by Rob Buckman
“What’s a demob party?”
“Oh that. Demob means demobilization, or end of service and people usually like to throw a farewell party, not that soldiers need much of an excuse, or none at all to throw a party.”
“And the others?”
"The others tried to jump, but by that time they were way too low for the chutes to deploy. End of story." The look on his face cut off any further questions.
They shouldered the heavy packs, including the rolled up chutes before picking up the weapons, and followed Decker back to base. Getting back took two full days as he stopped at night to let the women rest, not wanting to push them too hard right now. Even for a strong, fully trained trooper, humping a sixty-pound Bergen through the bush was no easy feat, especially in this heat. Thankfully, it wasn't summer, as he knew that the American Southwest could be brutal. One hundred and fifteen in the shade wasn't unknown out here. Sitting as it was at the tail end of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, Fort Collins was more of a transit base for supplies flowing to military bases in Southern Nevada and California, and sat just off Interstate 58 a few miles southeast of Tehachapi. Due North of them lay the Sierra Nevada mountain range, which they have to cross to get anywhere he knew of that held any friendly military force. According to his map-pad, it was 300 air miles, and 450 road miles to ‘Soda Springs’ from here, but Decker was betting it was more like 500 with the way they had to travel. Decker knew he'd done some crazy shit in his life, not unusual in the SAS, but this took the biscuit.
Arriving back at base, Decker found the room stacked with boxes being sorted. The growing pile of discarded cardboard outside the main entrance attested to the amount of crates they'd already opened. More debris outside the building wouldn't attract any more attention than the rest of the garbage scattered about the once orderly base. To his surprise, all the women were now dressed in cammo BDU's, boots, and side arms. He hoped for his sake none of the side arms were loaded.
"Nice going June - Grace. Now we are starting to look like a military unit."
"More like a bunch of giggling school girls on a camp out, if you ask me." Grace snorted.
"Be nice, Grace. They're trying." One item did catch his eye, and that was several long bows and cross bows leaning against the end wall.
"Anyone here know how to use those?" he asked, looking at Grace and June.
"A few. We started an archery club here after that movie, 'The Hunger Games' came out, and a lot of the girls are pretty good shots."
"Good, that will help, but can we get our hands on anymore?"
"What are you thinking, sir?"
"Silent kills, that's what. Hunting as we go. Bows won't bring unwanted attention to ourselves."
"Good point."
"They are also great for taking out guards silently."
"Not much good against a bunch of aliens with high tech weapons."
"Not so. Do you know how many of our 'high-tech' soldiers were killed in Viet Nam by arrows?"
"No, I guess not."
"You'd be surprised at how many bows and cross bows are in service with Special Forces. Especially the crossbow with the telescopic sights. Instant, silent kill at one hundred yards."
"Wow."
"Yes, wow. They may be just what we need to arm everybody, especially the point team and the forward scouts."
"You haven't mentioned that before. Forward scouts, huh." Grace murmured, a broad grin on her face.
"I'm going to pick them after I see how the teams handle themselves once we get going."
"Going to take a gutsy girl to take on that job." Decker only nodded in response.
"Did you find any Ghillie suits?"
"Oh yes, a whole crate full of them."
Sadly, upon investigation, they were all the older, non-active cammo design, but there was enough to equip everyone here. He'd have to use the nineteen suits he'd retrieved from the crash site sparingly. Ten would have to go to the point team, at least three or four for the forward scouts when he picked them. That would leave five extra. June and Grace would get one each, and the medic's another two, leaving one spare. He decided to keep that one in reserve in case someone lost or damaged theirs.
"Sir. Mary Elin just told me that due to the number of people joining the archery club, the PX ordered a bunch. She's not sure how many, or what they ordered, but they should be in the PX warehouse, if we can find them."
"Make it a priority. I want everybody armed before we move out."
"Yes, sir."
"No M16 or MP3 I take it?"
"No, sir. The Colonel took pretty much everything like that with him. We found a lot of 9 mm pistols, grenades, C4, ammo and a bunch of other useful stuff, but no automatic rifles, except this." Grace laid a long, rough canvas pouch on the table, smiling slightly as she did.
“Found it in the armory.” Decker gave Grace a curious look before unzipping the gun pouch.
"Oh, my lord!" One look was all Decker needed to recognize the contents.
Decker's hard, callous hands caressed the composite forgrip and stock of the rifle nestled inside its case, as softly as a man caresses the body of his lover. His eyes had a faraway look, as if seeing a different vista. Picking up the lethal looking weapon, Decker expertly dropped the magazine out, checking it before slipping it back into the well. A soft tap with the heel of his hand locked the mag in place, and holding the rifle pistol grip, Decker flipped out the cocking handle and pulled the bolt back. Holding the rifle sideways, he checked the breech to make sure there wasn't a round up the spout before letting the bolt snap back in place.
"You know what this is, Sir?"
"Oh yes," Decker's grin got bigger, and he pulled the weapon into his shoulder and looked through the sights, "this is what I like to call 'My Cell Phone'. It lets me reach out and touch someone." He chuckled.
"This is a L115A3 sniper rifle." Turning it on its side, he checked the engraving. This one was manufactured by good old Malcolm Cooper’s Portsmouth-based Accuracy International and fired an 8.59 mm round. “Any ammo for it?”
"We found two boxes of these." June said, placing two cartridge boxes on the table. Decker looked at the markings and nodded. A quick look showed that the second box contained a mixture of armor piecing sabot and explosive ammo, clearly the owner was someone who enjoyed his shooting.
As Decker explained. The rounds were indeed the British 8.59 mm. Unlike the US, the Brits use cordite to drive the bullet, not double-based nitro as in the US. By using cordite, it effectively turned the round into what the American's called a magnum round. This not only equated to distance, easily reaching out to two thousand four hundred yards, but to the lethality when it hits, harder than a .44 Magnum. You only had to get a little piece of someone, and they were in a world of hurt. If you ‘winged’ someone with one of these rounds, you would probably take the person's arm off. Going in, the round left a neat, pencil-sized hole, coming out the back, the hole was big enough to stick your head in.
“Sounds impressive. But why call it a 'Cell Phone'?"
"Because, even unscoped it’s good out to a thousand yards easy. With the proper scope, it's good out to two thousand yards or better, depending on the shooter."
"Impressive."
"I don't believe it. Two thousand, seven hundred… that’s… that’s… oh my lord, that’s a mile and a half.” Grace breathed.
“The current record is held by Craig Harrison, a Corporal of Horse of the UK’s Household Cavalry, who recorded a 2,707 yard shot, confirmed by GPS by the way, in November 2009, during the War in Afghanistan, when he hit two Taliban insurgents consecutively. Harrison killed the two Taliban machine gunners with shots that took the 8.59 mm rounds five seconds to hit the targets, which was 1,000 yards beyond the L115A3 sniper rifle’s recommended range. A third shot took out the insurgents' machine gun. That rifle is the same as this one. It's a man stopper, and you only have to get a little piece of him to take him out of the fight." June raised an eyebrow in question. “Getting hit
by one of these would ruin your whole day.” Decker chuckled, thinking it best not to go into graphic detail of what a 8.59 mm bullet could do to the human body, they’d learn in time.
"Nasty."
"War isn't for the faint of heart, June. This is a supersonic round and can punch through a quarter inch of steel and kill or injure anyone on the other side."
"Just what we need against these aliens."
"Let's hope so, or we are really screwed. Was the base workshop badly damaged?"
"Not really. Part of the roof caved in and one wall was blown out."
"Good. I need to work on a few things. What about a diesel power generator?"
"The motor pool had an old diesel unit for emergencies. Not used much from what I was told after the base got the new high tech units, but I doubt you can get it started. No batteries."
"Don't need one. Those older units had a hand crank starter in the event the battery went dead."
Grace rounded up all the girls who had archery experience and Decker set them to teaching the rest of the girls how to use them. Arrows were going to be a problem, but they could always make more from what they found out there. That included bowstrings. Not hard to make if you had the right equipment or ability. Taking another group, Decker checked out the workshop and found it usable, even with the partly fallen roof. It took a while to drag the old genset to the workshop and scrounge up sufficient fuel to get it running. It took another hour before he managed to start it up. As it turned out, he also managed to get one of the portable welding units up and running, delighted to find the welder still functioned. While he worked, Decker thought about the road that led him here, seeing this as a thank you and well done for his service.
This was supposed to be his last assignment, being a short timer they’d opt you keep him out of the line of fire and nothing more than a training mission. An all-expenses paid vacation in sunny climes of California for six months they said, to train a group of US spec ops people into a hostage rescue team and finish out his service. It sounded good at the time with no one shooting at him or trying to blow him up, with a bump in rank and pay to WO1 for his retirement. He pulled his mind away from thinking about his wife and daughter and what might have happened to them, but Carroll was smart and knew her way around guns and survival. Given half a chance, she’d take their daughter and head for somewhere safe, like Wales, or Scotland, and hunker down, but he knew that even if he could get back to England, his chances of finding them were slim.
That wouldn’t stop him from trying and they’d know that and hopefully leave a trail he could follow, but that was in the future, if there was one. First, he had to take care of this Pack of misfits and lead them to a base he didn’t even know existed any more, knowing he was going to lose half of them to injuries, the human wolves, and maybe the aliens before they got there. He worked steadily for three hours, cutting and grinding metal and working out a plan of action in his mind, all the while knowing this was about the most stupid thing he’d ever done, and that was saying something, but what else could he do. He was the perennial sheep dog and it was his job to protect the flock. It didn’t matter that he was going to try to turn them into wolves, at least that way they’d have a fighting chance to survive.
…Until the wolf shows up. Then the entire flock tries desperately to hide behind one lonely sheepdog… LTC (RET) D. Grossman
CHAPTER FOUR: BOOT CAMP
While he worked in the shop, he had the flanker teams patrolling the perimeter of the camp. He guessed they all hated him after the first day, as he made them creep round the outside fence on their bellies and hands and knees. He set several spotters on high points with binoculars and TAC radios with instructions to try to spot the four groups as they made their way around. The first day was pathetic, as the spotters constantly called out on the all-hands frequency whenever they spotted movement. The level of profanity surprised him, coming from a bunch of women, smiling as he listened in. Not that he could blame them. For untrained people, carrying a twenty-pound Bergen and all their other gear while dressed in a ghillie suit in this heat was suffocating. They’d soon learn the suit was almost as good as a shield, once you got used to wearing it. That evening after dark, all four, dirt covered grumpy teams made their way back to what was now the command bunker. Having to freeze in place when an alien craft flew over with ants crawling up your arms and legs didn’t help.
“Do we have to creep about like a bunch of animals?” Genie Clement grumbled.
"If it means the difference in you getting spotted and shot, yes." Decker answered.
"Hell, a blind man could see you moving around out there, let alone a spotter."
"But we're flankers. To keep up with the rest of the team we can't crawl around like that!"
"I know. But unless you practice this, when the time comes for you to do it, you are liable to get yourself and the rest of us killed." That set them back, and he saw thoughtful looks on a few faces. "Another thing I heard were you bickering about who was in charge. For Christ sake can it, and follow your Team leader’s orders even if you don't like them." He growled."
"She's so bossy!" Genie Clement almost pouted.
"Hell, I don't want the job." Krista Jackson put in.
"That's tough Krista. You're the leader of the Alpha team and until I say otherwise, got it?" He’d been careful in choosing each team leader, picking people with the most forceful personality, not necessarily the biggest or strongest looking.
"The hell you say!" Krista scowled at him.
"Yes, the hell I say. I'm not going to lose a good team leader just because your ladies got their panties in a knot and their pretty hands dirty." Krista stopped and looked at Decker.
"Oh."
"Yes, oh. Before we get to wherever the hell we're going, your hands are going to be covered in a lot more than dirt." Decker's cold gray eye flicked from one to the other seeing his words sinking in. He nodded as if agreeing with something in his mind as he started walking slowly between them.
"You know what I see in your eyes now?" The girls looked at each other and a few shrugged.
"What I see in your eyes now is hope. Hope that somehow I'm going to save your sorry asses." A few blinked as Decker stared at them.
"I hate to tell you this, but I'm not going to save any of you, not one," He smiled mirthlessly, "if you want to survive you ladies need to save yourselves. Shit! I could be killed the moment we step outside that door. What then? Are you all going to commit mass suicide, or just lie down and die?"
"Hell no!" June and Grace spoke together.
"Good, because if you don't get your head in the right place and start taking this shit seriously, I'm out of here. To me, you're more of a liability and probably get me killed just hanging around you. Shit!" He snarled and walked out of the room, leaving them to ponder his words.
As a safety precaution, he switched on his active cammo and made his way back to the workshop to continue work. Every day they delayed here the more entrenched the alien ground troops became. Without knowing what area-denial weapons they had, he couldn't plan on how to get by them. Each day more and more alien ships flew along the road towards Tehachapi, or west to the coast of California. Decker was betting they'd started ferrying ground troops from the mother ship in orbit to forward bases north and west of here. After shoveling down an MRE, he went back and worked steadily through the night. The one thing he was thankful for was that light or noise didn't attract the aliens. He was more worried about human animals finding them than the aliens. Somewhere around three thirty he finished and picked up the two heavy boxes and made his way back to the CP. Finding a place to lay down he quickly and thankfully, fell into a dreamless sleep.
"All right, you lot. Fall in!" Decker shouted after he finished his breakfast and morning coffee. For a second Decker closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as the girl's fell in. They sounded more like a bunch of giggling schoolgirls than soldiers. He sighed and shook his head. It was going to b
e a long day.
"Okay, shut the fuck up and pay attention." Decker dragged the table with the two boxes sitting on top over to the front of the first rank.
"The lesson today is about weapons, which we don't have enough of, but that’s unimportant. You are not trained soldiers, and I don't expect you to fight like they would." He dumped the contents of the larger box out onto the table with a loud clatter of metal. The girls leaned forward, chattering among themselves.
"Did I say you could chatter like a bunch of fucking monkeys?" He yelled. That shut them up. "In this Pack, silence is golden." Decker turned and picked up several of the metal objects.
"What you see here are your weapons. Knives, all sorts of knives. Big ones, small ones, tiny ones, and I want each of you to carry at least six. On your calf, thigh, forearms, belt, wherever you feel comfortable wearing them and within easy reach."
"What for…"
"The Commander told you to shut it!" Grace shouted at the woman who'd spoken up. She glared at Grace but didn't say any more.
“You are going to learn to fight a different way. A way you are more familiar with, seeing you are all female.” Several frowned hearing his say that, as to them it was a very sexist remark, but they remained silent.
“Which reminds me?” Picking up his assault rifle, he took a magazine out of his pocket and slipped it into the well. He tapped it home and cocked the weapon as he looked around. The barrel came down, pointing to the first rank. The tip moved from side to side, and instinctively the ranks split. Walking between them, Decker headed toward a young, blond haired girl in the rear rank by the name of Joann.
"It occurred to me when I woke up this morning that I haven’t had any pussy for a long time." The girl looked startled and wide eyed as she realized Decker was walking towards her. An older woman started to move, as the meaning of his words sunk in.
"You can't… that's my friend’s daughter!" Decker swung the barrel towards her, the implication clear.
"You want me to cap you right here?" The older woman stopped and took a step back.
