Haven

by Justin Kemppainen

  He stormed back inside, cursing silently at his luck. “Severe casualties…” he muttered, “What the hell does that mean?! Someone get Bates back on the line!” He yelled, again to no one specific.

  “Sorry sir,” some apprehensive-looking man piped up, “He doesn’t seem to be answering.”

  Redgick took a deep breath and sat down heavily into a wooden chair, shaking his head. Victory within grasp. Now we have to get settled in; so much for wrapping this up tonight, he thought. He slunk a little, trying to relax his nerves and taking several more deep breaths.

  After a moment he stood. He was about to order the operator to update Alpha on the situation, but decided to do it himself. He jogged over to the comm., relieved the man on duty, and switched over to Alpha Base, located just inside the Citizen’s Escape entrance building lobby, “Alpha, do you copy? This is Captain Redgick.”

  A male voice crackled through, “This is Alpha, go ahead, sir.”

  “What’s your status, Alpha?” He asked.

  “We’re green here, sir. No sign of anyone or anything moving out there so far.” There was a pause, and he thought he could hear whispering. “Were you guys going to come back through here anytime soon? It stinks down here, sir.”

  Redgick grimaced but allowed a thin smile, “Doesn’t look like it, soldier, unless it’s with our tails between our legs.” He stopped, wondering again how many casualties rated ‘severe.’ He spoke, “Any word from above?”

  He heard what almost sounded like a nervous cough, “No, sir. Last transmission was twenty minutes ago with a report on the combat situation. Shall I contact them with another update?”

  “No!” Redgick blurted before composing himself. “Ah, no. That is not necessary just yet. In the next scheduled transmission, tell them there are delays, but everything is running smoothly.” He wiped the sweat out of his eyes. “If there’s anything else, we’ll keep you informed. Gamma out.”

  “Yes, sir.” Came the reply before the transmission ceased. He replaced the receiver, this time more gently, and sighed.

  Over the next hour or so, his troops filtered in. They dragged, carried, or assisted various wounded men as they came, grim and ragged looks in their eyes. Eventually, Bates, looking like a frightened yet sedated rabbit, staggered in, out of breath and favoring one leg.

  Redgick watched his approach with a frown. He beckoned him over with a sharp gesture, and Bates obeyed, giving him a shaky salute when he arrived.

  “What happened?” Redgick asked, calmly.

  Bates, clearly battered, exhausted, and only dimly aware of his surroundings related most of the story. Once he got to the part about the ambush, the tale became twisted and confusing.

  “Who attacked Olson’s men? From where?” Redgick demanded, his blood pressure and irritation rising once more.

  “I don’t know sir,” he mumbled half-coherently.

  Redgick had a thought and grabbed a small flashlight from his belt, shining it in Bates’ face, moving the light back and forth into his eyes. He sighed. “Get over to a medic; it looks like you might have a concussion.”

  Bates gave him another half-hearted salute and went off in search of some help.

  Redgick watched with growing apprehension as more of his soldiers continued to pour in, not entirely sure of what he was going to do next.

  Chapter 22: Shaky Alliances

  Rick honestly didn’t think he would encounter more trouble just trying to talk to Miguel’s barricaded forces than he did inflicting the crippling losses on the Citizens. Overall, losses were relatively light.

  Seven of his men were wounded in extremities, each one from the bait team. They were all in pain and out of commission but would live. Two others incurred light flesh wounds or nicks and could still fight. Seven of his men were killed; six on the street and one to a lucky stray shot up into the building. The grenadier had been killed, several bullets punched into and through his chest. The sentimental thought struck Rick about burying the beloved grenade launcher with him, but he cast it aside. Wasting valuable resources was not something he was willing to do.

  Being a commander, Rick hated losing men, as much for the loss of capable soldiers as for humanitarian reasons. As he surveyed the street east of the club called Heavenly Bodies, viewing the twisted, heaped remains of dozens upon dozens of dead Citizen soldiers, he vaguely wondered how their commanding officer was feeling right now. Not that he really cared.

  Any who had survived and were merely bleeding and unable to move had been dispatched by the intermittent fire that still came out of the club from the paranoid and disorganized rabble of Miguel’s men.

  This is also why Rick had his back pressed to the very same brick wall that the unfortunate Lt. Bates had found himself not long ago. He was trying to figure out how to get them to stop shooting, without resorting to violence himself. I haven’t really come up with much so far, he thought.

  An idea occurred to him. He nudged the soldier next to him, “You wearing a white undershirt?”

  The man looked confused. “Well, uh. Yeah, I think so.” He shouldered his rifle and pulled his uniform up, squinting. “Why?”

  “Take it off, I need it.”

  More confused than ever, he reluctantly obeyed. He set down his weapon and pack, unzipping his uniform jacket and folding it carefully on top of his other possessions. The white shirt resembled more of a yellowed-grayish color from the grime and sweat it had absorbed. The soldier peeled it off and held it out.

  Rick eyed it, frowning. He thumbed the safety on his rifle, for precaution’s sake, and used the barrel to lift the shirt up. “I have no idea if this is going to work.” He said to the man who was shrugging back into his uniform, clearly uncomfortable to have the rough material directly on his bare skin.

  He poked the end of his gun out, with the off-white cloth dangling from it, and waved it up and down and back and forth. A few bullets whizzed by at the initial movement, but Rick imagined he heard the words ‘cease fire’ yelled. He thought it also could have been something like, “Wait until they’re exposed, then fire,” but he was too far away to be really sure.

  Some of his men, who had taken up cover positions, gawked at him. “What are you doing, boss?” Someone asked.

  He continued waving the shirt up and down, “This is an old battle signal used for calling a truce. Or surrendering, I can never remember which.”

  “You wave a dirty t-shirt on the end of a gun?”

  Rick shot him a scowl, “It’s a white flag. You wave a white flag to signify that you want to talk peacefully and negotiate.”

  “That’s not a flag.”

  Rick gave him a look, “Really? Are you sure?” He rolled his eyes. “Of course it isn’t a flag, but it’s the closest thing I’ve got here.”

  “Do you really think it’s going to work?”

  Rick thought about this. “No.” He admitted. “Probably not. Then again, I don’t have any other ideas and neither does anyone else. I can only hope that someone in there recognizes the symbol.”

  Sometime during that exchange, the weapons fire from the building had ceased completely. Rick was tempted to step around the corner, but he didn’t know if it would hold, so he continued waving the “flag” up and down.

  His radio crackled. He grabbed it and muttered, “Go ahead.”

  It was one of his marksman/scouts who informed him, in that icy-cold voice of someone accustomed to killing efficiently and often, “Someone is coming out. He is not holding a weapon, but it looks like he has a handgun in a shoulder holster.”

  “Continue to watch, and hold your fire,” Rick replied. He replaced his radio and peeked around the corner. The report was confirmed; there was a man approaching. Good Lord, I can’t believe this actually worked, he marveled.

  Rick put the weapon and shirt on the ground. He knew it was a gamble, but he walked out with his hands up, displaying himself as non-threatening as possible. The man opposite him did not do the same. He was an average
height man with long sandy-colored hair. He had a square jaw and prominent brow. His skin was weathered and lined, and all together made him look like he wore a permanent scowl. He wore dirty jeans and an open flannel work shirt with a white tank-top underneath.

  As he approached, through the open shirt, Rick could see dark, sweat-stained leather straps that he assumed connected to the semi-concealed weapon. They met in the middle of the square in a deathly still silence. The bodies of fallen men scattered around, both Citizen and Miguel’s people alike. Rick still held his hands up, not wanting to make any sort of motion that would spook any trigger-happy people in the building.

  The man’s scowl expression remained on his face as the two men sized each other up. After a moment, he broke the silence, “You’re not Citizen.” Hints of a question shaded his inflection.

  “No. I’m not.” Rick replied.

  “You used a surrender signal. Why?”

  Rick grimaced. White flag of surrender; that’s what it is, “I wanted to speak with you on peaceful terms. We have some important things to discuss.”

  Rick could see the gears grinding in the man’s head as he gazed around the square. He looked past Rick, seeing the street filled with the bodies of enemy soldiers. “You did this,” again a statement with a questioning tone.

  “Yes.”

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is Rick. I represent Elijah.”

  The man’s eyes widened at the name drop. “Elijah? Why would he want to help us? We’ve been fighting for years.”

  Rick gave a grin and lowered his hands. “That, as you can see,” he said, tossing a sweeping gesture around at the dead soldiers, “is changing.”

  The man nodded. “So it would seem. My name is Isaac.” He turned and yelled behind him, “Everyone, stand down! Get some security around the square and tend to the wounded!”

  Rick gave a bitter laugh, “Don’t get too comfortable.” Isaac raised an eyebrow. “By my best guess, we still have two hundred Citizen soldiers camped somewhere around here. Evicting them is a priority.”

  Isaac raised an eyebrow. “A counter-attack already? You sure got brass.”

  “Yeah, so they tell me,” Rick said dismissively, changing the subject. He was curious for news. “Are you in charge around here? Where is Miguel?”

  Isaac scowled, deepening the lines on his face, “We don’t know where he is. He disappeared sometime around the attack trying to woo some captive bitch.” Rick fought to keep the anger out of his face from the insult to who he assumed was Kaylee. “We haven’t heard from him in hours.” Isaac stiffened up, standing up straight and raising his chin. “With him absent, I’m in charge.”

  Rick grinned broadly, “Excellent! I’d like to immediately negotiate a truce and alliance.” People were starting to filter out of the building and move to their assigned tasks. “There are times when it’s stupid and pointless to be fighting when there are bigger problems to solve.” Isaac nodded at this. “This’d be one of those times.”

  “How did you know what was happening?” Isaac asked.

  “Since the attack we repelled a couple of days ago, we’ve been keeping a close eye on Purgatory. We were half-expecting something, but four hundred troops was a hell of a surprise. We did the best we could, considering the circumstances.” It was a half-truth, but Isaac seemed to accept it.

  Isaac nodded again, “It seems we owe you quite a bit. I don’t believe that we would have lasted the night without your help.”

  Rick grinned once more, “In that case, why don’t you return the favor by joining us in a retaliatory strike? We certainly could use more firepower, and I’m sure your people would enjoy the payback.”

  A smile cracked on the man’s face, “It seems a good possibility.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” Rick said, extending his hand, “Gather together as many of your people as can be ready to move out soon, and we’ll meet back here in five minutes to discuss our plan.”

  Isaac stared at the offered hand for a moment before giving his own in a firm grip. They shook and parted. Rick jogged back to the street, already on his radio. “All units, stand down; get some sentries posted and inform me immediately if there is any of the slightest hint of enemy activity. We’ve got some delicate negotiations to make here, and I want them to proceed unhindered. Get to it.”

  Once he disengaged the talk button, he switched his radio over to a different frequency and spoke once more into it, “We’re ready for you in the square.”

  Victor’s calm voice came back, “Acknowledged.”

  Rick stuck the radio back into the pouch once more. He picked up and slung his weapon, noting that the filthy shirt had already disappeared, probably back on the soldier who had graciously donated it. He walked back out into the square with a more relaxed feeling, despite having to step around dozens upon dozens of dead men. At least for the time being, he didn’t have to worry about joining them.

  ******

  Captain Redgick’s hands shook as he received a final count on number of remaining soldiers. Under two hundred, counting those back at Alpha base. Less than half of what he began with. This is a complete disaster.

  Part of him wanted to run over to wherever Bates was recovering from his trauma and throttle him for such an appalling failure. The other part vaguely understood that there was little that the lieutenant could have done to prevent it. It doesn’t matter, he thought. We assaulted the club and encountered calculated strikes from both south and east sides from still-unknown numbers of other enemy forces. There is no possible, tactical way that I can finish this. We’re done down here.

  Olson had been dragged in, unconscious and severely wounded, missing three fingers from his right hand along with at least four other bullet wounds. He had come to long enough to scream and rave something about crazed Russian madmen butchers before passing out again. From what Redgick could gather, he was referring to another down below faction that had joined the fight, spilling out of sewers and other buildings in the midst of the Citizen soldiers. Very aggressive and haphazard tactics, but Olson’s interior had been torn to shreds by the frenzied assault. His men were scattered, disorganized, and frightened by the ferocity of the enemy.

  On the other hand, Bates and his remaining forces couldn’t provide any information about the ambush group from the east. It sounded as though they attacked, fled, then caught the subsequent pursuit of Bates’ men in a crossfire. Efficient and brutal, but no one had seen enough to identify the attackers; the only one left being the lieutenant himself, who’s brains had been scrambled by some explosion.

  Redgick scowled as he considered the possibilities. Yet another faction out of hiding? Such a coordinated attack on both flanks of the siege of the club? This took planning and consideration to pull off. A small stray thought passed through his head. It’s almost like…

  It dawned on him, as though his head had broken the surface of turbulent waters. They knew we were coming. A world of possibilities spread through him as his stressed mind began to frantically fire around ideas.

  If they were careful enough to detect an attack and respond accordingly, that meant they used careful intelligence gathering. If they minimized their casualties by utilizing careful hit and run tactics, then it implied a familiarity with strategic planning. If more than one faction was involved, that meant alliances had been formed and they were no longer a loose rabble of undesirables.

  Redgick’s hand gripped the back of a chair, his knuckles turning white. All of this meant one terrible thing. The people of down below were not some passing nuisance or mild annoyance. They were a real, tangible, and serious threat. They were organized, unified, and they had learned how to fight. He almost didn’t want to believe it, but the proof it rested with two hundred of his men, killed in a strike both swift and brutally efficient. Then what would an intelligent military leader do next in this case? He asked himself. His eyes widened, knowing the exact answer to that question. He would send a vicious strike aga
inst the nearly-crippled enemy forces engaged in retreat… We need to get out of here, he thought.

  Of course! He ran to the radio and called the other base. They had a direct line with the surface and could send for reinforcements. “Alpha base, come in!”

  “This is Alpha, go ahead.”

  “Has there been any contact with the surface since our last communication”

  “Yes, sir. They requested an update, and as per instructions they were informed of the delay but an overall smooth campaign.” There was a pause as the tech cleared his throat. “The High Inquisitor did not sound very happy about the setback. He said-”

  “Look, it isn’t important right now!” He said sharply, cutting the man off. “I need you to contact the surface again and tell them to send every available soldier as reinforcements. Tell them everything we thought about the inhabitants was wrong. Tell them we were attacked by a highly trained force of unified factions. Tell them that they knew we were coming!”

  There was silence on the other end. Finally, the man spoke, “Jesus. Are you serious?”

  “Yes! Do it now!” Redgick shouted.

  “All right! Okay, I’ll contact them right away!” The tech shouted back. “If they send troops, where do you want them to go?”

  “We set up Gamma base inside of an empty liquor store building about a mile and a half southeast of the target. It’s by, hold on,” he ducked his head out the window and saw a bent and faded street sign, “Trenton Avenue. Send them in this direction, and tell them to hurry. If enemy forces discover our location, I believe they’ll send a counter-attack.” Tension once again filled his voice, “We’re going to try and pack up and vacate this area, but tell them to hurry; I don’t know if we can hold them off if they come here.”