Collective Retribution

by Edwards, D. S.

  The soldiers reached the front door and started to come in. Chad raised his rifle and shot the first soldier in the chest, knocking him back and onto the sidewalk. The second soldier ducked around the corner.

  Trucks and jeeps skidded to a stop in the street. Soldiers poured out of them, weapons drawn. Chad and his boys turned and hit the stairs at a run.

  After five flights, they burst into a hallway. Chad felt like a fox cornered by hounds. They reached the end of the hallway. There was no way out. Chad looked out of the window. He felt hopelessness grab hold of him and squeeze. The sound of boots and yelling from the stairwell filled him with terror. Chad and his boys raised their guns and prepared to go out in a blaze of glory.

  A door opened next to them. A thin, white-haired man motioned for them to come inside. They ducked in and he closed the door. Chad listened against the door, breathing hard. No steps coming their way—at least, not yet.

  “Follow me,” said the old man. He led them into a bathroom and pushed on the tiled wall in the shower. A hinged panel swung in. The man shoved Chad, Rick, and Earl inside, and hissed at them through clenched teeth: “Don’t move, and don’t make a sound until I come to get you.”

  With those words the man closed the secret door, plunging them into total darkness. No one spoke or moved. Fifteen minutes later, Chad heard men shouting inside the apartment. Not daring to breathe, he listened as the bathroom door flew open and someone walked in. Then the footsteps retreated. A minute later, he heard the apartment’s front door close.

  They continued to wait in the dark. Hours passed. Chad felt his muscles slowly stiffen. He desperately had to use the facilities just on the other side of the door, but he held on. Finally, the old man returned and let them out of the hole. After each of the fugitives took his turn in the bathroom, the old man led them into his living room and asked if they wanted anything. They all said no. The man motioned for them to sit down.

  Chad spoke first: “Thank you for that. If they’d have caught us, I know they would have killed us.”

  The man responded in a strange, slow dialect. “You are welcome. I hate them!” The man spit. “They are vermin. They are no better than Nazi scum! I hear shooting and yelling. When I hear you run in the hall, I look through peephole. I can tell you are not one of them. Anyone who they are chasing, I know are good people.”

  Chad smiled at the old man. “You are definitely our savior tonight.”

  He smiled back, revealing several missing teeth. “I think I will never see men like those. I live through men like this as boy. They cage us like animal. They kill my sister and mother. American soldier, he save us.”

  Chad suddenly realized that this man was a Jew who’d most likely lived through the Holocaust. “How old were you when the Nazis first came?”

  “I am seven. They come and take Poppa’s things, his works. Then they take us to train and give us mark.” He lifted his sleeve and showed the numbers tattooed on his forearm, next to the Star of David. “When I am eleven, the American comes and he takes me to America.”

  He got a faraway look in his eyes. Chad could see the anguish on his face. “I am only one left in family,” the man said.

  Chad tried to imagine what this old man had gone through. He changed the subject. “We need to get out of here,” he said. “We have some people coming who are going to get these troops out of here and free everyone. But it’s up to us to make sure this is possible.”

  “You wait until dark. At dark it is safe.”

  They talked for hours. When the sun had set and darkness had completely fallen, Chad and the boys thanked the old man and slipped out of the apartment building to begin laying the groundwork for the invasion.

  They kept to the shadows and looked for a place to stash their weapons and hole up for the night. Rick found a dumpster behind a Chinese restaurant. They all crawled in. Chad tossed and turned, drifting in and out of a restless sleep. He had only a vague plan on how to proceed in the morning. He hoped to find someone who could tell him what changes had taken place since they’d escaped, and if they’d have any help on the inside.

  When morning came, the Ellisons stashed their weapons and the dynamite under a pile of old bricks in the alley and ventured onto the street. There wasn’t much chance the soldiers had seen them well enough to give a description, so they could blend in. Chad studied the people walking up and down the street. No one seemed to be lingering or speaking with anyone. Everyone seemed to have someplace specific they were headed. If Chad and the boys acted unsure or acted like they had no place to be, they would probably be stopped and checked.

  “Follow me boys, and keep your eyes on the ground,” Chad said. “Don’t talk or make eye contact with any of the soldiers. We need to find someone who can help us. We’ll head toward our neighborhood. We should be able to get information there.”

  They started moving with the flow on the sidewalk. They were about five blocks from their neighborhood when they came around a corner and walked right into the middle of an altercation between five U.C. troops and three men. The troops were shoving the men and yelling at them in German. The men ignored them and were careful not to look at them.

  One of the soldiers spit on the smallest man. The other soldiers laughed. Another soldier slapped the smaller man across the face, and a third punched the man in the ribs. The man was bleeding and barely able to stand up when two American troops came around the corner and intervened. The U.C. troops retreated, laughing and pointing at the men they had just brutalized.

  The American soldiers brushed dirt off the man and sent him on his way. One of the soldiers looked at the backs of the departing U.C. soldiers and said to the other American, “I don’t know how much longer I can stand breathing the same air as them. I don’t know how, but soon we have to get rid of them.”

  Chad thought these men might be just the ones he needed to talk to. If he was wrong, they would be in serious trouble.

  The Ellisons crossed the street and approached the American soldiers. “Can we talk to you for a minute?” Chad said.

  “Sure,” said the one who’d commented on the U.C. soldiers.

  Chad was about to start speaking when the other soldier asked him a question: “What section are you from? I don’t remember seeing you around here.”

  Chad started to get that panicked feeling again. What should he say? He’d been gone long enough that things might have changed. If they found out he was from the outside, would they turn him in?

  Chad decided he would have to tell them eventually, so why wait? He would get it over with. They didn’t have time to waste.

  “We just came in yesterday afternoon,” he said. “We don’t have a section, and we don’t plan on staying here long. Just long enough to kick the U.C. out and free the people.”

  The soldiers looked stunned, and stood motionless, their mouths gaping. One shook himself out of his shock, looked around, and motioned for Chad and the boys to follow him. He led them into an office building and whispered to Chad, “Look down, and look whipped. If anyone asks, I am taking you in to change your work orders due to health reasons.”

  The soldiers led them through the busy office building. U.C. troops sat at desks, typing on old-fashioned typewriters. People bustled back and forth. The troops led the Ellisons down a flight of stairs and into a windowless room in the basement. When everyone had entered the room, he locked the door behind them.

  “Who are you,” he said, “and what do you know about getting rid of U.C. troops?”

  Chad laid out everything for him, not leaving out any details. When he’d finished, the room was silent. Finally, one of the soldiers spoke.

  “Several of us have begun to organize and make plans to fight back, but there aren’t enough American troops to defeat the foreign forces. There are 4,200 troops in Boise right now. Out of that 4,200, only about twelve hundred are American. Out of that number, we estimate there are at least eight hundred willing to fight and free these people. If we m
anage to win, I’m sure the Americans who are left will fall in line. Based on what you’re telling me, there is a chance we could win. The main problem is, once the fighting starts, it’ll be a matter of minutes before they have air support from Gowen Field. The U.C. has eleven Black Hawks there, and five Russian MiGs. The only way I see this has any chance is if the air support is taken out of the equation. If the attack is supposed to happen at dawn on the day you said, that leaves us only a short amount of time. We’ll have to move fast.”

  Chad breathed a sigh of relief. So far, so good.

  33

  Near the New Mexico–Arizona Border

  Sunday, May 24

  THE SUN WAS HIGH IN THE SKY AND THE HEAT STIFLING WHEN Debbie, Jake, and the Ferrells rode to the edge of a river to let the horses drink and rest in the shade of cottonwood trees. This was the first river they’d seen since they’d left Austin. Debbie wasn’t sure if they were still in New Mexico or if they’d crossed into Arizona. All the landscape looked the same.

  Debbie desperately wanted to dive into the river and wash away the dirt and dried blood. They tied the horses in the shade. Jake lay back on the cool green grass and fell asleep. Debbie excused herself, walked up the riverbank and around a bend, and went under an old bridge. She stripped off her clothes, gingerly waded into the river an inch at a time, and lay down in the icy water. She gasped as the cold water covered her. Her skin tingled, and she giggled with delight. It felt as if she were being poked with a million needles over every inch of her body. She scrubbed herself thoroughly with sand and crawled onto the bank to lie in the grass and let the warm desert sun dry her. When she was thoroughly dry, Debbie scrubbed her clothes on a rock and left them in the sun. She lay back in the grass again and fell asleep.

  Sometime later, Debbie woke and bolted upright. For a minute she couldn’t remember where she was and why she was completely naked. She rubbed her eyes and shook her head. Her memories slowly returned from where she’d locked them in the dark corners of her mind. She redressed, tied her hair back, and headed toward the horses.

  She was halfway there when she froze, straining to hear. Something sounded out of place. It was like distant thunder, only steady and growing louder. She bolted for the horses and her companions and charged in among them, startling Travis and Jake out of a deep sleep. “Grab the horses,” she said. “Hurry, this way!”

  She yanked the reins of one horse and ran toward the bridge, Jake right on her heels. Travis and Stephanie grabbed their mounts and followed close behind.

  “Under the bridge!” Debbie yelled.

  They scrambled beneath the bridge and held the horses close just as the Black Hawk helicopter appeared low on the horizon. Debbie held her breath, not daring to move a muscle. The helicopter flew directly over the bridge, continued out across the desert, and disappeared over the far horizon.

  Debbie took a deep breath and turned to look at her companions. “We’ll have to travel at night,” she said, “until we get into the mountains.”

  They tied the horses to a bridge support and settled in for the rest of the day. When it was completely dark, they set off again. They seemed to be making good time. The landscape changed rapidly. Stark desert with sporadic cactus soon gave way to pinion pines and juniper trees. By the time the sun came up, they were high in the mountains, surrounded by giant, orange-barked pine trees, lush green grass, and abundant wildlife. They jumped a few mule deer, and the occasional gray squirrel chattered down at them from the tree tops. It truly was a beautiful late-spring day.

  They rode along the edge of a clear lake with a bubbling creek flowing into it. Debbie decided it was a good place for breakfast. She dismounted and looked in the creek. As soon as her shadow passed over the water, she saw fish darting away to hide under rocks. The food they’d left Austin with was starting to run low. The Ferrells had been eating more than she’d expected. They’d started to gain some weight back and didn’t look as bony as when she’d met them. Debbie wanted to conserve their food, but she just didn’t have the heart to keep Travis and Stephanie from eating as much as they wanted. Soon they’d have to hunt to have enough food for the rest of the trip.

  “I think we might be able to catch a few fish,” Debbie said. “Who wants fresh trout for breakfast? I saw morel mushrooms growing back on the edge of the meadow we just came through. I’ll pick some while you guys catch some trout.”

  Debbie got a spool of fishing line out of her pack and three small hooks. She broke off a few flexible branches from a willow bush and rigged three makeshift fishing poles. She tied the hooks on the lines and attached them to the poles. She showed Jake, Travis, and Stephanie how to turn over rocks in the soft mud and find worms. She then showed them how and where to catch fish in the creek. Once they started fishing, she walked back to the meadow and picked several pounds of mushrooms.

  By the time Debbie returned with the morels, her “students” had caught nine fish. Jake ran to his mother holding a fat brook trout. “Look Mom, I caught it all by myself!” he said with a full-toothed smile.

  “Great job, buddy. Now let’s build a fire and have some breakfast. What do you say?”

  They built a small fire and cooked the morning’s catch. After breakfast, Debbie suggested they bed down there for the rest of the day and that night. They hadn’t seen or heard any more helicopters, and they needed more food. The further they got back down into open country, the less chance they would have to move around during the day, decreasing their chances for fresh meat. If she could get a deer, they could dry some of the meat and replenish their food stores.

  “What do you think, Jake?” Debbie said. “You want to go hunting with your mom?”

  “You mean it, Mom? Can we really?”

  “Yup, right now, if Mr. and Mrs. Ferrell don’t mind hangin’ out here for an hour or two.”

  “That’s fine with us,” said Travis. “I don’t think I could handle being involved in any more killing. The fishing is as far as I wish to go.”

  Debbie smiled at Travis and got her hunting gear together. She chose to take her Ruger .22-caliber rifle. It was quiet enough to not be heard further than a quarter mile or so. It was also lethal enough to do the job if she got close enough to place the shot behind the ear.

  Debbie and Jake walked off leading her horse, leaving the Ferrells to rest up for the next day’s journey.

  “Are we gonna go back to where we saw the deer earlier?” Jake asked.

  “I think so. At least it’ll be a good starting point.”

  They rode back the way they’d come earlier in the morning. The deer would likely be bedded down for the day on the north side of the ridges. They pulled up next to a well-used game trail, where Debbie dismounted. She knelt to examine the tracks and pointed down toward a small canyon. “These tracks are fairly fresh. They’re all going that way. Let’s tie the horse here and go on foot.”

  The breeze blew uphill, in their faces, as they slowly followed the tracks.

  “Keep your eyes open, Jake. Look in the shade. They’ll most likely be resting there. The sunshine makes them too hot.”

  Jake focused intently on the brush in shady spots. Debbie could tell he was excited. Jake had never been able to do normal father-son activities like fishing, hunting, or camping. He never got to throw a ball around in the backyard with his dad. Jake had very few memories of his father. It made Debbie happy to be able to do traditional “boy things” with her little man. He was growing up so fast. The days of childhood innocence were now gone for him.

  They worked their way deeper down the canyon and into the tangled brush. Jake stopped and tugged on Debbie’s coat sleeve. “There, Mom,” he whispered. “You see ’em?”

  Debbie carefully scanned the dark timber and thick brush ahead. “Where are they? I can’t see them.”

  “Down by the rocks, Mom. Can’t you see ’em?”

  Debbie looked again, focusing on the rocks a hundred yards down the canyon. Then she saw them—three does lying nex
t to a tangle of mountain mahoganies. Another doe stood in the brush fifteen yards farther on. The farthest doe walked toward the three on the ground, rose up on her hind legs, and stomped on the ribs of one of the does, kicking her out of her soft bed. Satisfied with her prize, the intruder pawed the dirt and settled into her newly stolen Mule Deer Lounge.

  Debbie studied the terrain. They would have to work their way in to no more than thirty yards. The Ruger was lethal at that range, but any farther and the small bullet might not have enough power to penetrate the deer’s skull. The terrain directly in front of her and Jake was wide open. There was really no cover capable of hiding them if they stalked in that way. If they came up from the left side of the canyon, the result would be the same. The right side of the canyon was the best option. Fifteen yards from their beds, and ten yards above them, was an outcropping of rock. If they were quiet enough, they would be able to slip up, take a steady rest, and get the job done.

  Debbie tugged on Jake’s coat sleeve and motioned for him to follow her. They slowly backed up the canyon until they were out of sight of the deer. “Keep close to me sweetie, and watch where you step,” she whispered. “They won’t be able to smell us, but if we break even one twig, they’ll be gone.”

  “I’m ready, Mom.”

  “Okay. Stay close.”

  They moved down the ridge and stopped halfway to the rocks. Debbie motioned for Jake to stay put, crawled to the edge of the canyon, and peeked over. The deer were still there. She backed up, and they continued down. When they were even with the rocks, Debbie smiled down at Jake and whispered, “You ready, buddy? I’m gonna let you crawl up there with me. Just make sure you move slowly, and remember, if you can see the deer’s eyes, then they can see you.”

  They crept up to the rocks and looked over the edge. They were a little farther from the deer than Debbie expected, but close enough. She carefully began raising the rifle. The closest deer suddenly jerked her head around, pricked her ears, and stared intently in their direction. Debbie held her breath and sat motionless. The deer finally broke her gaze and turned her head the other direction.