Scott knew about the snipers. That was the reason Colonel Thompson asked for him, by name, to come to the front lines.
The Arkansas units, mostly laid out to the north of the Texas lines, likewise lost more men when the nuclear weapon was detonated. Nearly two companies of Arkansas soldiers perished in the direct effects of the attack, though it was a drop in the bucket compared to the losses suffered by the already weakened Missouri and Kansas National Guard forces. Overall, the total number of dead or missing was classified, but Scott knew the Allied States suffered the staggering loss of nearly two thousand men.
All of this was devastating to the morale of the troops. On top of these deaths, Colonel Thompson’s briefing revealed the Arkansas and Texas lines began taking heavier losses in the last two weeks. Mostly snipers, with some IEDs thrown in, as well.
Either more of the regular Army troops had taken up arms with the Commies, or the other side had seen the need for additional schooling for some of their men and set up scout/sniper training. Maybe a combination of the two, but so far, four of Scott’s scout school graduates were reported either dead or missing on missions.
Either option had troubling implications. The Committee so far, relied on a cadre of paramilitary troops recruited before the pulse, heavily augmented by their volunteers who amounted to little more than forced conscripts, culled from the massive resettlement camps erected by Chambers’ men in the east and north. Those initial units, composed of real volunteers who’d stepped up to receive better rations for their families, had largely been eliminated. Rumors, backed up by interrogations of both prisoners and deserters, indicated the great majority of the enemy forces had no desire to be there. But they had to eat, and as long as their officers made sure their enlisted men had something to eat, they stayed loyal to their masters.
Such troops typically lacked initiative and cracked under pressure, but scattered amongst the weak sisters, Scott knew the other side managed to develop or recruit some deadly Special Operations troopers, who fought viciously and with great cunning. And then, there was First Infantry Division…
“How’s the training in Second Squad? You have enough time to get them dialed in for any longer duration operations?” Scott inquired with more than passing curiosity. The unspoken part of the question, evident even to Luke, was ‘how much are you having to carry them, to achieve the lieutenant’s objectives’, Luke thought with a touch of long-buried mirth.
“They’re good,” Luke replied neutrally. “Corporal Castillo and Silcott are solid junior NCOs, and Castillo is a terror with the SAW. PFC Winstead can dot your eye with her Winchester Model 70 at four hundred yards, and even further with her .338. On top of them, I’ve got several young but experienced PFCs, who just need a little seasoning to make them real monsters in the dark.”
“That’s good,” Scott replied, giving Luke a serious look. “I’ve been tasked with figuring out how the bad guys are getting better at the unconventional warfighting. To date, that’s been one of our strengths, but if the Commies are sending some of their better recruits out for advanced training, we need to know. Maybe figure out a way to disrupt their plans.”
“Tasked by who?”
“General Hotchkins, for one,” Scott said. “Though I got my marching orders from Colonel Thompson.”
“Well, we’re on tap for a mission tonight, if you want to tag along,” Luke offered.
“How long you planning to be out?”
“We were looking at staying loose for a week,” Luke admitted. “You are lucky you caught us here, in fact. We usually only come back to crash for a day or two, replenish our stocks, and get a decent night’s sleep. Unless we grab some actionable intel, then we haul it over to the LT and deliver it up.”
As Scott stood mulling over the offer, a weather-beaten man in his late twenties broke away from a conversation by the back stall and slowly ambled their way. He was slender, with dirty-blonde hair cut short and winter-blue eyes. The man moved casually, but Scott knew the walk of a man who was aware of the world around him.
Luke, without turning, seemed to sense the presence approaching and spoke over his shoulder without checking to see.
“LT, this is my old friend, Scott Keller. Scott, this is Lieutenant Fisher.”
“Major Keller, it is an honor,” Fisher said, and Luke felt his face redden when he realized he’d missed that part, but a second glance revealed no insignia.
“Major?”
“Don’t worry about it. The General thought I needed rank, so I could overawe the troops coming to me for their training. But come on,” Scott continued with good humor, “he makes me a major? Worse rank in the Marines, or Army. Heck, I didn’t even know what a major did, back when I was a green jarhead.”
“Sir,” Luke said respectfully while he examined Keller’s uniform blouse. “I’m still not sure what it means.”
“Your eyes aren’t playing tricks. I don’t wear the oak leaf. I’m not in your chain of command, and I don’t have anybody who reports to me. Except maybe Sarah, and usually it’s her telling me what to do.”
“Sarah? Sarah Trimble? She’s working with you now on the training?” Luke replied in amazement, thrown off stride and ignoring his officer for the moment.
“Man, we call her Sarah Connor behind her back,” Scott replied with a snicker. “She’s come a long way since you saw her last. Healed, but gotten harder too, like all of us have.”
“That’s good,” Luke responded, then added, “That she’s doing better, I mean. How’s Bella doing?”
“Good, too. Growing up too fast, not that there’s much I can do about it. Missing me when I’m gone like this, but since most of the work I’ve been doing is close to home, I get to see her fairly often.”
Seeing the two men exchanging pleasantries like it was old-home-week made Lieutenant Fisher’s job that much easier, and he felt the pressure to execute his new orders. Fisher cleared his throat.
“Luke, Major Keller, I just got a request from my captain. He needs to see the two of you over at the CP.”
“Both of us?” Keller asked, his curiosity pricked.
“Yes, sir.
“Any hints, Lieutenant?” Keller asked, his curiosity piqued.
“Well…” Lieutenant Fisher said with a long drawl while he looked around, looking to see who might be near. Luke didn’t like it, and Major Keller felt something crawl up his spine. Despite all the nice cooperative words and good feelings amongst what both Luke and Major Keller still referred to as Higher Command, the various state National Guard and Regular Army units weren’t actually tied back into a central authority.
Heck, Keller realized, their respective National Guard organizations currently operated without a state governor or an adjutant general. They had President Dandridge, of course, as their acknowledged commander-in-chief, but from there, the chain of command got a little murky. Even General Hotchkins’ rank, brigadier general, was a brevet rank, but when men insisted he succeed General Tomzerak, Hotchkins knew he couldn’t turn them down.
All of that was moot at the moment, though, as Major Keller thought about the orders.
“If this is some effort to shanghai me,” Keller stated plainly, “somebody is going to truly regret it. I mean that sincerely, Lieutenant. I’m here under orders from Colonel Ian Thompson, Arkansas National Guard, and he will be very disappointed if I end up disappeared. Think very carefully about the next thing you say.”
Lieutenant Fisher, his nerves rubbed raw and running on only a few hours of sleep for weeks on end, felt his temper rise. How dare this jumped up…then he took a moment to regard the glacial stare of the older, and yes, higher-ranking officer, and realized Keller wasn’t threatening some administrative punishment.
He’d heard the stories about the Kellers. In their area of northeastern Arkansas, the family wielded considerable clout in this new world. Economically and militarily. Nick Keller commanded what amounted to a company of household troops, utterly loyal to his father, D
arwin. Others in the Keller family occupied various regional positions, and Darwin Keller was odds-on favorite to end up being the next governor. How this man fit in the mix, Fisher didn’t know, but there was something dangerous and feral about Scott Keller. This was a man who extracted payment for transactions in blood.
“No, sir,” Fisher finally replied. “I just got word from Captain Jefferson to get word to you and Sergeant Messner. He said the two of you were requested for a meeting taking place out of town. He didn’t give details, but I’m sure he can give you the rundown. I do know that Captain Jefferson mentioned General Hotchkins specifically, sir.” Turning to his young subordinate, he continued.
“Messner, if you need any gear back in the barracks, now might be a good time to gather it up. Five minutes,” Lieutenant Fisher ordered, and Luke knew he was more than a little pissed by Keller’s reaction, but he simply gave a mental shrug.
“On it, sir,” Luke replied, and bolted back for the corner claimed by his squad.
“How’s he doing, Lieutenant?” Keller asked, and the earlier edge was gone from his voice.
“Outstanding, sir. I understand his father and grandfather had a hand in training that young man, but he seems to pick things up very quickly, and he is single-minded in his determination to fight the Commies.”
Keller nodded slightly before responding.
“He has some skills. I’m surprised, though. I didn’t peg him necessarily as a leader of men. His talents seem to lie elsewhere.”
“Where is that, sir?”
“I worked with him some, when he was a guest of my brother, and yes, he already had some training from his father. Young Luke, frankly, seems uniquely skilled at killing people and breaking things, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir. And he’s surrounded himself with a squad of like-minded individuals.”
“Not surprised by that,” Keller noted with a chuckle. “Now, let’s go see what your captain, and my general want.”
CHAPTER 49
Luke had done many things in his short life but flying in a helicopter had not been one of them. Until now. After forty-five minutes in the air, Luke arrived at the realization that anyone who would choose to ride along in such a contraption for fun, needed their head examined.
“Isn’t this great?!” Scott Keller, forty-six-year-old man-child, shouted with glee. He was seated at the edge of the seat, shoulder harness the only thing apparently holding him in the same general vicinity of the venerable UH-1 “Huey” helicopter, while he gripped the handles of the outward facing .50 caliber machine gun. Luke, in contrast, tried to tighten the seat belt yet again while the pilot maintained a low-level flight path, following the contours of the earth. Luke paid particular attention to when the pilot popped up for power lines and the occasional highway overpass, then dipped back down lower once again.
“So, you used to work on these things?” Luke called back.
“Well, I worked on them some, but the Blackhawks were really my babies,” Scott admitted. “These Hueys date from the early days in Vietnam, and I’ll bet this bird didn’t have a ton of electronics to get fried in the magnetic storm. Relax, Luke, this is cake!”
The age and condition of the helicopter didn’t help the young man’s nerves. Despite assurances from both Lieutenant Fisher and Captain Jefferson about the suitability of the old air frame, Luke realized this bird probably rolled down the assembly line before Scott was born. As for the electronics, well, Luke could see three exposed breaker boxes that belied Scott’s claim. Somebody may have gone back and pulled the electronics, but that didn’t mean the helicopter was all that safe.
If not for the cryptic nature of the message passed on by Captain Jefferson, Luke would have just as soon passed on the opportunity. He’d flown plenty of times over the years, following his father from one assignment to the next, but always in the nice enclosed cabin of an airplane. With pretty flight attendants and a beverage cart, not strapped into an antique with an engine that throbbed ominously. When it wasn’t screaming outrage as the pilot sent the craft plummeting to earth, that is.
“The General sent a coded message,” Captain Jefferson explained with a huff. “We are still having to use the damned codes or risk the NSA renegades reading our mail.”
Like the military and even certain remnant state governments, Luke had belatedly learned the two sides in the evolving civil war began picking up supporters from the first days of the pulse. Where Fort Polk and certain other organizations quickly aligned themselves with what was becoming the Allied States, the Director of Homeland Security used little known Continuity of Government plans to enlist aid as well. Bemusedly, Luke hadn’t even heard of the existence of the Allied States until a few months ago, but he’d apparently been present for some of the earliest negotiations, when Arkansas and Oklahoma decided to share resources.
After Speaker Dandridge, now President Dandridge, gained his freedom, this ongoing struggle for support began to yield increased dividends. Some even began to speak of the United States, as if it was once again a real thing. Luke had seen enough, and done enough, to reserve judgment for the time being. He believed in what the Allied States fought for, and that was enough for him.
“And what does the General want from this old Marine, Captain?”
Jefferson broke into an unexpected grin at the question.
“Semper Fi, Marine,” Jefferson said. “I knew you were prior service, Major, but I should have known. You retire from the Corps?”
“Ha! I was just a lowly enlisted puke when I left the Corps, Captain. No, I’ve been working as a Game Warden these last few decades. That’s one of the reasons General Hotchkins tapped me for the trainer gig.”
“Don’t let him fool you, sir,” Luke intoned solemnly. “Major Keller is a ninja in the field. I learned more from him in a week, than I picked up from my father in years of training, and Sam Messner was a proud graduate of the Marine Corps Scout/Sniper School.”
“Duly noted, Sergeant, and high praise. As I told Luke before, I had the privilege of serving with his father a long time ago, and Sam is a wily one. Anyway,” Captain Jefferson continued, changing gears, “your General wants you and Luke on transport ASAP for a new staging area. Something is going on, but nobody is bothering to tell us lowly grunts in the field what they have in store for us.”
“Oh, man,” Luke murmured, “not another truck ride in the dark.”
“Where are we going?” Major Keller asked, and the captain mustered an amused smile.
“Northwest Arkansas Regional Airport,” Captain Jefferson replied, “and who said anything about a truck?”
Joplin Regional Airport was a no-go, way too close to Commie-held territory, but Neosho’s Freeman Hospital had a Life Flight heliport, and the two men were in a truck headed there in ten minutes. They’d still arrived before the helicopter, and Luke had a ring-side seat when the Huey, still decked out in Missouri National Guard colors, came buzzing into view.
“Seems kinda low, doesn’t he?” Luke commented with a lump in his throat. He wasn’t scared, damn it. He’d faced death so many times since the lights went out, the ever-present sense of dread finally disappeared. Now though, the thought of boarding this beast made Luke aware of something dark uncoiling in the pit of his stomach.
“Ever been up in one?” Scott asked casually.
“Still seventeen here,” Luke reminded. “I’ve been on a plane several times, though. Same difference, right?”
“Right.”
Scott’s insincere response made Luke wonder what he’d agreed to this time. Well, agree was a loose term, since he was now acting under orders. Honestly, since Lieutenant Fisher made him the scout squad’s sergeant, it’d seemed more like his CO gave him objectives and recommended timelines, while leaving the ‘orders’ part up to Luke.
And now, they were on an antiquated Huey, buzzing toward a mysterious meeting. Luke didn’t care for the cloak-and-dagger, but he had a disquieting sense this little bit of downtime in the
old helicopter, might be the last he would see for a while, so he decided to use it.
He let some of the thoughts buried away out of their compartments, allowing some emotion to leak out as he thought about Amy, and his sister, and his father. Of all the people who’d told him this was a foolhardy risk, those three, for their own reasons, seemed to take the news of his plans surprisingly well.
His love, Amy, was both the easiest and hardest to convince.
After the funeral, Luke and his father spent nearly a month, searching fruitlessly for the team of drone operators responsible for Claire Messner’s murder. Luke’s birthday, and Christmas, passed without notice, and New Year’s Day was lost while the search continued.
Along the way, they’d killed a lot of people in that time, rooting out the nests of raiders and opportunists occupying properties in the area. They’d left the neighbors be for the most part, asking questions but mainly respecting the ones who simply wished to remain undisturbed. This was no time to start a war with their own people, David Metcalf advised, and the Messners, father and son, grudgingly agreed.
But for those who took, the home invaders who overran homesteads and set up shop in the rubble, they’d offered little mercy. No, they spared the women and children, as long as they didn’t take up arms, but otherwise, the two men and their rotating crew of fighters, managed, almost by accident, to clear out the worst elements still festering in their vicinity.
Since the Predator drone only had about twenty miles of range without the satellite linkups, and was using the elevated boom tower of a dedicated command truck, the duo spent time checking every potential spot in the surrounding countryside. Sam and Luke had known the truck was likely long gone, but they’d wanted, needed, a lead on the killers.
The father and son left a trail of death and destruction in their wake, but for weeks, they’d found no leads for even locating the site used by the assassins. As the days wore on, Sam became more taciturn and withdrawn, while the fury in Luke only continued to grow.
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