The Heart of War: Book Seven of the What's Left of My World Series

by C. A. Rudolph

  George Washington National Forest

  Shenandoah County, Virginia

  Monday, March 14th. Late evening

  Lauren glided into position, concealing herself alongside and behind the moss-covered trunk of a walnut tree. Regrowth in leaves of three, perhaps poison ivy or oak, brushed by her face, but she paid no mind to them. She slid ahead one increment at a time to become one with the Nemesis LMR. Once aligned with the rifle’s optic, the sky opened, and the drizzle of rain became a downpour.

  The moonlight’s ambient dimness shone through the clouds above, and the Harris night vision’s intensifiers made ample use of it. The buttstock kissed the dampness on Lauren’s cheek, and she adjusted the length and cheek pad height, then nestled in, controlling each breath while guiding the reticle to a spot of her choosing.

  The agent had moved away from his team to urinate and was now donning a poncho. A small flashlight between his teeth to light his way through the forest, he was unworried in the moment, calm and unexpecting. He hadn’t a clue that the breaths he was now taking were set to be his last and he was seconds away from dying.

  This weapon setup was new to her. Lauren had never fired the LMR before and had no way of knowing at what distance the optic had been zeroed or even if it had been. Her distance to target was nominal, well within the Creedmoor’s reach per what Jade had revealed, and the breeze barely whispered by, further repealing the need for elevation and wind correction holdovers. The point of impact of her first shot would tell her everything she needed to know. She willed away her trembles, fighting tooth and nail against the chilly trickles of rain for focus as they relentlessly assaulted her body. She inhaled through her nose and guided a breath slowly out and through her lips. Snapping off the safety, she stretched her index finger before sliding it onto the trigger.

  Prior to tugging her index finger inward and ending another life, Lauren forced her eyes shut a moment, feeling an intense, underlying urge. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want,” she began shakily. “He makes me to lie in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters…He restores my soul. He leads me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.” She drew a breath through chattering teeth. “Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for you are with me.” Lauren completed the twenty-third Psalm in near-silent summary, then said, “God, if you’re there, if you can hear me…please forgive me for what I’ve done…and for what I’m about to do.”

  The rifle hiccupped. A millisecond later, the discharged round struck true, and the agent’s body gave out beneath him. His eyes unbolted wide, and he fell with an o-face, rendering little to no sound. Lauren’s point of aim had placed the shot into the base of the agent’s throat through his larynx and vocal cords, hoping that doing so would result in a silent kill, and it had. The rainfall’s tumult had lent a hand, masking the sound of his tumble.

  Lauren cycled the bolt, rotated slowly, and waited, searching for any signs of reaction or movement. After seeing none, she adjusted and brought into view the group of men encamped a football field’s distance away, all gathered together to warm their hands over an exposed campfire—the one providing the heat signature that had given up their position. Finding comfort tonight by the fire would turn out to be a fatal mistake for every one of them.

  She studied the group a moment and chose a target sequence, then performed a dry run while recalling the LMR’s box magazine capacity of ten rounds. She had never been OCD about anything, but this would be the worst of times to lose track or run out of ammunition. Her second dry run complete, her finger found the trigger again. And she once more forced the air from her lungs and exercised another relaxed trigger pull.

  Lauren’s first target reached for his neck and dropped backward into the brush behind the log he’d been using as a chair. The remaining two, now on full alert, hurried to their feet in sheer panic. While scrambling for their weapons, one tried dousing the campfire, first by dumping his drink on it, then by stomping it with his boot. Lauren drove the bolt home, aligned her shot just above his body armor’s collar and snapped the trigger. The round pummeled the agent, shattering his clavicle and boring a golf-ball-sized cavity beside his spine. He gagged, wheezed, fell to his knees, and tried calling for help as he drowned in his own blood.

  The last agent had dropped low and had his rifle pulled to his shoulder. He unleashed a volley of rounds in full auto in multiple directions, while the ensuing muzzle flash strobed the campsite and gave away his position like a beacon. “You sonofabitch!” he cried. “Where are you? I don’t give a damn who you are! I’m going to fucking kill you for this! Do you hear? Come out and show yourself!”

  Lauren sighed. “Shut up and die,” she said, her words a simple, whispered sonnet of finality. She methodically loaded a round and pulled the trigger, sending a final shot into the loudmouth’s exposed forehead. His head recoiled backward as his body flopped over the fire ring, sending sparks, embers and ash into the air and heated stones tumbling to the dirt.

  Lauren took some deep breaths and waited out the adrenaline dump. She set the LMR’s safety and moved the rifle aside, then lay there motionless in the rain, scanning her surroundings through the NVD’s white phosphorus hue for signs of life or motion. After, she stowed them and repeated the motions using the FLIR monocular. The campfire’s vibrant, white-hot heat signature came into view first and foremost, followed by a trio of less vivid, waning ones belonging to the cancelled agents. Pivoting far left, she took into view the first she’d put down, then swiveled clockwise. The image lost contrast, morphing into darker shades of gray until the viewfinder found the pair of parked SUVs and the residual heat from their engine compartments and exhaust systems.

  Once satisfied no other threats or hazards remained in proximity to lie in wait for her, Lauren rose, abandoning the LMR precision bolt gun for the H&K416 slung across her back. She brought the weapon close, checked the chambered round and the safety, and took cautious steps to the scene, minding the diminished traction of wet terrain.

  As she went, Lauren stopped to verify her kills. She disarmed each man fully, removing chambered rounds and magazines from their sidearms and unloading and setting aside their rifles. She then relocated the collection of weapons and ammunition to the backseat floorboard of the closest SUV, which she was surprised to find had been left unlocked.

  Lauren slipped into the front seat and closed the door. She stowed her night vision and waited for the interior lights to dim and fade away. The rain had soaked her to the bone, sparing neither her nor anything she had on. She wrung out what she could from her shirt, used it to wipe her face, and rubbed the moisture from her hands on the vehicle’s upholstery. Then, using the illuminated dashboard’s brightness as a guide, she gave the passenger compartment a once-over.

  The touchscreen display mounted to the dash remained lit even with the door closed and no key in the ignition. Lauren reached out and tapped it with her finger, and the screen came to life, displaying a moderately detailed topographical map of the surrounding area. A blue, wedge-shaped icon sat static in the center of the screen. She tapped the zoom button denoted by a plus sign, and the icon became two, each triangle representing an object of some kind, possibly a waypoint or a vehicle. After a closer inspection of the map’s layout and a drop-down legend, Lauren learned the latter to be the case.

  She leaned back in the seat and collected her thoughts. This interface was somehow being used to track the locations of DHS vehicles, conceivably by means of GPS satellites in coordination with mobile transponders. Something then dawned on her to which Lauren hadn’t given much thought: that satellites might still be in orbit and in working order. Before a moment ago, she’d assumed the EMP had taken out everything electronic irrespective of location, elevation, or whether it had abided within Earth’s atmosphere.

  Another notion occurring to her, Lauren tapped rapidly on the ‘zoom out’ tab to acquire a larger overview of the general area. She le
aned closer and squinted when the screen exposed another icon similar in shape to those representing the vehicles she’d already come upon, but in a lighter shade of blue. Dragging her fingertip over the screen to pan the map, Lauren brought the icon to the center. She then zoomed back in to discover a pair, much in the same manner as before. “Son of a bitch. There are more of you.”

  A lively flash caught her attention through the windshield, causing Lauren to bounce and ready the H&K. The agent she’d shot who had fallen onto the fire ring had smoldered for a while in the rain and was now fully engulfed in flames.

  Lauren didn’t want to be here anymore; she’d done what she had come to do and now knew her next destination. She wasn’t about to wait around for the smell of burning flesh to wind its way through the air. The other vehicles weren’t far, perhaps located at another encampment. By her estimation, it was just over a two-mile trudge in the dark through rugged terrain. Loaded for bear as she was, it would take at least an hour or more to get there. But she’d come this far already, and neither distance nor difficulty was going to dissuade her.

  As she readied to take her leave, she noted a faux-leather folder wedged between the passenger side seat cushion and the center console. Her inherent inquisitiveness getting the better of her, Lauren retrieved it and read the title on the front cover. “Operation Solve for X…” She trailed off, opening it and bringing it to within reading distance. The first few paragraphs didn’t give off much of an air, but the more she read, the more a sickening feeling expanded in her gut. “Jesus…what the hell is this?”

  Lauren read every syllable of every word on every typewritten page front to back with a sense of purpose. She scanned each paragraph from its leftmost side to its right edge and down, left to right again, all the way through to the end, spotlighting on keywords and key phrases marred in despotism. Stratagem. Disarmament. Domination of populous. Die-off. Ruse to entrap, outmaneuver, and circumvent. Skillful avoidance of difficulty. Trick of the trade. False allurements. Distraction. Deception. Roguishness. Illusion. Reclamation of terrain and resources. Forced compliance.

  The policies and principles of tyrants. Matters for which her father had done his utmost to prepare her, and over which he used to obsess. Each reference sent a menacing shockwave through her.

  Lauren reached the end, uncovering a set of pages appearing newer, held separate from the rest. At the top, the title read ‘Addendum: Modifications for Novel Direct-Action Protocol’. The text within served to clarify all that had happened as of late. It explained the missing children. They had been abducted and were set to be used to coerce disarmament and extort uncontested surrender. It detailed the plan behind the vicious air attack employing an unmanned Predator drone loaded with military-grade Hellfire II high explosive air-to-ground missiles.

  The documents within the folder chronicled everything and left out nothing. It covered well the sudden violent escalation of hostility on behalf of their enemy. And it was all here, a typewritten, diabolical manifesto, evidence of every direct violation of civil and inalienable rights, every malevolent step taken against them. It was a quantified declaration of war, right in her hands. And it made Lauren’s blood boil.

  She forced her eyes closed and tensed her muscles, trying to will away the eruption of anger she was now feeling inside. There would be no quitting now, no turning back, no going home until this was finished. Lauren could not allow these horrendous premeditated acts to go unpunished. She had to find a way to kill them all; then and only then would sentence be passed and would vengeance be hers.

  Chapter 36

  George Washington National Forest

  Shenandoah County, Virginia

  Tuesday, March 15th

  “Gentlemen, I think we might’ve uncovered a booty,” Agent Nadler announced on his way back to the fire ring.

  He approached with an armload of ingredients, snacks and the like, all of which had been requisitioned from what could be found stashed away in vehicles, individual backpacks and emergency food kits. He strolled past a row of camp chairs where his colleagues were seated, knelt, dumped the gatherings on the ground, and went about rummaging through them.

  Agent Gil Norris leaned closer to examine them. “Not a bad haul, Trav. Not bad at all. What’s on the menu today?”

  “Eh, a hodgepodge, I suppose, or something resembling one,” he answered, scratching his temple. “We’re running dangerously low on options, as you know. Inventory is slim, getting slimmer by the day. I figure we’ll go with what we have the most of: baked beans and baked beans. But by mixing in these twelve-ounce packs of Lit’l Smokies I found, we should be in for one hell of a treat.”

  “Did you say Lit’l Smokies?” the agent to Gil’s left asked.

  “’Deed I did.”

  Gil cracked a smirk and pretended to rub his belly. “Mmm…beans and franks. It’s been a while since I lulled myself to sleep to the tempo of my own farts.”

  Nadler snorted his humor.

  “Where the hell did you find Lit’l Smokies?” the other agent persisted. “I haven’t seen those since my last trip to a legit grocery store.”

  Nadler casually gestured to the leader of their task force seated in his camp chair on the opposite side of the fire. “It appears some of us have better connections than others.”

  Gil sat up, his eyes tracking across the fire. “Is this true, August? Have you been holding out on us this whole time? Where did you come about this treasure trove of baby wieners?”

  August was slumped in his chair, his arms folded across his beefy chest, chin nearly touching his forearms. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

  His fellow agents laughed heartily at the recognizable response.

  “I guess we’ll keep it under wraps, then, and dine like vagabond royalty in our ignorance,” Gil mused.

  “And fart our royal asses to sleep later,” the agent yet unnamed jeered.

  Gil raised his mug. “Amen.”

  “Gentlemen, wait,” Travis Nadler said, “because there’s more. I’m putting together some dessert for us later that might bolster our morale a tad. Hold your excitement…we’re going to roast some s’mores.”

  “S’mores?” Gil Norris harrumphed. “Conjuring our inner Cub Scout, Nadler?”

  “Better question is how did you conjure the ingredients?” the other agent asked. “I can’t remember the last time I even saw a graham cracker.”

  “Me neither, and we don’t have any. We’ll be using saltines and some hardtack in place of them. It’s kind of the same, I guess. Serves the same purpose.”

  “Not really,” said Gil. “What about marshmallows?”

  “We, uh, don’t have those, either. But we do have sugar, some powdered butter, honey packets, and water.”

  The other agent’s face contorted. “You can make marshmallows with that?”

  “No, idiot,” Travis Nadler shot back. “I’m going to mix it together in a pot, put it over the fire, and make caramel, or a caramel-like concoction.”

  “Sounds…nauseating.”

  Gil sipped from his mug. “And comparatively indigestible.”

  “Give me a break, guys, will you?” Nadler pled. “The chocolate portion will cancel your doubts, trust me. I’m making it using a combo of Hershey bars ganked from MREs, pudding mix and chocolate drink, reduced into a slimy, sweet mess of yumminess. You get the idea.”

  August sniggered loudly, which soon turned into a full-on violent fit of laughter.

  The other agents flashed stares at him, perplexed by his response and what might have been the cause of it. They’d never seen him react this way to anything. He’d always been scarily quiet and reserved and, most recently, a cantankerous, gravely introverted recluse.

  Gil was the first to chance questioning him. “August? You all right over there? I get we’re all overjoyed at the weather clearing, but did you pop one too many Prozacs this morning?”

  August Carter straightened and wiped a tear summoned
by his body’s emotive response from his eye. “Yeah, Gil. About as all right as the rest of you, as any of us can be for the times in our current predicament, as utterly fucked as it is. To be clear, I wasn’t making fun of you guys, just reacting to the level of embarrassment we’ve achieved; dining on what could barely be viewed as the bankrupt equivalent of Lunchables and getting excited over the prospect of hobo s’mores for dessert. All the while, everyone else at the plantation are probably gorging themselves on gourmet goddamn everything.”

  Opener in hand, Agent Nadler went about prying open cans of beans. “We still haven’t heard anything, have we?”

  August sucked his teeth with a shake of his head. “Nope. Not a damn thing. I’ve tried initiating contact twice so far today and received squat in return. We’re officially being snubbed.”

  “Or disavowed,” Gil joked.

  “Well, fuck ’em,” the other agent spat. “Fuck them and the horses they rode in on. I’m tired of this shit. I miss my bed, my shower, and my clothes. I’m getting tired of smelling myself.”

  August waved a hand. “This won’t last much longer, I assure you. I’ve had all I can take, and I know you guys are at your wit’s end. I don’t know what the justification is, and I don’t care anymore. Somebody has some real explaining to do. My men and I want answers. And we’re going to get them.”

  Gil Norris agreed with a nod and rose. “August, you lead and we’ll follow, you know that. Now, gentlemen, if all of you will excuse me for a few, I need to drop a morning deuce.”

  “Hey, Gil?” August halted him. “After you’re done pleasuring yourself, do a spot check on our security elements. Let those boys know the lunch bell will be ringing before long. Oh, and wash your hands.”

  Gil shot August a salute and rotated away. “Will do. Got to locate the soap, though. Be back in five, ten, or something.”

  August watched Gil disappear into the trees, and rotated back to observe the fire and the two agents across from him. He’d never felt this lost before. This mission should have come to a close days ago. There was no sense in his task force being held here, surviving on the vestiges of what remained of their food supply, wearing clothes they’d had on for days, all without a single clue as to why and no explanation as to what the hell was going on.