Midnight Skills

by William Allen

  A shadow seemed to pass over Amy when she replied, but her expression brightened as she spoke.

  “She’s doing better. Lori and Summer help, and so does Tina. With Angelina gone and Alex still recovering, Sierra and her Dad moved in with us in the House Under the Hill. Tina helps with Alex, and she is working with the horses. Anyway, Tina got Paige out there working a few of the little horses with a lead, walking them in circles.”

  “They’re called colts and fillies,” Luke explained, “and that’s probably good for all of them. Paige loves the horses, and I’m sure Mr. Ike could use the help. How’s Alex doing, really? I got the idea Dad didn’t want to talk about it.”

  “Well, honey, Alex is going to have scars, no matter what Dr. Kamarsky does. We recruited a nurse from town and she had experience working in a burn unit. I think that’s why your father hired her. Anyway, Anne says the scarring won’t be disfiguring, but he’ll carry them for the rest of his life.”

  “He still pissed he couldn’t come with me?” Luke said, and Amy gave him a look of horror. Luke shrugged as he continued, “Well, it’s true. He tried to guilt me into bringing him, but you saw how bad…”

  Amy shook her head and Luke’s words trailed off.

  “Yeah,” she replied. “I didn’t know he wanted to go with you. The captain wouldn’t have taken him though, right?”

  “Not a chance,” Luke said, reassuring her. “The Guard can’t care for their own seriously wounded, so no chance of taking in some recruit with burns like that.”

  “I thought they had access to the best treatment,” Amy threw back, and Luke realized he’d spoken without fully thinking through his words. That’d been one of his arguments for joining the National Guard in the first place.

  “They do, but nothing is up to the pre-pulse standards,” Luke finally admitted, his head down. “Especially for something like burns.”

  “We all worried so much about you when you left us,” Amy blurted out, her face drawn with an expression of old hurt, and new concern. “I couldn’t sleep or eat for days. I thought you had left me behind, so you could…well, I was upset. Then Lori found me, and she got me through the worst of it. She reminded me how much you loved me, and the way you were acting before you left. You worried you might hurt us, hurt me, didn’t you?”

  Luke cleared his throat to buy a bit of time, but he answered honestly. “Yes. I worried. Not that I would do anything on purpose, but when I slept, you saw how I would get. I thought it would be safer for everybody. Especially after that last mission, when we found out our prey was likely long gone.”

  “Bet you feel dumb now, after we got them in Tyler,” Amy said, her tone now a little bit sassy, and Luke managed a real smile. Then he thought about what she’d said.

  “We?”

  “You didn’t think I’d let your dad go by himself, did you? I was his spotter. But that’s not what I want to talk about now, Luke.”

  “So talk about it,” he said simply, but his encouraging smile, another real one and not the bared teeth he’d been showing for months, let Amy know he was pleased with her. Proud, even.

  “This meeting, whatever it is, has me worried. They are planning some kind of mission. Something big.”

  Luke nodded. He’d sensed the same thing. Command didn’t detail off one of their few precious helicopters to pick up some kid for a family reunion.

  “I assumed as much,” Luke replied. “But you’re concerned about something more, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah. It was the way your father described what the general wanted. But it was more, you know? ‘Bring me this monster who scares the stormtroopers’. Is that really you?”

  “Yes,” Luke replied without hesitation. He resolved to share as much, or as little, as she wanted to know. He wouldn’t lie or hide anything from her any more.

  “Why? Why are they so scared of you?”

  “Because I desecrate their bodies. Cut off the heads and make little displays. Just the stormtroopers. Those Homeland assholes run everything over squad level, you know, so I’m not just spreading fear. I’m also taking out their officers.”

  “This is more than just revenge, isn’t it?”

  “Not at first,” Luke admitted. “I just wanted to punish them, and make the others look over their shoulders. Then, I realized this made for a pretty good bit of psychological warfare. And they’d been doing the same kind of shit to ours from the beginning, so I just returned the favor.”

  “So, why did they ask for someone who scares the enemy?”

  “Another mission, I suppose. And a big one, like you’ve guessed. I hope they’ll tell me at this meeting this morning.”

  Amy shivered, and the smile fell off her features when she reached out to grasp Luke’s arm. “I’m really scared, Luke. This feels like more than just another fight. And even if we win, I’m afraid our country will never be the same. There’s been too much killing, too much horror. Just… too much everything.”

  Rather than answer, Luke wrapped Amy in his arms and held tight, his chin resting on her shoulder as he breathed in her wonderful scent. When his words came, they made Amy shiver again when she absorbed the intensity in Luke’s voice.

  “We’ll have our country back someday. We’ve paid too high a cost to do otherwise.”

  Amy nodded, but in her heart, she wondered at what more she, or her new family, would be required to sacrifice. Almost as if she could read his thoughts, Amy gave him a hard squeeze before she spoke again.

  “All that fancy talk is fine, but you watch yourself. Whatever they have in mind for you, Luke, you just promise me you’re coming back. Don’t let them talk you into some suicide mission.”

  “You know me, baby. Head on a swivel. I’ll see what they’ve got planned and talk it over with you and my dad. But if it is just some stupid Grail quest, I’ll be seeing you back at the ranch before you know it.”

  Luke gave her a feral grin when he spoke, and Amy returned it with her own. Sure, he was a soldier now, but he hadn’t forgotten the survivor lessons he’d learned on the road. Lessons he’d paid for with a tuition in blood.

  Luke was no naïve, guileless hero, and his reference to the ‘Holy Grail’ meant more to Amy than it might have to anyone else listening. They’d watched one of Luke’s favorite movies late one evening on his laptop, after all. Knights were noble and pure of heart. And as stupidly inflexible as their mighty swords. Luke was many things, but no one would ever accuse him of being stupid. Rash, maybe, as Amy would insist, but never stupid. He’d proceed, with eyes wide open.

  CHAPTER 54

  Promptly at 0700, a battered school bus rolled up to the side of the building, and a sergeant appeared with a handwritten list of names. Sam Messner and his men found their names on the list, as did Scott Keller and the three men he’d joined the night before. Graduates of Scott’s scout school, as Luke discovered when introduced the prior evening. Only about half the personnel housed in the hanger were included on the cleared list for the meeting, and Amy wasn’t on the list.

  Neither was Luke. At least, he didn’t think so at first.

  Luke began to protest, but the burly sergeant, identified by the flag on his uniform as a member of the Arkansas National Guard, held up a quelling hand before Luke managed to do more than clear his throat.

  “The general has separate orders for you, Sergeant Messner. He wants you to report at 0900 for the second session, but for this morning, he provided me with a chit for you to visit the armory.”

  “Uh, okay? The armory? Any idea what I need to be stocking up for?” Luke asked, and the sergeant laughed before replying.

  “The general was just trying to be funny. He told me to tell you that, first thing. He explained, which anyone with a star on their collar never does,” the sergeant added as an aside, “that you had a special skill when it came to collecting firearms. He figured he’d just skip to the chase and give you the keys.”

  Luke thought about the footlocker full of weapons he’d ca
rted around, then the filled cargo box of a confiscated Homeland SUV he’d ended up filling with guns and ammo. Yeah, General Hotchkins does know me after all, Luke concluded with a sigh.

  “Actually,” the sergeant continued, “he’s set you up to meet with one of the staff intelligence officers. She’s set up in the business office at the hotel we are using. I think Captain Hofstra wants to pick your brain about something.”

  “You must have been with him at Fort Chafee,” Luke observed, “to know the general that well.”

  The sergeant seemed to swell a bit with pride at Luke’s recognition, and gave a nod.

  With a sigh, Luke loaded up with the rest of the crew and sat next to his father while the school bus jerked and shimmied down the service road.

  “You sure everything is okay, Luke? Seems kind of odd.”

  “Probably a babysitter to keep an eye on me while all you grown-ups sit around and discuss the big picture.”

  “Keep your eyes open anyway and trust your instincts,” Sam instructed, and he didn’t look particularly pleased with this unexpected wrinkle.

  “Dad, I’ll be quiet and polite and have a plan to kill everybody as soon as I walk into a room,” Luke replied, getting a sharp smile from his father in response.

  “Just be careful. The resources used to get this kind of meeting organized, especially after the losses absorbed by the Allied States, means this is something big.”

  “Amy said the same thing this morning,” Luke admitted.

  “In case I haven’t said it recently, I really like that young lady of yours. Sweet as she can be, and smart as a whip.”

  “Smarter than me,” Luke agreed with a more than a touch of pride, “but I’ll be sure to keep my head on a swivel.”

  With all of the buildup, the reality seemed anticlimactic when the bus rumbled down the two-lane road for only a few miles before pulling into the parking lot of a four-story chain hotel. The bus parked under the canopy shielding the front door and the men packed on the bus began to shuffle off. Luke swung his detached day pack kit over one shoulder and slung the suppressed M4 carbine over the other, following his father off the bus and into the crowd outside. He saw Mike adjusting the pistol holstered at his hip and noticed several of the other attendees also exhibiting nervous ticks, while the group quickly formed up for entry. Luke, aware he was destined for a different meeting, hung back until a young man dressed in an unfamiliar uniform called out his name.

  “Air Force?” Luke asked, eyeing the light blue blouse and dark blue trousers.

  “Yes,” the twenty-something replied crisply, “Airman First Class Ramos, at your service. If you’ll follow me, please?”

  The man was briskly efficient as he conducted Luke away from the main press of people and down a side corridor, leading to a closed office door. Luke absently noted the use of battery-powered lanterns in place of overhead lighting, despite the deep rumble of diesel generators he’d heard outside. Must be using the juice for something else, he decided.

  The escort rapped sharply on the door, before announcing their arrival.

  “Airman First Class Ramos, reporting with Sergeant Messner, ma’am.”

  “Come in,” came the reply through the wooden door, and Ramos ushered Luke in with a nod, before shutting the door as soon as the younger man entered.

  Luke braced for the officer, eyes forward. Again, he found himself relying more on his father’s words regarding treatment of officers, as opposed to the scant formal training he’d absorbed through the Guard. Luke had, long before, come to realize the ‘new’ Texas Army National Guard, as the men in Second Brigade referred to themselves, even the transplanted cadre from the pre-pulse units, paid more attention to results than military courtesies. Looking good on the parade ground didn’t matter as much as being able to put down suppressive fire to break an ambush, or the ability to move quietly in the night and take lives.

  Captain Lisa Hofstra looked more like a college professor than a military officer. She sported black, horn-rimmed glasses, brunette hair braided and clipped up in a tight bun, and the fair, clean-scrubbed features on a woman in her late thirties or early forties. The baggy fatigues looked new and freshly starched, as did the cap laying on the corner of the desk. The slim rectangle centered on the desk really caught Luke attention, though. A laptop, and apparently still operational.

  After the brief introductions were dispensed with, Captain Hofstra jumped right into her interview.

  “Sergeant Messner, I wanted to talk to you about your experiences fighting the Recovery Committee forces in Missouri. Specifically, your use of terror tactics.”

  “Terror tactics, ma’am?”

  “Sergeant, how could you possibly cut the heads off your victims and mount them on stakes?”

  “Oh, that’s easy,” Luke replied, intentionally misunderstanding her question. “You just need to cut the skin away with a really sharp knife, then wedge the back of the blade in deep. See, you are using the thick part of the blade as a fulcrum on the vertebra…”

  “You think this is funny?” Captain Hofstra demanded, her eyes flashing behind the thick lenses of her glasses. Luke wondered if she used to wear contacts before and lost them, or had she gotten those disposable contacts in the mail? No matter. This wasn’t like any intelligence debrief he’d previously encountered, either with then-Colonel Hotchkins or later with Captain Marino. Her angry glare demanded a response, and Luke gave her the straight answer from his perspective, even if it was something she might not want to hear.

  “No, ma’am. I think this is war. War on an existential level. We either win, or this nation will descend into a patchwork of mini-states, dominated by more warlords than you can keep up with. A few lucky states will remain, and the Allied States might hold together, but that’s it.”

  “I’ve heard this, Sergeant,” Captain Hofstra replied, trying not to blink at the young man’s choice of words. “What I’m trying to understand, is how these concerns justify committing atrocities.”

  “Captain,” Luke replied, slipping into lecture mode. “The Recovery Committee has two types of fighters: the professionals and the amateurs. The professionals are what I call the DHS and prior service members or active service, like those who defected from Fort Riley. They have better training, are typically more motivated, and possess better gear. Better than us, usually. Then, there are the volunteers, the ones Chambers and his cronies convince to fight in exchange for the promise to feed their families. They are poorly armed, poorly led, and often get used as cannon fodder. We faced them more than once in human wave attacks following the nuking of Joplin.”

  The captain quirked an eyebrow at Luke’s assessment, but did not disagree with his initial statement. He did catch her flinching when he mentioned what’d happened in southern Missouri.

  “And this is justifies leaving the battlefield littered with severed heads?” she asked, and this time, he heard no challenge in her voice. She’s baiting the hook, Luke realized.

  “We have to degrade their will to fight. I know you’ve seen what they do to our wounded, or any who are stupid enough to surrender. The crucified bodies, and the ones they douse with gasoline and burn alive? They are trying to do the same thing to us, and it just makes us fight harder, ma’am.”

  “That right there is why I question your methods, Sergeant. If it makes our side fight harder, why would you give them the extra push?”

  “Because what we do, what I do, is different, ma’am. They are acting out of brutality. I’m sending a message. Did the reports you’ve no doubt received distinguish who gets this special treatment?”

  The flat expression on Captain Hofstra’s face shifted, and Luke knew he might finally make his point.

  “I only target the professionals, ma’am,” he explained. “What we call the stormtroopers. When we kill any of the volunteers in battle, my men check their bodies for any intel, but we leave them where they lie. No beheadings, no show.”

  Luke paused, taking a breat
h. “And when we can pull it off, we will hit a camp at night and single out the stormtroopers. Nothing sends a message like killing the C.O. and mounting his head on a stake, while leaving the volunteers alive to find it the next morning. Ma’am, we want the volunteers spooked, and we want them to desert. Like I said, they are meat shields for the stormtroopers, but they do soak up the bullets we could put to better use. That’s why I do it, ma’am.”

  “That’s not what we’ve been hearing,” the captain replied. Luke thought he detected a touch of doubt in her voice this time.

  How can he be so cold, she wondered to herself? She’d seen a lot of young men like Luke since this mess all started, since the sun burped, as one wag called it, and enough even before that to give her a nightmare or two of her own. Most acted like barely caged animals, anxious for the next kill. Sergeant Messner, in contrast, seemed almost bored with the conversation. Or maybe clinical, Captain Hofstra silently amended.

  “I can’t help that, ma’am. I file after-action reports with Lieutenant Fisher after every mission, and that includes when and where we’ve engaged in our psychological warfare operations.”

  “You consider what you are doing to be PsyOps? And where did you come up with these ideas of yours?”

  “Ma’am, I’ve only completed the tenth grade, but I read a lot before. I also listened when my father talked about missions and how they worked and didn’t work.”

  “What do you mean, tenth grade education? I thought you were attending college in Chicago last year.”

  Luke shook his head, wondering what might have given her that idea. “Ma’am, I was in Chicago, but I only got there the day before the lights went out. I’d won a state science competition and was attending the nationals, with one of my science teachers along as chaperone.”

  “How old are you, Sergeant?” the captain asked carefully, like she dreaded his answer.

  “Seventeen in December, ma’am.”

  Captain Hofstra sat in silence for more than a minute, her eyes blank while her brain spun, processing data. While she was occupied, Luke was making his own calculations. If this was an intel debriefing, it was the weirdest one he’d ever heard about. Was she investigating him for something else? War crimes, maybe? If so, Luke only possessed a limited understanding of the actual Rules of War, but he knew his actions probably violated all kinds of regulations under the Uniformed Code of Military Justice, or UCMJ.