Forsaking Home (The Survivalist Series)

by A. American

  Sarge looked back at Singer. “Yeah, I think we do. Do you have any idea who we are?”

  Singer glanced around the assembly of people. “A bunch of dead men”—she looked at Jamie—“and one dead bitch.”

  Jamie’s grin grew into a smile and she winked at Singer. Naturally, this sent Singer off on a tirade of cussing. Sarge snapped his fingers in front of her face to get her attention.

  “Look, we’re here to help with the security of the camp. I just need a little info.”

  The two men tied beside Singer shared a look, then motioned that they wanted to speak. Sarge pulled the tape from one of them.

  “If you guys are here to help with the security of the camp, why are we tied up?”

  “We have intelligence that the camp has been infiltrated. We have to be cautious.”

  “Bullshit!” Singer shouted. “Don’t tell these assholes a damn thing!”

  Sarge looked over at her. “I’m not talking to you. You need to keep quiet.”

  “We’re DHS . . . you, you, you bunch of idiots are under our authority right now! You answer to us, we don’t answer to you!” Singer screamed, then added, “Now untie me!”

  Sarge smiled and got up, going inside the command tent. He returned with a pair of socks. Singer looked at them, then back at him. “Don’t even think about it!”

  Sarge sat back down on the bucket and smiled. “What? I need to change my socks. You know how your feet get when you’ve been wearing the same socks for four or five days. My dogs are barkin’.”

  Sarge looked back at the man he spoke to moments ago while he unlaced his boots. “Like I said, we have to be careful. Now we’re going to see if you’re one of the ones who snuck in. What’s the name of your CO?” Sarge pulled one of his socks off and wiggled his toes. “Ahh, damn, that feels good.”

  “Don’t tell him. He’s fishing. They aren’t here to help us!” Singer shouted.

  Sarge had his foot pulled up, picking at his toes. Sheffield and Livingston both looked on, uncomfortable with where the situation was.

  Singer looked at Sarge as he dug between his toes.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you, you nasty son of a bitch,” she asked.

  With more speed than anyone thought the old soldier possessed, Sarge reached out, quickly grabbing her bottom jaw and forcing her mouth open. He then forcefully crammed a rolled-up sock into her mouth. Singer gagged and choked as Sarge smiled and ran his finger underneath her nose. Her face turned a bright red, almost purple, veins bulging in her neck.

  Almost immediately, Mike shouted, “Holy shit! That’s the nastiest thing I’ve ever seen!” Jamie too was sickened by what she saw. With her hand cupped over her mouth she said, “Oh my God, I think I’m going to be sick.” She turned away from the scene and quickly walked toward the brush. Mike started retching too. Ted shook his head. He knew the old man was capable of doing almost anything, but this pushed the limits.

  Sheffield grabbed Sarge’s arm. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Shutting her up. She isn’t hurt, she’ll live.”

  The two men sitting beside Singer were clearly horrified. There was one more sock sitting there and neither of them had any desire in their souls to find out what it tasted like.

  “Mitchell, take that out of her mouth,” Sheffield said.

  Sarge swiveled around. “She ain’t hurt,” he said, then looked back at Singer, “but she did shut up.”

  Sarge moved in closer to Singer, who was now a real mess. Drool ran down her chin and with every breath through her broken nose snot flowed back and forth.

  “All right, missy, I’m going to take this out now. You say one damn word and it’ll be my drawers in your mouth next.” Singer looked up and nodded weakly. “And that applies to you too, gentleman.”

  Sarge pulled the sock out. It was followed by an impressive amount of saliva that rolled onto her shirt. Singer spit repeatedly into the dirt. She hung her head and didn’t look up. Sarge looked at the other two men and smiled.

  “Gentlemen, I guess it’s up to you.”

  “If you guys are here to help, why’d you do this?” one of the men asked.

  Sarge looked at his name tag. “Well, Dunlap, it’s like this. We have intelligence that suggests there are elements inside the camp that may be planning to take it over. We don’t know why they want to do this or who they are, so we are a little suspicious.”

  Behind Sarge, Sheffield and Livingston shared a look.

  “What? Take it over? Who the hell would want to do that, and why?”

  The man sitting beside him began to mumble through his tape. Sarge reached over and pulled it off, then looked at his name tag. “What’cha got to say there, Wallace?”

  “I can believe there are some that would want to. There’s a lot of people in there that are unhappy.”

  “So you understand our need for security, then?” Sarge asked. Wallace nodded. “With that in mind, then, can you help us out?”

  “Sure, I’ll do whatever I can to help out.”

  “I’ll help too,” Dunlap said.

  “Out-fucking-standing, gentlemen!” Sarge said as he stood up. “Let’s get these guys some grub, maybe a drink of water.”

  “What about her?” Ted asked, nodding at Singer.

  “Leave her ass right where she is, but someone bring her a drink of water.”

  “Or some gasoline to wash that funk out of her mouth,” Mike said.

  “Ted, can you guys build us a sand table model of the camp?” Sarge asked.

  “Sure. Ian, you want to give us a hand? Jamie, you too,” Ted replied.

  The four headed off to start building the model. Before Dunlap and Wallace were cut loose, Sarge asked them a few more questions.

  “What’s your CO’s name?”

  “Charles Tabor, but I don’t think he wants to take over the camp. Hell, he already runs it,” Wallace said.

  “I agree, just wanted to make sure my info was accurate,” Sarge said, then waved them off. “Go with these fellas. They’ll get you some grub and water.”

  Sheffield motioned for Sarge to follow him into the CP. Once inside, Sheffield fell into a chair, running his hand through the stubble on his head.

  “What the hell? Are you just making this shit up as you go?”

  “Yeah, that’s not what you told us you were planning,” Livingston said.

  “It’s called improvisation. Look, we have very little intel to work on here. But think about it: we roll up and tell old Charles Tabor that we’ve intel saying some of his people are trying to take over the camp and we’re there to help him. Do you think he’s gonna question it?”

  “Why in the hell would he believe that?” Sheffield asked.

  “We’ve got the map the guys made—it’s very good, like someone inside drew it up. Plus,” Sarge pointed out the tent flap, “those two are going to give us even more info, so we’ll be able to label everything on it. And, I’m going to take their IDs with me, to show him.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to prove?” Livingston asked.

  Sarge shrugged his shoulders. “We’ll have to see how he reacts to it. It’ll lend credence to the story that there are people inside the camp looking to overthrow his command.”

  “I don’t know, this just seems like a cluster fuck in the making,” Sheffield said.

  “You got a better idea, Captain? I’m all ears,” Sarge said as he sat back in one of the chairs.

  “No, not really. It just seems kinda sketchy.”

  “You want to try a frontal assault, maybe a classic pincer movement? We need at least five to one to pull that off and there aren’t nearly that many people here. If this works, they’re going to open the front door and invite us in. I’m going to get ole Charlie to assemble his people and surrender their weapons.”

>   “How the hell do you expect to do that?” Livingston practically shouted.

  “’Cause I’m going to tell him some of them want to put a bullet in his head and we’re there to find them. They’ll lay down their weapons and then we’ll tell him that we’re interviewing the staff. Once we’ve got all the weapons, we own the place. This takeover can be done without firing a shot.”

  “You know, Captain, as crazy as this sounds, it may just work. I mean, it really could work,” Livingston said.

  “I just don’t want to get any of my soldiers or these civilians killed,” Sheffield said.

  Sarge stood up. “Captain, I don’t know what you did in your civilian life, but you are in the army, now more than ever. You’re a commissioned officer at that, you’re going to have to make decisions that will”—Sarge emphasized the last word—“get people killed, whether it’s your enemy or some of those under your command. All we can do is plan the best we can to minimize the latter.”

  Sheffield nodded his head. “I know, it’s just life is hard enough right now. Adding casualties to the mix will make things that much worse. I just want to anticipate that scenario.”

  “You’re right. Life is tough right now, but you’re out here and those poor people are trapped in there. Some of them may want to be there, and that’s fine, but if there’s even one person in there being held against their will, then it’s got to be dealt with,” Sarge said.

  Sheffield thought about that for a minute. “How many of my people’s lives is that one person worth? What’s a fair trade?”

  Sarge wagged his finger at him. “What’s that you’re wearing there?”

  Sheffield looked down. “What? My uniform?”

  “Exactly—a uniform, and not a mailman’s or basketball player’s, you’re wearing the uniform of the United States Army. Keeping that in mind, you’re not in a position to decide which missions you will and won’t take. You have no politics. It is up to us to go into harm’s way on behalf of those who cannot defend themselves.”

  Sheffield let out a long breath and nodded. “You’re right. Let’s get to it, then. What do we need to do now?”

  “Assemble your NCOs. When the sand table is done, we’ll go over it. Then we need to get everyone organized. Everyone needs to be in clean uniforms, as sharp as possible. They have to look the part. Get all your trucks cleaned out and ready too. How are you on fuel?”

  Sheffield looked at Livingston. “Low, very low. We have enough to put some in every truck, but not much beyond that,” Livingston said.

  “That’s fine, this is a one-way trip. They got fuel there. And we need to make sure we’ve got an NCO in each truck. I don’t want anyone getting trigger-happy,” Sarge said.

  “We’ve got that covered. We’ll split the squads up and stick a couple of the civilians in to supplement the ones that are short. I’ve scrounged up enough uniforms for them as well,” Livingston said.

  “How about weapons and ammo?” Sarge asked.

  “Oh yeah, with that delivery there’s plenty.”

  “Good, then let’s get to work on the model so we can get everyone up to speed. Have you picked out your civilians yet?”

  “I’ve got a list of volunteers. We picked out a dozen that we feel are up to the task,” Sheffield said.

  “I’ll round up the noncoms,” Livingston said.

  “Good. I’m going to check on the boys working on the sand table.”

  Sarge found the guys out on the road. They had a large area swept clean and were laying out leaves, sticks and rocks to indicate structures inside the camp. Ted was holding the drawing and pointing out where the various things were to be placed. Ian and Mike were arguing over the materials they were using. Jamie was knelt on the opposite side of the area they were working on, shaking her head.

  “No, use these magnolia leaves for the tents. They’re bigger,” Mike said.

  “What’s the difference? A leaf is a leaf,” Ian said.

  Mike snatched up a smaller leaf. “No, it’s not—use the bigger ones!” he snapped as he threw the leaf.

  “You two are idiots,” Jamie said.

  Mike and Ian both looked up. Mike asked, “What, you got a better idea?”

  “Just pick one, jeez!”

  “Teddy, you got this under control?” Sarge asked.

  Ted looked up. “Yeah, I got it, if these two will stop arguing.”

  “Hey! We’re not arguing, we’ve got creative differences,” Mike said as he knelt at the edge of the model.

  Sarge chuckled. “Yeah, that’s what you got. Hurry up and get this done.” Looking at his watch, he added, “You got an hour.” Shaking his head, he spun on his heels and walked off.

  • • •

  Charles Tabor sat behind his desk looking at the stack of paper in front of him. His deputy, Ed Mooreland, sat in a chair on the other side of the desk. He was holding a file and tossed it onto Charlie’s desk.

  “What do you want to do with those girls?” Ed asked.

  Charlie picked up the file and flipped it open. “Well, they admitted to it. The rules say they have to be executed.”

  “What about the claims he raped one of them?”

  Charlie looked up. “He’s dead, so we can’t ask him, now, can we? Do it tomorrow afternoon in front of a full assembly so they know what happens if they get any ideas.” He tossed the file onto his desk and picked up another from the pile. “We get anything out of those two we brought in?”

  “Not yet, the guys roughed the old man up pretty bad, so he hasn’t been questioned yet, and the kid’s been interrogated once. But they strung him up overnight and he got hypothermia, nearly died. I’ll have Niigata take another shot at him once his condition improves.”

  Charlie tossed the file onto his desk with the others. “All right, any word on the three we’re missing?”

  Ed shook his head. “Nope, they just disappeared.”

  “Did they disappear or were they taken?”

  “It’s unclear. There wasn’t any call from them, no spent brass. There were obvious signs of struggle. I’d say someone snatched them.”

  “Well, keep your ears open.” He picked yet another sheaf of papers. “Okay, how about the comm link to the new camp in Apopka?”

  “Word is it will be up tomorrow.” Ed shifted in his chair. “You know, there’s some folks here who said the state spent millions buying that land up just so they could shut those farms down. Now we’re going to put it back into production again.”

  “Well, it isn’t going to be farmed like it was back then, that’s for sure. Besides, all they grew was sweet corn and sod. Sweet corn would be nice, but no one needs sod now.”

  Ed chuckled. “Yeah, I don’t see anyone wanting to purposefully plant any grass anytime soon. What are they going to be growing anyway? I mean, if they can keep the lake from flooding, that is. Bet no one’s going to care about all that fertilizer dumped out there now.”

  “I have no idea, Ed. I manage refugees, not crops. Those farms were a mess, but you could grow golf balls in that muck. Got anything else?”

  “We also got a call from Frost Proof wanting to know if we could send some of our people to their camp. They say they’re going to be ready down there soon and they’ll need labor.”

  Tabor rocked back in his chair. “What the hell? Their camp is bigger than ours, and they don’t have enough people there?”

  Ed shrugged. “Just relaying the message, boss.”

  “Tell ’em we’ll send what we can, but they’ll have to provide transport.”

  “Already did.”

  “I would imagine we’ll start getting more and more requests along these lines as spring gets closer. There’s going to be lots to plant and those fields will need tending,” Tabor said.

  “There’s going to be a bunch of really unhappy people soon. Going
from doing software programming to running a hoe on a farm is gonna be a shock,” Ed said with a chuckle.

  “They want to eat, they got to work. That’s the way it is.” He waved his hand. “All right, I got work to do.”

  “Niigata’s outside.”

  Tabor rolled his eyes. “What does he want?”

  Ed shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Tabor exhaled dramatically. “Send him in on your way out.”

  Ed smiled and left the office. After a moment Niigata was standing at attention in the doorway.

  “Come on in, Niigata, take a seat.”

  Niigata nodded and stepped in, not taking a seat. “Thank you, sir.”

  Tabor sat back in his seat, folding his hands across his chest. “What can I do for you?”

  “I wanted to give you a report on the interrogations to this point,” Niigata said.

  Tabor sat up in his chair. “What have you learned?”

  “Nothing of substance. No more than you already knew.”

  A look of annoyance spread across Tabor’s face. “Then why are you here if you have nothing to tell me?”

  “I simply wanted to keep you apprised of the situation,” Niigata said, smiling.

  “Look, let me make this clear, I don’t want to be kept apprised. I only want the end result with no details of the trip it took to get there.” Now Tabor smiled. “Unlike you, my interest is in the destination, not the journey.”

  Niigata nodded. “I see, I’ll report to you once I reach the destination. If you’ll excuse me,” Niigata said as he turned for the door.

  Tabor looked down at his papers and shook his head. “Where do they get these people?”

  • • •

  Dunlap knelt in front of the model of the camp. “Wow, looks really good.”

  Sarge nodded. “What can you tell me? Our intel didn’t provide too much detail.”

  He pointed at the rows of magnolia leaves. “These are the tents for the detainees. They are brought in here”—he pointed to a couple of leaves near the front of the camp—“and processed, then moved here.” He went on to point out the medical, mess, and latrine facilities, as well as fuel storage, motor pool, and equipment storage.