Eden's Hammer

by Lloyd Tackitt

  Adrian finally replied, “I’m leaving in the morning to go on a scouting trip. I need to see the raiders for myself, form my own opinions and do some probing. I’m leaving you in charge of the men and women while I’m gone.”

  Linda’s surprise at this announcement replaced the scowl. Adrian went on, “I want you to continue the training and exercises, evaluating what you see and giving me a full report when I get back. The men need to be evaluated for their ability to keep up and for any individual signs of mental or emotional weakness in a fast and furious situation. Also they need to work on battlefield communications, throw them some surprises and see how they react, pull unexpected ambushes. See if the captains can improve the speed and accuracy of communications on the fly. Your own command needs the same kind of attention—work on the runners being faster and on verbatim transmission. Commands passed by runner need to be simple, brief, uncomplicated, but they have to be precise. Surprise the women with attacks they don’t know are coming, see how they react. Work on those things while I’m gone.”

  “You’re leaving me in command of the men?” She felt a sense of intensely heightened pressure.

  “Yes, Colonel. You are the highest rank, and that means you are in command while I’m gone. Don’t screw it up.”

  “‘Don’t screw it up?’” she retorted with obvious anger, her face reddening. “Would you have said that to a man left in command?”

  “No. To a man I would have been less polite, and he wouldn’t have asked me about it, either,” Adrian responded sharply.

  Linda tried to keep her face non-committal, but she was stumbling inside at being trusted with so much so fast. She said coldly, “Don’t worry, General Bear, I won’t fuck it up.”

  MARCH 13, PRE-DAWN

  Adrian was packing travel rations into his backpack. He packed parched corn, cornbread, jerky, a jar of pecan butter, and a small amount of smoked ham from Sarah’s pantry. It gave him an idea.

  “Sarah, do you think you could create a densely nutritious battlefield ration? Something that travels well, doesn’t spoil quickly, and has tons of calories? Something that doesn’t require field cooking?”

  She thought for a moment then replied, “Yes, I think so. I can think of a couple of approaches. One would be a food bar made of chopped pecans, cooked cornmeal and sorghum molasses. I can experiment and come up with a bar that will be a bit tough to chew but pack a calorie wallop. I doubt if it will taste very good though. Or I can use hog lard and make pemmican with dried meat and chopped dried pecans. The pemmican bars would have to be individually wrapped and sealed and won’t last long.”

  “How long would they last?”

  “In this heat and humidity, maybe a week.”

  “How about trying both? The pemmican would have more calories and would be eaten first, saving the molasses bars for after the pemmican is gone. If we’re out there more than a week, I’ll be really surprised.”

  “I’ll work on it and get samples made up. When I get it right, I’ll get the women to start making them in quantity. How many will you need?”

  “Fifteen for each person going afield. As for size, about two thousand calories each, whatever size that turns out to be. We need food that doesn’t require cooking or heating. Something stable, and light enough that we can carry it with us. Something we can eat on the run and keep our energy levels high. If there are any stimulants that can be added, so much the better, but the stimulants would only be in two thirds of them. The non-stimulant ones would be for night rations and marked to show the difference. Some pill type stimulants would be good for the night watches too.”

  “I’ll talk to Jennifer about that,” Sarah said. “She’ll know if we have any or where we can get some, and the right dosages per bar. Two thousand calories is a lot for one meal, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but these are going to be extremely high active days and we’ll need a lot of energy. I’d rather they were too big than too small; we can always eat only part of it if we need to, but being short on calories would be detrimental. This will give us a slight advantage. Those raiders don’t carry a lot of food, depending on raiding as they go. We’re not going to give them time to raid and stockpile food once we engage them, so they’ll be hungrier and weaker than us.

  “Well, I’m off to meet Tim and Jerry. We’ll be back in four or five days. I’ll see you then.”

  Sarah gave him a quick hug and asked, “Tim? Isn’t he a little old for a hard trip like that?”

  Adrian replied, “He’s in good shape for a man his age; I think he’ll keep up. I want him there to look over the sniper possibilities, and maybe to pick off a few bad guys while we’re out there.”

  “You take care of him and Jerry. Aw hell, I know you will. Be safe and come back healthy—all three of you.”

  The three men had been walking for a little over an hour, heading east to find the raiders. They were moving quickly, but not double-time, as Adrian would have preferred. He needed his two friends in good shape throughout this endeavor, and was careful not to exhaust them. There was little talking as they walked, but knowing they were far from the enemy they didn’t whisper when they did talk. That would come later.

  Tim was carrying his .50 caliber sniper rifle inside a strong fiberglass case that was made for it. It was a heavy and awkward load. The case was lined with a dense foam material, cut to fit the rifle and scope so that it was protected from being jarred. He also had his favorite side arm in a belt holster, a 9mm Glock. Jerry was carrying an M4 and one hundred rounds of ammunition pre-loaded into magazines that were in pouches around his waist. Since he was also carrying forty rounds of .50-caliber ammunition for Tim, he didn’t carry a side arm.

  Adrian also carried an M4, with one hundred rounds of ammo in magazines. His side arm was his favorite combat pistol, the unbeatable 1911 .45 caliber. His was a recent make from Springfield arms, a duplicate of the original Colt design with only a few modifications to improve it. An enlarged ejection port, a polished ramp, and an adjustable Timney trigger.

  All three men carried large knives. Adrian’s knife was one he’d had custom made for him before the grid had dropped, the one he had carried and used in combat for years. It weighed a solid five pounds with a larger and thickly spined blade and heavy knob at the end of the handle. The blade was made of uniquely alloyed high carbon Damascus steel that had been phosphate coated and blued to a dull black color. The Damascus construction allowed for an extremely hard steel that was flexible instead of brittle. It was difficult to sharpen, but held a razor’s edge a long time. The balance and weight had been arrived at with the knife’s maker after considerable trial and error; with Adrian using several prototypes before being fully satisfied. It looked like a small machete in size if not in shape where it more or less resembled a Bowie. The knife’s maker was an expert in forging samurai swords and had reluctantly taken on the project only after Adrian had worn down his defenses. Adrian had met him while training in Okinawa. The fact that the knife would actually be used in combat, and not as a showpiece put on a mantle, was the final deciding factor. The grip was classic samurai sword style, never slipping in his hands no matter how sweaty or bloody. The balance was perfect for Adrian, but awkward for most men.

  They reached the eastern outskirts of Hillsboro shortly before dark. Adrian said, “We’ll camp here. This will be our last night to have a fire before we begin our return. We’ll find our scouts day after tomorrow at the rendezvous point. They know when to expect us, and can then point us to the raiders.”

  Tim, weary from the day’s march, said, “You’ve set a pace I can maintain, I appreciate that. But if worse comes to worst, you two move on out and I’ll fend for myself.”

  Adrian replied, “Appreciate the thought, but one thing we all have to get in our heads is that we leave no one behind, and we come back for their bodies later of those killed in action. That may sound foolish, but it’s good strategy. Men fight better when they have confidence that they are never on their
own. It’s an advantage we’ll have over the raiders. Those men know if they are wounded they’re left behind, and it doesn’t give them any confidence during a battle action. Our men will have that confidence; I believe it is not only right, but also smart.”

  Tim replied, “That’s nice, Adrian, but I can damn well take care of myself. You don’t spend two tours in ‘Nam and then live to be my age by being a pussy. I know what I can do and what I can’t do, which is more than I can say for most folks. If you get all three of us killed because you’re too damn noble to have good sense, you won’t be doing me or anyone else any fucking favors. So let’s get this straight right here and right now before the bullets start flying: if we have to run, then the best thing is you two run one way and me another way.

  “If we have time to pick a place to meet back up, fine; if not, I’ll see you back at the fort. I will not be responsible for getting you two killed for some pretty little theory you have. And I sure as shit won’t be letting you get me killed for it, either. Most likely, I’ll have a better chance of surviving on my own if they are in hot pursuit anyway, done it before. Jesus but you modern day warriors are a bunch of ball-less wimps. You wouldn’t have made a pimple on my worst man’s ass back in the day.”

  Adrian and Jerry couldn’t help laughing. When Adrian got control again, he said, “Roman told me you were a bit salty, I should have listened better. Okay, we’ll do it your way if it comes to it. Let’s hope it doesn’t.”

  MARCH 14, NIGHT

  Adrian took the last watch. He assigned Tim the first watch so that he would get the maximum amount of uninterrupted sleep before moving out the next morning. Jerry had the middle watch. Adrian had set their watch lengths at two hours each, giving them each six hours of sleep. Adrian took the four-hour watch. He was in better condition than the other two, and he always rose early anyway. He spent his watch hours going over his plans, tactics, and strategy, searching for weaknesses or improvements. It was productive time for him as he thought of things to change or try.

  At the first sign of light, Adrian awakened the two men. They set about preparing breakfast and putting up their gear. They ate smoked ham heated in a skillet, placing the ham between two layers of warmed cornbread. It made a satisfying and filling meal, and it would be their last warm meal for several days. They washed it down with hot tea. Tim remarked, “You know, I’m starting to like this faggot tea. It’s pretty good. I see why those shithead Brits love it so much now.”

  Adrian grinned and said, “We need to maintain our pace from yesterday. Tim, I need you fully operational when we get there. How’re you feeling? Don’t bullshit me, either. I would rather slow down than get there with you of limited use.”

  “I’m a little fucking stiff from yesterday and sleeping on the ground last night. Let me get warmed up, and then ask me again in an hour or two. I’ll give you the straight dope. I’m too old to play pussy games about important shit.”

  Adrian smiled and said, “I believe you, oh ancient one. Jerry you, doing okay?”

  Jerry replied, “Never better, cousin. Let’s get this show on the road.”

  Two hours later, Adrian called a break. Each man took off his boots and socks. The boots were placed where the maximum amount of sunlight and wind would enter and dry them. Socks were hung on sticks to get wind and sunlight, as well.

  Adrian asked Tim, “Okay, how about it, Mr. Antiquity, how’re you holding up?”

  Tim threw a rock at Adrian and replied, “Just fine; I can keep this piddling pace for days. I could go faster in a pinch, too.”

  The men examined each other’s feet for blisters and hot spots, then put on fresh socks and hung the used socks on the outsides of their packs to continue airing out.

  “We’ll skirt around the south of Hillsboro,” Adrian said. “We have no need to see the town, and we would be too exposed.”

  They walked until lunchtime, and then settled down for a cold meal of parched corn and jerky. They took off their boots and followed the foot hygiene drill, as they would at every break for the duration of their journey. They all knew that it would be stupid to hobble themselves with blisters, so every reasonable precaution was taken.

  Later that afternoon as they continued their march, Tim spotted two men in the distance. He gave the hand signal and they all hit the ground. Adrian got out his binoculars, a powerful set made by Zeiss, and scoped out the two men.

  Adrian said, “I can’t tell much from this distance. Tim, how in the hell did you even see them?”

  Tim replied, “It’s an old man’s trick. I was a prepper from way back and had Lasik surgery as part of my preparations long before the grid dropped. I thought glasses would be a bad thing to be reliant on if the shit hit the fan someday. Believe it or not, I have 20/15 in one eye and 20/10 in the other. I can see a gnat at two hundred yards and tell you if it has balls or not.”

  Adrian said, “I believe you. They’re a long ways off and I didn’t see them. I bet that vision helps with the long range shooting.”

  “Some, but with this scope, I probably wouldn’t need better than 20/20.”

  “They’re probably refugees fleeing from the raiders; they don’t act like scouts, but we’ll wait until they’re closer to decide. I wouldn’t want to make a mistake and assume they’re not scouts if they are.” Adrian said.

  CHAPTER 11

  MARCH 12, EVENING

  REX GATHERED HIS TEAM LEADERS for a debriefing of the day’s exercises. “Men, we’re getting closer to Fort Brazos every day. Closer to all that food and all those women. By now, they have an idea that we are heading toward them. I expect them to send out scouts to spy on us and perhaps engage us in some tests. They’ll want to see what our tactics are when attacked. If they do, it’ll be a quick hit and run ambush; they won’t have their full force out this far.

  “I want those scouts captured alive at all costs, and I do mean at all costs. I want them alive—be very clear on that point. Kill one of their scouts, and you’re going to have to face me. Bring them to me alive, and your reward will be extraordinary. I want them alive, all of them, for my interrogation. What they can tell me is far more important than you can imagine. If they attack, return fire as you ordinarily would, but do not aim at them, aim near them. I want them to think you are reacting normally and shooting at them. Immediately send runners up and down the line to order the nearby groups to commence encircling them.

  “Those of you that will be encircling them, put out a net completely around them, dropping off men wherever appropriate, but do not fire at them unless they are trying to escape. If you fire at them, fire in front of them to try to herd them back into the circle. When the circle is complete, start drawing in closer until they surrender. I cannot stress this enough: I want them alive. I don’t care how many men you lose in the process. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir!” they all responded.

  “Good,” Rex replied. “Tomorrow morning we’ll practice. Choose two men to act as the aggressors, live fire exercise. The two men will, of course, fire above our heads, and our return fire will be directed near to but not at them. We’ll repeat this exercise until everyone reacts swiftly and correctly . I’ll be observing and correcting until you get it right. Dismissed.”

  Rex watched the men leave as they went back to their groups. He thought, sooner or later, Adrian will be out to scout for himself. He’ll have to; it’s his way to see the enemy with his own eyes before engaging. With a little luck, I might catch him early on. Maybe.

  Later that night, Rex went back to his tent and unpacked his “Adrian bag,” as he thought of it, checking each item, fondling them with delight. He checked every nut and bolt on the take-apart crossbow. Rex thought back to the only time he had fought Adrian. It had been in a bar. He had watched Adrian for hours, drinking and celebrating a successful mission accomplished with his crew. Rex hadn’t killed in weeks, and he was tense. Watching Adrian laughing and carrying on wound his tension up to the boiling point, and Rex had snap
ped.

  He shouldn’t have taken Adrian head on; he knew it was giving himself away, but he couldn’t help it that night. Adrian had exactly one advantage over Rex: Adrian was faster. Adrian’s reflex time was unbelievable, and Rex knew it. Still, he attacked, and because Adrian had been drinking a lot more than Rex, the fight was nearly even for a few moments. Rex got in several good, hard blows, blows that seemed to bounce off of Adrian with no effect. Adrian was faring no better against Rex, however.

  Then Rex’s foot had slipped in a wet spot, and Adrian had taken advantage of it, knocking Rex out.

  Over the ensuing years, Rex had gone over and over that fight. If I hadn’t slipped, he thought, I would have beaten him, sure as hell. He acknowledged that it had been a strategic error. Adrian had kept a closer eye on Rex after that. Otherwise, Rex would have surely had an opportunity to implement his plan. As it was, he tried to maintain a lower profile, waiting for Adrian’s attention to fade or slip. In time, he was sure it would have, but the grid collapse had happened first, and Rex lost track of Adrian in the aftermath.

  MARCH 13, EVENING

  Rex watched from a hilltop as his men encircled the two mock attackers. It was the third run, and the men had finally gotten it right. The first one had been a clusterfuck, one of the men being killed in the process. The second went better, but not well enough. This one had gone smoothly, the men rapidly stringing out the net and then slowly drawing it tighter until the two aggressors had no option but to surrender or die. Rex was pleased. He wanted Adrian so bad he could taste it.

  After the exercise, he would return the men to their march on Fort Brazos. Capturing Adrian wouldn’t be easy, but it would be done, come hell or high water. Rex was contemplating what he would do to Adrian when his second in command cleared his throat to get Rex’s attention.

  “What?” Rex snapped with irritation. “What the hell do you want?”

  “Orders for tomorrow, sir?” Frank replied calmly. He was used to Rex’s irritability, though not quite immune to it. He knew that he maintained his high position because he was willing to confront Rex, but only to a certain degree. He was also aware there was a line that he dared not cross, and he was careful not to. He was aware that Rex valued his confrontational style because it kept things moving smoothly, and kept Rex from having to attend to the details himself. Rex’s frequent mental withdrawals and emotional outbursts would otherwise have had things moving in fits and starts.