by Jim Johnson
Linda held the M-16 at waist level as she sat awkwardly against the wall of 13’s headquarters building. She shifted her body so that Suzie slid mostly behind her, protecting Suzie with her own body.
Linda looked dumbly at blood welling from her thigh.
A shadow flickered in her peripheral vision and she snapped a shot that way, rewarded by a cry.
More incoming fire tracked to them. Linda wondered just how much of an army they had here.
She fired the M-16 a couple of more times until it, too, ran out of ammunition.
“Well, shit, Suze,” Linda Landover said conversationally, “I always knew it would end, but not this way, not in a last stand.” She leaned back against Suzie Quantrell and waited as more rounds inched their way across the landing.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: HIM
García was gone and Tommy knew they had little time. He stood eying the two soldiers guarding them. One motioned with his M-16 telling Tommy to move against the wall. Tommy could see the man thinking: he’d been instructed to secure María Elena to the wall, but García had been distracted before he’d given similar orders concerning Atkins. Before the man could decide, Tommy stepped as far away from María Elena as he could and came to a stop against the wall, closer, he noted, to the table where García had weapons and a couple of intriguing duffle bags.
The first soldier saw Tommy looking at the table and finally made the connection; he started walking toward Tommy, his weapon straight ahead of him pointing right at Tommy. Tommy tried to use his peripheral vision to see if María Elena was working on her handcuffs, but didn’t because he couldn’t turn his head that way in case it gave the guards a tipoff. He continued to survey the table. A couple of handguns sat alongside a large, open duffle. Inside the canvas bag, Tommy could see the stocks of a couple other weapons, and maybe the folded stock of a submachine gun of some type. This led him to believe that the bag was full of handguns and automatic weapons. The duffle was certainly large enough to accommodate even the length of M-16s and other similar weapons. A getaway stash in case García had to go on the run? Likely. That well could have been what García’s intentions were anyway.
The sentry was almost to him.
Tommy turned his head and coughed violently, risking a glance at María Elena. She was calmly watching the choreography of Tommy and the two sentries. But Tommy noticed muscles in her lower arms working, and her hands were partially covered. Because this was their one best chance to escape, Tommy continued with his plan. He coughed some more and began to wretch. The dry heave caused the soldier to step back. Number two sentry was watching expectantly.
Tommy stepped forward, still gagging and the guard stepped back. Tommy wanted the two guards in each other’s way to impede any movement they might make.
The guard waved the muzzle of his M-16, warning Tommy to go back. Tommy ignored him and wretched again, this time infusing spittle and phlegm from his throat into the movement. The spray with attendant globs flew from his mouth and the guard retreated quickly.
While he had his chance, Tommy struck with a booted foot, catching the man in the right thigh, spinning him backwards and the two guards slumped together for a second before they could untangle their weapons.
That was all that Tommy needed. He followed up with a powerful kick to the back of the first sentry’s knee, the crack of breaking bone audible across the room. The man screamed as he went down grabbing his knee from the front.
The other guard danced backwards but hit a wall himself and Tommy kicked a metal folding chair at him as he swung the barrel of his weapon toward Tommy. The man ducked and Tommy swarmed in as the chair banged to the floor. It was difficult with his hands cuffed behind him. He slammed into the guard, preferring to operate inside the radius of the rifle. Stupidly, the guard wouldn’t let go of his M-16 to get himself out of trouble. The man was pinned against the wall and Tommy kneed him in the groin. The sentry screamed and folded over, puking. Tommy dodged aside and kicked him in the left kidney hard. The guard screamed and went white and writhed on the floor. To make sure, Tommy kicked him in the temple and the ugly sound put an end to any movement or noise from the man.
Tommy spun, looking for the guard with the broken knee. Never leave an enemy any chance.
María Elena was swinging another metal folding chair and it collided with that sentry’s forehead with a sickening whack. Blood and bile leaked from the man’s open mouth hanging there. He would no longer offer a problem.
María Elena rushed to the table where Tommy had been disarmed, retrieved his knife and came and sawed off the plastic restraints on his wrists.
Tommy shot a thankful look at her and rubbed his wrists as he hurried to the table and started to rearm himself. He kept the sawed-off shotgun in the crook of his arm at ready. No one here was their friend, so he needn’t worry about where the shot pattern went.
“Once again you done good, Pocahontas. Find yourself something to shoot with, preferably more than one thing with ammo. We’re gonna have to shoot our way out of this.”
“Yes, dear.” She took a Glock off the dead guard she’d killed and pulled a couple of magazines off his belt.
“María Elena? I’m not inclined to run out of this just yet. I think we need to finish it.”
“Me, too.”
“I don’t suppose I can convince you to hide out while I take care of business?”
“Not a chance.” She ejected the magazine from the Glock, checked it, and slapped it back into the gun. She went over to the duffle. “A treasure trove of weaponry.”
Tommy joined her, keeping an eye on the entryway. He dug through the duffle. He pulled out a small .32 revolver. “Here, this is just right. Stick it under your waistline at the small of your back.
A fusillade of shots came from out front of the building. In a second, he could hear return fire. It died then started again.
“One hell of a firefight out there,” he said. “So who…?”
“Beats me?”
“I need to find out. Keep your head down. Can you shoot a MAC-10?”
“You betcha.” She smiled at him.
He was glad she could smile. Not a lot of people can think straight with dead guys lying around and bullets flying all about.
He retrieved the submachine gun from the duffle and handed it to her. “I’ll see what’s going on. Sit over there in the corner where you won’t be seen immediately if someone comes in the room. Kill them if they’re not friendly. I’ll call ahead when I come back.”
“Yes. Don’t take any chances.”
“Life’s one big chance, sweetheart. Sometimes it’s worth it.” He patted her on the ass and turned to go.
“Tommy? Before you go?”
“What?”
“Just in case.” She grabbed his head and pulled him down to her. The kiss was brief but singular and full of heat and promise. She stepped back. “For the record, yes, I will marry you.”
He gave her a big wide smile and turned and bent over to pick up an errant M-16 lying unused on the floor. He went to the other dead sentry and took the spare magazines on the man’s web belt. He slipped on his vest and pocketed the magazines. Then he went out.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: THEM
Linda Landover was sitting there on the sprawling front landing of the 13 headquarters. Automatic weapons fire was searching them out. She casually looked out over the battlefield, a strange mix of parade ground, parking area; gravel, grass, dirt, hardpan, crushed coral, battle damaged vehicles. She wondered about life. She regretted some things she’d never done; but she was honest with herself, actually she’d done about all she really wanted to. She regretted most of all not being able to save Suzie. She didn’t really care about herself, which was why she was such an effective combatant. She never, ever gave up.
But right now Linda was tired, oh so tired.
She watched the morning sun peep above a line of palm trees to the east and kind of liked the sight. She’d never been into sunrises and
sunsets. She could get to like them. Maybe a cold martini in one hand and a good Lucky Strike in the other. Unfiltered Lucky Strike, of course. She breathed deeply, imagining she was inhaling. Absently, she checked the pocket of her favorite yellow sun dress and found no smokes. Maybe she’d left them on the Cessna.
Suzie’s warm body stuffed behind her gave Linda pause. Somebody needed to see to her funeral, it was only fitting that that person be her. Suzie’s body was still warm, so she could well be alive. If so, it was likely the poor woman wouldn’t live out the hour, much less the day.
What was that thought she’d just had? Linda scoured her mind, knowing it was important. A round clipped the top of her shoulder. Another skinned through her favorite yellow sun dress and tore a hole in the damn thing.
The thought? What the fuck was it? Goddamn! That was it. Never, ever give up. Then why the fuck was she sitting here like at a goddamn Sunday picnic looking out over some stupid fucking lake with ducks and geese and shit like that?
“Awright, goddamnit, gimme a fuckin’ minute here.” She was talking to her smarter, survival self. She hiked her dress and observed her wound. Deep blood welled out of her thigh, but it wasn’t spurting or pumping. She wondered if her leg still worked. It had folded beneath her earlier. She shook her head to clear it. “Stay on task, dammit.”
Linda ripped a strip off her favorite yellow sundress where the MAC-10 round had torn a path. She hiked her dress, took a deep breath, and lifted her leg. It worked! Quickly, she tied a temporary tourniquet above the wound. The blood stopped welling.
“Well, shit,” she said aloud, “nothing to it when you know how.”
Incoming fire intensified as if the enemy out there saw what she was doing and finally figured out she was not dead or dying. She started pushing herself up with no plan in mind when another flurry of fire concentrated on them.
Something hit her head with a glancing blow and she fell. Feeling the incoming fire targeting them finally, she crawled to Suzie and threw her body over that of the CIA agent.
“We’ve been through this before, Suze. It doesn’t look good again.”
Incoming fire intensified and she felt impacts tracing along the front of the building racing for them.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the front doors slam open and a big man stride out carrying two M-16s, one in each hand. He opened fire with three round bursts, calmly picking his targets. When one M-16 emptied, he tossed it aside and fired with the other. That one ran out of ammo and he dropped the magazine and slapped in another and began firing once again. This time he fired on full auto as he strode toward Linda and Suzie.
Linda recognized he was forcing the 13 soldiers to take cover.
Again he switched magazines and again he emptied the M-16. Now there was no return fire, the fierceness of his attack sending the enemy into hiding. Acrid gunsmoke drifted about and then faded.
He dropped the rifle and Linda felt a strong arm lifting her. “Suzie, get Suzie.”
Atkins tucked her under one arm and lifted Suzie with his other. He turned and strode quickly to the front doors, stepped over the late executive officer and moved swiftly inside.
He continued down the hall and turned into a doorway. “Pocahontas, it’s me,” he said aloud. He went through the double doors and headed to a couch. He sat Linda down on one end and lay Suzie down alongside her on the remainder of the couch.
“Is she dead?” asked Linda, voice raw.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: HIM
“Let’s find out,” Tommy said.
He turned Susan Quantrell face up and ripped open her blouse. The jacket was in the way, so he peeled that aside.
Linda Lavender levered herself over Suzie.
“Don’t get in the way, FBI. María Elena, we got a couple of short minutes before they stick their head up again. Help me here.”
He felt CIA’s throat for a pulse then saw the woman breathing shallowly and discontinued the pulse check.
María Elena came over.
“Keep an eye and an ear on the door,” Tommy told her. “Do you know where the first aid kit or medical supplies are?”
“In the orderly room adjoining the barracks.” She pointed. “A hundred and fifty yards or so that way.”
“Well, we got to stop this bleeding. She doesn’t look so good.”
Linda scrambled up and limped around Atkins and María Elena. She reached down and pushed Suzie’s jacket aside. She tugged out a fanny pack from beneath her friend, zipped it open, and dug inside. She came out with several feminine hygiene pads and tampons. She ripped the paper off two.
“Here. Strip the tampon and push it into the wound. Then slap the pad over the top of that. The wings and edges are sticky and should hold.”
Tommy was already doing that thing. The cotton mix in the tampon was very absorbent, of course, and staunched the blood flow immediately. There were two wounds adjacent to each other and they’d become one large wound. The tampon fit perfectly. He applied the pad and stretched the wings and smoothed them down. “As good as we can do.”
Linda leaned over Suzie and propped open an eyelid. She looked up at Tommy who spread his hands in a question. “I’ve no idea, but doctors do that in the movies.” She stood upright and wobbled.
Tommy moved swiftly behind her and grabbed her. He sat her down on the couch in her previous seat. He knelt before her and pulled up her yellow sun dress.
“Apparently, you ain’t bullet proof,” he observed. He untied the yellow dress strip tourniquet and said to María Elena. “Give me a couple of those pads.”
María Elena did so, and said, “These are panty liners.”
“I don’t need to know this shit,” Tommy said. “But she carries a lot of supplies.”
Linda’s head was leaning against the back of the couch. “It’s for both of us. Our periods are due any time.”
“Us?”
“Synchronized,” Linda said.
“I don’t need to know this shit,” Tommy said again.
“It happens when women are together a lot,” María Elena said, “like in a military unit.”
“I really don’t need to know this shit.”
“Atkins? You owe us nothing. But thanks for the assist anyway.”
“Sure thing, FBI. We might need help busting out of here and I pick you for our team.”
She smiled gratefully.
He rose and went swiftly to a table at the far side of the room upon which sat the requisite coffee pot extant in every military day room in the world. He snatched a dispenser of sugar and brought it back with him.
“María Elena, if you don’t know, this here’s FBI, a tough lady named Linda Landover.” He nodded over at Suzie. “And Miss CIA, Susan Quantrell.” He knelt in front of FBI and sprinkled sugar over her wound. At her questioning glance, he said, “Bacteria can’t grow in a sugar environment.” He nodded at CIA. “He wounds are too severe for me to try this trick.” He finished putting the panty liner on Linda’s thigh. “A shame to mar such fine legs.” He shrugged. “But it’ll heal with a tiny puckered scar. It’ll show character.”
Linda snorted.
“JTF 13,” said María Elena.
“In person, but not functioning very well right now,” said Linda.
María Elena said, “I’ve been engaged for only about twenty minutes and already my fiancé has his hand up a beautiful woman’s dress.”
“I knew it was you,” said Linda. “And smokin’ hot, too. Congratulations.”
“There’s a small matter of making me a widow first, but Tommy’s going to take care of that.”
“Lucky guy. You’re absolutely beautiful.”
“So, too, are you,” María Elena replied.
“Disregarding all the blood?” Linda tried to grin.
“You bet,” said María Elena honestly.
“Next time,” said Tommy uncomfortably, “one of those Velcro straps on your thighs would make a good tourniquet.” He needed them to change the s
ubject.
Surprise etched on Linda’s face. “Damn, I wasn’t thinking. Hell, I thought I was dying.” She paused. “And I ruined my favorite yellow sun dress.”
“It still looks good on you,” said Tommy. The dress was sprayed with blood from her and somebody not her, and had been ripped and shot through several times.
Linda smoothed her sun dress back over her legs. She looked over at Suzie with concern. “I’m worried.”
“Anybody have a cell phone? We might call for the cavalry.”
Linda leaned over and searched Suzie’s pockets. She found it in another jacket pocket, but it was smashed from all the falling and tumbling.
Tommy thought that might not be a bad thing. He didn’t need a bunch of feds running around asking questions and taking names. On the other hand, they were surrounded by bad guys with lethality on their minds.
“We do have two pilots over at the landing strip,” said Linda. “Their orders are to remain aboard. I don’t know what they’ll do having heard a small war over here.”
María Elena went to a small table by the door and picked up a landline telephone. “No signal, the distribution box is over by the motor pool, so somebody’s disabled it.”
“Or blew it up,” said Tommy. “Fire a couple of rounds down the hall and out the front doors, will you please?” he told María Elena.
She picked up a sentry’s Glock and triggered two rounds from behind the doorframe.
“I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way,” said Tommy.
Linda stood uncertainly. “The sooner we clean out this nest of vipers, the sooner we can get Suzie some help.”
“Can you walk?” asked Tommy.
“I guess I’ll have to.” She limped tentatively across the floor.
“Good,” said Tommy, “let us go forth and kill some of those Saracens.”
“No,” said Linda, “let us go out and kill all them motherfuckers.”
María Elena said, “Count me in.”
