by Rounds, Mark
“I know,” said Billie with a smile. “It’s one of my favorite family stories.”
“Mine too, dear,” Aunt May wistfully. “I miss the old coot. You mind what I say though, you hear?”
“Yes, Aunt May,” said a more serious Billie. “Mom says you should come into town and live with us.”
“And who would mind the farm?” said Aunt May indignantly. “I’ll be fine. I have lots of hidey holes on this place and your uncle’s shotgun if they find me. Shoo! Get along and do whatever it is you are going to do.”
“So, are there any air strips around here?” asked Dave when they were safely out of ear shot and a mile or so down the road.
“Rosalia has an airport for local pilots and crop dusters and such.” said Billie after thinking a bit. “It’s down Gashous Road no more than five miles west of town.”
Dave halted their little convoy in a wide spot on the road and waved his command team over to the hood of the Humvee.
“What do you think, Little Bear?” said Dave pointing to their location on the map. “We’re about here. Without too much trouble, we can get between Nergüi the airport. Do you think you can guide him to the Airport or some other ambush spot?”
“He said he was heading north but he didn’t say where,” said Little Bear, “If he has an air strip that he can get to, he won’t need me. He might come to the airport and he might not.”
“There are fifteen miles of open wheat and lentil fields between here and there,” said Billie. “They’re all city folk and so they will be going across the fields leaving a big trail of trampled down wheat that a blind man could follow. They ain’t movin’ too fast neither. At the rate they’re going, they will be at least ten miles from the airfield at night fall. With no power, there are no runway lights. I hear those are pretty important when you are flyin’ around in the dark.”
“It is at that,” said Dave with a smile. “Little Bear, call him back. Tell him you have got a vehicle that can reach him in thirty minutes.”
“And what vehicle would that be?” asked a skeptical Little Bear.
“Use this one,” said Dave pointing at the diesel-powered University of Idaho van they had been using to haul part of their force. “We’ll hustle up to the Rosalia Airport and drop our troops off. They can take cover in the outbuildings at the airport. Then you go get Nergüi and sweet talk him into to leaving as many of his thugs as you can. Then drive him to the airport. I suspect that after one night in the field, he won’t be keen on spending another.”
“And how do I keep him from just popping me and taking the van?” asked Little Bear.
“Well, up till now, I have been ignoring the three motorcycle riders and the two horsemen that have been paralleling us. Billie here tells me they aren’t local, though they ride well. I bet they’re yours. And if I can see that many, I’ll bet there are more.”
“Not many more,” said Little Bear ruefully.
“And I also bet that your plan,” said Dave, “was to set up on ground of your choosing and have Nergüi mount whatever conveyance you have coming under the watchful rifles of your outriders. Then they will escort the two of you to wherever he wants. I am betting it’s the airport.”
“So what’s to keep me from taking the deal solo?” said Little Bear.
“I have a drone, remember,” said Dave. “The truck you have coming is creeping up the Lewiston grade and won’t be in this neck of the woods for an hour. You would have to do the transfer in the dark, and from what Sayla told us, Nergüi and his followers have pretty good night vision. What about your guys?”
“And you can do something about it?” asked Little Bear resentfully.
“I have three sets of night vision googles in the back,” said Dave indicting the rear of the Humvee. “You can have a set to give to one of your shooters. I’ll have the other two sets on my snipers. I can even have our riders back you up so your escort looks a little beefier.”
“It’s a good plan,” said Little Bear grudgingly. “I didn’t think you knew about Johnny’s truck.”
“When a vehicle moves around here,” said Dave, “People talk. Johnny’s old stock truck is known around Moscow.”
“You sure you ain’t part Indian?” said Little Bear with the merest trace of a smile.
“With the indiscretions on my father’s side,” said Dave with a smile, “anything is possible. I just tally it up to a heathy dose of paranoia.”
“Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after you,” said Billie.
The following laugh lightened up the mood.
“We’ll do it your way, White Man.” said Little Bear.
July 11th, Saturday, 6:01 pm PDT
Mortimer Road, seventeen miles south Rosalia WA.
“Take five minutes,” said Nergüi to his motley group of mercenaries. “I have a call.”
“I have a truck,” said Little Bear without preamble.
“What kind of truck?” said Nergüi into the phone after everyone else was out of ear shot.
“It’s a big passenger van,” said Little Bear, his voice tinny over the phone. “During the battle around Moscow, one of my warriors, who happened to be on campus selling food, found this van unattended with some fuel in it.”
“Let me get this straight,” said Nergüi after a pause. “In the confusion of the battle, one of your minions stole a van from the University, with fuel in it.”
‘Not much fuel,” said Little Bear, “maybe an eighth of a tank.”
“It doesn’t have to go far,” snapped Nergüi. “I know where there’s an airstrip. How many will it hold?’
“Fourteen plus the driver,” said Little Bear nervously. “I will need to pick up a couple of my warriors as security so with me and the driver, that leaves ten seats for you.”
“I don’t care about your foot soldiers, Little Bear,” said Nergüi in exasperation. “Just turn the van over to me and I’ll make sure you get what we agreed on.”
“Now why don’t I trust you?” said Little Bear sarcastically. “Could it have been when you tried to shoot me in Mexico? Or how about that time last year when you stiffed me for those assault rifles? Or maybe …”
“Enough,” said Nergüi with exasperation. “You can drive. We will be heading towards the airfield near Cheney. You can have some of your men waiting there.”
“We can’t get that far,” said Little Bear. “This thing is a gas hog. You will be lucky to get forty miles after I pick you up.”
“Then damn it,” said Nergüi in exasperation, “Where can you take me that a good-sized plane can get into?”
“Rosalia has an airport,” said Little Bear looking over at Dave who nodded. “I can get to where you are and to Rosalia. We’ll probably have to abandon the van there. I need a couple of hours to get my men there.”
“You can have the thirty minutes it will take you to get to me and make the pickup. I can’t give you too much of an edge, now can I?”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” said Little Bear with what he hoped was right amount of resignation in his voice. “How are you going to sort out who goes and stays?”
“I won’t,” said Nergüi. “They will be hanging on the doors and the roof. If they fall off, I am not concerned.”
With that, Nergüi cut the connection.
“Did he buy it?” asked Dave as soon as he was sure the line was dead.
“I’m not sure,” said Little Bear hesitantly. “He wanted to go to Cheney, but he bought that fact that we only had gas to get to Rosalia. Honestly, I think he caved too easily. He is also not leaving any of his thugs. I can bring all I want, but he is only giving me thirty minutes to get there and pick him up.”
“Almost sounds like he knows where you are,” said Dave. “Well, I have one more ace up my sleeve. The capture team has settled down in a wheat field not far off to save fuel. They can be here in a couple minutes. They have a Special Forces A team spread across two Blackhawks that are also packing chain
guns for suppressive fire. You hustle off to the airport and drop the guardsmen off. We will be right behind you and will cover any tracks so that no one is aware we are there. Then, when Nergüi gets here, we’ll ambush him. It’s my intent to take or disable whatever aircraft they send.”
“What about the cargo?” asked Little Bear worriedly.
“I am not going to risk lives for whatever deal you cut,” said Dave evenly, “but like I said earlier, it’s yours. Unless things go extremely well, some of it will get shot up, burnt or whatever, but I am not even going to hang around after we get Nergüi. It’s him I want, not some trinkets that are likely booby trapped.”
Chapter 8
July 11th, Saturday, 6:27 pm PDT
Third Floor of the Commons Building at the University of Idaho Campus, Moscow ID
Chad was trying to work. The drone feed was down because the second drone was back at Fairchild refueling. There was very little radio traffic to monitor. The three attacks on the Moscow Pullman area had been broken up and while most of the National Guard was deployed, it was mainly mopping up roving bands of Infected. Where once they had a definite purpose, now they were foraging and easy targets for the guardsmen.
There were two enlisted clerks monitoring the radios and that meant that Chad was just watching a blank screen and thinking of what he should have done. He had belatedly gathered his personal weapons but there had been no need. The one time a band of Infected got into his line of sight, it was being pursued by a platoon from the National Guard. His reverie was broken by LTC Amos and his troops entering the second-floor entrance of the Commons. Chad bounded down the stairs was in front of Amos before the door finished closing.
“What happened?” asked Chad, noting that his brother wasn’t among them and that not all the office staff had returned.
“We followed for a while,” said Amos finding a chair and collapsing into it. There was a weariness in his voice that Chad hadn’t heard before. “They must have decided that we were crimping their style so they stopped and attacked us. There were more of them and they were better armed. It was all I could do to disengage. Two of my guys are on the way to the hospital. I don’t think one will last the night. I am sorry about your brother, Chad, but I had to get my casualties back.”
“I understand, sir,” said Chad woodenly.
“What’s the situation around here?” asked Amos trying to get both their minds off losing Bob.
“Things are under control sir,” said Chad. “The Infected have lost their focus and Maitland and the rest of the troops are mopping them up. Macklin’s force was the only armed resistance apparently.”
Whatever else Chad was going to say was shattered by the entrance of Capt. Twitchell and Molly Graysen. They came up to the door at a full gallop and stopped suddenly. Wesley, who had never ridden before, lost his grip on the saddle and tumbled to the ground pulling Molly with him. Amos and Chad got up to see if they could help but Wesley got to his feet first and pumped a very military salute which Amos returned.
“Who the hell are you?” asked Amos with some confusion.
“Captain Wesley Twitchell sir,” said Twitch panting. “I’m the Headquarters Squadron Commander of the 92nd Air Refueling Wing.”
“All right, Captain,” said Amos taking in Wesley’s battered face and incomplete ABU’s, “why are you here?”
“I was captured during the attack on Fairchild sir,” said Wesley. “I was interrogated several times and the contents of my briefing bag were captured. I and a compatriot were able to escape as they approached Moscow. Unfortunately, I think that information in my briefing may have precipitated the attack on Moscow.”
“How is that?” asked Chad who, for the moment was out of his funk and interested in the intelligence issues at play.
“Captain Strickland,” said Wesley after a pause, “I’d like to apologize for bringing your family into this. You see, part of my briefing yesterday was on the work your brother has been doing on palliatives for the Plague. The group that captured me was completely asymptomatic, but infected, and they’re desperate. I overheard them say that someone named Nergüi was in jeopardy of being captured and that if he was, they would all go into a relapse. Your brother’s work looked pretty good to them.”
“Where are they now?” asked Amos.
“My … I don’t know what to call him,” said Wesley searching for the right word, “fellow captive I guess, is following them. He said I needed to come back and tell you and that he would follow them until they made a mistake and he would try to effect a rescue. The hostiles will be headed to the backside of Moscow Mountain where they have vehicles hidden. I am not exactly sure where.”
“Who … who was your fellow captive?” asked Amos.
“That’s … an issue,” said Wesley, “I never got his name. He was Native American, in ABU’s. He was very tall and had stamina bordering on superhuman. When they brought him in unconscious, they took like half a dozen weapons that were hidden on his body.”
“Sayla!” said Chad excitedly, “It has to be. Tell me, did he speak much?”
“It was like he had to pay a dollar a word,” said Wesley, “and he identified one of our captors at a distance so far out that it was all I could do to see they were human. He said one of them was named Macklin. Does that help?”
“So Sayla is trailing Macklin,” said Chad with the first smile Amos had seen since he got back. “You say they have vehicles north of town? Colonel Amos, we still might be able to pull off a rescue.”
“Twitchell, how long ago did you part company with Sayla?” asked Amos.
“It’s been less than half an hour sir,” said Wesley. “We were in the hills west of town. Molly, where exactly were we?”
“Up Whelan Road at the Graysen farm,” said Molly excitedly. “I rode Old Dollar pretty hard getting down here.”
“Chad, I’ve been out of the loop for a bit,” said Amos. “What troops are on the north side of town that could get to the back side of Moscow Mountain before dark?”
“There is a pretty beat up platoon doing security on the drone,” mused Chad. “They’re on the north side of town. No transport, but they could hustle up to the top. Maybe they could make it.”
“Get on the horn and get them moving,” said Amos coming to a decision. “We will come up with a plan while they are enroute and brief them on the radio. We need some intel assets, get on the sat phone after you get that platoon moving. Find out if we can get any air recon on things so we can find the hostiles’ transport and maybe get your brother back!”
July 11th, Saturday, 6:37 pm PDT
Three miles south of Rosalia WA
“Why are you driving so slow?” asked Nergüi irritatedly.
“It’s almost dark, and you won’t let me use the headlights,” snapped Little Bear, who was feeling anxious because of the ambush he was about to spring and worried that Nergüi would figure out his ploy.
“I could just put a gun to your head,” said Nergüi, “and either kill you or just kick you out of the van now that I have it under my control.”
“Go ahead,” said Little Bear evenly. “Don’t you think I knew that was a possibility? Along with the four motorcycle outriders you see, there has been a rifle aimed at your head since we left Thornton. I have a relay of my warriors keeping up with us, just in case. So, go ahead, your pistol may clear leather, but it won’t get to my head. Of course, firing at even a slow moving, heavily overloaded vehicle like this one might get several of your troops killed. But that’s your problem, not mine.”
“So that’s why you have been driving so slow,” said Nergüi.
“Nope,” said Little Bear, “These backroads are treacherous and, like I said, it’s dark. So hang on and we’ll be there soon enough.”
July 11th, Saturday, 6:39 pm PDT
In a Vacant lot on Mix Road, Moscow ID.
“Sir, please repeat that,” asked LT. Johnson.
“We need you to head over the top of Moscow Mo
untain and find some cached vehicles,” said Chad’s voice over the radio. “We are getting as much information on their location as we can now but there is a hostage situation building here and if you can take out their transport before they get there, we may have a chance to rescue their captive.”
“What about the drone I am supposed to be guarding?” asked Johnson.
“We will dispatch someone right away,” said Chad, “But you will have to leave the drone unattended for a while. We have some small cavalry patrols out ahead of you, looking for the bad guys and their vehicles but your platoon is the only force anything like close enough to get there in time to do any good. I hate to ask because I know you had a hell of a day, but the hostage is my brother.”
“Right,” said Forrest. “We will be moving in five minutes. We will do what we can.”
Forrest looked around at his command. Morale was low, they had lost many friends. In a local unit like this one, it was mainly friends and family. The three new troops were off by themselves, trying to rest but clearly scared as hell.
“Sergeant Lint,” said Forrest after he closed the connection with Chad. “Orders from on high. We need to get moving like five minutes ago. Gather all your gear. I don’t know if we are coming back to this spot.”
In significantly less than the prescribed five minutes, the understrength platoon moved out. Lint was up with the soldier on point to maintain calm. As it was approaching sunset, they moved slower than they when they were heading here earlier in the day, or an eon ago, depending on how you measured it. They also were staying off the main road, which impeded their process. The memory of the fight they were in and the accurate rifle fire they received was telling. But as many of the troops were hunters, their field craft was good and the quickly reached the outskirts of Moscow. They moved for another hour before they reached the top of Stakehouse Hill. The sun was quite low and the valley was filled with shadow.
“Sir,” said Sergeant Lint, puffing a bit from the climb up the hill, “I think I can see a bus and a couple of trucks parked at the turnoff for Phillips Farm.”
