Brutal Business: Book Three in the Mad Mick Series

by Franklin Horton

  This would not be an easy job. It might take an entire day to remove this mess, but what option did they have? As Lawdog had suggested before his unfortunate demise, was it time to give up? Should they back the trucks down the road, find a place to turn around, and escape this Appalachian hellhole? He would study the GPS while his men worked. It was possible there was some other road that would circumvent this obstacle.

  We can do this, he reminded himself. They were The Bond, the most hardened of the hard. While the Army showed up to rescue you, The Bond showed up to kill you and take your shit. While the Army showed up to defend you, The Bond showed up to crush your soul. That was exactly what they would do when they found this Mad Mick. They would crush his soul and every soul he’d ever cared about.

  Then the first shot came.

  60

  Conor stashed the tanker truck behind an abandoned mobile home a mile past the overturned coal truck. He used his radio to coordinate a rendezvous with Barb and retrieved his horse. They put the second phase of the plan into action before The Bond came upon the substantial roadblock. It was critical they get into position because darkness came early in the steep mountain valleys. By 3 PM the sun was at a shallow angle and its light merely skimmed across the top of the ridges, leaving the bottomland in early darkness.

  Route 23 followed the river but the valley broadened out there, spreading about one hundred and fifty yards at its widest point. The river bisected that bottom, and to either side of it were marshy expanses that would be difficult to negotiate on foot. It was a cold muck full of briers that would frustrate the most determined of men. Halfway up the slope of the opposite hill was an overgrown logging road. Two thick poplars had fallen across each other and created a fortified shooting position. From here Barb was facing a three hundred yard shot to the trap they’d created for The Bond. That was a comfortable distance for her. At that range she could do some damage. She was already wearing her bump helmet. If the fight went on into the darkness she could drop her night vision and keep shooting.

  Conor had improvised a ghillie suit. It might not have been necessary in other seasons of the year where there was more ground cover, but it was in short supply now. He gathered what materials he could – broomsedge, dry grass, holly, and twigs with brown leaves. He fashioned an outfit he was halfway proud of until Barb started in on him.

  “Is your new call sign Houseplant?” she asked.

  Conor was lining up his own smart remark when they heard the sound of the trucks echoing through the valley. “Be careful,” he warned, then he skipped down the slope toward the marsh. He wanted to shoot from a different position, spreading out their fire. From the valley bottom he would have less cover than Barb. Hopefully his ghillie suit would offer him some level of camouflage and not look like a houseplant sitting in a field.

  They agreed that no one would take a shot at any target on their side of the river. If the enemy got that far, the rules would change immediately. At that point Conor and Barb were to meet at the horses and implement the next stage of their plan.

  Barb, higher in the mountain and with a better vantage point, was the first to spot The Bond trucks. “Barb for Houseplant, Barb for Houseplant. I have a visual.”

  “Houseplant to Smart Ass, acknowledged. I can see them now.”

  Barb snickered to herself. She loved pissing her dad off.

  “I count one less truck than yesterday,” Conor said. “We must have taken one out of the fight.”

  “Roger that, Houseplant. Let’s see if we can do worse today.”

  “Be ready to fire but hold for my order.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  They watched patiently through The Bond’s arrival at the scene of the overturned coal truck. Conor was particularly proud of the obstacle he’d left in their way. It was a matter of simple physics. With no guardrail dividing the four-lane highway in this section, he’d managed to block the entire road with a single obstacle. In these steep mountains, there was no clearance to either side of the road for the group to pass.

  Watching through the optic of his sniper rifle Conor was getting a pretty good idea of who was in charge. It had to be the guy who was so pissed-off, ranting and raving. Everyone was deferring to the guy, practically shying away from him. Conor had a clear shot at him. Part of him thought pulling the trigger would be the best move. Take him out.

  It would produce the opposite result of what he was interested in though. He wanted to keep these guys here, consolidated into a single unit, so he could finish them off. He was fairly certain, seeing the leadership dynamic, that all these men only stayed out of fear of their commander. If he were to assassinate him, drop him dead in his tracks, the rest of the men would probably all go home. Just as he’d warned his group, they would become someone else’s problem then and none of these men deserved to be turned loose on another community. They’d already been infected by power, knew that they could take what they wanted by force. They could take advantage of the good nature of the people around them. If they were allowed to escape they would form another entity just like The Bond. This was a virus that needed to be dealt with, once and for all.

  While their leader threw his tantrum, the rest of the men formed a tight perimeter around the convoy with their weapons. While they were technically performing their duty, he could sense the undercurrent behind their actions. They were trying to stay clear of their leader, to avoid his wrath. Conor figured most of them probably wanted a cigarette but were afraid it might appear that they were shirking their duties. An unstable leader like this one might shoot them for the infraction. A man like that ruled by threat of violence. That was how he kept other hard and violent men working for him. That was how he cemented The Bond.

  “Conor for Barb.”

  “Go for Barb.”

  “I want you to target that cluster of men at the rear of the convoy. While you’re focusing on human targets I’m going to try and disable some of those trucks. They’re running old non-directional tires, so I should be able to punch holes right through them. I did it once before with a handgun. Once we start shooting it’s going to be chaotic. If you see men branching out to launch an offensive you let me know. I’ll do the same for you. If that happens, we retreat and meet up at the horses. Got it?”

  “Roger that, Houseplant. Let’s do this.”

  “Fire when ready.”

  Barb calculated the holdover on her reticle and aligned the appropriate dot with the chest of her intended target. Some of the men appeared to be wearing body armor but she could tell by the way his plate carrier hung this guy had opted to ditch the heavy plates. He would pay for his laziness. She squeezed the trigger and sent a round.

  The man flinched, screamed, and dropped. By the time the men around him heard the shot and registered what happened, she put a round in the neck of the man standing beside the first. Bond soldiers were scattering in all directions. One had not taken cover but was crouched beside the dead bodies, studying the hillside where Barb hid. She made him pay for his boldness. She couldn’t tell if he was wearing armor or not due to his stance. She aligned her crosshairs on him and sent three rounds, one after another, until he fell over backwards. She was not certain if she’d done damage or if the impacts had simply shoved him backwards so she aimed for a meaty thigh and put a bullet in it for good measure.

  The truck body shifted without warning, startling the men hiding behind it. They didn’t know what was going on and scurried from their hiding place as if the truck might overturn. Barb took the opportunity to drop another of them. She noticed the steady boom of Conor’s high-powered rifle at that point. He was working his magic, moving up and down the line taking out tires. Occasionally, in his search for vulnerable rubber, his optic crossed the face of a terrified Bond soldier. Unwilling to pass up a target of opportunity, Conor hastily backed up and added a new orifice to the wide-eyed face.

  When no more of The Bond soldiers presented themselves as targets Barb aimed for the asphalt surfa
ce of the road, trying to ricochet bullet splatter beneath the trucks and flush the men out. It was an effective technique and drove limping men into the open. They tried to find better hiding spots, diving for ditches or flattening themselves behind the guardrail. Running from Barb was a mistake. In doing so, these men turned their bodies sideways to her, exposing a gap in their armor. She aimed high on their sides and dropped several more.

  Time in a firefight could be deceptive. What had in actuality been around three or four minutes seemed more like twenty. Barb was late into her second magazine and she had no idea how many rounds Conor had fired. He was cycling that bolt as fast as he could work it. They could both hear shouting across the road, orders being given. Someone was attempting to make these men fall back on their training and do battle.

  “They’re organizing,” came Conor’s voice over the radio. “Time to back out. Rally at the horses.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  Barb rapidly swapped for a fresh magazine. All of her empties were already stashed in pouches. Aware that there were probably men with optics scanning the hillside for her and Conor, she retreated carefully. On the densely wooded hillside, with so many vertical trees, it would be quick lateral movement that would draw the eye. She did her best not to provide that movement. She walked steadily from tree to tree, pausing behind each new cover to locate her next position before moving again.

  Frustrated that they’d been unable to spot her, The Bond soldiers began randomly firing at the hillside. The rounds were not close and did not appear to be targeted to any particular area.

  “You okay up there, Barb?”

  Barb keyed her mic. “I don’t think they see me, Dad. I think they’re just trying to flush up some movement.”

  “Watch the top of those trucks. At least three have ring mounts for heavy guns. If you see them put one in place, you run like hell. I don’t care if they see you or not at that point. Just run.”

  “Got it. What’s your ETA to the horses?”

  “Ten minutes. All uphill.”

  “Roger that, Dad. Be careful.”

  “Houseplant out.”

  She smiled. He’d adopted the name.

  61

  Barb was waiting nervously at the horses when Conor showed up. He called to her on the radio as he approached the position to make sure she was aware he was approaching. He felt like he was dying of a coronary climbing the hill. The last thing he needed was to get offed by friendly fire at the top.

  The sun had set somewhere far beyond their view and color was leaving the world. Everything became shades of black and gray. Long shadows lost their form, dissolving and seeping into the night. Barb had no trouble recognizing the man-shaped houseplant staggering toward her.

  “Jesus, Dad, could you not have lost the ghillie suit? Surely the climb would be easier without that mess strapped to you.”

  Conor didn’t respond. It wasn’t rudeness but the fact that he had no wind left. He was puffing like a bellows. He dragged the large backpack off his hobbled horse and dropped it to the ground, putting the sniper rifle away.

  “You gonna make it, old man?” Despite her snarky tone she was legitimately concerned. Her dad tried to keep himself in shape but these mountains were made for deer, not men. No one fared well chugging up the side of one.

  When Conor had the rifle packed away he lashed it to his horse and hastily sucked down a few gulps of water, spilling it down his face and neck as he drank.

  “Watering yourself, houseplant?”

  Conor smiled but couldn’t reply. He took another, more careful drink. When he was done, he concentrated on speaking. “You take...the horses. Go to Wayne...and Lonzo. I’ll lead The Bond there.”

  “I thought we were supposed to lead The Bond there. You know, as a team?”

  “It’s going to be too dangerous in full dark. We’ll lose track of each other. Somebody has to let Lonzo know we’re coming and make sure the trap is ready.”

  Barb sighed. “You did see there’s another fifty or sixty men left down there, right?”

  Conor nodded, taking another drink.

  “Sixty men against one wheezing geezer dressed like a houseplant.”

  Conor grinned. “I know. Doesn’t hardly seem fair does it? Poor bastards won’t have a chance in Hell.”

  “Should I warn them? Give them a chance to prepare for what awaits them?”

  “I think not. We’ll let it be a surprise, daughter. Besides, they had their chance to turn around and didn’t take it. They’ve earned their fate.”

  Barb smiled at her father’s optimism. She suspected it was his Irish roots, so used to being the underdog that the odds didn’t concern him in the least. Whatever it was, she hoped she’d inherited a fair dose of it. She hugged her dad, their gear and weapons rattling together as they embraced. She removed the hobbles from the horses, attached a lead to Conor’s, and then climbed onto hers. She dropped her night vision in front of her eyes and turned the knob.

  “Be safe,” Conor said with a wave.

  Barb saluted. “Keep your branches low, Houseplant.”

  62

  No longer burdened by the heavy sniper rifle, Conor moved easier through the woods. Barb was correct that the ghillie suit was a little awkward but he felt like he needed it. He was certain his opponents had night vision because he’d retrieved military-issue units from their dead bodies. He had no indication that they had thermal, so the ghillie suit would allow him to hide in plain sight. It would be perfect for what he had in mind for them.

  He angled back off the ridge, not aiming for the trapped vehicles but for the road ahead of it. The Bond was stuck for the night. There was no way they had enough tires to repair all of the vehicles. He also expected they’d be reluctant to stand out in the open and work on them if they were at risk of taking fire. He wanted them to come out into the night and play. They just needed a little incentive.

  He walked quietly since the sound of crunching leaves carried a long way in the darkness. Through his night vision he could see movement around the trucks. The men were active but they were quiet, and there were no campfires. He had clear shots at some of them but he didn’t take them. He was here to play a different game this time.

  He eventually worked his way into a position where he was high above the Bond soldiers on their side of the road. That would take them by surprise. He was close enough that they could hear him when he called to them. It was time to talk. To make certain he had their attention, he gave a long high-pitched rebel yell that cut the night like the slash of a machete.

  It was so primal that it was not immediately recognizable as a human sound. He could imagine it chilling those men to the bone as they listened to it echo down the wooded valley, trying to figure out what it was. Even without words, the message was clear. They were no longer the hunters there. They were no longer the top-tier predator. There was something more dangerous and more violent out there in the night. The Bond was about to learn how far down the food chain they’d slid.

  “Ahoy, assholes!” Conor bellowed, allowing his voice to echo dramatically before he continued. “You should’ve run when you had the chance. Now you’re mine. You’ll never leave here alive.”

  There was no response for a moment. Conor let them stew. He could imagine what was going on in the men’s heads. He could sense the fear, the sensation of a claw tightening around their hearts. These were city men, unused to the woods and the wildness of the mountains. They were outside of their element and far beyond their comfort zone. They might as well have been on the moon.

  “Is this the Mad Mick?” came a shouted response from the roadway.

  Conor shifted positions again. When he replied, it was from a different place on the mountain. “The one and only. And who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?”

  “My name is Thomas. And if you’re such a badass, why don’t you bring your army down here and take us on man to man? Why you hiding up there on the mountain like some kind of chickenshit?
”

  Conor moved again. “Oh, there’s no army. There never was. That was just me and my daughter kicking your ass up and down the road like a tin can. I sent her on home. Didn’t figure I needed her anymore since we cut you down to a more manageable size.”

  Men scrambled at Thomas’s direction, trying desperately to find Conor’s location on the hillside but he eluded them, always a step ahead. They couldn’t help but be terrified. In this alien country, perhaps this man wasn’t even a man? Perhaps he was some kind of ghost, some kind of evil mountain troll who preyed on travelers, like something out of a fairytale or legend?

  Thomas laughed loudly, making sure it rolled to fill the valley around them. He also had a sense of drama. “You that confident in yourself? I’ve got over a hundred men down here ready to shred you to pieces.”

  It was Conor’s turn to laugh, loud and genuine, rolling through the mountains like the chilling cackle of a hyena. He’d changed positions again, the sound coming from a different direction than Thomas expected. “You had over a hundred men but I’ve probably killed half of them already. Just like I’m going to kill you.”

  It took Thomas some time to reply to that, so angry he could barely speak. “And just how you intend to do that?”

  When the reply came, Conor was again in a position that was totally unexpected. He stood atop the bed of the overturned dump truck. He boldly faced Thomas and the rest of the Bond soldiers, appearing like some brazen mountain god in his ghillie suit.

  “I intend to kill you one man at a time,” Conor replied, tossing a grenade into their midst.

  Conor leapt from the truck bed just before the explosion shook the valley. In the aftermath, while debris rained down on him, he heard Thomas’s command bellowed to his troops.

  “Get him!”