Holding Their Own: The Toymaker

by Joe Nobody

  Thirty minutes later, the two visitors had relayed what they knew of the activity in New Mexico, as well as the conversation with the president.

  Bishop grunted, “That sounds about like the Colonel… err, I mean the president. He’s not going to do squat until he knows who the players are. Back when I worked with him at HBR, he always played it the exact same way.”

  “There’s a certain amount of wisdom in that,” Nick agreed. “On the other hand, we can’t just sit back and let someone cut off our water or nuke our territory.”

  Terri looked at her husband, “How much do you think the involvement of the Colonel’s son has to do with this?”

  “I’m not quite sure. I never met any of his family other than David and Samantha after their plane crashed. I knew the guy was an operator… a PJ… but other than that, the Colonel didn’t talk about personal matters at all.”

  “It has to play a role,” Diana added. “There’s no way it can’t impact his decision-making.”

  Nick looked at his hosts, the big man’s expression growing dark. “Diana and I have come to the conclusion that we need to send in a SAINT team to gather information.”

  “Risky,” Bishop said immediately. “If that team is discovered, it may light the fuse for a nuclear event. Like you both said, the U.S. would blame us for that and who knows where it all goes from there.”

  “But we don’t have any choice,” Diana countered. “We can’t just sit around and twiddle our thumbs. The U.S. has very little motivation to address what’s being done to the rivers, and with the president’s son potentially being held, that just adds to the conundrum.”

  “We wanted our independence, and now we’ve got it,” Terri added. “Is there any other option?”

  “Even if you discount the nuclear threat, a military campaign is the last resort,” Nick stated. “The manpower that we inherited is being stretched to the limit as it is. While we’ve made significant progress in the recovery, people are still anxious and jittery. The general population wouldn’t take an invasion of New Mexico lightly.”

  “Terri and you were on the run the last time war threatened our fledgling little democracy. The people got so keyed up, the Alliance was on the verge of revolt. We may be stronger now, but so are they, and every citizen knows it,” Diana added.

  “Pick your best team and send them in,” Bishop concluded. “You’re both right. We can’t wait for the Colonel to take action. Besides, he’s going to be looking out for his best interests, not ours.”

  Nick nodded, “I hate to ask, but would you be willing to lead a team?”

  Bishop’s response was fast and sure, “Of course I would, but we both know I’m not the right man for this job. There’s too much riding on this. It has to be you in command and making the judgment calls in the field. You’re the only one who can make decisions that will impact the entire Alliance.”

  Looking at Diana, Nick shrugged his shoulders. “See, I told you he’d say that. And he’s right.”

  Diana didn’t like it but wasn’t going to reopen what had evidently been a long debate with her fiancé. “Would you at least go with him?” she asked Bishop, almost pleading.

  Again, Bishop answered from his heart. “Yes, I would go if he asks me. You know I’d follow Nick through the gates of hell… but I’m not the best option for him or the team. We both are used to running our own show. There could be too many cooks in the kitchen if things got rough. Besides, I’ve been away for a long time now. It would take me a while to get back up to speed with all of the latest tactics and equipment. I’d just get in the way and slow the team down.”

  Terri, sensing her friend’s discomfort at the prospect of Nick going into the field, reached across to place a comforting hand on Diana’s arm. “I could come up to Alpha and stay with you while he’s gone.”

  Nick tried to lighten the mood, “It’s only a scouting mission. It’s not like we’re going over there with guns blazing. I’ll have Grim and Kevin along. They’re the best we have.”

  Diana looked at her future husband and said, “You’re still short a man. Cory’s leg won’t be healed for another month or more.”

  “What about Butter?” Bishop asked. “You won’t find anyone stronger this side of the Pecos. And he’s got the right mindset for this type of mission.”

  Nick nodded. “I was going to wait another few weeks before assigning him to a team, but you’re right. He’s ready.”

  As their guests stood to leave, Bishop hugged Diana and shook Nick’s hand. “Good luck, brother. In a way, I wish I was going with you. But Grim and Kevin are the best. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

  “Will do.”

  And then they were gone, Bishop and Terri standing in front of the camper and waving goodbye to their friends.

  Once Nick’s SUV was out of sight, Terri turned to her husband and said, “I thought I’d never hear myself say this, but in a way, I wish you were going with Nick. It doesn’t get any more critical than this.”

  Bishop nodded his agreement, “I know, but I’m no spring chicken anymore, hun. I’d just slow them down or get in the way. There are better men in the Alliance for this type of job.”

  Terri turned to enter the camper, but a change in Bishop’s voice stopped her.

  “Hey… wait a minute… I just realized what you said about wishing I’d go with Nick. Are you trying to get rid of me? Time to trade me in for a newer model? Well, let me tell you something, young lady. There were plenty of girls at the Meraton market that were giving me the eye. A couple of them were hotties!”

  Terri spun quickly, swooping low to pick up a handful of small rocks. “Let’s see how fast you can run, Mr. Spring Chicken,” she ordered, doing a pretty good job of pretending to be mad while cocking her arm to launch a projectile.

  “Oh shit,” Bishop said, ducking under the first missile.

  Terri already had another round locked and loaded. “Go on now… let’s see how well you hobble around, old man.”

  Bishop tried the traditional hands-up, don’t shoot position, but it was clear from the mischievous look on his wife’s face that she wasn’t going to hold her fire. He started backing away.

  Again, Terri’s arm let loose with a stone. It missed, but Bishop decided it was way too close.

  Unable to hold it any longer, Terri started laughing. “You look like you still move pretty well to me, my love. And no, I don’t have any plans to trade you in. Hunter is way, way too attached to you.”

  But Bishop didn’t come any closer. Terri was still holding the rocks.

  “Oh, no, I’m not suckering for that tactic,” he said, pointing at the projectiles. “Your weapon is still loaded.”

  Snapping her finger in an “aww shucks,” motion, she said, “Dang it, you caught me,” and dropped the rocks.

  Before they hit the ground, Bishop was moving. In a blur, Terri was over his shoulder, laughing, kicking, and hitting his back while filling the air with pretend protests. “You cad! Scoundrel! Scalawag! Put me down this instant!”

  Bishop carried her to the pool formed by the natural spring and held her over the water, threatening to dump her in. Terri, in an effort to avoid a dunking, wrapped her arms around his neck and hung on for dear life. “Don’t you dare,” she threatened, trying to keep a straight face.

  “Or what?” he grinned.

  “Or I’ll… I’ll… I’ll…”

  Bishop jumped in.

  The drive to White Sands Missile Range passed without event, nor were there any surprises once Hack’s party entered the now-abandoned facility.

  Hack and his Apache bodyguards hadn’t been overly concerned. Multiple teams of Locusts had raided the base long ago.

  Several months after the collapse, rumors had circulated that the contract and military personnel assigned to the remote facility were pulling up stakes and relocating to nearby Fort Bliss. National Guard armories had provided excellent booty for the scavengers, so a recently uninhibited A
rmy base was a natural draw.

  Before retiring from the Skunk Works, Hack had worked at the nation’s largest military installation on two occasions. White Sands was absolutely the best place to test anything that flew, exploded, or used a guidance system to accomplish the mission. At the time, he’d been like a kid in a candy shop, anxious to see and learn everything.

  Today, however, Hack wasn’t interested in acquiring sophisticated equipment or advanced weapons. Other than batteries, always high on his priority list, the toymaker was after something much more primitive and mundane.

  Balloons.

  On one of his previous visits, the toymaker had noticed a large storage building full of weather balloons. “Those are left over from long ago,” one of the base’s personnel had informed the visiting engineer. “But you know the Army, they keep shit lying around forever. It’s cheaper to build new storage sheds than to dispose of old hardware.”

  Hack wasn’t after any old party balloons. Nor was he interested in the beautifully colored variety that lifted people into the sky in their straw basket gondolas.

  No, the toymaker wanted high altitude, military-grade units that could reach heights of 15-25 miles above the earth’s surface, and carry a reasonable payload along the way.

  That payload, if necessary, could be a leaking container of radioactive dust.

  Pleased with the accuracy of his memory, Hack pointed the dump truck’s driver to the precise building where he remembered seeing the inflatable devices years ago.

  An hour later, they were heading back north to Caldera country, several crates of silver-skinned, latex balloons in the back of the truck. And there was a bonus as well. Six large tanks of hydrogen had been discovered, along with yellowed instruction guides.

  “We now have an Air Force,” Hack informed his Apache friend. “As well as a strategic deterrent. It’s shaping up to be a pretty good week.”

  Grim was griping again. “I was just getting used to trees… and grass… and green stuff,” the contractor complained. “Now, not only do I have to behave myself because the top dog is leading the mission, but I’ll be washing the sand out of my hair for a fucking week.”

  “I didn’t think you bathed more than once a week anyway, Grim,” Nick pushed back with a grin. “Last time we were on a job, it sure didn’t seem like it.”

  Riding in the Humvee’s back seat, Kevin was his usual, stoic self… perhaps a bit more reserved than usual since his dad was along. Butter, the FNG, or fucking new guy, didn’t know what to make of any of it.

  “Do they always go at each other like that?” the big ex-rancher leaned over and whispered to Kevin.

  “No,” replied the team’s sharpshooter. “Normally, it’s worse. But the day is young.”

  Kevin’s statement confused Butter even more. Double checking the passing New Mexico landscape, he spied the fading light of dusk outside the windows. What does he mean the day is young? It’s almost dark out there.

  Grim, with a map spread across his lap while he monitored a handheld GPS, paused from his primary duties to interrupt the FNG’s thoughts. “Ten minutes until we dismount,” he said plainly. “And then we start earning our pay.”

  Nick guided the off-road vehicle across the rough terrain, looking for a larger than normal patch of scrub they had chosen from the old satellite photographs on file in the archives at Bliss. From the dated snapshots taken several miles above the earth, it had looked like the perfect place to stash the oversized SUV.

  In addition to the limited, aged information from Bliss, General Owens had convinced the brass at the Pentagon to share what information was available from previous missions. Much to everyone’s surprise, the Washington boys had sent what appeared to be a complete package, including video and still photographs.

  “Let’s go over it again,” Nick started as the Humvee bounced across a small wash. “We’ll dismount, cover our transport, and then wait for darkness before moving out. Grim and I will form a two-wide point. Butter will be in the middle, Kevin will cover us with that long-range tack driver from the rear. Any questions so far?”

  There was none, the team having already heard the same instructions a dozen times before. But no one complained. It was just the way things were done.

  “Our number one priority is to avoid contact. If we are spotted, we egress immediately. The rally point is the Humvee. Make sure you can find your way back there in the dark.”

  The ex-Green Beret paused, a large berm with a steep downside requiring all of his attention. As soon as it was clear they weren’t going to roll over or get stuck, Nick continued.

  “We will be approximately 10 kilometers from where the PJ took the video. The area, even before the collapse, was sparsely populated. There are less than a dozen structures in the vicinity, and most of those appear to be outbuildings or storage sheds. I’ll be surprised if we even hear a dog bark.”

  Again the briefing was paused, Grim pointing to a cluster of scrub and cactus off to the right. “That looks like our garage,” he announced.

  Nick nodded, altering their direction before continuing with his orders. “We will find a good place to set up tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll stay put and observe the construction activities in the valley. We’ll be running a cold camp – no fires. Tomorrow, we’ll use the cover of darkness to move back to the Humvee and head back to Bliss. Any questions?”

  “What exactly are we looking for, sir? I’ve never quite understood that part,” Butter asked shyly.

  Grim grunted, and for a moment, the FNG thought he’d asked another dumb question. But the more experienced man in the front seat bailed him out. “That’s a good question, Butter. I’m not quite sure of the answer myself.”

  Nick shook his head, a smartass remark forming in his chest. But he let it go. That time was past. “We want to find out who is running the show around here. We want to gain an understanding of how organized they are, what communications methods are being used, and some general knowledge about the size and compilation of the local forces.”

  “Isn’t this all Native American land?” Kevin asked. “Isn’t it most likely that it’s the Indian tribes?”

  “Yes, it probably is, but we need to be positive. Quite frankly, from what we know, the recent activity in the area doesn’t fit the Native profile. Why, all of a sudden, would they start rerouting rivers? Where did they get the knowledge and wherewithal to take nuclear materials from an armed escort? How in the hell did they catch the PJ’s team, and why shoot it out with them? The council needs to know who and what we’re dealing with.”

  “Who else do you think it could it be?” Kevin pressed.

  “According to the eyewitnesses at Los Alamos, there was a white-haired, olderCaucasian male in charge when they took down the Department of Energy team at the lab. For all we know, it might be some rogue military unit using the locals for slave labor. For sure, it’s more than just the local tribes that are behind all this.”

  They arrived at the designated parking spot, finding a safe hiding place for the Humvee. Nick had insisted on using a civilian transport, on the off chance that the team was spotted crossing the desert. The locals seemed to be anti-military at the moment.

  There was a hustle and bustle of activity, the SAINT team strapping on equipment, double-checking loads and weapons, all along helping each other.

  As per routine, the three team members lined up, Nick passing along in front of each man, tugging on gear, asking fundamental questions, and looking into each man’s eye to make sure there wasn’t any problem. Butter, being the FNG, received the most attention.

  Satisfied his men had the proper kit, and that they weren’t going to rattle or squeak while walking to their destination, Nick summed it up one last time. “Our top priority is to avoid detection and contact. Even if we don’t learn a single new fact, this mission will be deemed a success if we get in and get out without anyone knowing we’re here. Next on the list of critical parameters is that we leave no one behind. These pe
ople aren’t pussies, and they definitely don’t shy away from a fight. If we are discovered, we shoot our way out if necessary. Is that clear?”

  A chorus of “Yes, sir,” sounded from the small group.

  “Let’s do it, gentlemen. The steaks are on me in Alpha tomorrow night. I’m looking forward to paying for four big meals. Move out.”

  The sun had disappeared behind the mountains when they finally formed up. Each man had a small piece of glow tape attached to the back of his pack and hat in order to maintain the unit’s spacing and not get lost. Grim called them “cat eyes.”

  Grim and Nick took the lead, each man using night vision to plot the route, avoid dead ends, and make sure the column didn’t stumble into an ambush.

  The terrain was rocky and arid and supported little plant life. The predetermined path took them up a small mountain with no name, down into a valley and across a series of lower hills. Nick had pined for an easier access point, but it just didn’t exist.

  As they walked, the big man thought about how many times he’d set off on just such a mission. Unlike Hollywood movies and popular lore, the vast majority of Special Forces operations involved similar objectives. Combat wasn’t nearly as common as the tasks of observing, scouting, and gathering hard intelligence.

  If discovered, they would engage, and more often than not, would give more than take. Live to fight another day was common wisdom, but sometimes that required putting lead on target.

  Like anyone responsible for the lives of others, Nick ran through all of the checklists… again and again. Butter was a worry, only because he was new. Grim was often impatient and trigger happy. Kevin was solid as a rock, but the kid was just 19 and often hesitated just a second too long.

  While Nick was confident his team would give a proper accounting for itself if engaged, that wasn’t his primary concern. They needed to be stealthy, calm, and patient. Body control and walking without sound were more important than accuracy with a carbine. Had he spent enough time with Butter teaching the big kid how to step toe-to-heal and distribute his weight gradually? Paying attention to their surroundings and noticing details was far more critical than target prioritization. Had he drilled Kevin enough on suppressive fire tactics used to break contact?