by Lundy, W. J.
“Deltas, The Darkness, or whatever you want to call them; black eyes, devils, assholes… take your pick, it’s all the same. You know, you should get out of those boots. Last thing you want is trench foot; you’ll need good feet when we cross the lake. You need to get your wet clothes hung up and dried out.”
Jacob dropped and sat beside the man, undoing his own laces, pulling off the wet boots, and removing his drenched socks. His feet felt cold and clammy, his toes tingling with numbness. He moved his clothing onto hooks embedded into the mantle, letting them hang close to the fire. “You said we’re crossing the lake? Where the hell are we, anyway?” Jacob asked.
Ignoring his question, the man turned and removed a blue steel pot from the fire using a thick leather mitt. He shuffled away from Jacob and filled two mugs resting on the mantle before handing one to Jacob, who sniffed the liquid and made a sour face. The man laughed softly. “Fern tea… might as well get used to it,” he said before replacing the pot.
“We’re just outside of Meaford, still in Canada. This is one of our safe houses between the base and the front lines. We go here to rest up between missions. It’s not great but still better than being on base—more freedom out here. You’re Jacob, right? You can call me James. Sorry for skipping introductions earlier. Sometimes you have to move fast and skip the formalities. I hate traveling alone after dark without an escort, bad weather or not.”
Jacob held the warm cup in his hands, letting the metal thaw his cold fingers. He sipped the tea, the taste becoming easier the more he drank it. He closed his eyes tight and slowly opened them again. “James, why am I here?”
The bearded man stood and stretched. “Tomorrow… you’ll know tomorrow.” He pointed to Jesse, who was still leaning against his pack, asleep under the wet blanket. “You should get some sleep. That’s a key around here: sleep when you can. We have a lot to do in the morning.” The man took another sip of his tea and splashed the rest into the fire before returning his cup to the mantle. He shifted away from the fire, moving into the back of the room where Jacob watched him dig a bedroll from his pack.
Jacob stayed by the warmth of the fireplace. With his back to the mantle, he removed his wet T-shirt then lay down on the thick rug and stretched out on the surface to let the fire become his blanket. He closed his eyes but couldn’t sleep; too many thoughts and emotions clouded his brain. He wondered if Masterson would keep his word and inform Laura that he’d shipped out, then he wondered if maybe it was better that she didn’t know.
The door to the cabin opened, allowing another pair of armed men to enter. They passed inside, stomping their boots and stripping off wet gear. Jacob feigned sleep, not interested in more uncomfortable conversation. He watched the men move near James and arrange their own sleeping areas. The men spoke in hushed tones that Jacob listened to for a few minutes before dozing to sleep.
He was awakened by a kick at the bottom of his bare feet and caught his name before he opened his eyes. He tried to sit up, feeling the cold aches in his back and shoulders. Light now shone into the room through the heavy drapes, telling him it was morning. He squinted, trying to focus on the tall man standing over him. He wore the same dark camouflage as the others and looked at Jacob with a beaming smile. “Told ya I’d look after you, bro,” the man said.
Jacob’s face filled with recognition after catching Stephens’s grin looking down at him, and he tried to sit up.
“How come every time I see you you’re laying down, always on your lazy ass?” Stephens joked.
“Oh man, it’s so good to see you. I didn’t know what to think after last night. So you’re the one responsible for all of this?” Jacob said. He reached for his now dry shirt on the mantle and quickly pulled it on. He looked to the wall to find Jesse sitting on his pack, eating something from a large bowl. “What are you doing here?”
“Hell, this is my spot. You’re assigned to me now,” Stephens said, going to the fire and using a wooden spoon to stir at a deep, black, iron pot. He used the spoon and plopped a large scoop of the mixture into a bowl. He handed it off to Jacob then made one for himself before dropping to sit on the floor. Stephens took a large mouthful and swallowed before saying, “Get your gear together and meet me outside with your boy. We got a lot to do and not much time to do it. We're moving out today.”
“Moving where?” Jacob asked.
Stephens smiled. “We’re going back… taking the fight straight to these things.” Stephens took another gulping bite and climbed to his feet, throwing his bowl and spoon into a large basin. He turned back to Jacob. “Seriously, you need to get a move on. You’re with Recon now; we don’t drag ass, so hurry up.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jacob stood on the front porch of the cabin with Jesse waiting eagerly close beside him. Both men huddled under the roof. They carried their duffle bags on their backs and were still without weapons. In the daylight, Jacob could see that the cabin sat deep in the woods, surrounded by tall trees, the muddy road the only access point. There were no neighbors in sight. Old wooden rocking chairs were on the porch and a fieldstone fire pit in the backyard. At one time, this must have been someone’s vacation retreat—a hunting spot or place for family gatherings.
The sky was heavily overcast and the rain continued to pour down, causing the ruts in the road to overflow with brown water. Rain ran off the shingles and dripped over the roof’s edge, creating deep puddles on the muddy path. The road at the bottom of the hill was now empty, the truck gone. The guard was also gone. Jacob exchanged glances with Jesse. “They said out front, right?”
Jesse shrugged his shoulders in response.
“Hey, Private Pyle! Over here!” a shout echoed across the yard, causing both men to turn their heads.
They saw a cedar-sided barn just inside the tree line. Its large sliding door was open to reveal men inside, nearly concealed by the shadows. Jacob stepped off quickly toward the barn with Jesse following close behind, stomping through the puddles. A solidly built, clean-shaven man with a staff sergeant’s rank on his chest moved out and met them just outside the door. He looked them up and down without speaking.
“Damn, you all look even worse in the daylight. I asked Masterson for replacements and he sends me this shit? Hell… good thing Stephens vouched for you, or I’d be sending you off to the labor camps.” The man shook his head and pointed to the barn. “Well? What are you waiting for? Get inside, cherries.”
They stepped out of the rain and through the door to find the other men grouped around stacks of wooden crates. A lean, confident-looking man with bulging arms stood close to the door. He turned and grinned at them as they entered. “Finally got us some fresh ones. Where the hell they find these two?”
“Boots–right outta training from that new camp they set up at Meaford. They’s pushin’ recruits through fast as the Deltas can kill ‘em,” Stephens said, stepping from the back so that he could be seen. He shot a wink at Jacob to let him know he was among friends.
The lean man with slicked-back dark hair stepped closer and looked them up and down. “Well, no time for games; we got a mission to get to. Those two rucksacks in the corner belong to you. Fish out whatever personal things are important to you, an’ load ’em up. The rest of your shit you can dump in the corner… you won’t be needing it.” The man turned around on the balls of his feet and, looking at Stephens, continued, “Get these two armed up. We need to meet the boat.”
“Yes, sir, L-Tee,” Stephens answered. Stephens moved from the group and herded the recruits to their rucksacks, giving them a minute to swap photos and personal items from their duffels and into the field packs. “You got everything ya need in those packs—sleeping bag, some clothing, and such. Don’t worry about holding on to them olive drab rags from training; you both have fresh camies in the packs. Hurry up and get them on. You can hold onto your boots; now ain’t the time to break in new ones.”
Stephens stepped off, quickly returning with a pair of M4 carbines equipped with advanced o
ptics. “These were laser zeroed and paired to the optics. It’ll be good enough for now. The vests over there are loaded with mags; find one that fits and stand by. We’ll be leaving soon,” Stephens said.
Jacob was kneeling in front of his issue duffel bag, moving items to the larger rucksack. Placing a photo of his family in a front pocket, he looked up at Stephens. “Is this our base then? Will we be coming back here?”
Before Stephens could answer the question, the lieutenant moved up on them from behind and answered for him. “This is O.P. Thunder; just a jumping off point back to the States—a place where units go to rest, regroup, and gather replacements. A month ago, it was in Northern Michigan. Who knows where it will be a month from now if we fail.
“I’m Lieutenant Marks. You already know Stephens. Like the rest of us, he’s been fast tracked through promotions and is now your acting squad leader.” Marks turned to face the rest of the group, watching as they broke open the wooden crates to begin removing ammo cans and loading magazines. “You met the famous and bearded James last night. He's as abrasive as three-grit sandpaper but listen to what he has to say. The big guy that yelled at ya is Rogers. He’s our everything expert, and if he tells you to do something, you better do it.
This right here is Alpha Squad… Assassins. We aren’t much of a squad, but this is what we got. I’m sure you know the main base got hit yesterday. The Deltas are getting bolder. They’re moving farther north away from the ponds, and we’ve been tasked to make it stop. We’ll get all the details later once we’re en route.
“I heard you all had a part in some of the cleanup action yesterday. That’s good, but it don’t mean shit to us here. Plinking Deltas from a hilltop doesn’t impress me much. You just do as you’re told and maybe you’ll survive the week.” Marks stared down into their blank expressions before turning and leaving the barn.
Stephens waited until the lieutenant left the space then looked back at Jacob. “Just stick with me for a few days, okay? You’ll get yourself squared away in no time. You too, Winslow; let Sergeant Stephens show you the way,” he said, smiling. “L-Tee wants us outside and ready to get on the trucks as soon as they show up. We’ll be moving to the coast soon.”
“Stephens, where the hell are we going?” Jacob asked.
“I told ya, we’re going back… back to the States. Gonna get in deep and start killing these things,” Stephens said. “These are good people—real good. We’re lucky to be with them.”
“That’s it? A week and a half of training and they’re sending me back?”
“Don’t worry about any of that. Just concentrate on staying behind your rifle; let me and the L-Tee worry about where we’re going and when we’ll get back.”
Jacob finished filling his pack and adjusted his vest; he leaned back and examined the faces of the men around him. They were hardened and leathered, not the soft and scared faces of the men in his training platoon. James was just finishing with the ammo detail. His sleeves were rolled, exposing a forearm covered with tattoos. A globe and anchor tattoo was prominent on the side of his neck just below his beard.
The stocky man, Rogers, was breaking up the remnants of the wooden crates and stacking the bits in a corner. Jacob figured the man couldn’t have been more than five foot ten, but his posture was broad and intimidating, and he had the voice of a giant. He then watched Marks move back across the barn and examine a map in a plastic pouch. He held a scrap of paper next to it while his finger traced a path along the map. Jacob shook his head, intimidated. Jesse caught the movement and shared a similar expression. “I know man, I think we're in way over our heads,” Jesse whispered.
The sound of screeching brakes stopped the men from what they were doing and caused them to look down toward the muddy road. “All right, Assassins, that’s us. It’s time to saddle up!” Stephens called out.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Jacob moved quickly from the barn. At the bottom of the hill, he saw a large panel van with a Humvee positioned to the front of it. Marks was standing at the side of the van, talking to the driver as a second man slid the side door open. Jacob rushed down the hill and was ushered into the back of the cargo van. He shuffled to the side wall and dropped to the floor with his new rucksack on his lap. After the rest of the men piled into the van, Jacob used his feet to slide closer to the van’s wall and men packed in around him.
He opened the top of the bag, sorting through his new equipment. Multicam uniforms, webbing to match, a new Kevlar helmet, a second pair of boots, a poncho liner, and a large freezer bag filled with socks. There were two MREs and several bottles of water. At the bottom of the bag was a small compartment, where he found boxes of extra ammunition. Jacob shook his head wearily as he closed the top of the pack. It really is just the bare essentials, he thought.
The van eased forward, causing its occupants to sway as it bumped through ruts in the road and splashed through deep puddles. It moved up a hill and picked up speed as the road seemed to level out. Stephens crawled across the floor of the van and grabbed at Jacob’s vest, pulling on his ammo pouches and checking that everything was snapped tight before moving on and doing the same with Jesse.
“Expecting trouble?” Jacob whispered.
Stephens finished with Jesse’s vest and looked up. “Have to be ready for anything once we leave the gates,” Stephens said.
James coughed and opened a bottle of water. “They’re everywhere now. Not in numbers like you’ll see in the States, but the fuckers have managed to get by the blockades,” he said before taking a long gulp of water.
“Blockades?” Jacob asked, feeling ignorant on the state of the world.
James put the cap back on the bottle and slid it into the cargo pocket of his trousers. His left hand removed his boonie cap. He scratched his head, thinking before speaking. “There's a final defensive line spanning from Lake St. Claire to Lake Erie. It’s the only thing keeping the 401 Corridor closed… we lose that, we lose Quebec. We took out the Mackinaw Bridge early on. Back East, the 10th Mountain Division has managed to plug the Buffalo route into Canada.”
Jacob let his head drop as he thought about what he’d heard. “What about the West?”
James shook his head without speaking.
The van abruptly stopped and the driver’s window rolled down. At the same time, the sliding door swung open. Two weary looking Canadian soldiers with scruffy beards and soiled uniforms looked into the van, the lead man holding a bright flashlight. Jacob watched as the others strained their mouths wide and opened their eyes. The first soldier in the door examined them as the second stood back with his rifle at the ready. The soldier pointed at Jacob. Jacob quickly opened his mouth, showing the man the roof of his mouth and gums. The soldier nodded and slammed the door shut before slapping the side and allowing the driver to take off.
“Welcome to the hot zone. We have officially left friendly lines,” Stephens said.
Jacob observed the rest of the team loading magazines and letting the bolts go forward, prepping their weapons. He followed suit by checking and double checking the safety on his rifle. The van slowed and made abrupt maneuvers, causing the occupants to sway back and forth.
“Most of the roads this far west are still blocked. We haven’t had the time or resources to clear the highways,” Stephens whispered, seeing the question in Jacob’s eyes. “Out here, if anyone approaches that you don’t personally recognize, you challenge them… do you understand?”
Jesse nodded and Jacob mumbled a soft yes.
“The Deltas are sneaky. They’ve learned they can’t cross the border en mass without being detected so they started sending out smaller groups in ones or twos. Once they get enough of them together, they start harvesting. It’s happening more frequently, hundreds every day, and the refugee camps have become their favorite target,” James said. “Even if we kill a hundred for every two we lose, we’ll run out of soldiers by the end of the year.”
“Jesus,” Jesse gasped.
&nbs
p; “Nahh, he had nothing to do with it,” James responded, lying back against the wall of the van. “This is the Devil’s work.”
The vehicle stopped abruptly, again causing the occupants to shift. The passenger in front quickly exited the vehicle and flung the side door open. Marks looked in over the occupants and said, “No time to waste; let’s get moving.”
The men poured out of the passenger compartment, pulling on their packs and holding weapons at the ready. Jacob positioned himself close to Stephens as his eyes swept the terrain. The van had stopped just outside of a tall wooden barrier. The rain quit but the sky remained dark and gloomy.
They were at the edge of a small coastal town, where a stretched-out main street separated brick storefronts. Garbage and broken glass covered the pedestrian walkway that ran in front of the buildings. Looking down the long street, Jacob could see a narrow marina filled with small watercraft. Farther out was what appeared to be a large Navy ship sitting in the water.
The air stank of death and burning garbage; a heavy acrid odor that couldn’t be escaped. He tried to pull his shirt up over his nose when Stephens looked at him. “It’s the smell of destruction, ash, and decay. After the attacks, damn near every bomb in every Army’s arsenal was dropped on these things to try to stop them. In Europe and Asia, they even used nukes. Rumor is we might have even dropped some in the Southwest, down on the Mexico border. The shit that didn’t blow up usually burnt in the days after. All this stuff, places like this, have been abandoned. Left to rot. That, my friend, is what we have here today and what causes this glorious aroma.”
“That’s our ride,” Marks said, pointing at the ship. “Stephens, lead us out. Keep us tight to the left side.”
Stephens nodded and pointed at the bearded soldier; James grinned and pulled his cap on tight. “James, you got point. Rogers, you take slack. I’ll bring up the rear with the cherries and L-Tee. We need to move quickly so we can get on board before the Deltas know we’re in town.”
