“Running into these men wasn’t something you’ve seen before, then?” Luke asked carefully, wanting to pump Hernandez for information, but not aggravate the man.
“No, not me,” the sergeant confirmed. “The leadership for this siege, mainly these sniveling bastards from the Regular Army who’ve thrown in with Chambers, keeps them close as bodyguards. I’ve heard the Commies use some of the FPS thugs as shock troops when they have a big push coming, but not as scouts. This is a real concern. Why the heck were they scouting around there, and why did they set up that ambush?”
“That is a reason for concern,” Luke agreed, using the word ‘concern’ as Hernandez had, even though they really meant ‘worry’ instead. “Hopefully, that prisoner will shed some light. Anything else I should know, seeing as how I missed the two-week training cycle everyone else seems to have endured?”
Hernandez waved a hand in dismissal and a forced chuckle. “Kid, I think you’ve been sandbagging us, but you already seem to have the basic skills down. No, nothing you needed to know, except we’ve got our movement orders. Charlie Company, that’s us, is slated to move up on the line in two days. We’re moving in to relieve a Missouri company close to that crossroad at the lumberyard, and Captain Jefferson wanted us to take the temperature of that stretch of ground. We’re heading back out in the morning, unless the LT tells us different tonight.”
Luke absorbed this bit of news and thought about spending the winter in a trench, like something out of the First World War. He would prefer more room to roam, if he was going to use his skills to their best advantage. He knew he wasn’t in the same league as those Green Berets he’d seen in action, but he knew he could do more than simply sit in a hole and occupy space.
“Thank you, Sergeant. I appreciate the information. If I have your permission, I’d like to take a few minutes outside to set up these,” Luke explained, holding up the bagged coils of wire.
“What is that? Some kind of garrote? You want to boobytrap the doors?” Hernandez asked carefully, not sure he was following.
“No, Sergeant. These are just snares. I figured if I set some this evening in back in the bushes, I might be able to catch a rabbit or two for breakfast. Not enough for everybody, but maybe something to fortify the mush. Add a little taste, anyway. I saw some likely rabbit runs in the grass, so we might get lucky.” Thinking about the question a bit, it was Luke’s time to frown before he continued speaking. “These would make really poor garrotes, anyway. I would need finer wire for that and a pair of pegs to affix to each end. I don’t hold with those stupid rings, ‘cause you can’t get enough leverage and you’d tear up your fingers trying.”
Hernandez blinked, then simply nodded his permission. He wanted to ask the young man how he knew so much about such a weapon, and suddenly, he decided he didn’t want to know. The sergeant didn’t think Luke was speaking in the theoretical, or something he’d learned from playing some stupid computer game.
“Go ahead. Take Beatty with you and show him how it’s done. He’s another country boy, so he should be able to catch on pretty quick. Once we get out in the trenches, anything to spice up the mush will be a welcome addition.”
“Yes, Sergeant,” Luke responded, then gestured for the other private. Both young men began gearing back up for the short trip outside. The temperature had dropped and both young men shivered a bit while they acclimated to the frosty winter evening.
“You know how to spot rabbit runs?” Luke asked, and when the other man shook his head, Luke set about teaching class. Leading the way behind the garage, the teenager saw a mounded pile of felled trees that formed a tiny hillock about a hundred yards from the metal wall of the building. Luke pointed to the slight furrows through the thick brush. When Beatty nodded his understanding, Luke used his fur-lined gloves to remove the first of the metal coils, demonstrating how the loop set, and holding up the anchor for inspection.
“I use these gloves for the best effect,” Luke went on, “since I only wear them when setting the traps and never get blood on them. Rabbits have good noses, you know? So, these gloves are treated not to carry much scent.”
“That’s smart,” Beatty observed. “You come up with that?”
“Heck, no,” Luke replied with a chuckle. “The old-time trappers figured that out. Maybe the cavemen did it that way, for all I know.”
“How many you think we can get tonight? I take it, you check on these in the morning?”
“You’re correct. I’ve got a dozen we can set this evening, and if we find two or three caught in the morning, that will be good.”
“Not much meat on three rabbits, Luke,” Beatty murmured, carefully studying the paths that crisscrossed the area around the mixture of discarded limbs and rotted trunks.
“Agreed, but a little rabbit meat will make the mush go down easier. Think of it as a topping. Roast it up in a bit of aluminum foil or gut the carcass and use the whole thing in a soup with rice. Nothing fancy, and rabbits don’t have enough fat to amount to much, but you might be surprised how far you can stretch it.”
“No, I understand,” Beatty agreed. “Me and my little sister, we survived for months on barely more than rabbit and some squirrels. Shot them with my little .22 rifle until I ran out of shells for it, then started using a pellet gun. Never thought to use traps, though.”
This was more than he’d ever heard the normally taciturn Beatty say since the first day he’d known the man, and Luke sensed there was some great sadness behind the words. I shouldn’t pry, Luke told himself. Plenty of sadness to go around everywhere.
“Yeah, traps can be unreliable in a way, but doesn’t require more than the tools, and a little time to set up and check later. Sort of like trotlining for fish.”
“Makes sense. Let me see if I can set one,” Beatty asked, and Luke offered him one ready to go. With the oils on the young man’s hands, Luke doubted that one would pass muster for a wily rabbit, but Luke thought it was more for demonstration purposes, anyway.
While Beatty struggled to get his one snare set in position over one of the runs, Luke quickly placed the rest of them from his bag in the most likely looking places. Far enough apart, so one struggling rabbit wouldn’t spook the others, but not so far as to become lost in the morning’s search. Everything in life was a trade-off when survival was the prize.
“All right,” Luke finally announced when they’d completed the chore. “Let’s get some sleep. Tomorrow will come early enough.”
“Yeah, that’s the first lesson I learned here,” Beatty responded. He led Luke back toward the guarded front door but paused after only a few steps. “What you did out there today, I…thank you. You saved our asses.”
“My ass was at stake as well,” Luke said. “You been up on the line yet? Is it really trenches and razor wire? I didn’t see any today.”
“It is. The way we went, that dogleg to the east, that way isn’t fortified the same. That’s around the end of the line.” Beatty closed his eyes, as if visualizing a map. “No, the Commies seemed to be focused on the west side of town. I guess that’s because the power plant is that way. We have it, and they want it.”
Now it was Luke’s turn to pause. “If that’s the case, why did they have a squad scouting to the east today?”
“That’s a good question, Luke. A damned good question. I’m sure the LT and the Captain are thinking about that very thing this evening.”
With that, Beatty started walking again, his boots making an audible crackling as the private made his way back to the door. Luke listened, and tried to make his own steps lighter, thus reducing the sound. He hadn’t done much creeping in the ice, and winters back home seldom brought this much cold. He realized he would need to work out a way to move quietly in the ice, if he was going to be effective. Need to experiment and try different things until he found something that worked. Things to add to the list.
Luke dreamed about Amy that night. It was a good dream for once, and he finally got the rest his body
so demanded. Maybe killing those men had helped release some of the demons in his head after all.
CHAPTER 35
Morning came early again and the cookstoves produced more tasteless mush, but Luke was hungry, and he no longer cared about quibbling things like taste or texture. Fuel to run the body another day. That was all he needed, once you stripped away the flavorings and such.
Once he was fed and watered, Luke quickly sorted through his supplies and adjusted his armor and pistol belt. Neither had come off during the night, and he only needed to don his boots, sling his rifle, and throw on the heavy backpack to be ready. Then, he remembered the snares.
“Hey, Beatty,” Luke called to his squad mate, “you want to go check?”
“Yeah,” the other man replied, “Let me get my rifle.” Unlike Luke, the older private slept in his uniform, but without the other accessories.
“Grab the body armor,” Luke reminded, and Beatty complied without complaint.
Once they were outside, he asked the question Luke half-expected.
“Why’d you want me to grab the armor? It’s still damp from washing, you know.”
“Because it can’t stop a sniper’s bullet laying on top of your pack,” Luke replied without a pause.
“Don’t most snipers go for headshots?” Beatty asked, not as a challenge but a real question.
“Didn’t you guys take sniper fire on the line?”
Beatty shook his head. “Harassing fire, yeah, but not like what the older guys talk about from their tours in the sandbox. Or like you see in the old war movies. I just thought snipers went for the head, I guess.”
“Not unless that’s all they can see, or if it’s a chip shot for them. My Dad went through the Marine Corps sniper school, and they train for mostly for center mass shooting. Trust me, you get center-punched, you’ll appreciate the plate and the Kevlar. Or whatever funky polymer they used in these.”
“That sounds like the voice of experience.” Beatty noted sharply.
“It is. Hurt like a mother and I got a pretty bruise, but I lived. Now, let’s go check on our haul.”
Since the area hadn’t been trapped before, Luke was hoping for a better than average showing, and he wasn’t disappointed. Five snares were disturbed, and they pulled four fat rabbits from their snares. The fifth one might have been another rabbit or something similar, but the blood and fur indicated something had gotten to it first.
“What you think?” Beatty inquired.
“Dunno,” Luke replied, kneeling down to study the disturbed grass. “Cat, likely. Either a bobcat or something domestic gone feral. I don’t think it was a dog, anyway.”
“Well, we got four, so that’s pretty good. What you going to do with them?”
“Too late to cook them now, but with the cold weather, they’ll keep. Something to add to the cook pot tonight.”
“Fair enough,” Beatty replied. “I know a lot of ways to cook rabbit after this summer.”
Feeling buoyed by their success, the two men re-entered the garage, nodding to the soldier standing guard, to find their sergeant and lieutenant in conversation with another man. An officer, judging from the way he held himself and how others were reacting to his presence. Captain Jefferson, I presume, Luke thought to himself.
“Messner, there you are!” Sergeant Hernandez called, gesturing the teen over. “What were you doing? That was a long latrine break, son.”
Luke forced a grin. “Just checking the haul, Sergeant,” he replied vaguely, not wanting his snares to become a source of friction. He only had so many, after all, and nowhere near enough to supply the whole platoon. “What’s up?”
“Private Messner, you’ve met our lieutenant,” Hernandez continued and made what Luke’s father called a ‘Vanna gesture’. “The handsome man next to him is his boss, Captain Jefferson.”
“Sir,” Messner popped to attention, knowing enough not to attempt a salute indoors.
“At ease, Private,” Captain Jefferson ordered, and Luke relaxed a touch. Covertly studying the man, Luke noted a pink scar lacing along the officer’s chin, marring his light brown skin. Like most of his men, Jefferson passed on wearing a helmet and instead, a billed baseball cap topped what Luke assumed was a shaved head. From his conversations with Captain Bartaloni back home, Luke knew the absence wasn’t a macho affectation, but due to the scarcity of the battle helmets in the ranks of the National Guard. For that reason, Luke eschewed bringing one of the captured helmets to avoid standing out, and he reasoned Jefferson did the same.
“Despite Hernandez’s blatant efforts to butter me up, I’m not here to rip any asses today,” Jefferson stated, his dark eyes sparkling with a momentary flash of humor before he continued. “We had a chance last night to interrogate the prisoner brought in by Second Squad. Apparently, brought in by you, Private.”
“With Second Squad, sir. I’m just learning the ropes from Sergeant Hernandez, sir.”
“Bullshit,” the captain responded blandly. “You single-handedly dispatched a squad of Commie stormtroopers, Private, and then took their sergeant prisoner. Then managed to terrify him to the point where he was begging to spill his guts as soon as we started asking questions. Son, you are obviously not just another private. I understand you’ve had training, but not military. Care to explain?”
Luke spilled, repeating what he’d shared with Master Sergeant Knolls and with the lieutenant earlier. Captain Jefferson, for his part, seemed distracted by something Luke mentioned early on, and practically jumped when Luke mentioned the Keller family.
“Wait,” Jefferson interrupted, holding up a hand, “So you are the son of Gunnery Sergeant Sam Messner, and you worked with the Keller family while making your way home from Chicago, after the pulse killed everything?”
“Yes, sir,” Luke replied, suddenly feeling a bit unsure of the situation. “Did I say something wrong?”
Jefferson surprised the young private with a deep chortling laugh that sounded a bit rusty from lack of use.
“No, Private, I was just struck by what a small world we are now living in. I knew your father in a past life, and two weeks ago, I had the opportunity to sit down with Darwin Keller at his home in Kellerville.”
“Wow,” Luke replied with wonder in his voice. “How are they doing?”
“Doing fine, all things considered. Darwin’s brother Scott has taken on a training command, getting their scouts ready for the field. Very effective teacher, I understand. He’s another Marine, you know, so I’m not surprised.”
“Hey, now, Captain,” Lieutenant Fisher interjected, a slight smile belying his words. “No reason to look down your nose at us simple Army folk. We do okay, and we were smart enough to recruit you.”
Luke looked back and forth between the two men, and Captain Jefferson caught his curious glance.
“Oh, when the pulse happened, I was home on leave from the Corps and got shanghaied by these nice gentlemen,” Jefferson said by way of explanation. “I was but a lowly Staff Sergeant myself at the time, but I couldn’t make my way back to Camp Pendleton, and the Reserve Center was never activated. Instead, like a lot of folks, I was absorbed by the Texas Army National Guard. Got a field promotion to Lieutenant, then bumped to Captain to take over this company.”
“And you knew my Dad?”
“Back when I was an even more lowly corporal,” Jefferson continued. “We served in the same platoon for six months before he was reassigned. Went to King’s Bay, if I’m not mistaken.”
Luke nodded. “I remember. We were in Georgia for two years and I was afraid the mosquitos were planning to haul me off the playground. Wow, I haven’t thought of that in so long.”
“So, I take it, your father saw to your training?” Captain Jefferson inquired.
“Yes, sir. Part of it. I shot competitively for years, then after Dad retired, he spent some time teaching me how to move in the woods, and how to hunt men, though he never called it that,” Luke admitted. “We also did a lot of paintba
ll, which comes in surprisingly useful when it comes to stalking, finding cover, and things like that. Then I learned quite a bit from Scott, Mr. Keller, while I was working for the family. Then these last few months, I’ve been active in our Home Guard unit. We got in some scrapes there, too.”
“Why isn’t your father here with you? He can’t be too old for the field, not in this fight,” Jefferson asked, and he could tell from Luke’s wince, he’d struck a nerve, confirmed when Master Sergeant Knolls cleared his throat.
“Last time the bastards hit us,” Luke ground out through gritted teeth, “they used a Hellfire to knock out what they thought was our house. Actually, they took out my grandfather’s old place, but my mom and several of my friends were there and died in the attack. My father, we needed him to stay there and try to hold things together. He has a lot of people depending on us to help get them through the winter. Plus, my sister is only thirteen, and she’s all the family we have left.”
“Understood,” Jefferson responded quickly, reading the fury on the young man’s face. “You here for vengeance, or to help us fight this war?”
“I’m here to kill the enemy, sir. To kill as many as I can, and to strike terror in those I can’t reach at the moment.” Luke paused and looked directly into the officer’s eyes. “Darwin Keller’s son, Nick, once told me I have a talent for fighting, for killing, and I’m here to use that talent, sir.”
Jefferson didn’t look away and held the young man’s stare when he replied.
“Then you’ve come to the right place, Private. We’re not here as peacekeepers or to prop up some tribal warlord. This bullshit Recovery Committee is determined to carve out a piece of this country as their personal kingdom, and that is not something we can allow. The President, the real President, has called us to arms, and we have answered that call.”
Midnight Skills Page 26
