The Dying Time (Book 2): After The Dying Time

by Raymond Dean White

  Michael almost smiled at Allen’s idea of “real action”, but he kept it in and slurped down the last of the hot chocolate instead. The size of the King’s empire was interesting, though.

  “So the King controls all of the west coast states?”

  “Oh, yes and parts of Idaho and what’s left of Nevada and Arizona. I think he intends to rule the world.” Allen shook his head as if he simply couldn’t imagine such ambition.

  “Well,” Michael said dryly, “unfortunately for him the path to world domination leads through my home.”

  Allen’s eyes were well enough adjusted to the dark now to see the chilling smile on his captor’s face. The more he thought about it, the less he figured Michael was joking.

  “So, Allen, did you come up from Payson or Spanish Fork?”

  What Michael wanted was a line on the Prince.

  “Neither. We were ordered up from Nephi.”

  Of course, Michael thought. Quartermaster stores would be somewhere near the docks. If he’d have thought for a second he would have known that.

  “Do you know where Prince John’s headquarters is located?”

  For the first time, Captain Allen Hoffman hesitated. So that’s where this was leading. Now he was truly afraid. If it ever got out he’d helped this maniac in any way, especially by telling him where he could find the Prince...Allen shuddered.

  “He moves it around,” he answered evasively.

  Instantly the knife was back in Michael’s hand and Allen didn’t like the look of it at all. He suddenly recalled he was much more afraid of this man than he was of the Prince.

  “You know, Allen, I thought we both understood the ground rules here. Now we’ve been getting along pretty good up to this point,” and Michael emphasized the word “point” by pointing the knife at the Captain, “and I’d just as soon we continue that way. So I’m going to explain the rules so there’s no misunderstanding about what I mean when I say I want your cooperation.” Michael’s tone was reasonable, almost compassionate.

  Michael pointed the knife at himself.

  “I ask a question.”

  Michael flicked the knife into the tree so close to Allen’s head that the man felt it shave hair. Allen flinched and his bladder let go. He closed his eyes and tears of humiliation seeped from between them. Michael smelled the urine as he leaned forward and pulled the knife from the tree. For a brief moment, he was ashamed of himself and embarrassed for his captive. The man was a rabbit. In some ways this was worse than slicing up No-Ears. Michael could sympathize with Allen.

  Nonetheless, he wiped the warmth from his face and leaned close, hissing like a rattler and the lightning-like switch from pleasant, almost friendly, to cold and deadly terrified Allen. It was a variation on the theme of good-cop, bad-cop, with Michael playing both roles.

  “And what do you do?”

  Allen swallowed twice before he could get his voice to work. His mouth had gone very dry.

  “I answer it,” he croaked.

  “Fully and truthfully,” Michael added. “No evasiveness. No calculated omissions. Complete and honest answers. You understand?”

  Allen nodded.

  “Good!” Again Allen was impressed by the sincerity of a single word. He means it, Allen thought. He’s really nuts, but he means it. He doesn’t want to hurt me. But he will if he thinks I’m lying. Allen trembled.

  Michael gave the Captain a sip of water: back to good cop.

  “Now, where can I find Prince John?”

  “I don’t know where he is. He’s the Prince and he can go anywhere he likes, but he’s usually at his headquarters. The last I knew that was in Spanish Fork, but he really does move it around, and sometimes he goes back to Nephi to attend Governor Rashid’s parties.”

  That name caught Michael’s full attention.

  “Would Governor Rashid be a skinny bag of bones named Jamal?”

  “Yes, sir, but now he usually just calls himself the Governor.” Allen said, hating himself for calling Michael “sir”. It had just slipped out.

  “Thank you, Allen,” Michael said as he stuffed a gag in the man’s mouth. “Those were intelligent, thoughtful answers. I wish I could trust you just to sit here quietly until you’re found but I don’t think you’d do that.”

  Allen’s eyes widened as he watched Michael take out a hand grenade.

  “Listen, I don’t want you to get into any trouble and I don’t want it to look like you should have done more than you will to escape after I’m gone. So I’ll leave you this excuse to sit perfectly still until you’re found.”

  Michael stuck the grenade between Allen’s legs and pulled the pin. So long as Allen didn’t move enough to dislodge the grenade’s arming lever he would be safe. Michael laid the pin on the ground in front of Allen, where the man could see it.

  “When they find you all they have to do is stick the pin back in and you’ll be fine.”

  Michael pulled Allen’s uniform on over his own. The pants were too loose and the jacket was too tight across the shoulders but it would do. He was just glad he’d made Allen undress before he peed himself. He looked up at the stars. Time to get moving.

  Michael cupped Allen’s chin in his hand and looked into the man’s eyes, observing with satisfaction the tear-filled sense of betrayal he saw there.

  “Trust me,” Michael said. “You’ll be all right.”

  Allen had no way to know the grenade was a dud.

  Michael melted into the darkness, wafting through the woods like a gentle breeze until he was back to his weapons stash. He tuned the dial on the dead Lieutenant’s radio until he heard enemy chatter, then he broke in.

  “Colonel Janko to HQ,” he said with a smile.

  “Headquarters,” came the one word reply.

  “Get me Prince John.”

  “C’mon Colonel. You know I can’t summon the Prince on your say so.”

  Michael’s smile widened.

  “Soldier!” he snapped. “You get the Prince and you get him here now if you know what’s good for you. Tell him I’ve got Whitebear. He’ll come.”

  “Yes, Sir!” The radio operator, a Corporal, turned to a nearby private.

  “Go tell the Prince to get his...” he bit his words off so fast he almost took off the tip of his tongue. He gulped. “Respectfully request the Prince return to the radio room to receive an urgent message from Captain Janko concerning the man Whitebear.”

  “Sure thing, Corporal,” leered the private.

  Less than five minutes later, the private poked his head into the room and yelled, “Attention!”

  The Corporal snapped to attention and saluted just as the Prince strode into the room.

  “Well?”

  “Your Highness, a most urgent message from Colonel Janko. He says he has Whitebear.”

  “Get out of my way,” the Prince demanded as he moved to the console. The Corporal leaped aside, then snapped back to attention. The private wisely removed himself from the room and stood guard outside the door.

  “Prince John here.”

  “About time you got your Royal Ass here. It’s not nice to keep your betters waiting.”

  “Whitebear?” The Prince was stunned.

  “You stupid bastard,” Michael sneered. “You sent a bunch of supply clerks and mechanics to stop me? Maybe you should send the marching band next. I’m still coming for you, Johnny boy.”

  With that, Michael used a piece of twig to jam the transmitter button down. That was two frequencies they wouldn’t be using for awhile. He shouldered the M60 from his weapons cache, picked up a box of ammo and faded into the night.

  *

  The Prince laid the microphone down and stared at the radio. He dismissed the Corporal, then, as soon as he was alone, glanced nervously around. A flush crawled up his cheeks at this first flicker of fear. He decided he would move his HQ to Springville. In fact, he would head up there now. He truly felt like killing somebody, something, anything! His rage erupted as he sped ou
t the door.

  “General Marsh!” he bellowed. Supply Clerks? Mechanics? Goddammed Marsh.

  He still wouldn’t admit it to himself, but for the very first time in his life he was uneasy at the challenge of another man.

  *

  Michael spent almost half an hour rigging his booby traps between the two enemy encampments. Then, making certain he was well outside their crossfire, he launched several grenades inside each perimeter. The blinding explosions were closely followed by screaming men and the sounds of gunfire as the two enemy camps shot at each other. The heavy rattling of the M60 split the night. Someone had wandered into that trap. The gun would fire until it ran out of ammo or the barrel melted. The counterweight the trip-wire had started swinging would play the gun’s field of fire back and forth between the two camps, keeping things lively.

  Michael chuckled softly as he slipped rapidly down the mountainside. That ought to let everyone in the country know he was still alive and kicking, as well as sending a message to the Prince that he’d better start looking over his shoulder. Psychological warfare could be such fun!

  *

  Adam and Bob Young, Daniel Windwalker and a few other officers were wrapping up a conference outside the Allied Command Center in Provo. The night was clear and the stars were intense. Adam had already sent Captain Parsons and his remaining artillery northward to counter the threat from that direction. Daniel’s scouts had been dispatched to ferret out any information they could about the size and composition of the North Threat, as it was being called.

  As the evening wore on and plans were finalized, men left the group, until Adam, Bob and Daniel were all who remained. It was 2:45 am. Bob Young turned his head toward Edge Mountain, which was lit up like a Christmas tree.

  “You think he’s still up there?” Ever since Michael’s crash-landing on Edge Mountain had been reported to him by Faith Gilcrest he’d been concerned about the man.

  “He’s still up there,” Daniel said. “If he wasn’t, they wouldn’t still be there.”

  Adam chuckled. “Wherever he is, it looks like he tied up better than a battalion today.”

  Both of the others smiled at that. There had been reports of sporadic firing from Edge Mountain all day.

  A pair of bright flashes appeared on the mountain, followed by the twinkling lights of gunfire too far away to be heard.

  “What the hell?” asked Bob.

  Adam and Daniel looked at each other, eyes sparkling and their grins widened.

  “I’d say he’s stirring the pot,” Adam explained.

  “I know one thing,” Daniel added with feeling. “I’m glad he’s on our side.”

  “Do you think we should try to send some of your scouts in to help him?” Bob asked.

  “Are you kidding?” Daniel snorted. “He doesn’t need help. I practically had to sit on Dan Osaka and Lady Di today to keep them from charging up there and getting themselves killed.”

  “Maybe they could have brought him out,” Bob insisted.

  Adam laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Bob, you don’t understand men like Michael. I’m not so sure I do either. But I’ll tell you this. Daniel is right.”

  Adam turned to stare at Edge Mountain.

  “Michael doesn’t need help. They do. Hell, I have a sneaking suspicion he’s enjoying himself.”

  Chapter 45: Return of the Prodigal

  Michael stepped out in front of the jeep, forcing the driver to screech to a stop.

  “You crazy asshole!” the driver yelled. “What the f...,” his voice faded as Michael hopped into the passenger seat and the man noticed his Captain’s bars. Oh, shit, I’ve done it now, he thought.

  “HQ and step on it,” Michael commanded, ignoring the outburst.

  “But Sir...” the driver started to protest. How could he explain to this Captain that a full Colonel ordered him to go into town for more cigarettes and coffee. Then he noticed the cold, hard look coming from those strange golden eyes. Made him feel like a bug about to be stepped on. Suddenly, the Colonel could wait.

  “HQ. Yes, sir.” He put the jeep in gear and pulled out, then stomped on the gas when he remembered the Captain had said step on it. Twenty minutes later, he pulled up in front of the church that housed Prince John’s headquarters. The Captain hadn’t said another word, except to command the men manning the barricades at the guard posts to get out of his way. They hadn’t argued with him either.

  Michael climbed out of the jeep and turned to the private driving it.

  “Dismissed, soldier.”

  “Sir!” The man saluted and took off. Something about that Captain gave him the willies. He sure didn’t look like a quartermaster. Those guys were usually soft and tame. This guy looked about as tame as a hungry timber wolf. He put the Captain out of his mind, turning it to more important matters, such as how to avoid having to share that six pack of beer he’d found in a house that morning with his buddies.

  As Michael mounted the steps, the guard at the top saluted and opened the door. Christ, Michael thought, what excellent security. He entered the church. Dollies piled high with boxes of paper and gear were being wheeled out a side door and down a ramp into a waiting truck. Headquarters was obviously being moved.

  Michael wandered toward the offices at the back of the church. Entering a hallway, he noticed an open door. He stuck his head inside what had been the Situation Room. A couple of noncoms were packing papers into boxes and a Captain was putting maps in a briefcase. The officer gave Michael a questioning look.

  “Prince John?” Michael asked.

  “Up at the front, leading the mop-up operation in Springville,” the man replied. The two noncoms left the room, carrying boxes of papers. The Captain continued to shove maps into the briefcase. Michael’s eyes lingered on the briefcase.

  He slid on into the room, closing the door behind him.

  “Could you be a little more specific?” Michael asked as he edged closer. “I’ve got an important message for him from Colonel Janko up on Edge Mountain.”

  “Sorry,” the Captain said, not even looking up from his task. “Try the radio room.”

  “I’ll do that.” Michael was close enough now.

  The Captain looked up from his work. For the first time, he noticed the ill fit of Michael’s uniform.

  “You know,” he sniffed, “if you’re going to see the Prince, you might consider sprucing yourself up a bit.”

  “Good idea,” Michael grinned and your uniform looks like a much better fit. He whipped the stiff, callused edge of his right hand into the man’s neck at the base of his skull. The blow hit with a satisfying smack. Michael caught the unconscious Captain as he fell and dragged him through an open door into an empty adjoining room.

  He returned for the briefcase and that was when he noticed Mariko’s scalp on the Prince’s trophy case. He grabbed it and tucked it in his shirt. An 8x10 photograph of a Hollywood-beautiful, blue-eyed blonde in a heavy gold frame caught his attention. She was wearing nothing but a sexy pout. The inscription read, “With love to my Prince, Ashley.” Michael grabbed the picture and stowed it in the briefcase. Who knows? Might come in handy. He had no way of knowing that Ashley had been John’s favorite toy. Or that she was still horribly, unrecognizably, alive.

  He shut the door behind him as he moved back into the room where he’d deposited the Captain. He swiftly stripped the man. Then he pulled off Allen Hoffman’s clothes and used them to bind and gag the unconscious officer, shoving the Captain into an empty closet. The nametag on the Captain’s clothes read, “Berkhauser” and they were a much better fit.

  Michael strode purposefully out of the church. He gave a hard stare to the only man who even looked twice at him and that Corporal promptly found something else to look at. He walked through the night toward a building that sprouted a cluster of antennas. He’d noticed it on the ride into Spanish Fork and figured it for the radio shack. As he continued toward the building a plan formed in his mind. It would mean ab
andoning his hunt for the Prince temporarily, but he had a feeling Adam Young should know what was in the briefcase. A gut feeling.

  Meanwhile, in Springville, Prince John was climbing into his APC for the ride back to Spanish Fork. In another few hours his staff would have his headquarters relocated, but just now needed to get to the radio room so he could scream at that idiot Janko. John cast another glance at the firefight lights twinkling on Edge Mountain and shook his head in disgust. Couldn’t the stupid shit see his men were shooting at each other? John settled himself in the seat beside his driver. “Communications and move it.”

  Michael returned the salute of the Private standing guard outside the door to the radio shack and went inside.

  The Corporal on duty at the radio jumped to attention as Michael entered the room.

  “Urgent message for Prince John,” Michael growled.

  “Sir!” The Corporal replied stiffly.

  “Beat it, son,” Michael added in a kinder tone, “You’re not cleared for this.” The Corporal snapped a sharp salute and marched toward the door. “And Corporal,” the man paused. “This will take a few minutes. While you’re out, round me up some transportation to Springville. I think the Prince will want to see me after I’m done here.”

  “Yes, Sir!” He saluted again and left.

  Michael opened the briefcase and quickly studied the maps and documents inside. He smiled widely as what appeared to be the Prince’s entire plan of battle unfolded before him. One item in particular caught his eye. The Prince had sent a flanking force around behind Provo. He had to get that information to Adam.

  Michael spun the tuner on the radio. If only Provo had set up a new receiver.

  “Whitebear to Provo,” he called. The reply was immediate.

  “Michael?” The voice was familiar.

  “Bob?”

  “Christ, man, we’ve been worried sick about you. Where the hell are you? How did you come up with a radio?”

  “I’m in Spanish Fork using the Prince’s radio,” Michael whispered. “But that’s not important. This is. The Prince has launched a flanking attack that’s supposed to hit us from the north tomorrow morning.”