by Mark Harritt
It was a beautiful day. The wind from the night before had settled. A light mist rose as twilight receded and the sun filtered through the trees. The quiet enticed the local animals to come out and search for food. Small birds flitted through the trees, warbling in the morning sun. Then, shadows appeared in the mist. Everett sighed. So much for enjoying the morning. Now he had to get back to business.
There wasn’t much they could do with a fifty-foot length of det cord. Det cord, also called Primacord, was nothing more than a long, thin tube filled with plastic explosives. They could have used it to bring down a few trees, but there was no way they could do that with any accuracy to target the hostiles. Instead, they’d made a very primitive omni-directional fougasse. They’d dug two twenty-five foot trenches, laid the det cord in the bottom of the trench, and filled it with gravel. Then they’d covered the gravel with dirt and laid the original moss and grass back over it. It would have the effect of a Claymore mine, with less destructive power though, since there was less explosive and it was aimed straight up.
Everett threw a pine cone at Mickey. Everett made the sign for enemy, and pointed toward the shadows. Mickey nodded. He pointed to the left and right of the kill zone. He was going to send a 40mm grenade to both sides, hoping to kill more of them.
The shadows solidified. Men walked out of the mist, walking toward Everett and Mickey. It appeared that the grey men still hadn’t learned not to bunch up. They were walking too close together. Everett could only shake his head. He didn’t know where these guys got their training, but it wasn’t in the forest. Still this was a good thing for the ambush. They wouldn’t get as many as Everett wanted to, but they would get a few more than they had initially anticipated.
Everett initiated the ambush. He flipped the cover up and mashed the button. Five grey men disappeared in the dust of the explosion. Others dropped as the gravel scythed through the air. The world stilled as the overpressure of the explosion equalized and the dust started to settle. The momentary quiet shattered as groans and screams filled the air.
Mickey waited for other hostiles to come to help the wounded. Seconds ticked by as they waited, but no more men came forward. From the corner of his eye, Everett saw other grey men trying to flank.
Everett rolled and put his arm through the other shoulder strap, “Mickey, we gotta go. They’re coming at us from the side.”
Mickey looked to the left, “Yep, over here too.”
They turned in place then launched from their position. Everett slapped Geonti on the shoulder as he raced past. Geonti bolted from his positon and quickly overtook Everett, then passed him. Bullets started whipping by as the grey men noticed the movement through the vegetation.
Everett cursed as a bullet hit a tree close to him. Geonti took the lead and Everett fell in behind him, Mickey bringing up the rear.
As they ran, the bullets became more random, zipping through the undergrowth. The trajectories took the bullets further away as they ran, and the grey men lost track of their location.
Suddenly, Everett heard Mickey cursing, “Everett.”
“What’s up Mickey?”
“When we find a place to stop, I need you take a look at something.”
“What?”
“I had a bullet graze me.”
Everett stopped and waited for Mickey to get close. He noticed that Mickey had his hand on his upper thigh, “Can you make it?”
Mickey drew close and Everett ran with him, “Yeah, no prob, it’s just a graze. It stings, and there’s some blood, but it’s not too bad. We’ll bandage it when we get closer to the next stop.”
“Stop.”
Mickey shook his head, “No, not here. We aren’t far enough away from the grey men yet. We need to get further down the road, then we’ll stop.”
Everett stared at Mickey. Mickey grinned, “Don’t worry, bro. I ain’t prepared to die just yet. Tracy’d kick my ass if I died out here. Seriously, it’s not that bad.”
Everett put his hand on Mickey’s shoulder and pushed him forward so that he could run behind him, “Okay, we’ll do it your way. But if you pass out, I’m not carrying your big ass.”
Mickey grinned back at him, “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna pass out.”
Geonti looked back and saw that the two were moving slower. He glared at them as he slowed down. Everett waved at him to keep running. Geonti turned back around and picked his pace back up. Mickey grunted as he tried to match Geonti’s pace. Everett could only pray that Mickey would be able to keep up. Still, it didn’t look like he was having any problems; at least not yet.
Everett shook his head. Not a great start to the day. They already had one wounded. The grey men had changed tactics on them. He just hoped that Mike would figure it out.
----------------------------------------------------
Mike and Tom watched through the underbrush. Their position was further back than Everett and Mickey’s, but not as far as yesterday’s ambush sites. They’d done that on purpose. They wanted to make sure that the grey men didn’t go too long without contact, hoping to lure them further and further down the valley. They’d bloody their nose twice in quick succession, then put some distance between them and the hostiles.
The mist was thicker here than it was further north, the river running down the center of the valley not a half a mile from where Mike was. Because of the greater humidity, the mist took longer to evaporate once the sun hit the valley floor. No-see-‘ums were thick in the grass where they lay. Mike had to fight the urge to slap at them, but he knew that any sound, any movement would give his position away. He growled under his breath as another one dug into his skin.
An explosion sounded north of their position, the trench fougasse starting the day. The sound of grey men shooting intensified in that direction. Mike said a prayer, hoping that Everett and Mickey made it out alive. He was less concerned about Geonti because he was further back from the shooting, and the hunters disappeared into the brush so easily. If things went south, Geonti could easily slip away.
Mike watched the area in front of his position. Mickey and Everett were probably five hundred meters in front of them. That meant that the line of grey men were about 800 meters out in front of theirs. The underbrush was thicker here as well, since they were closer to the river. It was a very good thing they had Caul with them. The wait-a-minute vines would slow down the grey men, but Caul would be able to whisk them through the underbrush with few problems.
Mike felt a pebble hit him. He looked over at Tom. Tom was making the hand signal for the enemy, pointing out in front of him. Mike focused on his field of fire. Slowly, out of the mist, the enemy advanced toward them. They weren’t fully visible through the mist, but Mike could tell where center mass was. Mike waited for Tom to make the first shot. Tom’s rifle barked, and Mike pulled his trigger. Soon, the sound of their rifles were joined by the sound of the grey men shooting in their direction. Bullets whizzed by overhead, sounding like like a hive of angry bees.
Gun fire from a new direction, Mike’s left, gave away the grey men’s new tactics.
“Dammit, they’re flanking us! We gotta move!” Mike rolled and put his back pack on, Tom doing the same. Hunched over, they ran with bullets zipping through the brush around them. It was starting to get intense. Mike stopped, pulled out a flash bang, pulled the pin, and threw it back in the direction that they’d come from. Hopefully that would focus the grey men’s attention in the wrong location. Mike turned and ran. The flash bang went off behind them, no more than a distraction, since it was designed to be used in enclosed spaces.
Mike was following close behind Tom. The bullets shifted behind them, the grey men taking the bait and focusing their fire on the flash bang. Caul was already up and waiting for them. As soon as he could see them, he turned and started running, taking them to their next ambush location.
“Well, this puts a new spin on things,” Mike thought. Tom had been right. The wide line allowed them to put more fire on target.
The grey men were learning. Things had just gotten a whole lot more dangerous for the team.
----------------------------------------------------
Mitchem was getting ready to pluck a murder bird to get it ready for smoking. He had the bird strung up by the legs, the wings strapped around the body with a length of rope, and was getting ready to immerse it into a cauldron of boiling water to make it easier for plucking.
“You need some help with that?”
Mitchem looked around to see Russell Landberg and Brett Joseph standing there, “What do you want?”
Russell leaned against the smoke house, “Nothing much. I just thought we could come down here and visit for a while.”
Mitchem stared at him, then turned back to the murder bird, “Do whatever you want.”
He untied the knot and started to lower the bird into the boiling water. Behind him, Landberg pushed Joseph forward to take over for Mitchem. Joseph walked over and took the rope out of Mitchem’s hands and lowered the bird.
Mitchem didn’t like being shouldered aside, “Hey, dammit!” Joseph stared at Mitchem, and Mitchem swallowed his ire, “Well, if you’re going to do it, count to ten then pull it back out of the water.”
Mitchem turned and looked at Landberg, studying him, “I assume you have a reason for this visit? Once again, what do you want?”
Landberg looked at a section of smoked meat that Mitchem had covered to keep the flies off. He picked up the salvaged piece of Plexiglas and grabbed a piece, “I don’t want anything. I was just wondering if you’d heard the news.”
“What news?”
Landberg spoke around the meat he was chewing on, “You mean, you haven’t heard about Mike and the team?”
Mitchem spit, “I don’t give a damn about those guys. Those bastards are the reason that Ben’s dead.”
Landberg shrugged. He knew that Mitchem was a pariah and anti-social. Mitchem didn’t like to sleep in the tunnel with everybody else, instead spending his nights out here in the smoke house. Not that Landberg cared. He just needed another body for his plan. Plus, if things went south, maybe he could use the man for a scapegoat, “Maybe. Still, I think you might want to hear the news.”
“What news?”
“Well, Mike and his team ran into a situation that they can’t seem to handle.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, according to John and Luis, they found some abandoned city and were attacked by a bunch of robots. Then, they got into a running gun fight with some kind of aliens. Lately, though, it seems they haven’t been making their radio checks at night. Pang, Nosstrand, and others are worried.”
Mitchem considered this. Maybe it was good news, maybe not. He was undecided. Still, the idea of Mike dying an agonizing death was appealing, “What’s that got to do with me?”
Landberg kept chewing as Joseph pulled the bird out of the boiling water and tried to move it so that he could take it off of the rope.
Mitchem looked over and saw that the bird was about to hit the ground, “Not like that. The arm swings. Here, just tie the rope off and use this to grab the rope and pull it over.”
Mitchem took the rope from Joseph and tied the knot to the cleat on the side of the building. He handed Joseph a staff with an iron hook on the end. Joseph stared at it. Mitchem grabbed it back from him in exasperation. He hooked the rope above the bird, and swung the bird away from the cauldron.
“See, that’s how you do it. Now you can lower it, and set it on the table so that I can pluck the damn thing.”
Landberg was still chewing, watching the spectacle with interest. Mitchem turned back to him, “You still haven’t told me what you want, Landberg.”
“Why do you think I want anything?” he said, with a smirk on his face.
“I know you, Landberg. You’re a slippery little shit. You thought you were smarter than everybody else, sitting down there in the SSO office.”
Landberg laughed, “Well, you might be right about that. I just think it’s interesting that the team may not make it back. That could change the dynamics around here.”
Mitchem studied Landberg, “What are you talking about?
Landberg was done with the meat. He brushed his hands together and then held them out to encompass the valley, “Don’t tell me you’re unaware of the problems in our little home here. The spec ops guys get whatever they want. When the team speaks everybody else eats it up and kisses their asses.”
Mitchem watched Joseph maneuver the murder bird onto the table. He walked over, handed Joseph a set of dragon hide gloves, and showed Joseph how to pluck the bird without cutting his hands. The feathers were barbed, and they could rip up bare skin. When he was satisfied, he grunted his approval and turned back to Landberg.
“What’s the matter, Russell? You jealous?”
“Not because of that.”
Mitchem looked at him, and smiled, “You not getting any these days?”
The smirk disappeared from Landberg’s face.
Mitchem smiled. It looked like he hit a nerve. He continued, “Well, you know, there’s only nineteen women here. Even if the entire team died, that still leaves twenty-seven men. That still leaves eight men without women. What are you going to do? Kill them to get them out of the way?”
Landberg hesitated before he said anything, “Well, accidents happen. Besides, the women don’t want some of the older guys, so that may not be a problem.”
Mitchem studied Landberg intently, astonished and thinking, “Holy hell, he’s actually talking about killing people so that he can get laid.”
Landberg continued, “Aren’t you tired of standing out here at the smoke house. Wouldn’t you prefer to be in charge again?”
“And you’re going to put me in charge?” Mitchem asked with disbelief.
Landberg nodded, “It’s possible. Aren’t you pissed off that Randall left you after we got here? Don’t you want her back?”
Mitchem’s mind was processing what Landberg was telling him. He didn’t trust Landberg at all. There were possibilities here though. He ran the scenarios through his head, but he didn’t like where they led to. It wasn’t that he wanted Randall back. That traitorous bitch had left him as soon as she figured out he didn’t have any power anymore. Now she was shacked up with that short bastard from fabrication, Will Christopher. Hell, she wouldn’t even come out to talk to him.
Landberg continued, “Look, when they figure out that the team isn’t coming back, there will be five women available. We can move in when people are distracted, and take care of some of the competition. You know, one at a time.”
“You think those women will suddenly decide that they want you?” Mitchem asked.
Landberg shrugged, “Well, we may have to convince them.”
“Convince them?”
Behind Mitchem, Joseph spoke, “They won’t have a choice. They’ll do what we tell them, or else.”
Mitchem suddenly realized what Landberg was suggesting. Mitchem knew then that there was no way he would survive if Landberg was in charge. He had to tread softly, though. He was suddenly very aware that he was sandwiched between the two.
Landberg was talking about murder, and Joseph was talking about rape. It wouldn’t be a good idea for them to think that he wasn’t on their side. He didn’t want to be the first one killed in a coup. He thought about it. They were probably going around talking to all the men they thought were disaffected by the current situation. God help the man that showed hesitation. He would be buried in a shallow grave or dropped over the wall.
“What do you have in mind?” Mitchem asked.
----------------------------------------------------
Chapter Four
The scout leader sat in Caon Verjon’s tent listening as the thrumming sound of the aircraft’s engines slowly wound down in the open space of the landing zone. The turbines sent eddies of displaced air to shake the walls of the tent. The uncomfortable sensation of the gravitics decreased in intensity. The
scowl on Verjon’s face made the scout leader even more anxious. He could hear Caon Verjon’s teeth grind together as the Caon read the reports.
Verjon picked up the electronic tablet and threw it across the tent. The sound of the screen shattering gave Verjon immense pleasure. A deep growl started to emanate from his chest. It had not been a good day for him or his men. Thirty-three dead and another twenty plus casualties brought his force down to one hundred and fifty-four capable men. Two ambushes had countered his offensive. The first, an explosion with small arms and grenade fire had killed eleven men and wounded eight. The second ambush had four leaders killed by small arms fire, and several more wounded. More had been hit throughout the day.
The enemy was using some kind of grenade launcher that his men were unfamiliar with. Then, there was the problem that many of his men with light wounds were dying for no apparent reason that his medics could identify, their bodies slowly swelling until they couldn’t breathe. Hell, some of them were walking wounded, still in the fight, when they suddenly collapsed and died. That’s how Fartheon had died. Verjon was losing all of his leaders.
His head rose and he stared at the scout leader. The scout was one of the few leaders he had left, “I hope you have some good news for me?”
The young scout leader, recently promoted, had never anticipated, at his junior rank, that he would ever be briefing the Caon directly.
“S . . . Si . . . Sir,” the scout leader stammered, “We haven’t been able to close with the enemy. They keep moving ahead of us, sniping at us when we move. The other scouts and I, we’re moving ahead of the main body, but we still haven’t been able to locate their main force. They’re moving too fast for us to fix in place with small arms fire,” he paused, hoping his next words would reduce his Caon’s ire, “But we did find three blood trails.”
Verjon’s head tilted slightly as he absorbed this information, “Blood trails?”
The scout leader nodded, “Yes sir.”
