by John Grit
“And how many children there are inside,” Deni added. “If only we could take these people down quietly without alerting the other hostiles.”
Deni looked on as the boy dropped his hoe and ran into the woods behind the vegetable patch, unzipping as he ran. “That might be an opportunity.” She spoke into the radio. “Reserve team. Four men move to the west side of my position and be quick about it. Grab that boy who just ran into the woods behind the garden. Stealth and silence are of the essence.”
A few minutes later, a soldier reported to her on the radio. “We got him.”
Deni watched as the little girl stopped working and yelled for the boy to stop playing in the woods and get back to work. When he didn’t appear, the girl yelled something at someone in the shack. A woman came out. The little girl pointed at where the boy ran into the woods and conversed with the woman, who promptly tramped off to go after the boy, the girl right behind her.
A radio report confirmed that the woman and girl were in custody.
“Well,” Deni said. “So far so good.” She tried to see into a near window of the shack, but saw nothing because it was too dark inside. “We’ll wait a minute or two and maybe get lucky again. Waiting a couple minutes is worth a life or two. It’s early, we have all day.”
Several soldiers within hearing distance glanced at each other and nodded. Their expressions revealing that they liked what they’d heard.
Deni was about to order the soldiers to move in when a man in his late twenties appeared at the door of the shack, yelling someone’s name. He wore an undershirt that was so dirty it was difficult to tell it was once white, and tattered blue jeans so faded there was little blue left.
“Reserve team, move in behind the shack,” Deni ordered.
The man reached under his shirt and scratched his belly. He yelled something again and then walked around to the side of the shack, where he was met by a soldier’s rifle muzzle only feet from his nose. In seconds, two other soldiers had him on the ground and tied up.
Deni spoke into the radio. “Reserve team, clear the shack now.”
Two soldiers rushed into the open door. After what seemed like an eternity to Deni, the reserve team leader reported that no one else was in the shack.
“Great,” Deni said. “Leave one man to guard the prisoners and get back to the rest of your team. My team will join Bravo Team at the pole barn.”
Keeping low, she retreated from the edge of the clearing. The other soldiers backed into the woods and followed her.
Though it had all gone well so far, the weight on her shoulders swelled. As a junior sergeant, she had been given responsibilities beyond the norm on this mission, a necessity grown out of the fact they were short on junior officers and senior noncoms, and there were many other raids taking place on the same day.
She found herself in an Army that once employed many female soldiers, but quickly had so few she hadn’t seen a woman soldier under the rank of Colonel in almost a year. Almost all female soldiers who survived the first part of the plague went home to their families, especially those with children. Being surrounded by young men with hungry eyes and sometimes profane speech could be unnerving, but she demanded the respect due her and got it. Capt. Donovan wasn’t the kind to tolerate any sexual harassment, and they knew anyone who went too far would face swift punishment. In recent months, there had been another reason to keep their attitude toward her professional: Nate. But before the Captain, before Nate, they would first have to deal with her, and she had proven herself deadly in a fight. The end result was hungry eyes were usually all she had to deal with, and that she could ignore.
Gunfire echoed in the trees. Deni and her team hadn’t yet made their way to the pole barn, and she immediately became worried. Rushing in could just get some of her soldiers killed, so she continued on at a safe pace.
The intensity of the firing increased. Deni picked up the pace a little but didn’t let her guard down and was certain to keep all of her team under control, using normal patrol tactics.
An explosion from the direction of the pole barn left everyone’s ears ringing.
Deni’s team wasn’t far away when Bravo Team’s leader came over the radio and informed her that all of the hostiles were dead, killed by the explosion that may have been set off by the soldiers’ fire.
“Any of your team hurt?” she asked.
“The answer came back, “No.”
Relieved, but still worried things could change at any second and some of her soldiers pay with their lives for something she overlooked, thoughts raced through her mind. Decision made, she gave her orders. “I am taking my team to reinforce the others at the second shack. You secure your location and await further instructions.”
She hand-signaled her team and changed directions. To avoid crossing the open field, she was forced to reverse course, go back to the front of the farm, and then skirt the clearing, staying just inside the woods. After crossing the narrow drive, her team swung around toward the other shack to join her third team. On the way, she met the soldier who was guarding the two children and the man and woman.
Deni asked, “Did anyone pass by here?”
The soldier answered, “No.”
Approaching the area where she thought the shack should be she saw a soldier watching a well used trail. His attention was on the opposite direction, and he didn’t see her or any of the rest of her team. When they were nearly close enough for her to speak to get his attention, he turned his head and was momentarily startled by them being able to approach so close without him noticing, but soon recovered.
Deni kneeled beside him. “Fill me in on the situation.”
The young soldier gave her a dirty faced smile. “We got all of the men at the shack disarmed and rounded up. We’re just laying low in case a straggler or two comes along.”
Deni didn’t quite understand. “How did you do that without firing a shot?”
“When the shooting started at the pole barn, the three men came running to join the fight and ran right into our team. We stuck rifle muzzles in their faces and they dropped their weapons. A quick check on the shack proved it empty. So far, those three are the only ones in our area.”
Using the radio, Deni spoke to the team leader. “Tighten up your perimeter by falling back and decreasing its size around the shack. My team will search the premises to gather any intel on the terrorists’ plans. Shouldn’t take more than five or ten minutes. Then we’ll move out.”
Private Brenner was close by and listening. “We need to be careful over there. They’re likely to have more improvised explosive devices laying around, maybe even some set as booby traps.”
She nodded. “Yeah. These people seem to be kind of wacko. They just might have booby traps out.”
At the shack, Brenner went in first before Deni had time to stop him. She kept everyone else out until he reappeared with an a few pamphlets and books about anarchy and how all forms of government were slavery. He handed them to Deni. “There are also stacks of hand-written flyers they must be handing out to people.” He held a sheet of paper up and read a passage. “Any man who must work for a living is not truly free. Never again will we allow the greedy corporations to force us to work for money to buy things that should be provided at no cost.” He chuckled. “I wonder how that would work, since they’re against government. Who is going to provide everything free? They seem to blame the plague and all of society’s ills on technology and government and are trying to prevent both from reemerging.”
“Yeah, but that’s nothing new.” She took the leaflet from him and read it. “Same old stuff about how their mission is to prevent America from rebuilding and turning the country into what it was before it hit the fan.”
She handed the flyer to Brenner. “Take that stuff with you when we leave. The rest of you search the area for caches of weapons and explosives. Be careful and go slow. I don’t want to lose anyone.” She disappeared into the shack to search it herself in case Brenner
missed something important.
Chapter 32
Nate scanned the ten acres surrounding the small house with binoculars. “We have three teen boys – all armed – near the shed. Looks like they might be siblings. They seem to be working on something on a table. Can’t tell what it is.”
Mel listened to Deni’s team on his radio and took notice of Nate’s remarks at the same time. “Might be bombs they’re working on. Deni’s people have caught a gang of turds building bombs.”
Nate looked through his binoculars again. “I can’t make it out. They have tools in their hands. I can see that much.”
“What kind of tools,” Mel asked.
“Too far. Can’t tell.” Nate handed his binoculars to Mel.
While his friend used his binoculars, Nate looked over the four men who told him and everyone else who would listen they were ex-Special Forces and had been contractors in a recent Mideast war. They kneeled in thick brush to his left, their rifles shouldered and pointed at the three boys, their fingers on the trigger. He took note that they were behind concealment but not bullet-stopping cover, such as the thick pine trees he and Mel were kneeling behind. He had already asked them twice to each find a thick tree for cover.
The men Nate suspected were posers seemed to be too excited for the circumstances. Even if they were really ex-contractors he still thought of them as ‘demisoldiers.’ They were all outfitted with what would appear to the casual observer to be the kind of equipment many people had seen soldiers wearing on news reports covering the last Mideast war just before the plague hit and America suddenly became too preoccupied with survival of the country to be killing people over politics. They wore Kevlar helmets and civilian-available body armor. Their trauma plate carriers had MOLLE pouches attached and they were ready for war, with eight thirty-round magazines for their civilian-legal semi auto M4-style carbines, all topped with $1,000+ ACOG sights. On their right legs, they wore dropdown holsters, a 9mm Glock strapped inside. All of them wore clear goggles for eye protection. Nate thought the fingerless gloves and snazzy patches on their dessert-tan uniforms that said, “Risk Control Services, Inc.” were a bit much.
All four claiming to be ex-Special Forces was something that pegged-out Nate’s BS meter. He hadn’t had time to ask them a few casual questions that would tell him if they really were what they claimed to be, and until he had, he wasn’t going to call them liars. Then there was the fact they had worked with Chesty once, when the town had a little trouble with home invaders many months back, and he had told Nate they seemed to be the real thing and handled themselves well. Chesty told him they had stayed in town a few days and then went back to their survivalist retreat in the backwoods. At least that’s what they told Chesty before they left town. They were closed-mouthed on its location, he said. That was understandable, of course. No survivalist would want to reveal the location of his retreat.
We’ll see, Nate thought. A lot of those contractors never served in any real military. Some were in law enforcement; some had no experience at all. The government often contracts with shady companies and those companies will hire anyone when they need lots of warm bodies.
Chesty and Tyrone had taken their half of the team and skirted around to the right side of the small home. The plan was to get them in a simple crossfire and either take them prisoner or kill them, depending on how reluctant they were to surrender.
But before the first shot was fired, they first needed to determine if these people were violent terrorists or just folks trying to get by.
Mel handed Nate his binoculars. “I can’t tell what they’re working on either; it’s too far to see that much detail. They’re just teens, though, I can see that. The youngest one is at most, about thirteen.”
The contractor known as Race glared at Nate. “What are we waiting for? We can kill them from here.”
Nate jerked his head around and stared the younger man down. “I do not want any of you to shoot unless fired on! If any of you can’t live with that, get your ass back to the trucks and stay there.”
“This is bullshit,” the man kneeling beside the first one said. “You pussies are going to get one of our team killed.”
Nate and Mel had been told his name was Lawson.
Mel took a quick look at Nate and saw a short fuse burning. He tried to calm the situation down. “Chesty is acting sheriff of this county and Nate is one of his deputies. You four are here as volunteers and are under Nate’s authority. I wouldn’t argue with him anymore.” He clicked his M4 to full auto. “This isn’t the time to get stuck on dumbass.”
Race stood and sneered at Mel. “Come on, weekend warrior. I’ll take that M4 from you and stick it up your ass.”
Nate rolled his eyes. “Get down, idiot.”
Shouts from the boys near the shed prompted everyone to look that way.
Too late.
The boys ran for the house, yelling an alarm to someone inside.
Race shouldered his rifle to fire. “They saw us!” His hasty shots went high, plowing into the house above the door, just as the last boy rushed in and slammed it shut.
Surprisingly, no shots came from inside the house.
Nate yelled, “Do not fire! Do not fire!” He and Mel stayed behind the thick pine trees.
Mel didn’t even look in the direction of the house. He kept his eyes on the contractors, careful to stay behind the tree in case someone from the house shot in their direction.
Race continued to stand while aiming, exposing himself to the sight of those in the house. He diverted his attention long enough to glare at them, looking like he wanted to kill Mel and Nate both.
Mel calmly advised, “You think it might be time for you geniuses to get behind something that can stop bullets? Hint: That brush isn’t going to do it for you.”
Mel’s advice seemed to have registered, and Race started to lower himself behind brush, but then his face washed over with anger, and he froze for a second to say something. His words never had a chance to become anything more than thoughts. A bullet punctured his Kevlar helmet – in one side and out the other. A gush of blood and matter spilled down the side of his face. The man’s eyes went blank and he fell in his own shadow.
His friends turned white with shock and froze for several seconds. The first one to recover yelled obscenities and fired at the house, emptying his magazine in one long string of poorly aimed shots. The other two soon joined in.
“Stop firing, you stupid sons of a bitch!” Nate yelled. “I told you not to fire.” He repeated his words when they stopped to reload and they finally heard him.
Kneeling next to his dead friend Lawson asked, “Why the hell not? They’re shooting at us.”
Losing his temper, Nate’s voice rose. “That piece of shit shot at them first, you idiot! What do you expect? If someone shot at my boy from the woods, I would kill him too.”
Chesty’s voice emanated from Nate’s radio. “Who fired? Goddamn it, who shot?”
“Mel,” Nate said, “If anyone one of them shoots again, empty your mag into all of them.”
The men’s eyes rounded.
Mel shouldered his rifle. “I can’t miss at this range.”
Nate spoke into the radio, “One of the contractors shot at the boys. Someone inside the house killed him, then his friends cut loose. Mel has orders to kill them all if they shoot again.”
“Shit!” Chesty waited a few seconds before asking, “What do you think? Are they terrorists?”
“Who knows?” Nate glared at the kneeling men. “I have no reason to believe they’re anything but people who want to be left alone and don’t like their children being shot at. This thing is over as far as I’m concerned. The best thing to do is back away.”
“Let me try a white flag,” Chesty suggested.
Nate didn’t hesitate. “It’s too late for that and it’s not worth it. Let’s back off now before more people get killed.”
Chesty responded with, “I’d hate to waste the whole day.
Stand by while I try to talk with them under a white flag.”
Worried, Nate tried again. “There’s no way to salvage this now. It’s time to leave.”
“He’s raised a flag,” Mel warned.
Nate looked across the field in disbelief. “Damn it. Has everyone gone nuts?”
A shadow fell over Mel’s face. “What can we do?”
Nate spoke into the radio in urgent tones and tried to talk Chesty into listening to him. “Chesty, if I were the father of those boys, I’d shoot you on sight. Do not expose yourself. Stay behind cover. They will kill you!”
The contractor named Ernie complained, “Hell, that house is made of wood. We can shoot right through the walls and kill them from safety.”
Nate had enough of worrying about loose cannons. He pointed his rifle at the three men. “Drop your rifles!”
All three scowled at him, making it known how they felt about being relieved of their weapons. After a few seconds, they dropped their rifles on the ground.
“Now your handguns.” Nate aimed at the nearest man’s head.
“In case you’re wondering,” Mel warned, “I’m backing Nate all the way. What happens next just depends on if you want to die.”
They fumed in silence for several seconds and then slowly pulled their pistols out of their holsters and dropped them at their feet.
“Now lie down in the depression over there behind you.” Nate motioned with his rifle. “Move it. Mel is going to keep his rifle on you until this is over. You’ll get your guns back then.”
Nate spoke to Chesty on the radio. “It’s time to back away from this.”
Chesty’s subdued voice came back, “Hold on. I see movement in a window.”
