“Okay, just trying to put some pieces together. Not a big fan of Central Texas myself, but I’ve only been there once. So, you know how to blow stuff up, too?”
Nick grinned like a little kid. “You bet. And I’ll bet you have your merit badge for ANFO already? Am I right?”
“Sorry, Staff Sergeant, I have read about it but never actually mixed the formula. Might be something to think about, though.”
We walked on in silence for some time after that, except for Nick pointing out terrain features and showing me some places where a few gates broke the fence line to a neighboring plot of land. The property to the west belonged to a bank in Fayetteville, Nick said, which earned him a curious look from me.
“Sorry. The guy went bust trying to raise llamas and sheep, and the bank held the note. Been vacant for the last three years or so.”
Nick got a thoughtful look on his face and I had to ask what was wrong. We were standing at a chained gate heading to the other property and he just waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the barely visible farm house next door. Well, a half mile away, but next door in country folk terms.
“Leslie and I were saving up to make an offer on the place. Only eighty acres but a nice property and the house looks like it’s still in good shape. Move out of our apartment and make a go of it part –time while I kept working in town.”
“Oh” was all I could say. I thought, incorrectly, that Nick had moved back to the farm after he finished his hitch in the Army. I guess sometimes I still think like a kid too. That did give me an idea though.
“Who owns the property on the other side of the llama farm?”
“Oh, that’s Mr. Laretto. He raises short horn Herefords and does a little farming. Mostly hay and some corn I think since he uses it for feed. What are you thinking?”
“That we don’t need a vacant plot between the two farms. That just gives raiders a place to infiltrate both your properties. But I don’t know how to fix that.”
Nick seemed to be deep in thought again.
“Maybe I do. We can talk about it later. Let’s get this done and I’ll show you the stands we are using for watch.”
We walked quietly for another twenty minutes until I could see the fence line running along the back of the property. More properly, this was a tree line. The back field, the one currently planted in clover, bordered a heavily wooded area that Nick explained was owned by a timber company.
The forest actually seemed to encroach on the field and I saw this was a case of the canny farmers leaving a few trees behind to shade their cattle when the field was used as a pasture. We did the same thing at home. The trees cooled off the cattle in summer and kept them from heading across the fence in search of shade. This little strip of property was not cultivated, and the sacrifice was offset by not having to build a larger, sturdier fence along the back edge of the farm.
As we drew closer to the back boundary Nick pointed to a shortleaf pine that had a split in the upper trunk about ten feet up. This left a Y shaped space and when I looked closely I could see boards laid across the bottom, making a platform.
“Nice,” I said, pointing, “a tree house.”
Nick started to answer, but a sharp bang coupled with an explosion centered in my chest cut him off.
“Shit,” I mumbled as I hit the ground, falling forward first to my knees and then onto my belly. This caused the burning pain in my midsection to explode again.
I heard a second bang, followed by a staccato boom that made my ears throb. That sounded like 308, so I figured Nick was providing some covering fire. Moving my arms hurt, a lot, but I managed to unsling my rifle and inch forward until the pine gave me some cover. Glancing around for a second, I saw Nick laying in a similar fashion, using a nearby tree trunk to shield himself as he reloaded a fresh magazine into the PRT-91. He chambered a round but held his fire.
“You hit?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“How bad?”
“How should I know? Never been shot before. You get anything?”
“Saw movement when he fired that second round. Just gave him a little something to think about. We gotta get you back to the house.”
“Nah, I think the plate stopped it. Still hurts pretty good. Like I got kicked by a mule in the chest. Don’t think I’m bleeding though.” It hurt to talk, but Nick needed to know my condition. We couldn’t go back, not until we knew the sniper was either gone or neutralized.
Nick got on his handheld and called the house. He got his brother Mark and one of the farm hands, Bruce Collins, headed our way. They’d already heard the shooting and were halfway here on ATVs.
“Negative, Team Four. Go X-Ray and loop. We are right in front of the old fort. Unknown Opfor.”
I listened and learned. We didn’t have four teams, but whoever might be eavesdropping on our communications didn’t know that. I guessed ‘X-ray’ meant by foot and of course ‘loop’ meant flank the position right in front of what had to be the tree house fort. Lastly, we didn’t know how many bad guys were out there.
So, I lay there and tried to learn how to breathe through my ears. Every time I took a breath otherwise, I could feel the pain burn across the center of my chest. So much for impressing the new boss. First day on the job and I get myself shot. Stupid.
I would have to learn to do better. See better. Something. I thought on that as we waited to hear from Mark’s team.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Turns out, I ended up luckier than I had any right to be. The sniper dinged me in the trauma plate, or “chicken plate” as Mark described it, and knocked the wind out of me but left no broken bones. That was good news for me, and the hapless sniper got more bad news when one of Nick’s suppressing rounds actually hit its mark and tore a chunk out of his left arm from elbow to shoulder.
Mark found the sniper curled up in a ball next to his rifle, still trying to staunch the wound. Bruce stood overwatch while Mark performed a quick patch job. I didn’t witness the first aid rendered, but I heard it involved duct tape and a lot of cursing.
As soon as we received the all clear, Nick unstrapped me from my mag carrier rig and got down to my vest. Sure enough, I had a splash of lead dinged on the heavy metal insert over my chest. Getting the vest off was a hard, painful process even with just pulling the Velcro tabs, but I found I could breathe ten times better without the weight.
“That thing saved your life. Mark said the shooter had a tricked out SKS with a 4x scope and bipod. He was obviously going for a heart shot.”
“Fucker,” I muttered, heaving myself up into a sitting position and regretting the move. I started coughing, which really got the spasms going.
“Arms are numb,” I announced, feeling a little woozy.
“Yeah, that can happen. We need to get you back to Aunt Cass and have her take a look at you. Could still have broken ribs. Where’d you get the vest? That’s a Level IIIa with a Level IV insert.”
“Took it off a guy I killed back in Harrison. He didn’t need it anymore.”
“Headshot?”
“No, armhole. I just got lucky. Didn’t know he had a vest at the time.”
“Yep, twice lucky then.”
Bruce came rolling up with a four wheel ATV at that moment and I allowed Nick to give me a hand getting mounted behind the driver. I started to ask for my rifle and gear but Nick just shook his head and asked Bruce to take me to the Doc.
The ride back was agony but I didn’t let out a peep. I’d been hurt worse, hell, I’d carry that scar on the back of my head from the rest stop until I died, but still this was testing my boundaries. You see guys get shot on TV and shrug it off without a thought but even with a vest, the kinetic force had to go somewhere. I was just fortunate the sniper wasn’t shooting a 30-06 or he might have holed the plate. Then my pain would have been over, permanently.
Of course, Amy was there waiting on the back porch when Bruce ferried me back to the main house. I don’t know who told her I’d been shot
but her face was a mixture of shock and concern as I tottered off the back of the ATV and up the steps.
“How bad?”
“I’m fine, but my bullet proof vest needs a new plate. Guy just shot me. No reason. I never even saw him.” Speaking hurt so I was trying to keep my word count down. I spoke through gritted teeth and Amy could tell I was in pain.
“Did you get him?”
“Nick. Bringing him back, I think.”
“I should have been there,” Amy gushed, and tears began to fall. Her delicate features, drawn tight by what I now knew to be borderline malnutrition, began to darken with anger and despair.
“Love,” I whispered, “look at me.”
Amy’s eyes met mine and I saw her shock at my use of the word. Until now, I had tried to evade her attention in the emotional area but now I was admitting my own feelings, uncertain as they remained. I am no expert on love or women, Lord knows, but to me Amy was still too young and emotionally fragile for anything more, but I would no longer conceal how I felt in return.
“There was nothing you could have done. The shot came from the woods, and was completely random. This was like a drive-by. Maybe the locals have a gang and that’s how you get in. I read where some gangs have an initiation where you shoot a complete stranger for no reason. Supposed to show how hardcore you are.”
As Amy paused to think on my words, Cass McWorter swept in to take charge of me. We had been introduced, briefly, the day before but all I knew was she was somehow related to the Keller family. She was a tall, spare woman with pretty grey eyes and a ready smile, and all business this morning as she led me into her makeshift clinic set up in one of the basement rooms.
“Are you a doctor?” I asked as we entered the small, windowless room. Illumination came from LED light fixtures clustered on the ceiling and along the walls. She took a moment to turn up the power and bring all the lights to full brightness. I had to squint.
“No, but I’m all you got. Fifteen years as an RN, and spent my time in a big city ER. Now, let’s get that shirt off and see what we got under the hood.”
Eventually Cass got me stripped down to my shorts and after carefully probing the truly massive bruise blossoming nearly nipple to nipple, she pronounced no broken ribs.
“Everything okay, Doc?” I asked, carefully slipping my undershirt back over my head. My arms still tingled and the motion made my chest knot in agony. Doc McWorter assured me the tingling was nothing unusual given the trauma and should fade shortly. As for the pain, well, she gave me a Tylenol with codeine and another pill, which she said was some type of anti- inflammatory.
Then she continued, giving me a short but thorough physical examination, marking the results down on a handwritten chart but offering no further comments until she finished. As expected, she pulled no punches.
“Luke, you are in dreadful physical condition. You are thirty pounds underweight, malnourished, and borderline anemic. I couldn’t tell before because you insist on wearing those layered shirts and the bulk hides your condition.
“The reason that bruising on your chest is so severe is due to the almost complete lack of body fat under your skin. Son, you really are skin and bones. Is Amy in this bad of shape?” The words seemed accusing, like I’d done a poor job of taking care of my partner.
“I don’t know. I don’t see her with her clothes off,” I mumbled.
“But aren’t you two…never mind. Please have her come to see me when we are done. For now, I am going to get with Hazel and get you on a feeding schedule. You are not to engage in any strenuous activity for at least a month and I want you to go lay down for the rest of the day. You got me?”
I nodded, letting a tight grin split my face. I knew Cass meant well but her orders really didn’t work in the current environment.
“I won’t be hauling hay anytime soon, right? But I can sit in a watch station just as easy as laying in bed, and this farm can’t spare the manpower to coddle me. I appreciate your concern, and I will take it easy, but right now I need to go check in with my boss.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“You don’t really need to go,” Darwin Keller repeated, his weathered features turned red in real distress. Once again I was seated in the Keller study, but this time the group gathered was much smaller. This was a counsel of war.
Nearly twenty four hours had passed since the shooting incident and the Keller family was still a little freaked out. The man who shot me, Murray (I still don’t know if that is a first or last name), was on day two of a three day scouting mission aimed specifically at this farm. Though I didn’t participate in the interrogation, I learned a good deal of second hand information. For one thing, my shooting had been in error, a panicked response when the sniper mistakenly thought I’d spotted his hide. I didn’t ask about Murray’s current whereabouts and nobody volunteered.
“Yes, sir. I’ve had a whole day to heal up, and I just listened to the same report as you. Murray claims seven men in the camp, with three ‘guests’. I have to go.”
“But you’re still injured, son, and there’s others that can go in your place.”
I listened and tried not to frown. Word was, Darwin hadn’t been too hot on me joining the security rotation to begin with, though not for the same reason as his brother, Gary. Darwin felt I was too young while Gary thought I was a thief and a liar.
“Mr. Keller, I’ll be fine. The meds Cass gave me are working and I am already feeling better. And I hate to say it, but you will need me out there.”
“Have you seen the movie with Jack Nicholson, Luke? ‘You want me on that wall. You need me on that wall.’” Nick quoted in his worst Nicholson imitation. I could tell he was trying to cut the tension, so I went along with the gag.
“No, sir. Jack’s okay but not a big fan of Tom Cruise. He’s just too much of a pretty boy. I did see that alien invasion movie he did, though. He’s still in good shape for an old guy.”
That got a laugh from the room, as intended, and the mood seemed to shift. Scott Keller, Darwin’s baby brother and a quiet, taciturn man in his mid-forties finally spoke up. Though he was a Keller and showed up at the farm with his eight year old daughter Isabella, he chose to sleep in the barracks with us singles. His daughter shared a bed with Mark’s nine year old, Maya.
“Luke, no offense but we’ve been hunting in these woods our whole life. In fact, I’ve been to that area down by the creek when I was working for the paper mill. Why do you feel like you need to go scout for us?”
Scott spoke in a matter-of –fact, neutral tone that I worked to master for myself.
“Yes, sir. You know the area, and I will follow along happy for your guidance. But, when we get there, you know they will have at least one guard on duty?”
“Of course.”
“Well, no offense, but has anybody else in this room ever had to kill a man in broad daylight with a knife and make the body disappear? Without making too much noise?”
“Seriously?” Mark asked, more surprised than disbelieving.
I nodded, and then waited a beat before continuing.
“It’s not like what they show in the movies. Just slitting a man’s throat, without using a gag, means the guy’s going to make a lot of noise before he dies. Mostly gurgles and hissing, but I learned better to…”
I stopped. Glancing around at the wide eyed stares I was getting, I just shrugged.
“Anyway, I’m not an expert at the job, but I’ve done it often enough to get the hang of it. Remember, most of the time I was out there, all I carried was a knife or a pistol and knife. When you are outnumbered and outgunned, you learn to play dirty.”
“No kidding,” Scott deadpanned, “the DIs demonstrated the proper way to take out a sentry in Basic, but I’ve never known anybody who had to use that type of training. I agree we may need that skill set.”
“Agreed. So, me, Mark, Scott and Luke. Four man team works for me.” Nick said, and the three of us nodded. Scott, despite being ten years older, def
erred to his nephew Nick in the family’s security force. Nick’s training was more recent, and he had been a squad leader in an infantry outfit before going over to the combat engineer slot.
Scott had been a Marine, but as an aircraft frame mechanic, while Mark had been a driver and loader on the M1 Abrams tank during his six years in the Army. When I asked about the length of his first enlistment, he explained what Stop-Loss was, and how he’d been kept on active duty an extra two years. I’d heard the term and still thought it was a stupid idea.
Bruce started to volunteer as well, but Darwin shook his head. Bruce was game and fit enough, but he was Darwin’s age or older. Plus, we needed him here, as Nick explained.
“Bruce, if they get around us, I want you running the defenses here. We will be out of radio range for the hand helds, and no offense dad, but I would feel better if somebody with some experience was holding the line. We’ll hit the camp if they are still there, and ambush the raiders if they are on their way, but God forbid we miss them in the woods.”
“If you’re that worried, why go? Just stay here. When their man goes missing, won’t they just steer clear of us?” Darwin asked.
“No, Dad. Nick is right. We need to mount a spoiling attack, and do it away from here if we can. The four of us can do this, and fighting raiders away from home is a much better option.” Mark’s endorsement along with Scott’s earlier support meant the plan was approved, grudgingly.
As for me, I kept my trap shut, saying nothing more as Nick’s plan received the Keller clan stamp of approval. My previous experiences didn’t involve much in the way of teamwork, so I planned to listen and learn from these guys.
“Alright men,” Nick calmly announced,” we’re on short time here so let’s get geared up and meet at the garage. Be there in thirty minutes.”
Everything I owned not already attached to my body was stored in my bunkhouse footlocker, so getting tooled up would be a breeze. By prior agreement with Nick, I was going in with minimal pack and armed only with knives and pistols. With my bruises, the CETME was staying home. Of course, as soon as I stepped out of the study I found Amy waiting for me.
Home Fires Burning (Walking in the Rain Book 2) Page 4
