by Franks, JK
“Wait, what…” Bartos’ familiar voice came over the comms. “What da hell!”
“Quiet, Cajun, we knew it was a possibility.” The man they called Sentinel had been warning for months about how desperate the president was getting. With the increasing failures of the resettlement camps, they had taken to commandeering food crops by force. The use of the NSF for anything other than guard duty had apparently been problematic, so, the rumor was, she had brought in mercenaries—apparently even some from our country’s former enemies.
Stopping the NSF, as well as possibly gaining supplies, convinced Scott and the group from the coast to now become guerilla fighters.
“We train for war and fight to win.” One of the SEAL’s said. “Sending the message in three, two, one.”
The ‘whoosh’ of the RPG was accompanied by precise fire at all of the exposed troops. Each man on the small unit sounded off as their targets were cleared. Scott cleanly took out one of the National Security Force and one of the mercenaries as the RPG took out the tailing personnel carrier. They had all been survivors; now they had been forced to become warriors. Taking America back one cornfield at a time was how Bartos had put it.
“Holy shit, boys, more on the way.” The trail of dust showed a line of trucks heading in their direction. The distinct sound of a fifty-caliber opening up left no doubt—they were thoroughly fucked. Voices on Scott’s radio began to shout commands, “Exfil, Exfil…MOVE, GODDAMNIT!”
Bartos, Scott and the other four members of their team leaped from their hiding spots and sprinted toward the ditch leading down to their vehicles a mile away. Acting as overwatch, Todd began the arduous climb from the attic window in the old house. He knew it would take too long to get down. He was too old, too out of shape and too fucked. The first of the tan Humvees was rolling up the two-track toward the barn now. The machine gun had gone silent, but probably only because they were reloading.
Todd got to the downstairs kitchen and stopped. The yard outside was filling with soldiers in black fatigues. All armed to the teeth and ready to avenge their fallen comrades.
“You, in di house, we have you on IR. Come out and we will not harm you.” The Asian accent was strong, and the thought of that person riding in a US Army Humvee made Todd want to vomit. If they were watching him on IR, then they should really pay attention to this. He set the huge Barrett .50 caliber on the dining table, sighted in on the lone gunner manning the fifty and calmly squeezed the trigger taking the man’s head off. Working the action, he readied another shot, but a sudden sound from behind stopped him.
“It’s ass puckering time, Todd, get low, real low.”
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Skybox just grinned as he calmly left his gun on the floor and walked out the door with his arms up. “You come here now. On the ground.” The clipped English was filled with hatred, but Skybox just kept grinning. He crossed the wooden porch and carefully stepped on the bottom step. He glanced toward the NSF commander, winked at the man then dove behind an armored vehicle just as the nearby barn exploded. The force of the explosion was enormous, taking out all the troops on the blast-side at once. The house where Todd was crouched simply disintegrated. The six improvised bombs they had placed in fifty-five-gallon drums were filled with the deadly mix of diesel and fertilizer. They effectively leveled the compound and annihilated most of the troops, rendering many of the others nearby unconscious.
Scott’s team had been waiting for Todd when they saw Skybox and knew it was about to get hot. The concussive blast had flipped vehicles and toppled trees far into the trees near where they were hiding, but they ran charging into the blast zone to help their friends before the dust had even cleared. Skybox was fine, he was already moving and firing.
The foreign mercenaries fought well. They reacted swiftly, finding cover and assessing the situation. The lightly trained NSF regulars were cut down in minutes.
“Cajun, can you come get Solo?” someone called over the radio.
“We have several bandits making a run for…”
Radio discipline was all but lost. Adrenaline was pumping through every fighter. The sounds of screaming, smaller secondary explosions and gunfire were joined by the vicious growling sounds of Solo tearing into flesh.
Garret’s men were surrounding the transports up near the ridge. The transports had been one of the main goals for the AG crew. The line of trucks would have plenty of food stocks that would help with the group’s planned getaway cruise. The NSF had been raiding farms, stores, restaurant warehouses and even some well-hidden religious groups’ warehouses for months. While no one had much anymore, collectively, it had added up to a potentially enormous haul.
Scott went to rise just as a line of bullet impacts stitched across the dirt in his direction.
“Who is that firing? We still have live fire coming downrange.” He heard the words coming through the tiny earbud.
“We have bandits making for a single vehicle moving east. Anyone that can take them?”
“Bartos, you need to get Solo. Well, shit. Cancel that, he just took off after that Humvee.”
Scott got his shit together and caught a glimpse of what Solo was running after. The black-uniformed pair were dragging a bald-headed man into the Humvee. Scott ran for the closest vehicle. “Bartos, Bartos! Skybox, I think they got the Cajun!” His radio mic, broken sometime during the battle, prevented anyone from hearing.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Ok, no more of these for a while, alright?” Bartos said as he came to. He knew he was in a vehicle moving somewhere fast. He’d been running up the hill to get Solo when…what? Something, no, someone hit him in the face with the buttstock of a rifle. Goddamnit, he was getting tired of that happening. As the thought resolved in his head, the full pain of the blow to the head announced itself. “Oh, fuck.”
He tried to grab his head but realized his hands were bound with a white plastic ty-wrap. He heard voices, they sounded scared, like someone arguing. Not in English, though. Well, hell, he didn’t know anymore what in his head he could even trust.
This was bad…really bad. Wherever these goons were taking him, it wouldn’t be for Sunday tea. Another thought stayed in the back of his mind. If they question me, it’s all over. Not just for me, but for my friends, too. Better for him to be dead than alive and interrogated. Maybe if he could piss them off enough, they would just shoot him.
“Hey, how you guys liking America so far? Enjoying taking orders from a woman?” No reaction. Hell, they may not even speak any English. “I guess you know your asses are in deep shit. You lost everything back there. You know, caca, crap, do-do, chickenshit…nothing? So, what happened when your country lost electricity, huh? Oh, yeah, nothing. What’s electricity? Am I right?
“Hey, y'all can just let me out anywhere. I appreciate da lift, honest. Gonna give you fucks five stars.” The butt of the rifle hit him again in the forehead. As blackness took him once again he downgraded the review a full star.
Todd looked confused and yelled, “Huh?” One of the Navy medics was still removing splinters of wood and shards of glass from the man. His hearing probably wouldn’t be back to normal for days.
Skybox drank a warm beer he had found in the confiscated food trucks. “I told him to get down,” he said grinning.
“Sky, do you think we are safe here? I mean, won’t they send more backup to see what happened to this squad?” Jack asked walking up.
Although not mentioning it to his friends, Skybox had just been relieved to see none of his fellow Praetor commandos were in the enemy group. “I don’t think so, Rollins has birds up on orbit overhead to keep an eye out. This is so far from Jackson or any other AO for the NSF that this group would likely have been on their own. With that much firepower, they should have been able to handle anyone they met. This mission should have been a cakewalk for ‘em.”
Jack shook his head, “Cept for a crazy fucker with a death wish and a knack for making big fucking
bombs.”
Rollins gave a grin, looking up from his video screens momentarily, “That was a big fucking explosion, man.”
“Yeah,” Skybox answered. “Think I may have missed a decimal or something in those calculations. I really didn’t mean to drop an entire house on Captain Todd.”
They all looked at Todd.
“What?” he said loudly.
“Where are Scott and Bartos?” Skybox asked.
“And Solo,” Jack said looking around.
Solo was in hot pursuit of the tan Humvee but was beginning to be outpaced. He heard the approaching sound of another vehicle.
Scott saw the bloody white dog in the road ahead and pulled ahead of him, opening the door. Solo hopped into the passenger seat, and Scott floored it. “Help me out, Solo. Let’s find Bartos.” The winding country highway had few side roads to take, and the dog’s head stayed pointing straight ahead. Scott was pushing the truck as hard as it would go but hadn’t seen any sign of the other vehicle. “Shit, shit, shit.”
Twenty minutes later, they rounded a sharp bend in the road, and Scott hit the brakes, locking the truck into a sideways skid. Two enormous trees were blocking the road. Solo bolted through the open window, leaped the trees and vanished quickly out of sight up the road.
Scott had been calling for help since he got behind the wheel. Now, he saw why no one was answering. The exposed and broken wires and crushed plastic housing left the radio useless. He shut off the engine, stepped out and listened. Nothing, not a damn thing. “Come on, Bartos,” he offered to no one.
He searched the truck tools, but there was no wench, cable or anything else to use on the felled trees. “Goddamnit!” he yelled. He checked his position on the map but failed to find any side roads that would bypass this section of road. Solo, it’s up to you. He slammed his fist into the metal fender in frustration. Reluctantly, he turned the truck around and went back toward the team in Yokena to get help.
Bartos had roused himself to near consciousness when he noticed the Humvee was no longer moving. The sound of doors slamming followed by two nearby explosions preceded a rushed acceleration. He was on the back floorboard mentally assessing his situation. His hands and feet were bound. Pack and water were gone. What else could he feel? His boots were still on. They hadn’t searched him as he could feel both a knife and a multitool in his pockets. That meant he still had a couple of things on him that could be useful. Useful if he could get free, that is.
His head ached, the pounding was hard to ignore. How many of these assholes were there? He thought three, but he needed to be sure. Rolling to his side, he realized he wasn’t blindfolded, instead, his eyes had nearly swollen shut. He could just barely see a slit of light through each. Well, shit!
He moved his head side to side until he could make out the head of the driver. He had heard two doors slam, so he knew another would be somewhere, up ahead in the passenger’s seat. The light didn’t dim, no matter how he moved his head. So, beside him, behind him or… Rolling nearly onto his back, he saw what appeared to be a circle of daylight just above. The other soldier was manning the machine gun turret in the roof. If there was another somewhere in the back, well, then he was truly fucked.
What were his options? Mentally, he went through a checklist of contingencies, moves and countermoves. The fact he was being held prisoner never crossed his mind. His enemy had already made one fatal mistake. They should have killed me!
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Scott had been frantic upon his return to the compound. “We have to go now, they have Bartos.” Garret lay a reassuring hand on his shoulder, but he threw it off. “Goddamnit, listen to me. We have to go now. Who’s with me?”
Jack walked up, bruised and bloodied. “I’m in, Scott. Let’s go get him.”
“Wait, wait just a minute. We will go, but we need to get what we need first,” Garret said. We need to be able to move that tree, and since they have a head start, we need some eyes in the sky. Let me grab Rollins.” The lieutenant walked off hurriedly.
“He’ll be okay, Scott. You know Bartos.”
Scott nodded absently, not reassured. Every minute standing here could mean another mile farther away his friend was.
“Todd got a bit banged up, too,” Jack said pointing to the big man sitting on the back of one of the Humvees. I guess you saw the stunt Skybox pulled.”
Scott’s vision had narrowed to a small point, frustration and anger beginning to boil over, and he was beginning to question the wisdom of coming back for help, but Jack’s words about Todd brought his rage back under control. He saw his other friend and had to quickly go check on him.
“Come on, Rollins―get ‘em ready.” The Navy man was hurriedly prepping the last of the mini-drones to follow the course Scott had given. He inserted new power cells into each, and, once again airborne, they could give them advanced warning of anyone approaching and hopefully, allow them to get a glimpse of the enemy vehicle direction. “They have a good head start on us, but we will need to verify where they are heading,” Skybox said.
“We know where they are going, these people were based out of the damn prison camp in Jax.”
“I hope not.”
“What do you mean, Skybox, what’s going on?”
Skybox motioned at the lieutenant, “Garret heard from his dad, something is going down. Seems like they are planning to liberate that internment camp in the next few days.”
“Shit, why now?”
“I don’t know, but they are hauling Bartos right into what will be ground-zero of the Navy’s first attack on the US mainland.” Skybox looked at his friend, “We can’t let them…”
“I know, Sky,” Scott said cutting him off. “Just trust Bartos, ok, he can be…formidable.”
“Believe me, I know that, Scott, but if they question him, he could lead them straight back to the AG.”
“He won’t.”
“We need to be sure,” Skybox said.
“Sky,” Scott said wearily. “Just trust the insanity. Bartos will be ok. We have to go get him, though.”
“How, Scott? Not like we have Blackhawks or planes at our disposal. Sorry, man—they’re gone.”
Scott couldn’t contain himself, “We don’t do that, Sky, we don’t give up. We battle on―you of all people should know that. If nothing else….I need to go get Solo, he’s in pursuit.”
Garret and his men had been sweeping the compound for anything useful. Vehicles, ammo, weapons and, of course, the trucks hauling fuel and food. Those were all heading back to the AG with armed escorts. A smaller group of the former SEAL team plus Jack, Scott and Skybox were about to be heading off in the direction Bartos had been taken.
“Todd, go with Lt. Garret,” Jack said loudly. Unsure if he actually heard him, he was relieved to see Todd get up and shuffle over to the truck heading back to the coast. His friend was suffering, not just the hearing but battered and bruised, while his other longtime friend was now apparently a prisoner of the NSF.
Jack had been happy hearing Scott’s engagement news earlier in the day. It was just sinking in how foolhardy and dangerous this little plan had been for all of them. They had wanted revenge on the NSF for the brutality on their friends here at the farms, and truthfully, the AG was getting desperate for supplies. Supplies like what these captured trucks and trailers held. The cost had already been too high in his opinion.
“Scott?”
The man was busy refilling clips from an ammo box and strapping everything he could to his tactical vest. “Yeah, Jack?”
Jack looked at the man already knowing the answer to the question he was about to ask. “Why don’t you let us go after him? You could head back with Garret and Todd.”
Scott stopped what he was doing, momentarily confused, then seeing his friend’s expression, he got it. He had stopped thinking about the engagement, the baby, the plans to get the ship out of harm’s way. He’d stopped thinking of everything except getting his friend back. He shook his h
ead. “Can’t do that, Jack. Bartos wouldn’t take the easy way out. He needs us.”
“Scott, Bartos is certifiably insane, and if they can get anything other than silly putty out of that bald head, I‘d be surprised. Now, I’m not all that interested in your well-being, truth be told. I ask only for personal reasons. Gia will skin us all if we let anything happen to your sorry ass.”
“Load up, Preacher, if you’re coming with us,” Scott said with a hint of a grin. “How’s the captain?” He nodded his head in Todd’s direction.
Jack’s face became more relaxed. “Banged up, temporarily deaf, but…I think he’s better than he has been in a long time. Today gave him something to fight back against, something tangible. You know…he told me about what you asked him.”
“About leaving?
Jack nodded.
Scott started to respond, then thought better of it. Todd still had some demons to bury and some memories to let go of. The AG needed him at the helm, but it would be his decision to make. He walked over and patted the man on the shoulder and gave a single bob of the head before loading up.
Skybox waved his hands in a circle then yelled over to Garret, “We’re heading out. We get the Cajun, and then we’ll circle back to the AG. Be safe, guys.”
“Take care of my men, Commander,” Garret replied.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
His vision was getting worse, the swelling would leave him blind if he waited much longer. That would not do. He couldn’t risk being taken in, interrogated, possibly revealing the truth of where he was from. Bartos had no delusions about being able to withstand ‘enhanced interrogation,’ more commonly referred to as torture. While the intel you got under duress might not be reliable, everyone broke, everyone. No, he had to make his move now.
