Midnight Skills

by William Allen

  The other woman, a short, petite blonde in what Luke thought was her twenties, with a pug nose and hair cut off close the skull in the same manner as Ed, carried what Luke suspected was a scoped Winchester Model 70 with a black synthetic stock. In addition, the small-boned woman wore a pistol of some kind holstered low on her hip.

  On the third morning of the trip, as they were unrolling their bedrolls under the back end of the truck in anticipation of another sunrise, Luke caught sight of the rifle when the camo-clad woman eased under the metal overhang.

  “Nice,” Luke muttered to himself.

  “What’s that? You looking at my ass?” the blonde demanded indignantly.

  “No, ma’am,” Luke popped back, his voice animated for the first time on the trip. “Your rifle. I thought it was a Model 70, and I just saw the stock was a McMillan. Is that in .308 or 30-06? Or something else?”

  The woman, a frown creasing her brow, glared back at Luke as she slid under the truck.

  “7.62x51,” she replied with a doubting tone in her voice. “I would have to be stupid to bring anything else if I want to get resupplied, wouldn’t I?”

  “Ma’am, some folks don’t exactly have the choice,” Luke replied. “What kind of scope do you have, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Again, not that it’s any of your business, but I have a Leupold 3x9-40 on it,” the woman replied with a slightly less antagonist tone.

  “Good glass,” Luke replied with a nod and turned to see about laying out his sleeping bag. He’d selected something suitable for down to minus twenty degrees, knowing from experience, even if the temperature never got below zero degrees Fahrenheit, he would still get cold at night. Or in this case, in the morning.

  “Sorry,” the blonde mumbled, and at first Luke didn’t know she was talking to him until she continued. “I didn’t mean to bite your head off. You just didn’t seem like the kind for idle chitchat.”

  “Not chitchatting, ma’am,” Luke replied solemnly. “We get hit, you need to go for headshots with that rifle of yours. Either that or lower body. Their body armor will stop a .308 round.”

  “Bullshit… and stop calling me ma’am.”

  “Not bullshit. I don’t know about their rank-and-file troops, but the body armor worn by their strike team members will stop the 7.62x51mm ball ammunition. I’ve seen it. Heck, I’m wearing a set right now.” Luke’s voice sounded rusty to his own ears, and the youth realized he hadn’t spoken this much in days. Shrugging, Luke levered his boots off and lowered himself down onto the bag. With his mag carrier, body armor, and web belt, Luke felt like a sausage stuffed in a casing, but other than taking his boots off, he wasn’t planning to undress any further. Rolling on his side, Luke wondered what Amy was doing.

  “Just where the hell have you seen a Commie strike team?”

  The young woman’s question caught Luke off-guard, as he’d dismissed the conversation from his mind. Rolling over, he saw her green eyes peering back with a combination of curiosity and mistrust.

  “A few places. Oklahoma. At our ranch.”

  “Oh,” was all she said for a moment. Then, she seemed to deflate a bit before continuing. “Did they get your family, too?”

  Luke mulled over her words for a second before deciding how to answer. He didn’t owe her an answer, really, but he gave her one anyway.

  “No, not then. We lost some folks in that fight, including my uncle. Later, we lost my mom in a drone strike, and a bunch of my friends.” He felt his throat threaten to close up at the forbidden thoughts, but he forged ahead. “My fiancé, though, she survived. She’s trying to take care of my dad now. He’s not doing so good, you know? I take it, you weren’t so fortunate?”

  The woman allowed the silence between them to continue a moment before she spoke.

  “You could say that. My parents had a place little outside Palestine. Dad was big in the prepper thing, you know? He had a HAM setup at the house, along with a shielded generator and after the pulse, he used it to keep in touch with his buddies.” She snorted in a most unladylike fashion. “I was over at the neighbor’s house, helping them deliver a calf when we heard the shooting. By the time I’d run home through the woods, the house was on fire and the Suburbans were already rolling back down the driveway. My parents were both in the house.”

  Her voice caught, and Luke could hear the unshed tears in her voice when she’d ended her recitation of disaster.

  “‘I’m sorry for your loss’ doesn’t cover it,” Luke replied softly, “but I think I can understand a little. When the bastards came back, this time with drones, I wasn’t there. Maybe there wasn’t anything I could have done, but still…So now I’m here to do my part.”

  “My name’s Abigail. Abigail Winstead. My friends, they called me Abbie.”

  She didn’t offer her hand, and Luke refrained as well, offering a nod instead before replying.

  “Luke Messner.”

  “Well, Luke, I ain’t never killed nobody before, but I’m here to do my part as well.”

  This was it. The crack in her armor that Abbie didn’t want anyone else to see. For some reason, she felt like she could confide in Luke. Maybe it was the shared pain, or the mention of Amy that made him seem more approachable. Abbie might have been an attractive young woman in other circumstances, but Luke only saw her as a fellow soldier.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Luke replied earnestly, “You’ll do fine. Like I told my fiancé Amy one time, the first one is the hardest. Just like anything else, killing gets easier over time. Watch yourself, though, and don’t get to liking it too much.”

  “Or what?”

  Luke offered her a crooked smile before answering.

  “Then you might end up like me.”

  With that uneasy exchange out of the way, Luke rolled onto his back and began to study the muddy undercarriage of the old truck. He tried to sleep, but if he ever dozed off, the nightmares kept him company through the short daylight hours.

  CHAPTER 31

  The Allied States camp started off as a shipping terminal, Luke realized when the trucks finally came to a halt and began to disgorge their weary passengers. Scrambling out the back, Luke took a moment to don his heavy pack and sling his rifle while the others proceeded to walk around and gawk at the sights. Luke did some of this as well but tried to be a bit more circumspect. He only noticed the cold then, when his breath seemed to coil with smoky fingers in the air. Need to cover my mouth out in the field, he noted to himself. He’d felt the temperature dropping as the trucks rolled further north, but the change seemed gradual until now.

  Luke saw the massive warehouses squatting in the distance, approximately a half mile from the tent city making up this part of the makeshift military base. Here and there, Luke observed HUMVEEs moving, but for the most part, everyone seemed to either be transported on the big trucks or more often, marching from one place to another. He tried not to goggle at the hundreds of soldiers he saw, hurrying here and there like ants on a hill.

  Interspaced amongst the array of tents, Luke spotted small state flags flying. The Lone Star of Texas featured prominently, as did the Missouri, Oklahoma, Arkansas, and Louisiana flags. Here and there, he noted others that required some thought to place. Was that Kansas, he wondered, or is that Colorado?

  With a loud voice and not a few well-placed shoves, Sergeant Barker managed to get his ten recruits lined up and at something approximating attention. The sergeant appeared to be just as tired as his charges, but still maintained his military bearing.

  After a few minutes spent getting the line in order, Barker seemed to stiffen, and Luke noted two more uniformed men approaching at a fast walk. Noting the way Barker’s hand flinched, Luke knew one of them had to be an officer. Must be worried about snipers, Luke reasoned, since he’d suppressed the ingrained urge to salute.

  As the two newcomers joined Barker, the sergeant took a step back, mimicking some parade ground move Luke had seen before, and bellowed to the small ass
embly.

  “Men, this is Lieutenant Fisher and Master Sergeant Knolls.” He paused before continuing at a more normal volume. “They will be taking charge of you today and seeing to your training and integration into existing units. For that to happen, the Master Sergeant and his personnel will need to complete an entrance interview with each of you. You will accompany Master Sergeant Knolls to his tent to await your interview, and I will leave you to it. Private Garvin, since you are prior service, you can stick with me and we’ll get you squared away once this formation is dismissed. Welcome to the Texas Army National Guard.”

  The Master Sergeant looked over the two squads, as he considered the eight men and two women. Garvin continued to stand at attention and Knolls knew he would be with a new unit before nightfall. He was disappointed none of the others had any prior military experience, but he knew Barker would have pointed them out as well. Mostly, he saw the same as always, eager youths with ragged clothes and hunger-pinched faces. One, however, appeared to be dressed in the current uniform, minus any insignia or unit patches, with what looked like an issue weapon, and an irregular but obviously well-designed and probably expensive pack, and MOLLE gear.

  Jeez, Knolls thought to himself, not another mall ninja. Best to get that out of the way first. No telling how much bullshit he’s been feeding to these other newbies. Maybe having Garvin along might have slowed his roll with that garbage. One could hope, anyway.

  “You, Private, front and center!” Knolls bellowed in much the same fashion as Barker.

  Luke, aware of the senior non-commissioned officer’s glare, snapped to attention and stepped out of line to stop in front of the grizzled older man. Luke noted the strength evident in the man’s posture despite his advanced years, and quickly decided he didn’t want to gain this man’s ire.

  “Yes, Master Sergeant!” Luke responded.

  “Where’d you get the fancy gear, son?”

  “Off dead Commies, Master Sergeant!” Luke replied firmly. That wasn’t entirely true, since the magazine carrier and large backpack came from his own supplies, but he suspected he knew what the master sergeant meant. He’d alternated between looking at the suppressed M4 carbine, tricked out with a nice foregrip and holographic sights, and the obvious bulk of the body armor that encased the young soldier’s body.

  “Really? And how’d you come across any dead Commies, son?” Master Sergeant Knolls asked, his voice more conversational at this point. He was becoming intrigued by this young private who not only recognized the stripes but knew how to give his answers in the proper fashion.

  “Killed them, Master Sergeant,” Luke replied, still faking his father’s parade ground voice.

  “And how did you manage that, Private?”

  Luke felt stumped for a moment, wondering how to explain, and then plunged ahead.

  “Some of them with my rifle, and others with a knife, Master Sergeant.”

  Knolls took a second look at the kid when he made this outrageous claim. Tall and skinny, he still filled out his uniform better than the older men who came in with his group. Up close, Knolls could tell the young man might be even younger than he’d first thought. Jesus, Knolls thought, looking at the slight stubble on the youth’s cheeks, the kid is barely shaving.

  “How old are you, Private?”

  “Seventeen, Master Sergeant.”

  “Seventeen?”

  “Just turned, Master Sergeant.”

  Something about this boy’s flat expression bothered Knolls, and he took a step back as he thought about it. There’s death in his eyes, Knolls realized. Knolls knew the look, having seen it before on several friends after they’d made multiple deployments. Seen it in his own eyes, looking in the mirror after making it home from one particularly brutal trip to the lovely Anbar Province.

  Glancing back at the boy, Knolls finally registered the body armor the kid was wearing. Shit, that’s the new stuff, and not even available yet for Regular Army issue.

  “What’s your name, Private?”

  “Messner, Master Sergeant.”

  “Well, Private Messner, I’ll want to do your interview myself. Let’s get this goat rope in gear, shall we?”

  “Yes, Master Sergeant,” Luke replied evenly and stepped back into line. Knolls cut his eyes to Lieutenant Fisher, who’d remained silent throughout the entire exchange. The two men had served through some hairy times, even before the lights went out, and since then, they’d seen the face of Satan on more than one occasion.

  After giving a subtle nod to the lieutenant, Knolls began growling on orders, having Garvin fall out to accompany Barker, and then after getting the line in better order, paced them to the waiting tents. No marching, but at least Knolls got them to maintain some spacing while they walked rapidly in the right direction.

  Finally, Luke thought to himself, schooling his face to maintain the same neutral expression he usually wore these days. The mask he used to hide the rage eating his soul.

  Finally, he thought again, we can get to the job I need to do, so we can all go home. Luke knew he was taking a huge risk volunteering for this fight, not just for himself but for his love as well. Amy pretended to understand, maybe, but he worried that by taking off, he was placing her at greater risk by not being there. Sure, his father swore he would protect her, but a treacherous part of his mind continued to whisper doubts. That guarantee hadn’t worked for his mother, had it?

  On the other hand, Luke fought to resist speculating about the other alternative. Deep down, where Luke knew his sanity still clung with a tenuous grip, his doubts continued to fester. While he slept, and his defenses were at their lowest, he wondered if this was God’s punishment. If his mother’s death, and the deaths of many of his friends, might have been avoided if he’d stepped up sooner and accepted the challenge.

  Hours later, after an intensive grilling by the master sergeant, Luke felt nothing but a great sense of relief when he was conducted off to the transient barracks to await his new assignment. From the sounds of what he’d learned was building artillery in the distance, he figured he might not have all that long to wait. Knolls dismissed the kid with orders to head to the next tent and get two sets of uniforms, boots, and cold weather undergarments. Then he could crash in the dorm and await assignment. Luke, given the opportunity for his first shot at uninterrupted sleep in a week, hustled to comply.

  “So, do you believe him?” Lieutenant Fisher asked, handing the noncom a cup of instant coffee that threatened to peel the top layer of skin from his mouth. They were sitting alone in the rear chamber of the large tent, each having claimed one of the folding camp chairs arrayed around the room. As promised, Knolls had personally taken the debrief of Private Messner first, and he’d spent more time with his questions than any of his three subordinates assigned to handle the intake interviews.

  Knolls seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time studying contents of his ceramic cup before he answered.

  “Yes, sir. For some reason, I believe I do. For one thing, he knew way more about that McCorkle mess than just about anybody I’ve talked to. He was telling the truth about the drone strike that took out the family home, too. We’ve all been reading the reports, LT. This is just more terrorism on their part, plain and simple. Plus, I could see it in his eyes when he talked about what they’d found. There’s a young man with a real need to purge some demons.”

  “What about that preposterous claim about working private security for General Hotchkins?” Fisher asked with a harsh chuckle. “No way that happened. And why would he drop that name, anyway?”

  “Sir, you did notice he was careful to point out they were just working as convoy guards, correct? Not as personal security for the general? That actually doesn’t sound all that implausible, if the general was trying to do the kid and his friends a favor and move him closer to home.” Knolls paused, thinking. “And we can find out easy enough. I know somebody on the general’s staff…”

  “Ah, the old Master Sergeant network,”
Fisher finished the thought with a chuckle. “You know, if he really did manage to kill that many of the Committee’s professional bullyboy network, they’ll be gunning for him especially hard.”

  “I don’t see Messner worrying about that too much. Notice he wouldn’t say who actually took out McCorkle? Just that the mission was carried out by a Regular Army unit on loan from Fort Polk.”

  Fisher thought about that for a second. He didn’t know all the players in the quiltwork of the rapidly formed Allied States, but he knew the Regular Army general in charge at Fort Polk wouldn’t have sent just any old MP unit with orders to detain a sitting Congressman, even if the charge was treason.

  “You think there might be more to that situation, LT?”

  Fisher shook his head. “Not exactly. This kid just seems awfully confident for someone without any real military training is all. You still want him for the platoon?”

  “I say we give him a try, Lieutenant. Good help is hard to find. Hernandez is going out on a scout tomorrow. Let’s see how he operates under a little pressure. I’ll just give Gil the heads up to watch him.”

  “No hazing,” Lieutenant Fisher cautioned. “We can’t let that kind of crap survive in this environment. We’re too close to the edge as it is.”

  The edge. Both men knew they could easily still lose everything. The Allied States continued to fight the good fight, enjoying access to better trained personnel and a somewhat shorter logistics train, but the sheer numbers continued to fall the other way. Chambers and his damned Committee had their relocation camps from which to draw more warm bodies, and they’d managed to recruit some real soldiers from the masses as well. The terrible irony that they managed to feed their slave population from wheat stolen from murdered Kansas and Nebraska farmers also burned Fisher’s hide. Before the pulse, most of his family still lived on a farm not far from Lincoln. Sadly, he’d never managed to contact them after, and now he doubted he ever would.