Bloody Eden (Soldiers of New Eden Book 2)

by T. L. Knighton

  Within minutes, eight other men stood beside him. Nominally, he was in charge of this leg of the operation, though he didn't have a damn clue why. It helped that this leg of the mission had already been outlined. They just had to execute the plan.

  He nodded. The men split up, groups of two going in various directions. Rick and his partner, an older man named Jordan, headed to the front door.

  Two guards stood out front, weapons at port arms. It looked good, but knew it would delay either of them from actually using their weapons.

  Unlike the barracks his father was hitting, there was little light outside this building. That would make aiming a little more difficult. Still, he figured that if he couldn't have precision, he'd make up for it in volume of fire.

  He raised the rifle to his shoulder as he went around the corner of the building. He looked down the weapon, trying desperately to find the front site. The dark stick seemed to vanish against the black uniforms and shadows of the night.

  He took a deep breath, said a silent prayer, and estimated. Slowly squeezing the trigger, the weapon responded. Pop! Pop! Pop! The suppressed weapon barely made a sound. An additional three rounds, making a total of six, slammed into the first guard. The man crumpled to the ground.

  Rick didn't let up, continuing his fire as the resistance fighter registered what was happening and turned to engage. One lesson his father taught him seemed really applicable at this moment. "Shot until they're down," his father told him, and he did just that now. Round after round punched into the other man's body, but he had an incredible amount of will.

  The guard kept trying to raise his rifle. Rick continued to fire, round after round, until his magazine went dry.

  With practiced ease, he dropped the magazine, scooped another out of his tactical vest, and slammed it home. The delay for reloading was all the other man needed. The weapon was up to his shoulder.

  Rick banged the release on the side of the AR, slamming the bolt home, and squeezed the trigger. In an instant, five more rounds flew down range, bringing down the guard.

  When the guard hit the ground, Rick breathed a sigh of relief. The one rule for his mission was silence. While he figured eventually men would be coming here to secure their prisoners, he didn't really see the need to invite them to the party early.

  Jordan searched the guards' bodies, finally finding the keys. The man held them up, the shiny metal reflecting brilliantly in the limited light. Rick nodded, then jerked his head toward the door.

  The resistance fighter nodded then sprinted toward the door.

  "Clear," Rick said into his microphone as soon as the door swung open. Men fanned in from various shadows surrounding the building. As soon as all bodies entered, Rick grabbed one of the guards and drug him inside, Jordan grabbing the other.

  Once inside, he closed the door and looked at his men. "Alright. Fifteen girls, varying ages, but young. We need them and quickly. Understood?"

  Eight heads nodded.

  "Good. Let's get to it."

  They'd scattered, looking for the girls throughout the building. One by one, they brought them to Rick. As a familiar face, it made sense for him to explain the rescue.

  All fifteen standing in front of him, Rick pressed on the throat mic. "All recovered."

  "Copy that. ETA, five minutes," their ride's voice said over the radio.

  He passed the word, mostly so the girls would know what was going on. Now, he had to settle in and wait again. Not a pleasant feeling.

  ** ** **

  Conklin hunkered down behind a low brick wall. Rounds continued to punch into the other side. Ramirez crouched beside him.

  Several of his men lay dead in the streets on the other side of the wall. Other bodies were scattered on his side of the wall, poor souls who'd tried to move for a better position and failed.

  "Where are the rest of the men?" Conklin yelled, desperate to be heard over the gunfire.

  "Some of our people made it out of the upper floors of the barracks. They're heading here now."

  "Alright, have them circle to the west. I want to hit these sons of bitches from another direction.

  Ramirez immediately began barking orders into his radio.

  "Well, Major, it looks like there is a resistance movement in Somerton," Conklin conceded.

  "Wish I was wrong on that, sir."

  "You and me both," Conklin said. He thought for a moment. "Get some men over to the armory. We need to drop some of the building these assholes are using as sniper platforms."

  Ramirez grinned. "Gladly."

  Chapter 16

  "That it?" Scott Latham asked his team.

  "Yeah, that's all of it." Jack Ingram was a good man. Scott knew him from way back, but had been surprised to learn he was resistance as well.

  "The packages?"

  Jack smiled and nodded.

  "Good. Get out of here and get to the rendezvous point," Scott ordered.

  Scott pulled back from the building, stepping over the bodies of the guards. Men spilled out behind him, setting up wooden stands. The men then took the guards' bodies and hooked them in. Up close, it was easy to tell they were dead, but no one else was going to be allowed to get up close.

  When Jason outlined his plan, this building hadn't been addressed. He was concerned about what was in here, but what else could he do.

  Scott understood why. Rick Calvin told most of the resistance about his mother and what happened to her. They all felt bad about that. There'd been discussions about taking this building out before, but they'd never done it. If they had, Jess Calvin might still be alive.

  Would have, should have, could have. If we'd have known and all that. I've got to stop beating myself up over this crap.

  The resistance fighters loaded up on the carts and took off. Scott's part in this plan wasn't over. He could end it any time he wanted after his people were clear. His sense of the dramatic wasn't about to let that happen.

  Surrounded by shadows, he settled in for a long wait. In the distance, the twin thumps told him things were starting.

  He pulled out the Berretta 92 as he sat down behind a pile of trash. He still had his view of the street.

  Softer pops rumbled through the air, gunfire this time. Things were well and truly underway. Jason didn't know it, but Somerton wasn't the only place having an interesting night. Throughout Terry Conklin's territory, resistance cells were acting. Finally.

  For years, Scott had begged. Ever since Conklin latched onto his daughter. She'd been picked up for a petty crime, then entered indenture. He'd picked up the contract. Scott didn't have a clue what would be coming. He, the guy in charge of Somerton's safety? What could go wrong?

  Scott found out. He'd never seen his daughter alive again.

  He'd figured out through the years that the only thing Terry Conklin loved was power. Everything about the man screamed it. Tonight, he was losing it. Tonight, Alice would be avenged.

  ** ** **

  Jason and his team, found themselves caught in the fatal funnel of the hallway. "How the hell did they get down here?" he muttered as he ducked behind a hasty barricade of beds and cheap furniture that surrounded their position in the center of the hallway.

  Rounds smacked into the wood like raindrops on a pond during a summer storm. Flecks of wood littered both sides of the barricade.

  "Sir?" one of the men asked.

  "Nothing," Jason said. "Just talking to myself."

  The other man nodded, his eyes wide from fear. For better or worse, Jason was afraid he had to agree. This didn't look good.

  He took a deep breath and looked at his radio. He pulled it out of the pocket on his tactical vest and examined the front. Reluctantly, he changed the frequency.

  "Eden One to Eden Two," he said as he pressed the throat mic.

  "Go for Eden Two," Rick's voice answered back, static distorting it slightly.

  "Bad news, kiddo. We're pinned down, so it doesn't look like I'm going to get out of here."

>   "We're extracting the alpha packages now. Can be at your location quickly. ETA five minutes," he replied.

  "Negative, Eden Two. You are to proceed on mission. Understood?"

  The only response was the now lessening gunfire. Must be pulling some of these men out to deal with one of our surprises. Too bad it isn't taking the rest of these assholes too.

  "Alright," Jason said, loud enough to be heard over the gunfire. "We're low on ammo, so conserve it right now. Take aimed shots. You squeeze the trigger, one of theirs had better drop. Got it?"

  Five heads nodded.

  "Alright. If we do that, we might actually survive this shit."

  "All due respect," said the woman who'd stood beside him outside the hallway earlier, "I ain't holding my breath on that one."

  "Probably a good call."

  Jason poked his rifle through an opening in the barricade and waited. A Somerton man peeked around the opening. Pop! Down he went.

  Another popped around. Jason fired again, the round slamming into the pockmarked wall next to the doorway. He adjusted and fired again, hitting the door jam. Son of a bitch! He adjusted, but the troop swung back behind the door.

  When another man stepped out, he brought his weapon to bare. Before he could pull the trigger, the enemy staggered backward.

  A quick look over his shoulder showed others were doing the same. If this is it, at least we're going to die a good death.

  "Go tell the Spartans," he said an instant before firing two rounds, dropping another man. "Stranger passing by." Another squeeze of the trigger, a round through another man's left eye. "That here obedient to their laws," he said as three shots came from beside him, peppering another body. "We lie."

  "If it's all the same, I'd rather they put that on my tombstone about a hundred years from now when I die of old age," the woman said.

  "Kids today. No sense of the heroic," Jason said with a smile. The woman smiled back. "You prefer 'Remember the Alamo'?"

  "Not particularly, but whatever floats your boat, sir."

  Jason shrugged.

  ** ** **

  Rick motioned half his team to go to the end of the building. They were still a fair ways from it, but he didn't want anyone inside to have a chance to see their approach.

  He waited. Gunfire still came from inside the building. He knew that was a good sign. It didn't mean his father was still alive, but it meant there was at least a chance. Silence? Not so much.

  "Alpha team, in position," the voice said over the radio.

  "Copy that. Proceed." Rick looked at the rest of his team, then jerked his head toward the building. He didn't wait to see if anyone was following as he jogged across the street.

  Elsewhere in town, he could hear more gunfire. Apparently one of those surprises was doing its job. He wasn't really sure what it was, exactly, not knowing the town like his father did, but he didn't really care. Things were proceeding as expected.

  Rick found himself at the outside corner of the building, the bodies of the guards still laying on the low steps leading to the door. He pressed the mic and said, "Go."

  He stepped into the opening, his target backlit beautifully for him. He senses his people moving into position.

  The enemy's focus was down the hall. They hadn't seen them. A smile curled his lips. Lambs to the slaughter.

  Rick squeezed his trigger, rounds spinning down the barrel and out into the brightly lit stairway and slamming into the unsuspecting Somerton soldier. Around him, the roar of gunfire engulfed his entire world like a warm blanket, making him feel bizarrely safe.

  In just seconds, Ricks end of the hallway was devoid of human life. He opened the door and ushered his team in.

  Silence came from the other end of the hallway as well. They'd succeeded as well.

  Rick pulled out a small mirror, meant to signal help in the case of an emergency, and looked down the hall. No heads popped up. Either they were all dead, which was unlikely, or…

  "Hold your fire!" Rick yelled.

  Silence met him for a few moments, then a tentative voice said, "Rick?"

  "Yep," he answered. His father's voice quashing any lingering anxiety. Rick stepped into the doorway.

  "Didn't I tell you to proceed on mission?" Jason said, standing up from behind a ragged pile of wood and mattress.

  "I haven't done what you told me for seventeen years. What made you think I'd start now?"

  Jason seemed to consider it for a moment. "Fair enough."

  "We need to get the hell out of here though. I don't know if these guys had a chance to call for help, but I'd rather not find out that relief is on the way, you know?"

  Jason nodded. "Agreed. Everyone else?"

  Rick shrugged. "We sent the second group to escort the wagon and headed this way."

  "Alright. Let's get the hell out of here."

  Every fiber in Rick's being agreed with that assessment. There was still a long way to go.

  ** ** **

  These bastards are going to be sorry for trying to embarrass me in my own city, Conklin thought as he walked in front of the column of soldiers. He'd managed to get away from the kill zone, Ramirez beside him.

  Now, he and what men he could gather headed toward to the one place that would make the bastards pay. He'd level the damned area if he had to. Sure, the business owners would bitch, but he could deal with that. Anyone who couldn't learn to shut the hell up, well, that's why guns were invented.

  Outside the armory, the guards still stood their post. He'd trained these men well. They didn't abandon their posts, even to help their brethren.

  For some odd reason, he noticed the two men didn't even bother to look their way. A large formation of men marching toward the armory in the middle of the night should have at least elicited a look. That is, unless…

  Conklin turned toward Ramirez. "It's a tra-"

  His voice was cut off by the thundering explosion. Before his mind could even register what was happening, the pressure wave from the massive blast picked him up and threw him back. Out one corner of his eye, he saw Ramirez doing the same.

  Gravity slammed him back to the Earth abruptly, knocking the wind out of him. While still conscious, he hurt everywhere. A pounding headache felt like a metal spike had been driven through his skull.

  "Sir," Ramirez said, his voice sounding distant. Conklin noticed a ringing in his ears. "Are you alright?" the younger man asked.

  "Yeah," he answered. "I'm fine. The men?" He held out his hand.

  Ramirez took the hand and helped his commander to his feet. "Nothing major. Mostly battered and bruised."

  Conklin nodded. "Set up a perimeter. Have the runners pass the word that this is the new rally point."

  "Here, sir?"

  He nodded. "Are we being shot at, Major?"

  "Negative, sir."

  "Then here is good enough. Post men to keep our people out of that kill box that used to be our rally point."

  "Yes, sir." Ramirez turned and began grabbing men and issuing orders.

  He couldn't tell his subordinate. He hated the idea of using this as a rally point, but he was out of options. Some two-bit small town sheriff had bested him so far. Attempts to communicate with the men watching the prisoners had failed. Those girls were gone. Now, the best weapons he had to exact revenge were gone as well now that the armory had blown. Zulu Company still had some tubes, but the rounds were stored in the armory. All of those were gone as best he could tell.

  I swear to God, I'm going to destroy everything that rat bastard loves. That town? I'm not going to leave anything but a smoking crater…wait, I can't, because the son of a bitch blew up my ordinance. Fucker!

  He needed to think. If Calvin was in charge of this, then maybe he could figure something out. Everyone had tendencies. They had patterns. Once you knew them, you owned them. Now, he just had to settle down and think. Calvin had already showed his tendencies. Conklin just had to think about them for a moment, and all would be revealed.

&n
bsp; ** ** **

  Scott Latham walked carefully, keeping to the shadows. He had another stop to make, but he had to make sure Conklin knew what had happened. Did it offer risks? Sure. But it was worth it in his mind.

  Yancey stood outside of the large Victorian home, an enclosed cart with its horse and a driver pulled up nearby. Scott looked around to make sure the coast was clear, then stepped out of the shadow for the first time since settling in to wait for Conklin.

  "How's stuff?" Yancey asked.

  "Wonderful. You?"

  Yancey smiled. "Sounds like about the same for me." He jerked his head toward the door.

  Scott nodded and followed the other man up the steps. Yancey knocked on the door.

  A few moments later, the distinctive click of a lock being opened told them the door would open momentarily.

  The door creaked open, just a few inches. A chain apparently still kept the door secure. A wrinkled female face appeared in the crack. "Yes? Can I help you?"

  Yancey stepped forward. "Hi there. I spoke with Stephen earlier about purchasing the contract on a couple of indentures?"

  "Oh yes, Stevie said you might be coming by." The door closed. A rattle indicated the woman was removing the chain.

  The door reopened. "Please, please, come on in. Can I get you anything?"

  Yancey smiled, his charm oozing. "No, thank you, ma'am. We still have a lot to do tonight. Plus it sounds like we might get some rain."

  "I thought I heard some thunder earlier. Stevie's so paranoid though. He's convinced something blew up," she said with a laugh.

  "Is Stephen still here?"

  "No, no, he's out. Said he had some Army business."

  "Really? Well, did he happen to tell you about our discussion?"

  The old lady nodded. "Oh yes. He said you were going to deed him fifteen bushels for each?"

  Yancey nodded. "Absolutely. Quite a bargain if you ask me."