Midnight Skills

by William Allen

  Luke finished first, flopping back down on the cold ground, but protected by the square of rugged plastic. He peered into his scope again, tracing the terrain features in his area of responsibility once more, but he detected no change. Off to one side, just outside the fence, Luke made out a long, flat expanse of snow-drift-covered ground, a quarter mile wide and running into the distance in both directions. That must be the railroad tracks, Luke reasoned, and he traced where the spur track led into and through the two rows of elevators. That route was now fenced off, but Luke imagined a train engine would have little trouble bulling through even the thickest chain-link. Of course, the point where those tracks converged with the fence would also feature gates to allow that entry.

  Panning with his scope once again, Luke found what he sought with ease. What Bishop and his scouts identified as the barracks buildings were a pair of prefabricated single-story structures that resembled mobile homes. Built in modular sections, these pieces fit together at visible seams and while he scrutinized one section, and on the larger of the two buildings, Luke thought he could see a pink tracery of fiberglass insulation, poking out where the seams had been sealed incorrectly. Shoddy work, but still better than sleeping outside.

  Hunkered down as he was, Luke could no longer make out the smaller of the two buildings, shielded by its longer mate. Housing what Captain Bishop noted as the officer’s quarters, Luke imagined Captain Brass and whatever other Commie leadership controlled this facility, had much better accommodations than the peons serving under them. That seemed to be a centerpiece of the Recovery Committee’s guiding principles. The ruling class claimed all the best spoils, and the rest made do with crumbs. Luke once again, said a silent prayer that Brady and April’s mother still lived. He could envision a hundred different scenarios where the woman perished, and for some reason, that outcome seemed unacceptable.

  They waited quietly, ears tuned to the sound of gunfire, but either the wind carried away the sound of the shots or the rest of the platoon, with Bishop’s force swelling the numbers to over forty combined, managed to take the Commie guards with a minimum of bloodshed. In the background, they still heard the booms of a sporadic artillery barrage. Finally, just before sunup, they all heard the message broadcast over their encrypted network.

  “Stage Three, objectives complete.”

  The voice belonged to Major Keller, and Stage Three meant the entire complex was now in their hands. Despite the good news, Luke could tell the major wasn’t happy. A few seconds later, Keller spoke again over the radio, and Luke felt his blood freeze.

  “Sergeant Messner, please report to Building Delta.”

  From the diagrams. Luke knew Building Delta was the officer’s quarters. A sinking feeling began to gather in his gut as he silently stood and began folding the tarp. He moved smoothly, ignoring the cold wind as his gloved fingers gathered in the plastic, but his mind was full of static.

  CHAPTER 63

  David said nothing while he followed Luke’s movements, but when Angel began to copy their actions, David held up a hand and said something Luke couldn’t hear. Whatever was said, Angel stayed on his rifle when David followed Luke down the snowfield to the cluster of buildings in the center of the grain elevator complex. Luke avoided the cleared path, his boots cracking through the frozen crust and sinking ankle-deep into the packed snow beneath.

  When the duo neared the edge of the tin-covered barn housing the power plant, Luke could hear the rhythmic throb of the generators over the hiss of the wind. As if on cue, a gray-smocked form stepped out from the shadow of the tall building and waved one gloved hand, the other holding the pistol grip of a stubby submachine gun at low ready. An MP-5, Luke thought with numb recognition, his memory filling in the blanks. Despite the clear, plastic goggles, Luke recognized the man as one of Bishop’s soldiers. Master Sergeant Garza.

  “What’s the story?” Luke asked, leaning slightly to bring his head closer to the shorter man’s ear.

  “Dunno,” the other man said with a shrug. “We cleared the barracks as planned. Took out the firewatch, and they never heard us coming. Had their weapons stowed in the armory. Then we moved on the officer’s quarters and all hell broke loose. I wasn’t there, but you heard the Major.”

  “Yeah, I heard,” Luke replied, the feeling of dread continuing to grow in his gut. “You our escort?”

  “Captain sent me to get you, not him,” Garza said, glancing at David, his voice all business now.

  “Sorry, but he’s my babysitter,” Luke responded, his tone anything but apologetic. The idea hadn’t escaped Luke this might be a double-cross by Captain Bishop, aimed at claiming the grain stores for his own faction. If so, then his father and the rest of his squad were likely already dead. That thought made the pain in his stomach jolt up a notch, and Luke wondered if he was already developing an ulcer.

  Garza made no comment but he turned and led the way past first the power plant and then a small fuel dump, before cutting right and heading toward what Luke knew to be Building Delta. Luke’s gloved fingers traced over the butt of his holstered pistol while his mind churned with all the doubts and fears he’d been suppressing for months.

  Inside, Luke followed Garza through a short but narrow hallway, and into a dimly-lit antechamber where they found signs of a short but fierce firefight. The room had been some kind of kitchenette at one time, Luke noted, with two refrigerators against the far wall and several cases of sodas still stacked in one corner. A rectangular table, littered with paper plates, stood surrounded by six chairs, several of them tipped over, and appeared to have been pushed from the center of the room. Empty shell casings rolled underfoot and a few rows of holes punched into the sheetrock at head level gave proof of the recent struggle, and Luke couldn’t miss the smears of blood marring the linoleum floor.

  “We lose anybody?” Luke asked, giving words to one of his other fears.

  “Three wounded,” Garza replied with a grunt. “Two pretty bad, but between your medics and ours, I think they’ll make it. Got them in the infirmary just down the hall. Other one is just a flesh wound, patched up and already back to work.”

  “So, they knew you were coming,” David observed, finally joining the conversation.

  “Don’t know,” Garza admitted. “Doubt it, though. Or we’d have faced stronger resistance. Was just the one shooter, and he was only carrying a sidearm. Got off a few shots before Pulaski burned him down.”

  Glancing again at the signs of struggle, Luke silently agreed with the Special Forces sergeant. When Luke nodded, the other man continued speaking while he led the pair of Texans down the hall.

  “I suspect it was just bad luck one of the officers was still up, instead of in his rack. I was in the back of the stack when we breached, and by the time I rounded the inner door and the smoke cleared, the officer was down and my guys were still breathing, so we proceeded into the other rooms. Got a little confusing when these jackasses had bedwarmers, but we’ve gotten pretty good telling the wolves from the sheep.”

  “So why am I here?” Luke asked, and his eyes made out the shapes of Major Keller and Captain Bishop standing in the hall near the back of the prefabbed building. Overhearing Luke’s question, Major Keller answered, sparing Master Sergeant Garza the trouble.

  “Because the woman chained up in this room somehow managed to take your father hostage. I thought you might be able to negotiate his release without further bloodshed,” Scott Keller said, and his bloodshot eyes seemed to tell another story entirely.

  “You think Sarah could talk her down?”

  “Maybe,” Major Keller replied softly, “but she’s in the other elevator complex, riding herd on the prisoners we liberated there. Needed a woman with her skills. Just like we need someone here with your skills.”

  “I understand,” Luke said, and he did.

  Luke read the look in a split second, and he knew the major was hoping Luke, with his freakishly fast reflexes, might be able to save his father. He also
knew Keller would not dare allow anyone else the opportunity. If Luke failed, then his father died. If someone else tried to save the elder Messner and screwed up the job, then Luke might, in all likelihood, kill that person as well.

  Giving the major an encouraging slap on the shoulder, and bestowing a quelling look in Captain Bishop’s direction, Luke stepped up to the doorway to survey the scene within. With the other doors in the hallway closed, presumably already cleared, Luke hadn’t had an opportunity yet to check out the accommodations. Luke risked a quick peek to orient himself before stepping inside.

  That rapid glance confirmed his father’s presence, along with the vague outline of another person standing directly behind him, exposing only the wrist and a hand holding a knife dangerously close to his father’s throat. Sam Messner stood with his hands atop his head, fingers interlaced. His father’s weapons formed a small pile in front of the tall man, and Luke thought he saw his father’s pride laying there on the floor as well.

  Drawing a calming breath, Luke called out in a steady voice.

  “Well, you got him, now what you planning to do?”

  The long pause that followed made Luke wonder if he’d made a mistake, but the eventual response made a hard smile crease his lips. Major Keller misread that smile and gave a slight shiver. He thought he knew this young man, but he started experiencing his own doubts when he realized how much the intervening months may have changed Luke’s nature. Would he simply kill both of them and go about his business?

  “I just want my kids back, and a clear path out of here,” the woman had said. Bingo.

  Luke responded to the words by stepping around the door jamb and entering the woman’s line of sight for the first time. He kept his hands up, around chest level, and far from his visible weapons.

  “Ma’am, I want the same thing. What’s your name?”

  “You don’t need to know that,” the woman replied testily, and Luke saw the woman’s head lower an inch as she peeked at him under his father’s raised left arm.

  “If you want your kids, I need to know which ones to bring over, don’t I?”

  The silence that followed told Luke she was rapidly running through her limited options. Rather than allowing this situation to spiral out of control, Luke decided to take a chance.

  “Ma’am, I think you did what you did out of fear,” Luke said calmly. “Not for yourself, but for your children. You had that knife, probably planned on using it on Brass the next time he threatened Brady or April, and you reacted when this attack came. So when the shooting started, you thought it was some other bandit group, right? Raiding the grain stores while Chambers and his henchmen were otherwise occupied. Am I correct?”

  “How did you know?” the hoarse cry made the words almost unintelligible, but Luke understood enough. “How do you know those names?”

  “You’re Staff Sergeant Pfahl, aren’t you? Suellen Pfahl? I just spent some time talking to Brady this morning, and he told me some of what happened.”

  “Is he okay? Are they okay?”

  “He’s skinny as a rail, but he’s alive,” Luke confirmed. “So is April. I don’t know what’s wrong there, ma’am, but she didn’t say anything. Nothing we did,” Luke hastened to add, “but she just doesn’t talk.”

  Luke watched the knife at his father’s neck waver, then withdraw, but Luke said nothing. She might have temporarily removed the threat, but a stab to the kidneys would leave his father just as dead as a severed carotid artery.

  “I never thought anyone would ever come,” the woman said, and now Luke could hear the tears in her voice. “Chad was in Portland when the pulse hit, and I tried to get the kids out of town to my parent’s place, but FEMA already had the roadblocks up by the second day. We ended up in that camp, and then the Security Forces came for us. All the veterans.”

  “Brady told me part of the story,” Luke replied in a soothing tone, trying to help hold the woman together.

  “Why? Why did he talk to you?”

  “Ma’am, we’re with the Constitutionalist Army,” Luke explained, using the term he’d overheard the Commies mention a few times in the past, “working for the legitimate government under President Dandridge. Our forces are fighting right now all over the city, trying to tear down this tinpot dictator and his stooges.”

  “Oh my God,” Suellen cried, suddenly overcome with emotion. Luke couldn’t exactly see the woman, except for a flash of bare arm or leg, but he got the impression she was bent over, sobbing.

  He was so close to pulling this together for the win when Bishop stepped around with his pistol raised, Luke didn’t even think before he acted. With his hands already up, Luke had a grip around Bishop’s wrist in an eyeblink, forcing the muzzle to the ceiling.

  “What the hell?” Captain Bishop managed to gasp before Luke cut his eyes to the man, the sudden rage flaring through his veins like a flashfire igniting. Bishop took an involuntary step back and Luke kept his gaze fixed on the officer before he growled.

  “That’s my father in there, asshole.”

  “We don’t have time for this nonsense,” Bishop retorted, finally wrestling his gun hand free from the younger man’s grasp. “She’s the one you need to worry about.”

  “The problem has been dealt with, Captain,” Luke said slowly, stressing the man’s rank, and struggling to regain control of his anger. “Staff Sergeant Pfahl has been apprised of the situation. She just wants to be with her kids. Now step the fuck off and let me handle this.”

  “We’re good, Captain,” Sam Messner added, stepping away from his captor without reservation. He’d managed to follow the gist of the conversation, and he was frankly surprised by his son’s reaction to the situation. He hadn’t wanted to hurt the poor woman, after all. That’d been his mistake, if anything.

  Bishop, finally sensing his presence was unneeded, simply spun on his heel and holstered his pistol without another word, storming down the hall.

  He never noticed David copying the move, replacing his pistol in the drop leg holster, but Master Sergeant Garza did and bit back a chuckle. He didn’t know Luke Messner, or his father, but the respect their men had for them spoke volumes. Maybe he’d head down to Texas once their current mess was handled.

  “I miss Captain Marino,” Luke said with a sigh, and Garza’s ears perked up.

  “You men know the Captain?” Garza couldn’t help but ask, looking at David. The way he’d said ‘the Captain’ spoke volumes to the men listening. David pointed into the room, gesturing at Luke. The teenager was occupied helping his father replace his weapons, while speaking softly to the still sobbing woman.

  “Our boy there was with him when Captain Marino’s team captured Congressman McCorkle,” David said with a grin. “Helped patch up a couple of your men wounded in the fight too. Take my advice, Sergeant. Sam Messner is a good man to have in your corner, and his son Luke is cut from the same cloth. Except, Luke there is also the worst enemy you could ever make if you double-cross him.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Garza asked.

  “This whole operation, working with you guys to seize these grain elevators, is outside what you could normally expect some local militia force to handle. We’re just a collection of old farts,” David admitted with false cheer, “a bunch of prior service pukes, except for the men Luke and the major have contributed, and we’re operating a long way from home. Some folks might think they can use us as disposable troops and then…dispose of us after the deed is done. But that would be a terrible miscalculation, Master Sergeant Garza.”

  Garza just stared at the man for a moment before he could formulate a reply.

  “I don’t know anything about that, sir. In fact, the idea is just about crazy. Our orders are to work with a couple of resistance groups to secure these vital supplies, hold until offensive operations are completed to pacify the city, and transport them to the approved distribution centers.”

  “Yeah,” David agreed. “Some goes to Texas, some to Arkan
sas, and the rest goes to Louisiana. I was there for the briefing. But who watches the watchers, Sergeant? When the Army is busy packing up and returning to base, who will be making sure the supplies go to the proper locations? If it makes any difference, the Messners aren’t taking anything for themselves, except maybe a few weapons that fall off the back of a truck. The Texas shipments are supposed to feed the families of the First Cav trying to root out President-for-Life Chambers, so their families don’t starve to death back home.”

  “So?”

  “So, Sergeant, in case you haven’t noticed, food is not only a new currency, it is also a weapon in the right hands. There’s only so much to go around, and the person who decides who gets to eat and who starves, has a whole lot of power,” David explained, a teacher back in his classroom.

  “I hate this cloak and dagger shit,” Garza finally whispered, and David simply nodded. He’d made his point, after all.

  David paid attention in Wheatland, watching the men who worked with Captain Bishop. Master Sergeant Garza seemed to be on the periphery of the outfit Bishop was running, but David noted how the other men treated him with respect, and he’d had a half-dozen soldiers who listened when the stocky Special Forces soldier spoke up. Must be the rest of Garza’s A-Team, David concluded.

  “Listen, maybe this is nothing. But, well, the edges are getting frayed. Just remember, if shit gets crazy, be aware we aren’t here as hijackers. My people are here doing the right thing, for the right reasons.”

  Garza offered one more bob of the head in acknowledgment before he headed off to follow Captain Bishop on some new assignment. Looking around, David noticed Major Keller was no longer present, and he wondered what could have drawn the man away from the unfolding hostage situation.