Braving The Storms (Strengthen What Remains Book 3)

by Kyle Pratt

  “Get comfortable.” Fletcher picked up his rucksack. “This is our new home.”

  Zach surveyed the rubble of the airport as a strange realization came to him. His whole life seemed to lead him here. As a child he played many computer war games. As a teen he hunted game in the forest. Recently he had experienced real combat. He recalled the attack on the convoy just hours earlier and surveyed the bombed buildings, burned out hangars, and plane wreckage that surrounded him.

  This would be a new level of violence and destruction.

  Chapter Thirty Six

  Cape Girardeau County, Missouri, Wednesday, October 21st

  Zach stepped into the first rays of early morning sun that shone between two nearby buildings. After hours of sentry duty on the road leading toward their position the added warmth felt good. Yesterday the platoon had built an S-shaped lane of sandbags and moved concrete blocks onto the road to slow any vehicle coming toward them. Finally, they built a wooden gate and painted “STOP” on it. If anyone drove down the road they were supposed to wait there while he radioed the platoon HQ for instruction.

  He spotted Private Meyer about a hundred yards away checking perimeter defenses. Zach turned his gaze back to the HQ building at the end of the road behind him. Those inside were warm and probably had already eaten breakfast. He stomped his cold feet and slapped his hands. He glanced at the two machine gun positions closer to the base. That seemed like a neat job, but instead he had an M4 and a wooden gate.

  No one had ventured down the road during his watch. He yawned. Army life had turned out to be a lot like working with the guard, except he wasn’t learning anything new, and with the armory he usually went home to a warm bed and home-cooked food. It wasn’t actually that cold, but after hours on watch he looked forward to his cot, sleeping bag and hot MRE breakfast.

  His radio crackled. “Sentry one, report.”

  Zach yawned again, and pressed transmit. “Sentry one, all quiet.” He walked back and forth, as the radio calls went out to other posts along the perimeter.

  After several minutes he glanced at his watch. Finally, relief time neared. He hoped Private Waller didn’t oversleep.

  Several minutes later the sergeant and another soldier left the HQ. The sergeant seemed to be inspecting defensive positions. The other soldier walked straight toward the gate.

  Zach thought he recognized him. “Ryan? Is that you?”

  “Yeah.” He spread his arms wide and grinned. “Private Nelson—here to relieve you.”

  “Steve is supposed to have the next watch.”

  “I traded with him, but I could go back to my cot if you don’t want me to relieve you.”

  “No.” Zach shook his head. “You’ll do fine.” He pulled the radio from his pocket and handed it to Nelson. “There’s nothing to pass down.”

  “What about that car coming toward us?”

  Zach spun around. For four hours no one had come near, but now a black SUV approached. “Cover me.”

  As Nelson used the radio to report the traffic, the sergeant and Meyer hurried to join them at the gate.

  The vehicle slowed as it neared the winding line of sandbags and concrete. Zach stood behind waist-high blocks with his rifle ready. The vehicle braked to a stop at the gate.

  The clear windows allowed Zach to see the four people inside, three soldiers and one civilian. The driver kept his hands on the steering wheel; the other two soldiers made their empty hands visible. The civilian in the back rolled down a window.

  “My name is David Weston. I’m here to see Major Westmore.”

  Nelson radioed the information back to HQ.

  * * *

  Caden sat at a metal desk eating his MRE breakfast. The building had been an administrative center for the airport. Maps were laid out on a conference table, and tacked to the walls. Static and hiss called from the radios of the communication center next door.

  First Sergeant Fletcher walked over holding his own breakfast. “Mind if I join you?”

  Caden chewed a mouthful of bread and peanut butter. He gestured for him to sit.

  Fletcher pulled over a chair.

  After Caden swallowed, he held up a muffin. “I’ve been trying to decide if I should eat this or use it as a hockey puck.”

  Fletcher glanced at it. “Eat it. There’s no ice for a rink.”

  Caden took a bite and nodded approval. “Once you break the crust, it’s not bad.”

  A soldier trotted in from the next office. “Excuse me, sir, an SUV just drove up to the gate. The passenger says he’s David Weston, here to see you.”

  Caden stood. What was the governor’s chief of staff doing at the war front? Could it be a ruse? “Get the ready squad out there. Let the vehicle enter, but keep it in the holding area away from the main building.”

  “Yes, sir.” The soldier hurried away.

  Fletcher stood. “Don’t I know this guy?”

  “If it’s really him, yeah, you do.” Caden motioned for Fletcher to follow. “He’s the guy who impersonated Governor Monroe during Operation Hellhound. I met him at Fort Rucker while trying to get home after the first terror attacks.”

  “You really think it might not be him?”

  Caden shrugged. “Why would he be in the war zone?”

  Together they stepped from the building as the vehicle moved slowly toward them. Twelve soldiers crouched behind a semi-circle of sandbags with M4s at the ready.

  The SUV stopped well back from the soldiers. The two men in the front seat kept their hands visible. Both backdoors opened. A soldier and a civilian exited the vehicle.

  “David?” Caden relaxed and stepped over the sandbags. “What are you doing here?”

  They walked toward each other.

  Caden thrust out a hand to greet his friend.

  Weston smiled and leaned close. “I’m the lucky guy chosen to update your orders.”

  The soldier with Weston stayed near the car.

  “Ready squad,” Fletcher called out. “At ease.”

  In a quiet voice, Weston asked, “Is there somewhere we can meet in private?”

  Caden nodded. “First Sergeant, show the guys in the vehicle inside and—.”

  “That’s not necessary. Most of us won’t be staying long.”

  “Most?”

  “I’ll explain in a moment.”

  “Okay.” Caden led Weston to a small office with a cot on one side, a metal desk on the other, and a couple of chairs. “Welcome to my home.”

  “Cozy.”

  Caden sat and motioned for Weston to do so. “I don’t see a briefcase, satchel, envelope or sheet of paper. Where are these orders?”

  Weston shook his head. “Nothing has been written down. This will be verbal and for your ears only. Tell others only what they need to know.”

  “General Harwich told me this is a recon-and-package retrieval mission, but the secrecy surrounding it tells me there is something more.”

  “You will be doing recon on the east bank of the Mississippi, in contested territory. However, one of the soldiers who came with me will be your guide crossing the river and in Illinois.”

  “A local guy?”

  “Yes.” Weston nodded. “And I will provide more details about the mission—later.”

  “If I’m going to be spending much time across the river, this base camp should be closer to it.”

  “This area has been quiet for weeks, and we don’t want to attract attention. In two days units from St. Louis, and north to the Canadian border will launch a major offensive.” Weston pulled a blank slip of paper from his pocket and wrote on it as he continued to speak. “Use the next two days to recon the area on the other side and find this location. Memorize the coordinates and then burn the paper. Use the guide to determine several ways to that position and escape routes back.”

  Caden waved the paper. “If you don’t want to attract attention then I shouldn’t go anywhere near this location until it’s time to go and … what’s at this place?
”

  “An abandoned farmhouse.”

  “Okay, and what’s inside the building?”

  “The package you need to retrieve.” Weston sighed. “I know that it’s dangerous to do recon in the area of the farmhouse, but … well, the package will only be there for a short time. You must be there at 0100 zulu on the 23rd.”

  In his head, Caden converted the military time to 1900 local.

  “The package will not … ah, there will be no pick up if you are late or if you,” he pointed at Caden, “are not there. Retrieve it and return.”

  “How will I identify the package?”

  “You will.” Weston held up his hands. “I can’t say anymore now.”

  “The secrecy for this recon mission is annoying.”

  David frowned. “But necessary. If you’re captured we don’t want the package compromised. In the meantime, figure out your routes to the farmhouse and back to here, but don’t draw attention to your team or the farmhouse. I’ll return in thirty-six hours with your final orders.” He stood.

  “Really? Caden frowned. “You came all this way for a five minute meeting?”

  “I’ve been in the area for a couple of weeks now working on parts of … well, things.” Weston held out his hand. “I’ll see you soon.”

  They shook and Weston departed.

  Several hours after darkness settled on the region, Caden climbed into a Zodiac boat at the edge of the Mississippi for the first recon mission. Plans had been made, weapons, radio and gear checked.

  Three of his own soldiers, Sergeant Hill, Corporals Franklin and Jackson, were with him. Lieutenant Shaffer, the local guide left behind by Weston, joined them in the boat. As they started across the black water, Caden thought of all the secrecy surrounding the mission and the answers he didn’t have. His gut tense, and mouth dry, he stared into the night. What waited for them on the other side?

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  On the Mississippi between Missouri & Illinois, Thursday, October 22nd

  Caden and the other four soldiers paddled and used the currents of the river to maneuver across the dark waters of the Mississippi. As they crossed, he gazed into a sky of cloud and fog. It occurred to him that, if he hadn’t come down with Kern flu, the mission would have unfolded on moonless nights. That would have been nice.

  Tonight, the sliver of moon glowed faintly through the clouds and provided no useful light to their enemies. Infrared sensors and radar might still detect the boat, but at least the fog made spotting them difficult. Perhaps the clouds would hold for the next twenty-four hours and provide their natural concealment.

  On the eastern bank, the five men lifted the Zodiac, climbed the forested levee, and hid the craft under limbs and leaves. Lieutenant Shaffer, the local guide left by David Weston, steered them through the trees to a slough. They followed it up a gradual slope till the trees and marsh thinned, revealing a highway ahead.

  Shaffer held up his hand in a stop motion. “The New America forces patrol along the river and nearby bridges.” His whispered words were picked up by a throat mic.

  Each of the other soldiers heard him over an earbud speaker. “We need to cross Highway 3, then travel northeast through the state forest.”

  “Roger.” Caden nodded, leaned forward, and used a red light to study the map.

  Minutes after Weston departed, he had located the farm on his chart. That presented no problem. Finding the location in unfamiliar territory at night would prove a bit more difficult. Weston trusted Lieutenant Shaffer, but Caden remained unsure how much he could rely on the man. Caden didn’t know him, and clearly, Shaffer had ties to regions controlled by Durant.

  Corporal Franklin scouted north, while Sergeant Hill scouted south along the highway. Several Humvees passed in both directions, but when no headlights remained, the five rushed across the pavement into the forest. For the next hour they hiked along the tree edge in a north and east direction, roughly paralleling a branch of the Mississippi.

  Shaffer motioned for the group to stop.

  The team huddled near a large stump.

  “We’re beyond the routine patrols.” Shaffer pointed into the darkness. “We need to cross a small road,” he whispered. “Beyond that is a railroad bridge. When there aren’t any trains coming, we need to hurry across.”

  Caden held the red light close to the map. “That should bring us within a mile of the position.”

  Shaffer nodded.

  “Okay, then.” Caden stood. “Move out.”

  As they neared the railroad bridge, the irregular chop-chop sound of helicopters disturbed the quiet of the night.

  Holding his fist up, Caden signaled the others to stop. He looked up through the trees, but saw nothing.

  “They’re right over our heads,” Sergeant Hill said into Caden’s ear.

  He nodded and pointed, signaling the men to retreat into the woods.

  As they hurried, the sound shifted, coming through the trees to the north. The chop-chop sound slid lower and then slowed.

  Caden and his team continued deeper into the forest until they stumbled into a gully. “Spread out along here.”

  “Camouflage yourself with branches and leaves.” Caden moved along the line, helping others. “Do not move or shoot unless fired upon,” he whispered.

  With slow, cautious steps, Caden positioned himself so the men were lower in the gully on his right and carefully gathered tree branches and dirt over him. He laid on the bank with his M4 clutched in his right hand, while he waited and listened.

  Several minutes later a twig snapped and then another.

  Caden tensed.

  The sounds came from different angles. It seemed two, and probably more, people crept toward them. Even though he only heard them, he felt certain they were soldiers moving forward in a line with weapons ready. He hoped they didn’t have infrared gear and were equally blind.

  Gradually the sound of footsteps neared. The vague outline of five men appeared a mere ten feet away. Caden stared through the grass and leaves before him as the crunch of boots came closer.

  A foot landed on two fingers of his left hand.

  * * *

  Cape Girardeau County, Missouri, Thursday, October 22nd

  Zach wondered why he had been selected. He stared into the darkness of the Mississippi River from his foxhole on the levee. He had once heard war described as, “hours of boredom punctuated by moments of terror.” That described his life since being drafted. For several hours on the transport plane he had tried to sleep in an uncomfortable webbed seat. Then at Whiteman, they gave him food and told him to rest in the nearby barracks. By the time Zach finished eating, all the bunks were taken. He tried to sleep on the floor, and did—for a few minutes. But soon the first sergeant returned and ordered everyone into trucks for the next part of the journey. Zach found it difficult to sleep sitting upright in the truck, but almost managed it. Then jets attacked the convoy. He stumbled out of the truck and ran into the field. The truck blew up behind him throwing him to the ground.

  His heart still pounded thinking about those moments of terror.

  When they arrived at Cape Girardeau base camp, Zach pulled guard duty the first night. Later in the day the first sergeant told him he and twenty others had been selected for a special duty.

  “You’re being sent to the Mississippi,” Fletcher said like it was an honor. “You’ll construct defensive positions along the bank and guard the area.”

  While filling sandbags he saw Major Westmore and others leave in a Zodiac boat and disappear in the fog. After that he did eat some cold food and slept a couple of hours, but then found himself back along the Mississippi, and again on night guard duty.

  If the New America forces didn’t kill him, the lack of sleep would.

  The radio clicked twice signaling a friendly approaching. Boots on gravel broke the stillness of the night.

  Zach turned to face the person. “Halt. Who goes there?”

  “First Sergeant Fletcher
.”

  Zach recognized the voice. “Advance.”

  Fletcher strode out of the black and stood beside him overlooking the water. “Have you seen anything?”

  “Nothing.” Zach looked back at the river. “Except water, fog and clouds.”

  “That’s what the other sentries are telling me.”

  Zach wondered why such reports didn’t make him happy.

  “The situation may change at any moment. Be ready. We need to hold this position until Major Westmore returns.”

  Zach nodded, but had no idea why this place was so important, or where Major Westmore had gone. The tension on Fletcher’s face told him there would soon be more moments of terror.

  * * *

  Alexander County, Illinois, Thursday, October 22nd

  A second foot slid in loose dirt nearby. The nearest foot pressed hard on his hand.

  Caden clenched his teeth and held his breath.

  The soldier steadied himself and then continued into the gully and up the other side.

  After all sound of the soldiers faded, Caden rubbed his bruised fingers. Then he motioned for the team to huddle. “Somehow they know we’re here or think we might be.” He glanced at Shaffer, pondered his loyalty, and returned his gaze to the others. “I suspect soldiers are positioned along the roads and bridges. It’s too dangerous to continue to the position tonight.” He looked again to Shaffer. “Can you get us from here to the location tomorrow?”

  “Yes.”

  Caden didn’t want to stay in enemy territory for eighteen hours, but that seemed the best plan. “We’ll wait in this area.” Peering into the black forest, he said, “Let’s find a good location to hide.”

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  Alexander County, Illinois, Friday, October 23rd

  Caden watched from the tight stand of trees where the team waited. The sun rose, crossed the sky, and once again slid low. Hours had passed since they heard soldiers or helicopters. That made him smile, but a clear sky meant a clear moonlit night. When the team moved into the open they would be visible. He huddled over his map and used the last rays of daylight to confirm the route they would use to the farmhouse. Then he waited for the sun to sink below the horizon. They would need as much darkness as nature could provide.