Holding Their Own: The Salt War

by Joe Nobody

  “I still say we do both,” Cory said. “My friends are scouting the school. If anyone can get inside and apply the poison, it will be them.”

  The doctor considered Cory’s logic, looking at the beaker of greenish liquid they had extracted. “I think our friend is right, Victor. We have to do both. If Stan’s men don’t get sick, he’ll just blame the illness on food poisoning. If people who never visited the banquet show the same symptoms, then he’ll have to know it is something more serious.”

  “When will you be ready?”

  “We have another half bushel to process, and then we have to separate the concentrated toxin. We’ll be finished in a few more hours.”

  Chapter 9

  Grim handed Kevin back his sniper rifle, blinking his eyes after peering for so long through the high-powered scope resting atop the weapon.

  They were 800 meters from the school that now acted as Mr. Gospel’s headquarters, hiding in the dense brush, and trying to determine a way inside.

  “That’s one nasty setup,” Grim commented to his younger companion. “Even at night, it’s very risky.”

  “There has to be a way,” Kevin responded, returning the rifle to his shoulder to scan the distant structure. “It’s just a school, not a military base or prison.”

  “Oh, if we could take out a couple of the guards, it would be cake to get inside. But this op calls for accessing the interior without leaving any trace of the visit. That building has unobstructed fields of observation for hundreds of yards, well-placed sentries on the rooftop, and random patrols. It’s a tough nut to crack.”

  Kevin didn’t comment, his comrade’s tone indicating he needed time to think. He continued studying the complex, looking for any weakness or access point.

  While he watched, three women appeared at the makeshift gate someone had erected, one of the female visitors carrying a mop bucket, another toting a broom. There was a brief conversation with the guards manning the checkpoint, and then the cleaning crew was allowed to pass.

  “I have an idea,” Kevin teased. “Can you dress up like a wash woman?”

  “What?” Grim asked, recoiling from the young man and his suggestion.

  Handing the rifle back, Kevin said, “I just saw three women get past the guards. They had cleaning supplies. You can see them just strolling into the complex.”

  Grim was silent for a long period, watching the women enter the building and disappear from sight. “Brilliant,” he finally responded. “Absolutely brilliant.”

  “So you’re going to dress up like a woman? I’ve got to see that. Can I use the solar charger to power up my phone? I want to take pictures to show Bishop and my dad.”

  A light chuckle came from Grim’s throat. “No, I’m not becoming a cross dresser. I don’t have the legs for it. But it does give me another idea. Come on, we’ve got some work to do.”

  An hour later, the two Alliance men were on the opposite side of the school, perched on the second floor of an abandoned home.

  “Do you see it?” Grim asked, waiting for Kevin to focus the rifle’s big optic. “Twenty meters away from the double doors, just to the right of those bushes.”

  “Yeah! Yes, I see it.”

  “Can you hit it? From here?” The older man asked anxiously.

  “Sure can,” Kevin responded, checking the range. “But I’m not sure how much damage I can do. This is a .308, not a 50 caliber with armor piercing shells.”

  “It’s a pump, for Heaven’s sake. It can’t be armored.”

  The sniper studied the target, trying to analyze the machine’s operation. “Are you sure that’s the water pump?”

  “Positive,” replied Grim. “My uncle was an industrial plumber by trade, and I used to help him before I went into the Army. If you look a little to the left, there’s a gas generator hooked up to the pump. They will run the unit for about an hour a day to fill that big tank on the roof. Gravity provides the water pressure for the school. A lot of rural, commercial buildings are configured the same way.”

  Kevin scanned the setup, slowly moving to the roofline of the three-story school. Just as Grim said, he could spot a hefty storage tank, complete with silver piping running in and out.

  “Why don’t I just shoot the tank at the bottom,” he asked. “The water will leak out, and they’ll have to call a repairman.”

  “It would be too obvious that the tank had been hit with a pretty, round bullet. It would put them on high alert. The pumps, on the other hand, do occasionally rupture on their own. I thought we’d have a better chance of pulling off that deception.”

  “I know!” Kevin brightened. “How about I shoot the pipe? Wouldn’t a pipe give way if it was old and corroded?”

  Grim rubbed his chin, “Yes, it might. Especially one that was exposed to the elements outside. Can you hit that small of a target from here?”

  Kevin pulled a laser range finder from his vest, steadying his hands on the window frame. “It’s 910 meters, but the wind is calm. Might take me two, maybe three shots.”

  “Are you able to do it with the CAN on your rifle?”

  “Yeah… the cancelation device doesn’t affect the ballistics. What I can’t do is use the sub-sonic rounds. They won’t reach that far.”

  “So what will the guards around the building be able to hear? Will they know it’s a bullet?”

  Holding up a finger to signal he needed a bit of time, Kevin began digging around in his pack. The first thing he extracted was a notebook and pencil, second came a calculator.

  Grim watched as the team’s best shot ran through a series of calculations, punching the buttons of the solar-powered calculator and scratching the results on a blank sheet of paper.

  Next, the number cruncher made another pass through the pack, finally producing a plastic box of cartridges labeled “200 gr.” Opening the lid, Kevin sighed in disappointment. “I’ve only got three left.”

  “You only have three rounds left? Period? Total?” Grim questioned, his tone indicating he was about to go ballistic himself.

  “No, no. I have plenty of regular ammo left for my weapon. But these are extra heavy bullets. I rarely use them, but they would work for this target because they slow down quickly while in flight.”

  The expression on the older man’s face indicated he didn’t understand.

  “The speed of sound is 1,127 feet per second. My bullet has to be going slower than that before it reaches the school, or the guys on the ground will hear a sonic boom, the crack of the round passing through the air faster than sound.”

  “So you need heavier bullets because they slow down?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you only have three?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Grim paced back and forth, trying to contemplate the risks versus reward. They had to create a need for the men inside the school-compound to contact an outside service, and it had to be something unusual. He was sure the cleaning crew and other regular visitors were well known by the guards. But a plumber surely wasn’t an everyday guest. Besides, after working with his uncle, he was sure he could talk the talk and walk the walk.

  The risks were many. Kevin could miss. Three shots might not be enough to bust the pipe. The guards could realize someone was shooting at them. A patrol could hear the sniper rifle and pin them down in the house or chase them away.

  Any of those options would cause the men running the facility to lock it up tight – water or no.

  But they had to do something… and quickly. Nick couldn’t last forever out there, and the men in Cartersville had their side of the plan ready to go. “Bishop once told me that a half-assed plan today is better than a perfect plan tomorrow. Do it, Kevin.”

  The kid nodded, setting the three heavy shells to the side, then working on a proper brace and shooting position for his shots. Grim rotated between scanning their surroundings and watching his teammate prepare. While few men could stand against the ex-contractor inside of 200 meters, he had never been able
to develop long distance shooting skills. He just didn’t possess the patience and special mindset required, but was fascinated by those who did.

  The house they occupied was full of random junk, cobwebs and all kinds of post-occupational debris. After scanning the scraps of cloth, furniture, and crumbling plaster that littered the floor, Kevin lifted a dilapidated, old dresser to a position just inside the window.

  Using his pack as a seat, the kid steadied his rifle’s bipod on the dresser and then set about making himself as comfortable as possible. “This is at the edge of my effective range,” Kevin noted as he worked on the setup. “When I talked dad into letting me join Bishop’s team, I never thought I’d have to shoot much further than 1,000 yards.”

  Grim glanced through the glassless window at the distant school. He shook his head at the seemingly impossible distance. “You’re doing great, Kevin. You’ve bailed our asses out I don’t know how many times. Do your best – that’s all anyone can ever do.”

  Watching as the kid returned to rummage in his pack, Grim was surprised when the shooter pulled out a pair of rolled-up socks. “Do your feet itch?”

  Kevin laughed, acting like he appreciated the joke. After he’d settled down, he looked at Grim soberly and said, “Thanks for that. That’s something Bishop would do to help my nerves. I really appreciate it.”

  Grim wanted to tell the kid he wasn’t joking, but decided against it. “Just trying to do my best to help.”

  After taking his perch, Kevin picked up the socks and inserted them between the rifle butt and his shoulder. “At extreme range,” he whispered, almost as if repeating past instructions, “you want the least amount of human body on the weapon as possible. The shooter’s heartbeat, pulsing through the rifle’s stock, could throw the shot off. Try to brace the weapon to the point where there’s nothing more than your finger on the trigger.”

  It seemed to Grim that it took hours for Kevin to prep for the shot. He watched impatiently as the kid adjusted, braced, shimmed with cardboard, and at one point put the weapon down while he placed a thin piece of cloth under one edge of the dresser.

  Finally, Kevin looked up and announced, “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Grim hustled to the back of the house, scanning all around for any sign of humanity that might be sneaking up on their hide. He observed no one. He quickly double-checked all around, still identifying no threat in the vicinity. “Send it,” he said calmly.

  It was another minute before the rifle barked. With the noise cancelation device screwed onto the end of the barrel, the report was much calmer than Grim expected – more like someone hitting the bottom of a soup pan with a wooden spoon.

  With only his finger on the trigger, the heavy rifle jumped considerably. Kevin was ready, quickly realigning the weapon’s position so he could view the impact of his bullet.

  It took almost three seconds before Kevin looked up from the optic and admitted, “Shit. I missed.”

  Again assuming the role of leadership, Grim tried to respond smoothly. “That’s okay. That was just the sighting round. You’ve got two more opportunities.”

  The process of setting up the rifle went by quickly this time, Kevin having all of the components he needed at hand. “Ready,” he stated calmly.

  “Send it,” Grim responded, not feeling a need to check the perimeter.

  The spoon hit the saucepan, and then Kevin was rearranging to see the results.

  Grim would have sworn it took the bullet an hour to reach the target, but the wait was worth it. “I hit it!” Keven reported with a smile, his face never leaving the scope.

  But then he frowned, looking up at Grim with a questioning expression. “I know I hit the pipe,” he stated coldly, “but it didn’t bust. There’s no water leaking out.”

  It was Grim’s turn to cause a delay, pacing back and forth while he considered their options. “Are the guards reacting in any way?”

  It took another few minutes before Kevin reported absolute calm around the school.

  “Try the third shot,” Grim stated.

  The rifle fired the third and final heavy bullet, both men waiting anxiously for the result. Kevin pulled back from the optic, grinning widely. “It’s like a thunderstorm has hit the school,” he said with joy. “Here, take a look.”

  Grim didn’t need to be asked twice, trading places with the kid and putting his eye up to the scope. What he saw made him whistle.

  A steady stream of water was spraying in a considerable arch across the school’s flat, tarpaper roof. Hundreds of gallons were pouring out of the massive tank, indicating a significant rupture of the pipe. “They ain’t going to patch that leak with duct tape,” Grim said, obviously pleased.

  The celebration was short lived. “Come on, we’ve got to get in touch with Cory and let him know what we’re doing.”

  A few moments later, the duo was exiting the home, hustling for the edge of town.

  It was the smell that led the security team to the bodies. With the continued shuffling of assignments, no one had noticed three of their own were missing… until now.

  The chief, his nose and mouth covered with a handkerchief, examined the three corpses, their personal effects identifying them all as part of Stan’s security force.

  “They’ve been here for at least two days,” observed one of the deputies. “Other than that, we would need a full autopsy to determine the cause of death.”

  “Well, it’s pretty damn clear to me two of them were killed with a knife, the other guy shot in the chest,” replied the senior lawman. “That’s cause enough for me.”

  Hurrying outside to gulp the fresh air, the chief ran into Stan. “What’s all the ruckus about?” the head man asked.

  “We just found three of your security people in there. All three died violently. I’m not sure what to make of it just yet. No witnesses… no obvious clues.”

  Mr. Gospel pondered the announcement for a moment, reaching a conclusion quickly. “He’s got help, damn it. That fucking Alliance goon has people inside of our town helping him.”

  “Could be,” responded the chief. “But why kill those men? Why here, completely on the opposite side of Cartersville from where he’s operating.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” came the angry response. “They are among us, and no doubt up to no good. Let’s run every stranger at the park out of town. Right now.”

  The lawman became worried about his friend, Stan’s reactions getting more and more paranoid. “If you say so, Stan. But I’ve got to tell you, I think we’re overreacting. We don’t know that these men weren’t slain by a completely independent party. Maybe someone managed to steal something valuable and was trying to get out of town? Hell, for all we know, some of our own people might have begun an uprising.”

  Stan’s eyes darted left and right, and for a moment, the chief thought they might roll into the back of his head. “Don’t fuck with me on this!” the man screamed, veins popping out on his forehead. “I’m sick and tired of everyone second guessing my decisions. Get every damn stranger out of this town and do it right this minute! The only people I want to see at our feast tonight are the loyal, happy citizens of Cartersville.”

  “Yes, sir,” came the brisk reply, the lawman retreating as quickly as possible, rushing off like a sergeant eager to execute an officer’s orders.

  After his adrenaline had a chance to burn off, the chief used the walk to gather his thoughts. Stan was losing control, the signs of a breakdown plain to see.

  Moving with a purposeful stride toward the school, the experienced lawman pondered his options. Was it time for a change in management? Was it time for his old friend to have an accident that would force new leadership to be appointed?

  His analysis was interrupted by one of his men rushing up. “We’ve got a problem at HQ,” reported the out of breath man.

  “What now?”

  “A pipe on the roof has burst; the building no longer has water. The second shift will be coming in soon, and
they’re going to want showers and food.”

  The chief’s first reaction being that someone had executed an act of sabotage against his forces. For just a moment, it flashed through his mind that perhaps Stan wasn’t so insane after all.

  After a few questions and answers with his deputy, he determined it was just a maintenance issue and not an attack. Exhaling, the top lawman said, “Don’t worry about it for now. We’ve got new orders to execute. We need every available man in town. Stan has ordered the park cleared out, as well as every non-resident. That’s going to take a while.”

  “The men aren’t going to like that,” reported the lieutenant. “A lot of them have been out searching the woods for the last few days. You’re going to hear lots of bitching about Stan’s promise of a hot meal and a little down time.”

  An idea then occurred to the chief. “Tell them they can still get a special supper. We’ll just cut in line at the festival tonight and make sure our guys get their share first.”

  The deputy was skeptical. “Are you sure Stan is going to be okay with that?”

  The senior lawman’s initial reaction was to bark a reprimand at his subordinate, but he held his tongue. “What choice do we have? Not five minutes ago, he ordered me to clear out every stranger in town. I don’t see how we can safely accomplish that and provide security for the festival at the same time. He’ll be okay with it.”

  Cory and the doctor finished their task late. By the time the physician was handing over his share of the poison, the Alliance man realized he was going to miss the scheduled meeting with Grim at the fence.

  While he was still trying to figure out the next move, Cory heard whistles blowing outside. He ran to the window in time to see several of the security men walking through the streets. “Oh shit,” he said. “They’re on to us.”

  But the local thugs passed by the doctor’s house, continuing on toward the Exchange and the park. A nervous looking Victor arrived a short time later, sneaking in the back door like he had just robbed a bank. “Stan has ordered all non-residents to leave town immediately,” he reported. “I think they’re suspicious about something, maybe even our plan.”