The Reaper: No Mercy

by Sean Liebling

  With a hard jerk the chain was pulled down and the door flew upward, while Rodriguez crouched lower as his finger tightened on the trigger, scanning for threats. Then he paused, perplexed. Before them, an older man with a military haircut but a full, neatly trimmed, iron-grey beard was sitting on a stack of wooden crates he had obviously dragged into position. A rifle was propped against the side of his impromptu seat, and he was chewing on what looked like jerky, an ironic smile on his face as he held a sheaf of papers in one hand.

  "Do you men realize how loud you are when you're getting ready?" he spoke in a low, gravelly voice. "You should work on that."

  Rodriguez's gaze scanned wildly in every possible direction, then, seeing no one, he approached the stranger. The rifle he recognized as a sniper’s tool of trade, an M40A1, yet slightly different. Modified, he guessed as he continued to appraise the situation.

  "Name!" he demanded.

  The stranger looked at him, turned his head sideways to spit out the remnants of jerky, and standing, said, "Captain Jason Scott, detached United States Marine Corps Infantry to Army Intelligence, but you can call me Reaper. Who would you be, Platoon Sergeant?"

  If his jaw could have hit the floor, it would have, as Rodriguez first felt relief hit him like a sledgehammer, then apprehension as he stared at the man before him—the man who was now pulling a utility cap over his head with embroidered captain’s bars impressed on the front, and directly faced Rodriguez ...waiting.

  "Orders and proof!" Rodriguez snapped.

  The Reaper handed over two sets of documents and waited patiently as Dennis read them slowly.

  Rodriguez was impressed by the signatures and seals embossed on the commission along with the orders themselves, even though he did not recognize the names, then reluctantly snapped to attention while saluting. "Sergeant Rodriguez, acting NCOIC (Non-Commissioned Officer in Charge), of what's left of Charlie Company, 143rd Transportation Battalion, detached to Moberly for riot control."

  "This isn't Moberly, Sergeant," responded the Reaper, returning the salute.

  "Granted, sir. It's a long story. Let's get inside." The Reaper nodded, picked up his rifle and ruck, then followed the man inside. "I'll want more proof," Rodriguez murmured, still very much suspicious. The Reaper nodded again.

  *****

  Chapter 9

  Jason resealed his commission and orders in their plastic pouch, then quickly hid them beneath the small flap at the bottom of his ruck. Other documents were there also, that listed codes, frequencies, and locations of staging areas. The codes and frequencies he kept out. The locations he kept hidden. Then he turned to Rodriguez, who stood near him with a small woman by his side. Both of them obviously connected.

  "Do you have any questions or concerns?" the Reaper inquired.

  "Sir, I don't recognize any of the names on your commission or your orders. Granted, I'm only a sergeant, but I can't gamble the safety of the people under my care on the word of a stranger, however legitimate he appears. Those papers look official, and the words are right, and I don't wish to be disrespectful, but I'm going to need more proof."

  The Reaper nodded again. "I don't blame you, and that proof will be arranged shortly. However, will you provisionally accept that I'm legitimate until proven otherwise and without taking undue risks?"

  "Yes, sir. That we can do. But ... Ahh ... look, sir. Do you need hot water and a razor for that beard?"

  Jason pondered his words for a moment, then reached up and stroked the coarse hairs before responding.

  "No. Because Emma likes it."

  "Emma?"

  "As long as you're provisionally accepting my authority, I want to be brought up to date as we have work to do," the Reaper said, ignored Rodriguez's last question.

  "What work to do, sir?"

  Jason saw that Rodriguez was already scowling and raised a hand.

  "Relax, Sergeant. Everything will be clear shortly."

  Rodriguez looked at him warily before continuing.

  "Yes, Sir! Well you wanted to hear our story, so here's what happened." With that, Rodriguez explained to the Reaper all they had been through, while the Reaper nodded. Finishing, he shrugged and said, "I have a three-man team out now scouting to the south for a safer place. I know those assholes will come for us sooner or later, it's only a matter of time."

  "Agreed, Sergeant. What were your plans?"

  "Were, sir? We'll find a better, safer place, away from these guys."

  "There is no better and safer place, Rodriguez. Evil is all around us, and while you may not appreciate the metaphor, this does not lessen the fact that they are true.”

  "Yes, sir, I understand, but it's not as simple as that." Rodriguez groaned inwardly. The fact was that he really had no plan and had no idea where to go. This captain was complicating things.

  "It is exactly that simple, Sergeant. We will stand, and we will prevail."

  "Sir? How in the hell can you say that, already knowing what you do of this situation?" Rodriguez was getting angry. This man, who called himself the Reaper, was so sure, so adamant that they could make a difference with almost no resources, no support, and almost no munitions. The whole scenario was unbelievable and defied everything he had learned in his long life. He paused as the captain again held up a calming hand.

  "Calm down, Sergeant. Everything will be clear if we have communications. Do you have long-range communications capabilities? I would assume the M-ATVs have such."

  "Ahh, yes sir, we do have the Harris in the M-ATVs, and standard field radios."

  The Reaper turned to him slowly. "A Harris VRC-104?" The Reaper knew of, and had used Harris radios, because they were standard equipment in most of the Strykers in Newaygo. The VRC-104 was an extremely versatile piece of high-tech communications equipment. It transmitted and received in standard HF (High Frequency) and VHF-FM (Very High Frequency - FM band), and it could access SW (Shortwave) channels. It could bounce a signal for well over a thousand miles, given the right conditions.

  "Yes sir."

  "That's the first bit of good news you've told me so far, other than being able to save so many survivors."

  "Sir, there has been little chatter in over a week. Everything's encrypted now, and nobody is answering our calls."

  "They will answer mine, Sergeant, now where are you at on munitions?"

  "I'd rather not say, sir."

  "So almost out, is what you're not saying, Rodriguez?"

  "OK, fine then. Low, sir, in fact, very low. I'm really worried about that, and while we made a run on the local gun shop, it was already emptied." While gritting his teeth, Rodriguez informed this officer just how low they were on ammunition for their weapons.

  "Call the men back that you sent on scout, and then we'll need to establish communications with Newaygo Command. You need support, and resupply, and we need more men.”

  "Support and resupply, sir? More men?" Rodriguez was out of his depth. The Reaper was talking as if the shit hadn't hit the fan, as if everything was normal and you could just dial up supply for what you needed.

  "You'll see, and this will also go quite a way in establishing my credentials," grunted Jason. . "I need one of your M-ATVs for comm, and we'll need to find a location outside on a hill nearby to get the range and azimuth." This, he addressed at the younger man, who quickly nodded.

  "Alright. Follow me sir!" and with that, Rodriguez led the way to one of their M-ATVs after a brief consultation with his men, and opened the rear door for the Reaper to enter. Jason noticed that the woman, Nancy, had accompanied them and stopped before entering.

  "Who is this?" he inquired as he indicated Nancy Kerrigon.

  "Sir, she's our doctor and if there is the slightest chance we can get through, she wants to be here."

  "I'm actually only a nurse." the older but beautiful woman shyly responded.

  "NO! You're our..." and Rodriguez paused as the Reaper held up his hand, then addressed Nancy.

  "Specialty?"
/>   "Surgical nursing, over twenty years." She responded, and now lowered her head for she knew what was coming.

  "So you've been their doctor for the last month," the Reaper responded in a gentle tone.

  "Yes!" It was obvious she was surprised at the Reapers insight and nodded eagerly."

  "She's saved over thirty people, Captain!" Rodriguez said vehemently as he tugged on her arm to pull her behind him.

  "Fair enough, and I guessed as much." The Reaper suddenly nodded at her as he held his hand out. Nancy grasped his and they remained that way for some time before Jason responded. "Thank you for saving lives."

  "You're welcome."

  "We need to make contact, let's get going." Jason released her hand and entered the back compartment of the M-ATV while the others followed him.

  Once inside, Rodriguez hit the toggle for interior lights and pointed at the communications device. The Reaper looked at him with a slight frown as every console was dark, and Rodriguez cringed, then reached forward to hit the electrical breakers activating the consoles. A man climbed in behind the steering wheel and immediately Rodriguez spoke to him.

  "Keyes, take us out. Head south. Direct the others to follow us in support." he called out.

  "Roger that, sir." The reply came from up front, the figure behind the wheel barely seen.

  The Reaper grabbed an upper handhold and held on as the armored vehicle lurched forward, throwing them back in their seats, and looking through the side window saw the others echeloning out beside them. They were headed south, according to the position of the sun and were soon weaving around stands of trees; then a rise appeared ahead.

  Minutes later, Jason felt the vehicle come to a stop. They had a clear, unobstructed view of the terrain around them, and were on a large hill. Not waiting for Rodriguez to tell him they were in position, the Reaper activated the secure shortwave transceiver before him.

  Immediately the soft hum of electronics filled the air as the Reaper began making minute adjustments to its settings. After pulling the sheet of frequencies from his breast pocket and glancing at it, he punched in a frequency along with a code for the plugged-in scrambler. Silence still issued from the radio as the Reaper lifted the microphone and spoke. Beside him, Rodriguez was watching warily.

  "Come in Newaygo Command. This is the Reaper." He glanced again at the paper before him and then said, "Code word Clarissa." He then pulled a handheld GPS unit from the breast of his jacket and turned it on.

  Almost instantly, a male voice responded. "Newaygo Command receiving. Code word authenticated. Response is David, Mike, Alpha, confirm over."

  The Reaper glanced at his sheet of codes and responded, "Authentication confirmed."

  "You are Go Reaper and the comm is yours."

  "I need a drop. N39 28.85142 W92 0.07811. Location Paris Missouri. Marauders and slavers. I need men, equipment, and munitions. We're strapped and need support." The Reaper read the figures off the device in his hand as he spoke.

  "Hold one, Reaper. Major Robinson is on his way and will want to talk to you."

  Jason glanced up, and seeing Rodriguez in some form of shock, spoke. "We planned for this, Sergeant. I'm the advance. Is the picture becoming clearer?"

  "But I don't understand. Why a captain by himself?" sputtered Dennis, bewildered. The simple fact that someone had immediately responded to the captain’s broadcast completely amazed him, and he could tell from the faintness of the signal and slight echo that it was coming from some distance away.

  "Lack of staff mostly, young man. Besides. I work better on my own." There was a pause, then the Reaper finished his sentence. "Less complicated."

  "I see. Ahhh ..." then he was interrupted as Newaygo Command came over the radio.

  "Stand by for Major Robinson, Reaper."

  "Copy that," intoned Jason.

  "Reaper! Damn glad to hear from you. How's it going on your end? I understand you have a bit of a problem."

  The Reaper growled, "I need men and supplies to take care of a situation."

  "Done, but first, protocol. We're currently in almost total blackout. You know why. Only authenticated communications will receive a response. So don't lose that list."

  "Roger that, Major. How's it look for us?"

  "Well, we can't do it in Paris unless we drop. There is nothing immediately close to you for a landing. Mexico City is acceptable. How does that look from your end? Bear in mind I'm looking at the maps now." Jason swiveled his head to look at Rodriguez while raising an eyebrow. He kept the transmit button depressed as Dennis spoke so that Major Robinson could hear his response. The sergeant looked very apprehensive.

  "Sir, lots of zombies. More than we can possibly clear," said Rodriguez.

  "Well that settles that. Airdrop it is." The Reaper grunted at Robinson's words. One of the things he best liked about the major was that he was intuitive, and could make instant decisions.

  "Reaper. Hold one for the Colonel, we'll talk again in a moment." With that the major’s voice disappeared to be replaced by another.

  "Brother. You OK over there?" It was Jay, the governor of Michigan, and the Reaper’s only friend.

  "Yeah, Jay. Dealing with the usual issues. How are things going on your end?"

  "Well, same ol’ and all that, and we’re staging for Massachusetts. But I have warm regards to send your way from Travis and Shannon who are both doing well. Travis says to save a few for him." The Reaper grinned at those words. Yeah, that sounded just like Travis, he thought. Then a light hand touched his shoulder and he looked over to see Nancy, the doctor of this group, and she indicated she had something to say.

  "We need medical supplies, or some won't make it. We suffered casualties leaving Moberly and I have four septics right now that are dying," she whispered. Jason nodded.

  "We also need medical supplies for critically wounded, Jay," he spoke into the microphone again.

  "No worries, brother. I'll have Rob arrange it," spoke the governor of Michigan.

  "Everything else going OK on your end?"

  A tired sigh sounded over the airwaves, then Jay's voice responded. "The usual, as I said, and we have some murders Fridaddy is sorting through, and of course our friends on the dark side keep sending operatives in. We're catching most but I'm quite sure not all."

  "I get it. Keep up the good fight. The Lord is on your side."

  "You bet, but wait. I have someone special here who wants to say hello."

  Then a soft voice came over the shortwave, and it was obvious she was very young. "Papa J?"

  Emma's sweet voice filled the airwaves, and immediately tears formed in the corner of Jason's eyes as he swallowed hard, a lump instantly forming in his throat. His mind went back to a month ago, finding his entire family including his darling granddaughters dead, and then rocking the little girls in his porch swing for hours ... crying. Then helping Newaygo make a stand against the evil spawn of Satan, and meeting their commander's daughter as she was stealing food from his plate at that first meeting. Emma. Sweet, tiny, two-year old Emma, who looked so much like his grandchild Heather who had been ripped from his life. Gathering Emma up in his arms had almost earned the Reaper a bullet in the head by Jay, her father, but from that time forward, he and Emma had become practically inseparable. Jason had vowed to visit her once a month as he was able. That hard lump in his throat was moving upward as hidden emotions welled forth; then he coughed and spoke.

  "Hey sweety." The Reaper was leaning forward in order to hear every nuance of her voice.

  "Come home, Papa J. I miss you."

  "I miss you too sweetheart, but I can't. Emma, sweety, I will see you in a few weeks."

  "Promise?"

  "Yes, I promise, munchkin."

  "Will you bring me a present?" Emma’s soft, sweet voice requested.

  "You know I will, sweety. It will be a nice present."

  "Ok, bye. Love you Papa J." Jason's heart caught in his throat again before he responded.

  "I lov
e you too munchkin." A giggle sounded, and then the cold stern voice of Newaygo's commander again filled the airwaves. Behind Jason, he could hear the others whispering, but paid them no attention.

  "Glad Emma had a chance to talk to you, Jason. She misses you, and you are her godfather, after all."

  "I miss her too, and I know."

  "Then get your ass back here. You're needed."

  "Jay, we had this conversation."

  "Right. What you are doing is important, brother, and we will provide any support you need."

  "Thank you."

  "I'm handing you back to Rob. We have another infiltration going on that needs squashing, soonest. I need to get back out there, but Reaper, don't be a stranger!"

  "Thanks, Jay."

  Immediately, Major Robinson's voice filled the air, and the Reaper leaned forward once again.

  "What do you need, Reaper, and what's the situation there?"

  Quickly, Jason filled him in about the marauders, their actions, and the captives they held. Then he listed his own assets, that of the group he was currently with, and the other three near them. He then reiterated his need for munitions, supplies, medical, and men.

  "Linked .50 and 7.62 we have in plenty, and I'll send that along with some unlinked. I assume 5.56, and will a tactical medical resupply be adequate?"

  The Reaper quickly looked at Nancy, who, with wide eyes, nodded vehemently.

  "Yes, and yes."

  "I can loan you two teams from my 9th, it's all I can spare right now. But I want them back!"

  "No problem there, Major. You'll get them back."

  "We'll evac your most seriously wounded when they exfil (exfiltration or extraction), out of Mexico City, or whichever strip we decide on. The additional security will make it workable, if so."

  "Got it."

  "Anything else?"

  "Demo. C4. I have a plan but I’ll brief the teams when on ground. Do you have any spare AT4s?" An individually-held, line-of-sight, light anti-armor missile, the AT4 was the perfect weapon against unarmored and even lightly armored vehicles. The Reaper knew they had stores of the AT4s in Newaygo, and counted on acquiring at least a few to help even the odds. The AT4 could also be used against hardened stationary targets, and if the marauders thought they could barricade themselves against attack, that weapon would easily create a new doorway or opening. The C4 he would use on the ground for improvised IEDs to the detriment of the enemy. Much of this was basic countermeasures that all military personnel learned in ITS (Infantry Training School), and there was no need to go into detail, for such things were understood.