Teador made it clear. "Satellite? I know what a theodolite is, is it like that? And if so, how will that help them find us?"
"No, a satellite is nothing like a theodolite." I explained. "It's not a piece of surveying equipment, it's an orbiting..." (shit, they may not even have that concept) "Look, you guys have been out here a while. You get the concept of space travel?"
"Yes, John, we had science fiction in the twenties, and by the thirties it was big. You mean a man-made moon, like the space station the Germans had planned?" asked Teador, accidently rubbing my face in the fact that just because they had been out of touch didn't mean they were stupid.
"OK, well we've had unmanned remote controlled surveillance platforms of various types in orbit since the 1960's. Some of them are very good indeed. They're looking for me now, and if they're bringing out troops, they're looking for you too. These sats include something called ground penetrating radar. It allows the operator to see caverns and hollows underground. I'm sure you can see the implication." I sighed, "Once they can't find me with thermal or over flights, they're probably going to get the juice to get a ground penetration set overhead, and even if they don't, they'll be able to figure out that we're underground. Then it's just a matter of checking every mine in the area until they find the one we're in. It'll take a while, but they have a while if we try to wait them out."
"This is the real problem...if they are going to open warfare with us, there's only one end game for them...us all dead. If any of us survive, their entire fabric of lies collapses like a house of cards. What they are doing is illegal as Hel. Daniels, or whoever is behind this, can't let anyone live to tell a different narrative. So anyone that stays behind is liable to be picked off either before us, or after they take us if we lose. Now I don't aim to lose, but if we do, staying here isn't going to help, and if they chose to take this place first, well all they have to do is drop the roof. I just wonder if they're going to find this place before we get out of here, or if they're going to intentionally wait until we're on the move. There's a good reason to do that, but there's just as good a reason to take us right here."
"We understand John." said Yoshi. "And we will attempt to talk the rest of the group into this, but what of the injured and disabled?"
"Who's on the binnacle list?"
"Jose, one of the rats is down with a burn, but he should be healed by tomorrow, and that won't stop him from moving anyway. Then there's Bobby, and, of course, Sean." sighed Yoshi.
"Right!" I replied. "About Bobby, can we get him to shut up, without knocking him out? Trying to sneak out of here is going to be impossible with him singing troop songs the whole way."
"Yes, we've needed to keep him quiet before." This from Teador, "If you take away his guitar and hand him a puzzle, he will work on that, and be quiet. But he'll have to be led."
"How bad is Sean?" I muttered.
"Bad, he has no use of his right leg, and he's basically still on a liquid diet, his digestive track is iffy."
"DAMN it. I didn't want that, Teador, you know that."
"Yes, I know that; and yet, it happened."
"OK, so he's a stretcher case, and he's going to have to come along, because he won't be able to care for himself if he's left behind." Well shit..."OK, shall we go out and tell the boys?"
Explaining what was going on to the rest of the guys that were living here was unusual to say the least. Not a one was surprised that the government or a part of it was out to get them and was willing to kill them. It was a shock to me, but I had grown up in a different era. These guys grew up in a time when being a 'Thrope was a death sentence if you were caught. They grew up in a time when the government rounded up and interned one-hundred and twenty thousand people for the sin of having the wrong ancestry, courtesy of executive order 9906. And they grew up in a time when troops just like them, who had been shell-shocked/battle fatigued/PTSD'd were given frontal lobotomies by "a grateful nation" to try to make them "functional". Frontal lobotomies, electroshock therapy and other such ridiculous things were standard practice in the days after World War Two and Korea (and to think that people I know whine about Government overreach for requiring a fishing license). What did surprise them, and took a lot of telling and proving, was that there was another part of the government that wanted to protect them from the first part, and wanted to get them medical care, and the pensions that most of them had earned, as well as clearing them of murder. Some small part of the convincing was the dozen M-4s with ammo, another dozen 1911A1s with ammo, plus four take down Remington 700s with ammo, all with government numbers and stamps.
We issued these out to anyone who was sure they could still use them. A few guys were happier staying with tooth and claw, and there were a couple guys that "Didn't want anything to do with a gun ever again, for any reason, thank you very much; and if they kill me, they kill me, but I'm never taking another human life as long as I live, so help me God." Hey, I understand, I've been through some of the same sorts of Hel that these guys had been through, like the night I first went Baresark; but I had never been in it for as long as some of these guys, nor under the conditions they experienced. If those experiences made them swear off violence except to prey animals, well, that was their call. There were only two guys that felt that way, anyway, it's not exactly a 'Thrope sort of attitude. What upset me was that those two also refused to leave "the camp". I could not, COULD NOT! convince them that this place was going to be found, and that the guys that were looking for it would be more than willing to kill them in their sleep, for ideological reasons, or just for the fuck of it. One of the guys had been a Green Beret Medic in 'Nam, he was the were-pig, the other was George Rivers, the old Lakota Sioux. I suppose I should mention the medic's name, Paul Long. He made the choice for ideological reasons, 'Nam wasn't a pretty war, and I guess Paul saw way more ugly than most. His was the "I'm never taking another human life as long as I live" comment. George was more philosophical about it.
"I've lived a good long time, outlived my friends, my family, my culture, and my time. What they call Indian culture when they sent me away, wasn't the Indian culture I knew, it's all full of poor me, I'm a victim...fuck that! That's for digger Indians, not the Lakota." "John." he told me "Take these, my people home, if you can, or die with them if you can't. As for me, here I am and shall remain. If they come for me, I shall sing my song, and I shall have one last run. We shall see if I can make such an end as even our enemies shall remember my name and speak of me by their fires at night. I have lived, and run away long enough."
Well what do you say to that? Hel, what can you say to that? Lars had taught me that every man had the right to choose his own last battle, if the gods allowed. It looked that George had chosen his. I asked if he wanted me to leave him a rifle.
"No," he said "we still have a few here, that we had kept for me and others that don't have a good hunting form. I can form owl, and otter, but at normal size for those little brothers. One can't exactly hunt for this crew with that. We have a few old Garands and some ammo...I'll be fine," then he gave me a small smile; "but they may not be. I think that I shall go and look around at night. They will not harm Paul, as long as I can stop them."
So the next morning we started out. We could have left the night before, but why give the thermal cameras more of a shot at us? In the daytime they probably wouldn't use FLIR, and that's good, because we would stick out like a wart on a pretty girl's nose. I figured with this crowd's speed and skill, and moving to avoid surveillance, it was going to take three days to get out to where Pete and the cavalry where waiting. I figured the last day was going to be the highest risk. Sadly, I was right.
Our marching order was three wolves out ahead in full animal form, and about a half a mile or so separating them from the main body. They were supposed to scout ahead along our direction of march, and come back every half an hour or so to report and check directions. I was leading the main party, then the bear and Amos, Cadillac, Jose and the other rats, two w
olves carrying Sean on a litter, then the rest of the wolves, the cougar, the weasel, with Teador in the back and then Yoshi back a half mile or so sweeping the rear. Most of us were either in man/beast form (those that could) or full human, this so we could carry the packs and guns.
Turns out Cadillac was a sniper so he got one of the 700s, as did Teador, the weasel (Mark) and a wolf. Amos, unsurprisingly, took just a pistol, as did the guys carrying the litter and a few of the old timers that didn't know what to think of an M-4 carbine. Yoshi was not one of those, he seemed to take to modern weapons quite well. We didn't make great time, for 'Thropes, but for the terrain we were in, we were still making faster than normal human troops, and damn near as fast as human troops on the level. We didn't really stop from sun-up till sundown, which was only about eight hours. We did continue after dark for a while, but not too long, because we would start showing up like neon signs on anyone's I/R. So a bit after dark we found places as sheltered from overhead as we could get, had a cold camp, crawled in our fart sacks and shut down, with two watches revolving through the night. In the first two days, we didn't have a single flyover, though we heard aircraft near by a few times, we seemed to be lucky.
All that came to a screaming halt on the third day.
My nav gear had us still twelve hours out of where we expected pickup when we had stopped for the night, and it was still damn cold at night, so we had to stop, both for tactical reasons, and because lycanthropy doesn't keep you from hypothermia and frostbite. We had been living out of our packs, instead of hunting, for the whole run, and I guess that must have gotten old to a couple of wolves (the two that had been carrying Sean, and had been his best buds when I had shown up) because they decided to go out on a pre-dawn hunting trip. Fortunately for us, they had shifted to do it.
The first clue I had that shit was going south was waking to the watch speaking my name very quietly. (Look you, something to remember, if you have to be quiet to survive. A softly spoken word doesn't carry as far as a whisper. If you don't believe me, try it some time.) So the watch calls my name, and Teador's and Yoshi's. If you have lived the sort of life we all had, that was enough to wake you, and if you're in the field it wakes you ready to fight.
"What's wrong?" I asked as I bailed out of my bag.
"Matt and Sam went out on a little hunting party, about twenty mikes ago. I just heard Matt's 'trouble' howl." says Mike, another of the wolves, and the sentry on watch.
"OK, we'll worry about why they went, and who told them they could go, or why you did not stop them, later. Right now, we need to know what trouble caused Matthew to sound the alarm." muttered Teador.
Yoshi came in right on the end of Teador's words, not quite cutting him off. "Oh my, how did this happen? Gentlemen, we are surrounded, they sit about two miles out, and seem to wait for something."
"Well, I don't think we want to be all gathered together, when whatever they're waiting for gets here. Teador, our extraction point is forty-five miles northeast on a bearing of about 025. I recommend we form a skirmish line on a 295-115 degree axis, and see if we can either force a hole if necessary, or sneak by if possible and break contact." I suggested.
It took no time at all to get up, break camp, have one of the wolves give the howl that meant "Recall, get your ass back here, we're moving out, catch up." and form a line. We left Sean, and two wolves to carry him, behind the line along with Bobby and his keeper, and had the rest of the troops spread out in a loose line abreast looking for a way through the circle, and advanced. It took about 20 minutes to advance to contact, because we were moving careful and quiet, and as I mentioned, the terrain sucked. We were in old growth and second forest, what hunters call "black timber". The trees are about three to five feet apart and about four to six feet in diameter, with fairly thick underbrush, a mix of salal and blackberry bushes, with two man rocks (that's a rock that weighs as much as two men) everywhere. All of this covered in a foot or so of packed snow, with more falling intermittently. Visibility at high noon might have been twenty to thirty feet.
All our careful and quiet was worthless. They opened fire when we were about a hundred yards out. No one was hit in the first burst, but they were using I/R or something because there was no doubt they knew we were there. What they weren't doing was anything like standard Law Enforcement protocol. No announce and call, no none of that stuff, this was strictly combat engagement stuff. That made it easier, if I didn't have to worry about shooting another cop, I was a lot freer in my responses.
I noticed another thing too. I had stayed near a couple of the guys that were the worst off PTSD wise, they were good now. What was screwy out of combat didn't affect their performance IN combat at all. This was a damn good thing, 'cause we were going to need every single guy we had. Bobby sadly was still combat ineffective, but you can't have everything.
It was still at least an hour before first light, so we should have had the advantage. I needed to see how they were spotting us. After the initial burst, the enemy had lightened their fire to just a couple shots a minute, basically recon by fire. What they were shooting at, I have no clue, because we weren't making any noise, and if they could have seen us clearly, they would have hit someone by now (not that I'm complaining). I started moving down the line, looking for Yoshi, and that seemed to attract fire. This wasn't an entirely bad thing, because every time one of these guys opened up, I got a look at where he was, by muzzle flash.
Eventually, I found Yoshi, he was next to Teador, and they were having a pow-wow, so I crawled up to join. "Gentlemen" I said "I make it about twenty guys in front of us, maybe a few more if not everyone is shooting. Those match your count?"
Yoshi replied "You are close, John, there are twenty-five in front of us, with roughly the same number on each flank, slowly moving in and thirty behind us, also slowly moving up."
"How do you do that?" I asked.
"John, it is part of what I am, as baresark is part of what you are. But I must actively pay attention to it to be aware."
"Oh! Can you localize?"
"Yes."
"Well then, let us drop our gear, and go see if we can capture one of these guys."
"Teador, would that be all right with you?" asked Yoshi.
"I have no better plan, if you are both willing."
While we had been chatting we were hearing several rounds going over our heads, they certainly seemed to know roughly where we were, and that there was more than one of us. Yoshi and I dropped our gear except for weapons and started to creep up towards the enemy lines. Just as we were leaving, the two guys that had found the bad guys rejoined us, and were in earnest discussion with Teador.
I'm quiet in the woods. Hel, I was pretty good in the woods before I got scratched up, now, well I figured I was among the best in the world. That is until I heard (or, rather, didn't hear) Yoshi. I'm not completely clear on what a Kitsune is exactly, and some work with my google-fu left me knowing not much more than I had known before, there just isn't much on them. You can find out more on the inner workings of the Yakuza than you can about the Kitsune. Dwell on that for a second. The Yakuza are a secret criminal society in Japan, outlaw as Hel, in a fanatically law-abiding nation, yet there is more information available on their inner workings than on a legal, though rare import from Fay. I had been in the woods with Yoshi before, but apparently, he hadn't really been trying to be quiet then. Ghosts make more noise; Hel, some ghosts are freaking noisy, but you get my point. This guy was a hole in the woods, sound wise. If I hadn't known where to look, I would never have seen him either.
Together, we worked up to the sentry we had singled out. He had attracted my attention by being just a little closer with his misses than most. We hadn't spotted him at first, but we could see his muzzle flashes, and the resultant tweets of rounds were uncomfortably close, so since we wanted to question someone anyway, he got volunteered. As we worked closer, we could figure out their spacing. They were in two mutually supporting lines of overlapping fields of
fire, with about fifteen meters between the lead man and his backup behind him and about twenty meters to the guy on his left and right flank. Not bad planning, for the sort of troops I figured we were facing, in fact, pretty damn good, I may have to re-assess the level of professional training these mutts had. That didn't save this guy, but it was enough to make me nervous. As we got into position I could hear the guy's radio, he was wearing an ear bud and a throat mike, but that didn't matter with my hearing at this range.
"Damn it Fox ten, there's one of them practically on top of you! What do you mean you can't see him? He's so close I can't tell you apart! KILL the motherfucker!"
Well, that shot our plan for a nice quiet confab with a prisoner all to shit. They can track their guys, and somehow they're solidly tracking us. UAV? Satellite track? Magery? I didn't know, and it didn't matter, we were not going to be able to take this guy back and question him, without blowing the fact that we had done so. To put the cherry on top of the sundae we knew they were watching us, but we didn't know how, and didn't know how they were tracking their own guys either.
Well, we hadn't made a fallback plan, because I was too cocky, and I fucked up. So, it was time to go for the ultimate fallback plan. With that thought, I got to a crouch from the low crawl I had been in, and moved as fast as I could to his right rear, sticking the old Gerber Mark II that I had been carrying, more for luck than anything, about two inches above his belt and three inches off center, and scrambled the eggs.
I don't use a knife a lot for field work, unless it's as a cutting or chopping tool for traps, and general camp duties, usually I go to claws. But for a quiet kill, nothing beats a knife. I can't reliably reach a man's kidneys with my claws. Not in one swipe anyway, and guys that do this for a living have known for a very long time, that the fastest, quietest way to kill a sentry is to stick a knife in his kidney and swish it around like you're scrambling eggs. Your target is immediately paralyzed and dead seconds later, NO sound, no muss no fuss. A throat cut usually gets a rattle as the air escapes through the cut brachia. A guy can live for over a minute with his heart punctured. Pitting the base of the skull with a point is great, but if you miss even a little, you don't get a clean sever, and the guy makes noise. No, the kidneys have been the answer since at least Rome, and the SAE, OSS, and all the other alphabet soup agencies agree.
Keeping The Faith (John Fisher Chronicles Book 2) Page 26
