Praying for War: The Collin War Chronicles

by W. C. Hoffman

  “How far is the farmland from here?” Collin asked.

  “We had a range finder, before some dumbass broke it,” Major Logan said. “According to the measurements we took, the near side of the field is six hundred meters and the far side is just over two thousand meters away. We’re looking at a range of roughly seven hundred fifty meters for the crate. Which is why I deploy the Barrett up here.”

  Collin grunted. He didn’t think it was likely that Major Logan could shoot two thousand meters accurately, but less than a thousand meters shouldn’t be too difficult. Collin wondered if he was still proficient. Considering he hadn’t fired a rifle in almost two decades, if not longer, it was unlikely. Marksmanship, especially for snipers, required consistent training to maintain proficiency.

  Probably why Major Logan made me spotter, Collin thought.

  The two men lay on their respective shooting mats and scanned the valley below for Vipers. Given the dam’s height and the wider valley before them, the view was incredible. Having the dam was a major tactical advantage.

  Collin clearly understood why the Vipers had felled the trees before rolling out their armored contraption to hijack the previous medical crate. Quite ingenious really.

  After a scan of the tree line around the fields, Collin noticed people making their way toward the church for Sunday service. He had no reason to keep track of days but it was obvious when it was Sunday. Nothing of interest there, so Collin moved on to check out the Eagle’s positions. He saw the Eagle’s Nests sitting high in the trees. People were working on the wall along the river, carving sharp points, transporting the logs, digging postholes, and placing the sharpened posts. The logs were about twenty feet long, which even after lowering them into the postholes formed a formidable defensive barrier.

  He couldn’t lay there and watch the construction of the wall though. He had to keep an eye out for the deadly Vipers, a group of killers who had apparently harassed Goshen for years. Collin had never heard a valid reason for why the Eagles didn’t go on the offensive and wipe them out. It seemed foolish to sit back and let your soldiers get picked off by a technologically inferior enemy.

  Collin sighed. He wasn’t finding anything in the forest. He looked up from his binoculars to give his eyes a rest and looked at the valley. If he was going to approach Goshen to investigate a supply drop, how would he do it?

  Clearly, the Vipers had the cover of the forest beyond Goshen’s border. There was a road leading out of town but it was overgrown by weeds, grass, and bushes. The only way to tell it had even been there was the obviously younger growth. The trees were smaller than the surrounding forest.

  The mountains provided good elevation. He doubted the Vipers had a communication system, even Goshen lacked radios. They could signal with whistles, physical messengers running back and forth, or the way Major Logan had during the battle, using flags and flares.

  Collin settled back down and began to scan the ridgelines and breaks in the forest for Vipers observing Goshen. After about half an hour, the only thing he saw moving around was a black bear with a pair of cubs and a few birds. No humans.

  “Major, how long has it been since you shot the fifty-cal?” he said.

  “Not long enough.” He adjusted his position and looked up briefly to rest his eyes.

  When it became obvious that Major Logan wasn’t interested in talking, Collin went back to scanning for Vipers. The two of them had never been friends and probably never would be, especially after the fight in the gym. However, they were the two best warriors in Goshen and each of them knew it.

  The sniper team they relieved had passed on a watch to Collin. He looked down and saw that it was almost time for the next team to relieve them. With only thirty minutes to spare, he went back to watching the tree line but he allowed his mind to wander.

  Time was running out for the BT76 replacement that Dr. Horner was working on; Collin hoped that Pastor Pendell would reconsider his three-day time limit. He wasn’t sure it would even be possible for her to do what she said in only three days. Maybe if the procedures weren’t too difficult and she was familiar with doing it but how many family practitioners were? Collin stopped and realized that he had only assumed Julie was a general family doctor. He had no clue about exactly what her specialty was before the fever. Hell, she may have been a dentist for all he knew. Or she could be a top notch geneticist, the fact was, he didn’t know and that needed to change. At that very moment, lying atop the of the dam, Collin decided it was time to start getting some answers.

  Geneticist or not, he hoped she could make enough modified blood cells to treat the people currently affected. He tried to imagine how such a thing worked, and came up blank. Although he couldn’t remember the training, Collin was certain he had combat medical training. His training didn’t rely on technical equipment, it consisted of the basics to keep a soldier alive until real doctors were available. So his base of knowledge was limited when it came to lab work.

  Collin made a mental note to check in with Dr. Horner and see how she was doing when he finished his stint as Major Logan’s spotter. If he was lucky, she’d show him how the process worked.

  He glanced at his watch. The second hand ticked rhythmically in its infinite journey, while the minute hand revealed that they only had ten minutes left.

  Major Logan was so quiet that Collin wouldn’t have been surprised to find him asleep but when he looked over, the major was still alert and scanning for activity. He was vigilant. Collin was impressed.

  Collin focused on the crate. It was still there. The yellow light continued blinking, illuminating every second or so. The flashing was annoying but it helped Alpha team locate it when it was dusky outside earlier that morning. The crate appeared undisturbed and nothing had set off the claymores. He checked the forested area around the case and satisfied that no one was there, he switched to checking the mountainsides for spotters.

  “I’ve got movement sixty-five meters from the crate on the edge of the forest,” Major Logan said.

  Collin glanced at Major Logan to see if he was messing with him but the major was focused. He went back to his binoculars and checked the entire area Major Logan indicated. He scanned near the tree trunks, the bushes, the dark spots, the light areas, and even the ground with little to no cover. No movement.

  “Where?” Collin asked. “I’ve got nothing.”

  “Follow the path at the end of the soybeans they planted last week. When you get to the tree line, you should see it.”

  Collin quickly followed the path with his binoculars and then slowed down in the space between the edge of the field, where the trail stopped and the brush started until he hit the trees. Still seeing nothing he started looking in a zig-zag pattern ten yards to either side of where Major Logan said he spotted the movement. He continued the search pattern until he made his way back to the edge of the crops.

  “Closing in on fifty-five meters.”

  “I still don’t see anything.” Collin felt frustrated. Then, he looked at the major to see if the guy was messing with him, but Major Logan was laser focused. His finger was near the trigger, relaxed and ready.

  “Forty meters from the crate,” Major Logan said.

  He looked roughly forty meters from the case and all around. Then he stopped and watched one spot, relaxing his eyes and hoping to spot the movement. Nothing.

  Logan must be screwin’ with me, he thought.

  “Okay man, good one.” Collin fake-chuckled. He nudged Logan’s arm.

  Major Logan frowned, but didn’t look away, not wanting to lose sight of his target. Instead, he flicked the safety off on the Barrett M82 and began to steady his breathing. “Thirty meters.”

  “Damn it. Seriously, I can’t see shit.” Collin glared through his binoculars focusing completely on the area near the crate. Considering the rate of speed, it should be easy to spot whoever was down there.

  “It’s a small person crawling through the meadow grass,” Major Logan said.
<
br />   Looking at the meadow grass, he saw a few pieces stir. Then a ripple in the grass.

  “Ghillie suit?” Collin said, almost whispering.

  “Exactly.”

  Impressive tactical skills.

  It took him forever to notice anything. If it was just one person though, they couldn’t take the crate. So what was going on? One thing Collin had learned from the last encounter with the Vipers was that they could be very tricky and unpredictable.

  “Twenty meters.” Major Logan sounded calm and ready.

  The infiltrator wouldn’t need to crawl much further before the claymores gave them their last greeting.

  “I don’t see any others,” Collin said.

  “You didn’t see this one,” Major Logan said. “I did.”

  The snide remark stung because it was true. Collin didn’t say anything. He knew that this was validation of Logan’s decision to designate him as the spotter.

  Considering the skill of the Viper crawling toward the crate, Collin began to wonder where he might have started. It must have taken almost the whole time they were on the dam to crawl so far. He watched carefully through his binoculars and realized the reason it was so difficult to see them.

  A ghillie suit typically consisted of a jacked or more often, a full outfit like coveralls. This person appeared to be hiding under a makeshift blanket of grass and moss. Since they were so small, if they stopped moving it was impossible to tell them apart from the surrounding foliage. Even when they moved, it was near impossible to spot them.

  “Time to go boom,” Major Logan said.

  The person closed in enough that the claymores could go off at any point. Just one person wasn’t really worth the use of the explosives, but it would send a message to the Vipers.

  Better than nothing, Collin thought.

  No movement after several minutes had Collin wondering if he was looking in the wrong spot. He blinked a few times to clear his straining eyes. The edge of the camouflage lifted just a few inches. He watched closely, hoping to see who was underneath.

  The infiltrator was only a foot or two away from where SSGT Raiford had set the tripwire.

  “He must have seen the trip wire,” Collin said.

  “No shit,” Major Logan said in a tight voice.

  After another moment, the movement of the infiltrator switched directions. They were following the tripwire to the explosive. Once they reached the end of the trip wire all they had to do was sever the firing line, or disconnect the firing line from the power source, then remove the blasting cap from the mine, and it was as safe as a walk in a park.

  Were they simply hoping to circumnavigate the explosive to get at the crate?

  After a few tense minutes, hoping for the mine to detonate, it was clear the person knew what they were doing.

  “Damn it,” Collin muttered.

  They stopped near the power source. The blanket of camo lifted up and the head and arms of a dirty, camouflaged young boy was visible. Collin sucked in a breath. A kid?

  “Jesus,” Major Logan hissed.

  “They sent a kid.” Collin was stunned. “We have to stop him.”

  Major Logan turned his head and looked at Collin. “What? You want me to shoot him?”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Collin saw Major Logan lower his head to the riflescope.

  Collin frowned. He didn’t want the kid to get shot or blown up. If he was being sent out on missions like this, then he needed to be rescued.

  “The crate is too heavy for one man, much less a kid,” Major Logan said. “Let’s just see what happens.”

  His stomach knotted up as he watched the boy handle the firing line. He disconnected the power source then pulled the blanket up over him. He moved toward the mine.

  “Damn it. Don’t do it, kid. Don’t you fucking do it,” Collin said under his breath.

  He inched closer to the mine.

  “Turn around and go home. Just leave them.” Collin felt his hands grow damp with sweat. “Shoot near him as a warning.”

  “This is just getting interesting,” Major Logan said.

  The last thing Collin wanted was to see the boy torn apart by the explosion and small ball bearings ripping into him. He winced as the kid removed the blasting cap from the top of the mine. The boy set it carefully off to the side and pulled up the mine. He set it face down in the dirt and looked at the other mine.

  “I can’t believe those bastards are using children like this! So wrong,” Major Logan said, his voice rumbled with anger. “So wrong. But at the same time, so smart.”

  “Unforgivable,” Collin said in agreement. His mind was a whirlwind of confusion. How could they stop the kid without killing him?

  “If he disarms the second one, he’s going down. I’m not losing two mines to that kid,” Major Logan said, with a hard voice.

  Collin sucked in a breath. He understood not wanting to lose the mines and it had been the Vipers choice to send him. Damn it.

  “Put a round in the crate as a warning,” Collin said. “Hopefully, he’ll leave the mines and run.”

  They watched as the boy disconnected the power source.

  Major Logan reached up and adjusted the windage on his riflescope three clicks.

  The boy pulled out the blasting cap.

  “Aiming at the medical crate,” Major Logan said. He let out a breath and aimed. “On target.”

  The boy picked up the second mine.

  “Send it,” Collin said. The rifle boomed before he finished his command. Collin felt the shot as much as he heard it but he stayed focused on the boy and the crate. A split second later, a hole punched through the crate, sending it tumbling away from its resting spot.

  The boy flinched away from the impact as the booming shot echoed down the valley.

  Instead of dropping the mines and running for the forest, the young boy inexplicably stood up in full view and turned to face the distant hydro dam where they were perched. A camouflaged hunting mask covered his head and face. It detracted from his humanity but there was no doubt that the boy was closer to ten years old than eighteen. Too young.

  Collin thought it unlikely the boy could have located them by the sound of the shot because the sound didn’t reach the boy until after the impact. The acoustics of the valley sent the blast rebounding off the mountains in an echo of death.

  Despite that, the boy was obviously staring directly at the dam, holding a mine in each hand. The only way he could have known where to turn was to have knowledge that they would be up there watching the entire time.

  “C’mon kid. Drop them, goddamnit,” Collin muttered through clenched teeth. “Drop them and run away.”

  Major Logan racked a second round into the chamber, ejecting the large, empty brass shell onto the concrete. It clinked loud and melodic. It bounced and rolled to a stop against Collin’s elbow. He flinched away from the hot brass and adjusted his position.

  “Put another one in the ground,” Collin said. He didn’t want to see the kid die for his mistake. If this went bad and Collin ever got his hands on the Vipers’ leader, he was going to wring his neck for this tragedy.

  “Can’t. Ammo is too precious. He takes another step and he dies.”

  “I know, I know. But at least give him a chance to reconsider,” Collin said watching the kid staring up toward them. “If he tries to escape, then take him down.”

  “Very well.”

  Shifting the mines to one hand, the boy reached up with the other hand, and peeled off the hunting mask.

  Collin gasped.

  The boy was the same one from his dream. The very child he had played baseball and Frisbee with in his dreams. The boy he watched burn away into a pile of ash. His son.

  “It can’t be,” he said.

  His cheeks were smudged with dirt but even through the binoculars, Collin could make out the freckles that covered his cheeks and nose. The light sandy hair and the eyes. Last time he’d seen them in his dream, they’d reflected in the
flames that were consuming his body.

  Did the flames represent the mines exploding? Were Collin’s dreams coming to life?

  As Collin watched, dumbfounded by what he saw before him, the boy raised his hand, and flipped them the bird with a big smirk on his precious face.

  “A friend of yours?” Major Logan said.

  “Christ! That’s my son,” Collin said.

  Major Logan scoffed. “Impossible. He’s far too young.”

  “I can’t explain it, damn it, Major,” Collin growled. He glared at Major Logan, who ignored him. “I know him. That’s my son.”

  “Negative, judging by his age, he was born while your dumbass was still sleeping in the hospital.” Major Logan didn’t even look up at Collin. “And he ain’t from Goshen. If he runs, I’m putting a round right through him.”

  Major Logan was telling the truth; Collin could feel it, but he also felt the urge to hold the child close and protect him from the exploding and burning world around them. It was overwhelming, vibrating through every cell in his body.

  Collin looked through the binoculars and saw the boy drop his hand. At the same time, he turned and began to run through the field, with the awkward gait young boys have on uneven ground.

  Without even thinking, Collin threw his hand out and smacked the big rifle as hard as he could. The rifle tilted, shifting the aim of the barrel, just as the major fired.

  The Major missed. Collin let out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding, thankful he wouldn’t have to watch the boy die again.

  Logan ejected the hot brass from the rifle. It struck Collin’s arm, searing the skin again. He ignored the pain and looked through the binoculars.

  “You sonofabitch,” Major Logan yelled as he pushed the bolt back into place, seating a new round. He fired again as the boy disappeared behind a massive pine tree. It was a hasty, desperate shot that went wide and took out the trunk of a smaller tree nearby, exploding into thousands of splinters as the .50-caliber round tore through its soft wood. There was a brief hesitation as the tree struggled to stay upright before it slowly tilted to the side, built up momentum and crashed to the forest floor.