Fowley stood up, lit a cigarette, sucked a lungful of smoke. As he spoke, smoke seeped out of his mouth. "We'll have the same basic format. Attack Squad will be out to capture Depot A. The other squads, led by you three and Captains Martin and Hammond, will be set loose to prevent the capture of Depot A. That's all there is to it. Only we won't tell you what Depot A is until the morning."
"Attack Squad will have compasses and maps," Fowley said. "Your Defense Squads will have neither. As usual, your guns are loaded with paint pellets, so be sure everyone is wearing goggles and heavy jackets. Questions?"
Major Forsythe was fuming, but he said nothing.
"What time do we leave?" Bolan said.
"That's changed, too, Cummings," Dysert said. "We used to start at dawn. Now we're starting at three in the morning." He looked at his watch. "That's in a little less than twelve hours. We wanted the sudden change in timing to be an added element of disorientation to the students. They're being notified right now."
Fowley grinned through his stained teeth. "That means you've got less than twelve hours to meet with your groups, get their supplies, eat and maybe catch a nap."
"No time to go home, huh?" Denise said.
"Not really," Dysert said.
Denise looked at Bolan. They both knew that any attempt by them to leave would probably be met with a bullet in the back.
"Great," Bolan said, standing up. "Let's get started."
"That's the spirit." Dysert smiled. He handed Major Forsythe a piece of paper. "Here's a list of those students I want on the Attack Squad. Have them sent to me at once. Colonel Fowley and I will brief them personally."
"Yes, sir," the major said and marched stiffly from the room.
Bolan and Denise were on their way out when Dysert's voice stopped them.
"Just remember," he advised. "Although this is supposed to be a learning experience tomorrow, it should also be fun. The kids have had enough gloom what with the Danby kid murdering his father and now with Harwood's surfing accident. Let's make tomorrow something they'll remember."
"We'll do our best," Denise said.
Bolan smiled. "We'll make it a day we'll all remember."
* * *
"Quit dicking around, Ron, and put a couple of bullets through their fucking heads," Fowley said.
Ron Dysert shook his head. "We can't afford any more deaths or accidents or anything unusual until tomorrow. By then, we'll have our money and be on our way the hell out of here. A million and a half bucks."
"Plus what we've made so far from Godunov."
"And what we invested based on information we got from our kids when they overheard their parents' business transactions. Best stock market tips yet." Dysert chuckled, opened the briefcase on his desk. He removed one of the dozen syringes that lay inside.
Fowley clicked open his briefcase and removed one of a dozen vials. "When we're done with the Attack Squad, they'll be ready to create the kind of diversion that will give us the time to make our transaction with Godunov and get away."
Dysert sighed. "Naturally they'll close this place down after tomorrow. Board it up tight. That's too bad in a way. I'm going to miss it here."
Fowley stubbed out his cigarette and immediately lit another one. "Yeah, I know what you're going to miss. A chance to play grab-ass with the little girlies once they've gone under."
Dysert didn't say anything. He didn't mind Fowley's snideness. Fowley had no sex life whatsoever except an occasional hooker, never the same one twice, which was their idea, not his. Dysert, on the other hand, had plenty of dates, women who were happy to go out with him and to bed. It was just that he preferred little girls.
"You sure you remember how to fly that goddamn plane?" Fowley said. Flying always made him nervous, but especially in small planes.
"I flew it up there, didn't I?"
"How was the runway?"
"Bumpy," Dysert said. "But it'll do. Once we're up, we'll fly low, avoid radar and skim into Mexico. After that, it's just a matter of figuring out how to spend our money."
"And to make another batch of broth to sell to some other country."
Dysert smiled. "Exactly."
The phone buzzed. Dysert picked it up. "Yes, Betty… okay, send them in one at a time."
The door opened and Jennifer Bodine walked into the office. She saluted, smiling happily. "You sent for me, sir? Am I really going to be on the Attack Squad?"
22
Bolan stood in the dark and watched his Blue Team gather. Some swayed sleepily as they shuffled along, others chattered away excitedly, anxious to get started.
There were five boys and one girl on his Blue Team. Teams were selected by lottery, and only from the junior and senior classes.
Denise led the Green Team, Major Forsythe led the Yellow Team, Captain Martin the Black Team, and Captain Hammond the White Team. The Attack Squad was the Red Team. Each team was issued paint pellet bullets to match the color in its name.
"Keep your goggles on at all times," Bolan told his team. "These pellets are relatively safe, but no flying projectile is ever completely harmless. Anyone caught without their goggles will be suspended. Understand?"
They nodded in unison.
Barney Childress was among Bolan's team. He towered above the other five kids.
"Barn," Bolan said, pulling him aside.
"Yes, sir?"
"You pull my name from the lottery?"
Barney hesitated, then shook his head. "No, sir. I swapped names with another kid. I was supposed to be on Captain Martin's team."
"Why?"
"Something you said yesterday after you nailed me in the ring. About surviving. Like you have to make up your own rules sometimes, right?"
Bolan didn't say anything.
"Anyway, I figured of all the teachers here, you were most likely to survive these games, and maybe even capture Red Team."
"Did you also figure I'd be the toughest, make you work hardest, run you till you couldn't breathe?"
Barney nodded. "Yes, sir. I figured that too."
Bolan patted him on the back, let a little smile play on his lips. "Keep your goggles on, okay?"
"Yes, sir!" Barney said, saluting. He joined the others in checking over their equipment.
Bolan saw Denise watching and walked over to her.
She smiled. "Looks like you've got them jumping through hoops already."
"I heard a ticket to be on your team went on the black market for twenty bucks." He nodded at the group of six boys staring at Denise's backside and whispering to one another.
She laughed. "If I'd have known, I'd have looked for a tighter pair of fatigues."
Bolan lowered his voice. "All these sudden changes in procedure must mean Dysert and Fowley are making their move this morning."
"And that this whole thing is just to keep us busy."
"Yeah, us and anyone else who might be watching him."
She looked confused. "Maybe I'm not seeing something, but this is hardly the stuff to be a major diversion. They've got to figure you and I will cut out once things get rolling."
"Maybe," Bolan said. "And maybe they don't need that much time."
"Come on, Bolan, don't play mysterious with me. How do you see this going down?"
Bolan called out to his team. "You finished checking out your equipment?"
"Yes, sir," they chorused.
"Then check it out again."
They did so.
Bolan turned to Denise. "Five Soviet gravediggers have been sent into this area. That means the local Russian big shot, Godunov, is involved. That means whatever Fowley and Dysert have been injecting into those kids' veins, the Soviets are about to take over the candy stand."
"Jeez," she said.
A whistle trilled, its high-pitched sound awakening some of the sleepy students. Everyone turned their attention toward the jeep pulling up in front of the five teams. Fowley was behind the wheel. Dysert was standing up on the passenger side.
"Listen up, troops," Dysert said, beaming at them. "This is the day you've all been waiting for. The chance to show your stuff."
The sense of challenge began to spread through the crowd of kids. They were picking up on the excitement. Their enthusiasm mounted with each exclamation from Dysert.
"We're going to show everyone, especially parents, just what kind of school Ridgemont Academy is. Our excellence in academics has never been challenged, but let's face it, the Fire Eaters haven't had the best football or basketball records. We won't even mention the baseball team, since none of the other teams does."
There was some laughter from the crowd. Those students who were on those teams looked down at the ground, embarrassed.
"But that's behind us now!" Dysert hollered. "This is where you really stick it to them. Prove that Fire Eaters is more than just a name, it's an attitude!"
A roar of approval rose from the kids. Fists waved enthusiastically in the air. "Yeah!" they shouted.
Denise looked at Bolan. "Hell of a speaker, you've got to admit."
Bolan didn't answer. He was looking at Major Forsythe, who stood at parade rest in front of his team, all of whom also stood at parade rest. The major hadn't said anything, that wasn't his way, but Bolan could tell he was still brooding over the changes made in today's format.
"And now," Dysert continued, "for the surprise. Today you won't just be doing a make-believe defense of a make-believe Depot A. There is an actual target." He paused for effect, his smile widening. "The San Onofre Nuclear Power Plant."
Shocked whispers rustled through the group.
"That's right. I've received permission from the authorities to stage this raid. Attack Squad has already started…" he glanced at his watch"…five minutes ago. They have maps and compasses. Your mission is to kill or capture them before they get within striking distance of the power plant. Now according to our scenario, they are carrying a LAW 80 rocket launcher with a five hundred meter range. That means you must stop them before they get within five hundred meters of the power plant."
"Oh, no," Denise said to Bolan. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"
Bolan's voice was cold and hard, his stare fixed on Dysert, who was now smiling directly at him. "Yeah, it means that those kids probably have a real LAW 80 and have been conditioned to actually fire it."
"And that Dysert didn't get any clearance from San Onofre. As soon as their security sees those kids, they'll open fire."
Bolan nodded. "That's his ace. He figures we'll go after them and try to stop them before they're slaughtered. That will keep us busy while they do their business with Godunov and everybody gets away."
"What burns me up," she said, "is that he might just be right."
The jeep spun around and drove away. The kids were all excited and anxious to get on with the game. Major Forsythe looked barely in control of his anger as he started issuing orders.
"Team leaders, on the double," he called.
Bolan, Denise, Captains Martin and Hammond ran over to him.
"This is insane," Captain Hammond said. He was a young man, barely thirty. Bolan had heard students say good things about him.
"Donald's right," Captain Martin said. Martin was about Forsythe's age, and though completely bald, he had a full beard. He wore wire-rimmed glasses. "This is just supposed to be an exercise, not a major assault. This could be dangerous."
"We follow orders," Major Forsythe said. "That's our job."
Bolan and Denise realized the urgency of getting on with the "game." They had to move fast to stop the Red Team before anybody got hurt, and still get back to stop whatever transaction Dysert and Fowley had with Godunov.
"Where do you want us?" Bolan said quickly.
"You and Portland cut through the trees at opposite angles. Tradition has it that the assault force has no faculty leader, so we'll assume they'll follow the trail by the creek. You could catch them in a cross fire before they ever made it to the Pacific Coast Highway."
Bolan nodded.
"Captains Hammond and Martin will go directly to the San Onofre plant and wait for the Red Team in case they get through our forces. I'll lead a chase team right behind them, try to push them toward your teams. Any questions?"
They all shook their heads.
"Okay, then. Make sure the kids keep their goggles and jackets on. They've all been issued protective cups, even the girls, but remind them to go only for chest or back wounds. Let's go."
Denise's Green Team and Bolan's Blue Team split up once they hit the woods. With Major Forsythe leading the chase and Captains Martin and Hammond heading off the attackers at the highway, it looked as if Red Team didn't have a chance. Bolan was still hopeful of wrapping this up and getting back in time to put an end to Dysert and Fowley's plans. Then put an end to Dysert and Fowley.
Bolan and Denise ran through the woods with flashlights, leading the way. A couple of the boys on Bolan's team started to lag after jogging a couple of miles through the thick underbrush.
"Come on," Bolan encouraged. "Let's be the first ones there. Put a blue spot on their jackets for everyone to see."
The two boys rallied for another mile, but then started huffing. They didn't complain or ask to rest but Bolan could see the pace was too much for them. Ordinarily he would have simply rested. But this wasn't anything ordinary. It was a bunch of drugged kids on their way to commit suicide.
Bolan stopped his group. "Two minutes," he said, knowing it wouldn't be enough. The sun was lurking just beyond the horizon, casting enough light that they could see without the flashlights. He ordered everyone to leave them behind. No need carrying the extra weight.
"What's your name?" he asked the smaller of the two tired boys.
"Herbert." He was trying not to gasp.
"You a junior?"
Herbert nodded. His hair was so short his white scalp glowed through.
"You seem younger than the other juniors."
"I'm thirteen. I skipped some grades." He seemed embarrassed by this rather than proud.
"What's your name?" Bolan asked the other boy.
"Daniel." Daniel was overweight by thirty pounds. That he'd been able to run this far was a tribute to Major Forsythe's physical fitness program. But enough was enough.
"Think you boys can keep going?" Bolan asked. "I need the truth."
"Yes, sir," Daniel said. "I can make it. Just needed a breather." He stood up to show he was ready.
"How about you, Herbert?"
Herbert shook his head. "I don't know, sir. Maybe if I could rest just a few more minutes…"
"We can't wait any longer, Herbert."
"Then no, sir. I guess I can't make it." His voice had a little catch in it, a stifled sob.
Barney Childress approached. On one side of him was Laura Menlow, trim and athletic, her blond hair tied in a pony tail, her long legs ready to go. On the other side was Theo Bernstein, as tall as Barney but fifty pounds lighter. His goggles had fogged up and he was wiping them clean.
"Keep your goggles on," Bolan said.
"They're fogged up."
"Tough. Don't take them off for any reason. I'd rather have you run into a tree. Understand?"
"Yes, sir," he said sheepishly, putting them back on.
"They're getting away." Barney pointed anxiously. Then he looked at Herbert and Daniel and said, "Let's leave them. We'll make better time anyway."
Bolan had decided to do that, but hearing the same suggestion from Barney, hearing the cruel edge to the words, the way they so callously dismissed the two boys, made him reconsider. "That what the rest of you want?" he asked.
Theo shrugged. "You're in charge."
"I know that. I'm just asking. That what you all want?"
Laura offered her hand to chubby Daniel. "Come on, Danny. You run with me." She hooked her arm through his and started them off through the woods.
Bolan looked at Barney. The big boy frowned, then shrugged. He reached down and hoisted Herbert over his broad shoulders
in a fireman's carry. "Get his gun," he told Theo, who did.
And they were off through the woods, jogging again, perhaps a little slower than before, but all of them together, each looking out for the other. Suddenly they were something more than when they started out three miles ago.
* * *
The first shots sounded a couple of miles later. The kids were all moving unassisted now, crouching through the brush, traveling quietly. The sun was behind them casting long striped shadows through the forest.
"Damn," Barney said, "Green Team beat us to them."
For a moment, Bolan had forgotten that the students still thought it was a game, an exercise. He didn't see any reason to tell them otherwise yet. The Red Team probably didn't know anything about their LAW 80 being real. They'd probably just been told to fire it and attack the power plant, that it was all part of the game.
"Everybody's goggles on tight?" Bolan asked, tapping his own.
They all nodded.
"Okay. We move slowly. Take no chances. I'll lead."
Another volley of shots boomed through the woods. Birds scattered in a flurry from overhead branches.
Bolan took point and worked his way through the trees, using the continuing sounds of gunshots to muffle his movements.
Then the shooting stopped.
Bolan led the Blue Team closer to where the sounds had come from.
Then they saw the bodies.
"Wow," Theo said, rushing out from hiding. "Look at the red paint. It looks so real. Hey, guys, you can get up now. It's us."
Bolan leaped out from behind the trees and tackled Theo as the boy approached the first body. The two of them skidded forward on pine needles until they bumped into the supine body of the young boy. His chest was red and sticky, his eyes wide open, the sun glittered off his braces.
Theo lifted his head and stared, frozen. "It's Scott. He's… he's…"
Bolan pushed Theo flat against the ground. "Stay here! Don't move." Bolan scrambled to his feet, did a quick recon of the area. When he was satisfied no one else was around, he returned and waved the kids in. "Check out the bodies," he said. "See who's still alive."
Fire Eaters Page 17
