sure this place is squared away. Sweep your tracks behind you as best you can on the way out, and around the cave. We can’t do anything about the car tracks back behind us, but you don’t want to leave footprints leading from here to the cave. Don’t rush it, be careful, but don’t waste any time either. Doug, listen to Zack and Phil, they’re both good in the woods, right? But you’re in charge.” Boone looked at each of their faces. “Right. That’s it then. I’ll see you tomorrow night, or by Monday morning at the very latest.”

  Boone quickly did a rapid mental inventory of what he was already carrying, and what he needed to take from the car. Night goggles, and both digital cameras. Two frag grenades, with trip wire rigs for hastily setting across his trail in case he was pursued. A small bag of beef jerky and his camelback full of water. His mini escape and evasion kit, as always. For close, quiet work, his .45 caliber Glock 21 pistol, with a threaded barrel ready for its suppressor. His backup weapon was another Glock, the compact version without a threaded barrel. Both weapons took the same ammunition and magazines. He considered carrying an M-4 carbine, but decided that its advantages in range would be outweighed by its
lack of concealability. No matter how he was armed, he could not win a firefight against a squad of Cossacks armed with Kalashnikovs and belt-fed machine guns. The key to survival on this solo operation was keeping a low profile, and that meant using only fully concealable weapons, in case he was forced to cross open ground or skirt the edge of a village.

  The camouflage parka hung nearly to his knees, completely covering his pistol holster. This was an advantage to winter fighting: he could never hide his combat vest, gear and weapons on his body when dressed for summer. The tradeoff was that in the summer, the far thicker foliage and the leaf-covered woods kept him better concealed, even while dressed more lightly and carrying weapons on the outside. Boone didn’t need to carry much, because he was operating practically in his backyard, and he had secret caches of necessities, including firearms, located around the county. It was impossible to walk a mile without crossing a source of water that he could drink through his charcoal filter straw. He could live off the land practically forever in this country. Boone pulled his NVGs down over his face and punched the GPS unit’s backlight down to its dimmest night vision–compatible setting. He clicked the map to the trackback mode and set off at a brisk pace, following Jenny McClure’s GPS trail. Her footprints were also clearly visible in the bright green snow.

  ****

  Phil Carson reluctantly accepted Doug Dolan taking the point position. Boone was gone, but he had unambiguously left Doug in charge. Doug had the new set of night vision goggles, he knew the way to their hideout—and he was a lot younger. But what kind of an operator was he? How good was he at night patrolling, how quietly could he move? Would he find a good path, or would he lead them blindly into impassible obstacles, or worse, lead them into an ambush? Well, they’d find out soon enough. Except for the girl, they were going to be carrying extra heavy loads: their own packs, plus sacks of food and gear brought from Zack’s house.

  They stood in the little clear space behind the Subaru, packing what they would take and leaving the rest cached in the back of the vehicle. The dome light inside the car had been turned on, providing the little area with just enough light to work. The baby was squirming and restless, fussing, threatening to break into a full-throated cry at any time.

  “Maybe I should feed her here?” suggested Jenny. “I’ve got a bottle ready.”

  “Not yet,” Doug answered in a loud whisper while strapping extra bags to his pack. “It’s less than two miles to the cave. The snow might stop anytime, so we have to move out fast and hope it covers our footprints. Save the bottle for if she really gets loud. Zack, help me get my pack on.” Once his load was on his back, he slid his rifle’s sling over his neck.

  Zack said, “Doug, you’ve got night goggles and you know where you’re going, but we’re going to be tripping all over the place behind you. The moon’s down, and even with the snow it’s too dark for us. Once we turn off the car’s light we’re going to be as blind as bats. We’ll be lucky if we don’t get split up and lost. Let me hang this on the bottom of your pack. Your flashlight is too bright, but this one is just right.” He showed them his finger-sized light, removed from his compound bow. Its single LED bulb cast a small pool of red light on the ground. “It’ll let us see where we’re walking, and we won’t lose you. I don’t like to use lights at night, but this is an exception. Nobody else will see this light unless they have night vision or they practically walk into us. We have to take the chance. It’ll be worse for us if we get separated and have to call to each other, or if we’re falling down and making noise.”

  “I don’t know about using a visible light…”

  “Zack is right,” said Carson. “Without a light we’ll have to move too slowly. We’ll be stumbling around like blind men and that means noise, and somebody might fall and get hurt. Then we’ll have a bigger problem, because there’s not enough of us to carry somebody with a busted leg. The red light’s a small risk, but we have to take it. What’s your name again, honey?”

  “Jenny.”

  “Sorry. Jenny, you walk right behind Doug there, close enough almost to touch him. Then Zack—and I’ll bring up the rear.” Carson didn’t ask; instead, he used a positive, commanding voice. It was essential that they not lose one another in the dark. Zack clipped his cigarette-sized penlight to Doug’s pack. If enemy soldiers were out on ambush patrols tonight, the light would give them away. But if they were patrolling with night vision or—God forbid—infrared thermal imaging scopes, they’d be seen anyway, red light or no red light.

  Zack asked Jenny, “Do you want me to take your stuff? You’re carrying the baby. I can take your pack, I can carry it in front of me.”

  “No thanks—I’ve got it. It’s not that much. Really, I can deal with it, if it’s only a couple miles. That’s nothing. I’m used to it.”

  Doug adjusted the dead traitor’s night goggles and pulled his black watch cap back on his head, over the straps. “All right, we need to go. Is everybody ready?” The others nodded their assent. He reached inside the car and switched off its light, and they were plunged into darkness, except for the dim pool of red light behind his feet. He whispered, “I’ll take you across the trail now. Wait for me there right where I leave you. I’ll get the car ready and close this place up, drop the branches again, and I’ll sweep our tracks out. It’ll take me a few minutes. Then we’ll get going. Once we’re out of here, no talking unless it’s an emergency, and then only whisper right into an ear.”

  “Like we’re hunting,” suggested Zack. His small compound bow was tied vertically to the back of his pack, but he held his lever-action rifle at the ready. A pair of daypacks full of food were tied to the sides of his main pack, a compressed sleeping bag was strapped below it, and a ten-pound sack of rice was lashed on top. They were all heavily laden for their short trek, but none more than Zack.

  “Right, like we’re hunting,” agreed Doug, who had grown up in the Maryland suburbs and had never stalked an animal in his life. “That means no shooting unless we absolutely have to. Not unless somebody shoots at us first, and they’re damn close. And don’t shoot just because you hear rounds popping. The bad guys might be shooting at somebody else, or they might be doing recon-by-fire. Don’t fall for it. Don’t kid yourself: once we go loud, we’re probably screwed. There’s hundreds of Kazaks, and only four of us. Make sure you keep that thing on safe, Zack. An accidental discharge could get us all killed.”

  “Do you think I don’t know that?” he responded coolly. Under his breath he muttered to Carson, “Damn Yankee, givin’ me gun advice…”

  Doug ignored him and continued. “We know the Kazaks are around us, it’s just a question of whether they’re running patrols tonight. I’ll be stopping once or twice a minute to listen. Stop when I stop. I’m going to take you guys a little way off from here now, then I’m coming back to sweep up our prints and let the holly branches down to hide the car. Okay? Let’s go.” He led them out into the darkness. The three waited a hundred feet from the vehicle. Doug’s light disappeared under the holly trees, and then reappeared. No one without night vision would be able to see the small circle of light on the ground, unless they were very near.

  Doug returned in a few minutes to where the others waited. He approached them walking backward, feathering their snowy tracks with Boone’s pine bough, then he handed it off to Carson, who was going to walk at the rear of their file. “The car is booby-trapped now: don’t go back for any reason. Not unless I’m with you to disarm it. I’ll try to keep us out of deep snow so we don’t leave too much of a trail. Mr. Carson, clean up what you can of our tracks, but don’t fall behind or lose us. Okay? Okay. Follow me.” They kept an interval of only a yard or two between them, almost touching distance.

  Carson had placed the girl at the second position, where she would benefit the most from the tiny red light. Carrying a baby inside her parka against her chest and a pack on her back would be a challenge, he knew. If she fell, the baby could be hurt, or at least it might start crying
loudly. She must have been made of strong stuff, though, to have endured the past day’s events as she had described them. For that matter, she had to be tough just to have survived the last year in Tennessee.

  Zack needed no help or advice about how to follow along silently; the boy was a born hunter. They made steady progress. Most of their route was under tree cover, zigzagging from woods to tree line to woods, occasionally crossing unavoidable segments of open fields. Most of the terrain was slightly hilly, folded land, up and down a couple hundred feet of elevation. Some of it was steep enough to require bending forward and using hands for balance, or to pull up on roots or saplings. At times they had to slow their pace almost to a crawl when climbing steep, slippery stream banks, or while negotiating thickets and clambering over fences and through deadfall trees.

  After almost an hour, they were ascending a steep slope, the higher side of a small valley. The snowfall was diminishing; the snow on the ground was heavy and wet. Their boots compressed the snow to slush, through to the frozen mud below. Carson knew that four sets of boots would leave a trail a blind man could follow, in spite of his sweeping their tracks when he could. Fortunately, most of the time they were walking through underbrush and bushes, which were obscured beneath bare trees and some evergreens. Otherwise, their trail would be readily visible from the air once daylight came, if aircraft were up and looking. Another inch of snow was what they needed, to obscure their back trail, but that was looking doubtful.

  Doug slowed again, stopped, looked around, then whispered, “This is it. Come on up close so you can hear me. The opening is pretty small, so take your packs off here. We’ll have to push them in, one at a time. I’ll go in first. Wait here, and give me a minute to get inside and get some lights turned on. Zack, take your light back now. Use it out here to make sure nothing gets left outside the cave, and see to it our tracks are swept up around here. Okay?” Doug stripped off his pack, went down onto his knees and then onto his stomach. Then he snaked his way forward and out of sight, his boots the last thing seen in the red glow of Zack’s light. The others gratefully downed their own loads and waited, stretching their necks and shoulders. The cave opening was at the bottom of a rocky cliff, which extended vertically about twenty feet from the tree-covered slope. Thorn bushes grew thickly around the base of the rocks, concealing the cave’s irregular angled entrance, which was only about four feet wide and less than two high. The only way in was on one’s belly, the way that Doug had gone.