Rolling Hunger (The Yard Gnome Action Team Book 2)

by RW Krpoun

  “Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.”

  “Hey, Brick, what have you got?” Chip hailed the Pole, who came over.

  “New rifle,” he held it up for inspection. “Springfield M-1A SOCOM-16, same as Dirk Chambers. You want new rifle, they are sorting out what we took from ERF.”

  “Thanks, dude, but I like my carbine.”

  “I just got my shotgun,” Bear shrugged.

  “What works for you,” Brick nodded. “A couple upgraded, the pump shotguns are replaced by Beretta combat shotguns. They have many pistols, too.”

  “We did good on that haul, I saw Addison disarming and packing away Claymore mines and C-4 plastic explosives,” Bear said. “I wonder how much longer we’re going to be stuck here-it will nearly be dark before we get back to Grand Forks.”

  Marshal Jackson brought Marv the word. “I’m just an errand boy,” he observed to the Ranger. “Tells you how fast the brass are getting stacked on this place. Word is you keep your mouths shut and remain in Grand Forks until you get told otherwise. Here it is in writing.”

  “We’re supposed to be part of a mobile operation, a train-based deal,” Marv objected.

  “No problem, the train will be parked in Grand Forks too. The DSR is eager to take a lot of credit for this one, and you can bet they’ll figure out how to work their new program into the press releases. You’re getting paid to sit on your butts-that’s not a poke in the eye.”

  “True. What the hell is in the place, anyway?’

  “Its all deeply hush-hush right now, a secret wrapped in a conspiracy enveloped in an enigma. What it was, they were milking viral matter from zeds and using it in booby-trapped household goods.”

  The Ranger snorted. “OK, good idea for them, but so what? FASA started the outbreak, and they still launch truckloads of zeds at targets. This may be new, but its just a tactic.”

  “There’s something else, something deeper. Hodges was playing a double game, maybe a triple game here, and whatever it is, they’re getting seriously excited about it. You guys are heroes.”

  “Just as long as they pay the bounties we have coming. Hodges was CATL.”

  “Don’t fret on that topic. They’re very happy about signing that check, I promise you.”

  It was well after dark before the Gnomes reached their warehouse. Alerted by CB, Angela and Kat had stew and sandwiches waiting for them.

  “How did it go?” Angela asked as Addison arranged his meal.

  “Rough.” The dark Gnome searched for words. “Good, in that we stopped some really bad people and rescued two captives, but it was….rough. Rougher than zombies, no matter what the odds are. Killing real people isn’t easy.”

  “What are those?” Angela pointed to the four dirty gray plastic housings he had tossed onto his pack.

  “Audio feeds, the bugs the ERF had planted here. Did you look over any of the manuals I left you?”

  “I read all of them, and tried out the gear. I found two bugs, there and there. Where were the other two?”

  “There, and in that area on the top side of the light shade.”

  “See, I thought I got a reading over there, but I couldn’t pin it down.”

  “It just takes practice,” Addison blew on a spoonful of stew. “This is really good stew.”

  “Potatoes and beef, you really can’t go wrong with those two as cornerstones. I’m glad you made it out all right.”

  Addison was at a loss. “Thanks,” he ventured.

  “So now what?”

  “Now we sit in place until the DSR releases us. Marv said we will go out into the woods and train while we wait. When the train gets back from the border it will wait for us.”

  “And then down to Texas. Gone to Texas, we should carve GTT on the door like they did in the old days.”

  “Yeah.” Addison ate some stew, thinking hard, while Angela rambled from topic to topic. “They were up to something at the second place we hit,” he observed quietly when a break in her monologue gave him the opportunity.

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know, but the ERF and FASA were operating together, although it may have been ERF infiltrating a FASA operation. On the surface they were booby-trapping household goods, but there was a deeper game afoot.” His mother was foremost on his mind-Hodges was exactly the sort of nondescript professional she would employ. His presence at the site was the closest connection to his mother that Addison had made in years, and from observing the man the dark Gnome was certain that Hodges was on some level taking orders directly from her. “My mother has red hair.”

  “Well, I’m glad you didn’t get that from her. Is she still…around?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Mine isn’t. I don’t remember her much, she passed when I was young.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “Yeah. So, do you think we will ever find out what the deeper game was at the second site?”

  Addison ate some stew, frowning thoughtfully. “Yeah. I copied Hodges’ data. He had really good encryption, but I got it. The Feds won’t know.”

  The Gnomes spent the next three days training in squad tactics and drills, including several hours of night operations, while the unbroken ceiling of clouds snowed down upon them. Marv had them working hard and their recent experiences gave all the Gnomes ample motivation to polish their skills. The Ranger was pleased with the results: the training added a layer of knowledge to their combat experience and the end result, while far from where he wanted them, was a considerable improvement of their capabilities as individuals and especially as a unit and sub-units.

  When they returned to the warehouse late on the evening of October twentieth Anton Grase was waiting for them. “The DSR has released us,” he advised Marv after a minimal exchange of pleasantries. “Tomorrow there will be a minor press release and the awarding of your check for the operation in Minnesota, and then we will depart south. The official line is that what you accomplished was part of Operation Rolling Hunger, a further test of the long-range deployment capabilities of the system. You took out the ambush by luck and good skill-use, obtained data on the site, acted because the information was perishable, and there happened to be a CATL subject there. Here is the press release, which is how it will have happened.”

  Marv glanced it over. “Fine with me. FASA is less likely to go after a company who got a lucky break.”

  “Indeed.” Grase studied the Ranger. “Especially since you failed to find any family members.”

  The Gnome leader grinned apologetically. “We had no idea the tug on our line had such a big fish.”

  “It worked out for the best.” Anton glanced around. The two were alone on the loading dock of the Gnomes’ warehouse. “But while we are working together you would be well advised to keep me appraised. I do not like surprises.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The DSR official nodded once. “Here is the larger press release, one from the DSR and CDC combined. I suspect you may have an inkling of what it contains. I am not accusing you, and the NSA states that it is impossible, but if your personnel captured any copies of the research data from that site, destroy them. That information is far too dangerous to be allowed to exist.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  After the DSR official had vanished into the snowy darkness towards the distant train Marv kicked the wall and Addison emerged from under the dock. “You hear that?”

  “I already erased the files and destroyed the portable hard drive I had them stored on. All I have left are hand-written bullet points.”

  “Compare them to this and then destroy the bullet points. We know all we are capable of understanding, and I don’t want anything that FASA or the ERF could possibly use to exist in any way, fashion, or form.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Doctor Davenport carefully replaced the secure phone to its cradle. The government had confirmed that there were two viruses in play, two types of infected and a hybrid, the vectors, in the field, and a news releas
e was expected shortly. Not only was Project Lantern in ruins, but whatever advantage there had been in the dual viruses had been compromised.

  He was finished in his current role. While the top elements of FASA were confident that he was not ERF, his credibility had taken a serious hit and a demotion was certainly in the offing.

  That fact was what galled him the most: he had done what he had done not for personal gain but to protect the organization, and for that pure act of loyalty he was being punished. Still, he had survived and that bastard Hodges was in Federal custody, where he would know only pain and hardship until they had wrung him dry of every fact and detail. When they were confident he had told all he knew, Hodges would be executed, and in Cyrus’ opinion no one deserved it more.

  He sighed and composed himself as best he could. The war would go on, and although Lantern was stillborn there were still other options available to FASA. The USA was standing on the brink, and numerous other national governments had already fallen. This was just a setback, just an increase to the amount of work required to end society as the world now knew it. Billions would have to die for Mankind to advance, and no one could expect that killing billions would be a quick business.

  Adjusting his tie and straightening his suit coat, he tapped the button on his phone. When the door behind him opened to admit Guy Weatherford he was once again himself, at least on the outside. “Mister Weatherford, we must begin assembling a briefing file in anticipation of a change of directors. I also want to set up a review and status determination of every project currently underway, for the same reason.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  When the door closed he sighed and stared at the wall, wondering how it had all gotten so far out of control.

  On the twenty-first of October Rolling Hunger Group Three North started south, its length increased by three flatbeds, each supporting a cargo container which was used as shelter for the two security companies and the State Guard.

  Snow was still drifting down as the train was cleared for the main rail line and started to pick up speed. Seated on the cargo bed of Gnome-3 Marv and JD watched the town rolling past, soon replaced by fields lightly dusted with white.

  “A million fifty thousand dollars tax-free,” the promoter mused. “That’s a helluva bonus to be distributed. Even splitting it as many ways as we are its still a damn good payout for a week’s work.”

  “A week,” Marv shook his head. “Eleven days since we found the safe house.”

  “Ten, the rest stop was eleven days out. That was the job that made the safe house the location we checked on; all of Addison’s other guesses were too far away.”

  “Seems like forever. Still, the Fastbox run was only five days long.”

  “By the calendar, maybe, but I aged a decade before it was over.”

  “That’s life in the Infantry, JD: you live more in a day than most people do in a year. Of course, most of that living is really bad living, but there it is.”

  “How did you survive four tours?”

  Marv watched the countryside roll by for a few minutes. “At first it was because it was easier than dealing with Deb dying. Then it was because of inertia-you take away any interest in the future, you can weather a lot. There towards the end…I don’t know, I think it just sort of made sense. Whatever else you can say about it, life in a combat zone is real.”

  “That’s true,” JD conceded. “Usually real bad. Still, you have something there. I’m over my old lady, been over her for quite a while, really. There’s nothing like five days running and gunning across zombie-infested territory to put things in perspective.”

  “There’s a silver lining in a lot of things. But watch yourself around Kat-that girl seems to have a better opinion of you than anyone else.”

  “No fear-I have a daughter that age. She just wants someone to tell her she is squared away. What about you? You’ve been out of the game a lot longer than I have.”

  “Sort of. I’ve dated some, paid for some. I’ve decided I’m gonna be like Addison, let fate decide if I warrant a second chance.”

  “Addison,” JD chuckled. “He found a strange one.”

  “Just strange enough, looks like.”

  “Could be.” JD noticed a shell casing hung up on the lip of the cargo bed and picked it up. “So, zombies, ghouls, and vectors.”

  “Same game, we just know the rules a little better.”

  “It explains a lot. We’re going to have to change tactics, the CDC hasn’t been clear on how smart the ghouls will get with time.”

  “Not at all if we get them early.”

  “Yeah.”

  Marv slapped the promoter on the shoulder. “We were kicking ass before we knew what we were really facing, JD. We’ll win, or we’ll die like heroes of old, fighting to the last man and the last round.”

  “You are not allowed to do any recruiting,” JD grinned and shook his head.

  “How many will stay with us when we hit Texas?”

  “All, I think. Plenty of money and a string of wins will hold them. You and I aren’t the only idiots in the world.”

  “A smart man would never leave a Patriot Homestead or a zed-free zone.”

  “You see any geniuses lately? Addison is the closest we have, and that boy is run by a different operating system.”

  “I worry about them. They’re not trained enough, not as well equipped as I want…”

  “Well, we’re better trained, better equipped, and more experienced than we were when we rolled north.”

  “True.”

  “Besides, it’s your job to worry. Mine, too, and I do.”

  The two sat in a comfortable silence as North Dakota rolled past. After a dozen miles had passed the CB each wore crackled to life with a call for JD.

  “I wonder what it is this time,” the promoter sighed, hopping down to the flatbed’s deck. “Sometimes it seems like we’re running a kindergarten with guns.”

  Marv watched the countryside roll south, the cold air gripping him like a shroud. He had sent word of Whiz’s death through the DSR communications assets and Herc would have already delivered the news. By the contract Tinkler’s family would get a double share of the bonuses for the entire operation, and every Gnome paid in on an insurance plan similar to that available to the military, so if the government could hold society together the Whiz’s family would be all right. The government being guys like those 101st grunts still standing in the ranks, guys like Anton Grase, even hired guns like the Yard Gnomes. Even Herc, in his own way. They were all trying to hold things together, just like Whiz had been. That was the feeble excuse he was going to offer to the new widow when he got back, the story he was going to try to sell to fatherless children; he didn’t expect a warm reception.

  It annoyed him that Kent Lawrence was going home to his family when a better man was either torn to pieces or infected, but he had long since given up on any natural justice in this world. Lawrence would have to answer for his choices in the end, same as they all would, and with fewer positive witnesses than some.

  That brought to mind Wade Schmidt gagging for air, soaking wet and half-drowning-that was a decision Marv was going to have to answer for, but the Ranger was hoping that intentions and results counted for something. He didn’t ordered it just for the money itself, but because he was confident that whatever Hodges was up to had to be very, very bad, and events had firmly established that Marvin Burleson was definitely not up to speed on how bad things could be. Yet once again life had showed him that he was, and likely always would be, small time in his thinking. In a way, that was a source of comfort to him.

  The sound of someone making their way along the sandbag wall pulled him from his thoughts, and moments later Dirk Chambers jumped down onto the flatbed’s deck. “Might I have a moment of your time, Marv?”

  “Absolutely.”

  The big man heaved himself up to perch on the cargo bed, and adjusted the lay of his holstered revolver. “I wish I had been with you in Minne
sota. We had a dull trip to the border and back.”

  “I would have preferred a dull trip,” Marv grinned. “I was lucky not to lose anyone.”

  “I expect luck was kept to a minimum in your operation,” Dirk shrugged. “I’ve seen your guys work, and its plain that you have a very good quality unit built up. I’ve seen a lot of irregulars in action in my days reporting for SOF, and I flatter myself that I have some basis for judgment on the subject. I am of the firm belief that there are some things that irregulars do better than professionals, and I believe that there is historical evidence to support this. I’m writing a book on the topic, as a matter of fact.”

  “I would like to read it.”

  “I’ll send you a copy. Napoleon said that the spirit is to the material as three is to one, and the sawed off dago was right. Look what he accomplished, and he had to make do with French troops.”

  “I’ve trained with the French-they’re not wimps,” Marv pointed out.

  “Sure, they’ll stand and die as good as anyone except the Germans or Brits or us, but they lack the heart to see something through. But the fact is that irregulars are volunteers in the purest sense, even your guys who are technically mercenary in nature. They’re not bound by military law to remain in the ranks, they have no career to protect or advance, just reputation and either bonus money or a cause. Now, you need a stand-up, toe-to-toe campaign you need professionals; Uncle Ho learned that the hard way when they pissed away the indigenous Viet Cong in the Tet offensive, and the Afghanis took it on the chin every time they tried to grapple with the Soviet Bear. But for hit and run, skirmish-level stuff irregulars with good leadership can carry a solid load.”

  “Or fighting zombies.”

  “Exactly. Irregulars have no mindset to overcome, no preparation for a war that did not come, they are children of their circumstances and grow into their role fast and hard, or they don’t grow at all.”

  “They get planted.”

  Dirk chuckled. “Yeah, exactly. That’s what you have here, the Yard Gnomes have good solid military leadership coupled with that spirit of growing that I mentioned, and the result is a force geared purely to confront the crises of the day. You look at the greatest militaries of history, the Roman Legions and the German Heer of the Second World War: both were organizations geared and trained not for this climate or that level of conflict. No, they trained to do one thing: to aggressively close with and destroy the enemy, and then they went out there and did it. It took their own supreme commanders’ bungling to defeat them, and even then the enemy had no easy time of it.”