by David Nees
Frank sighed.
Chapter 43
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T he army convoy made its way slowly through the abandoned outskirts of Hillsboro, heading east away from town. Captain Roper sat with the men who remained loyal to him in the back of their transport truck. Roper’s mouth was set in a thin line. He was angry at being stuffed into the back like a non-com, and the awareness that the truck was being driven by Lieutenant Cameron’s men grated on him.
He thought they might have gone about thirty miles when the truck turned and came to a stop. After a couple of minutes the back opened. Lieutenant Cameron and Sergeant Gibbs were there, with soldiers behind them.
“Captain Roper, step out, please.” Cameron said. “There is a formality.”
Roper rose with an effort and made his way to the back of the truck. He stepped down and looked around. They were in the parking lot of a gas station and restaurant, now long abandoned. The convoy filled the lot, with the tankers strung out along the highway outside the entrance.
“This way,” Cameron said. Gritting his teeth, Roper was escorted to the door of the restaurant by two soldiers. The lock had been broken long ago and the door opened stiffly. Cameron, Gibbs and Roper stepped into the restaurant. Behind them a soldier took up a position guarding the entrance with an M16. Cameron led the trio to a square table at the rear of the dining area. He motioned for Roper to take a seat and then took one across from him. Gibbs sat to Roper’s left, Cameron’s right.
“We need to sign some documents to make our separation legal,” Cameron said.
“I don’t think I’ll be signing anything,” Roper said evenly. “You can do this, but when I report to Colonel Stillman you’ll be labeled rebels, you know that.”
Cameron continued as if he had not heard. “I have here a document I typed out last night. It says that you are granting me, Sergeant Gibbs, and all the men with us, listed here by name, an honorable discharge from the army so that we may remain in Hillsboro and participate in its reconstruction. We will have reservist status, but will now be able to enter into civilian life.”
Roper stared at Cameron. “You’re nuts. I’m not signing anything like that. You’re screwed, but you brought this on yourself.”
“I think you will sign the paper,” Cameron responded. He held up an old camera. “You know what this is? It’s a film camera. And I have some good 35mm film. The other day I photographed all the loot that you got from your collusion with Stansky. The army will be able to develop the film. I feel certain that you’ll find the pictures extremely difficult to explain. I also have the signed testimony of the chief of police, witnessed by another police officer. In it Chief Cook testifies about personal knowledge of payoffs to you, about your active involvement in covering up Stansky’s looting and even about your demands for a larger share in exchange for your contribution, namely hiding Stansky’s activity from your commanding officer, Colonel Stillman.”
Roper felt his anger rising. All his work was for nothing. All his fortune that would have gotten him to South America with enough wealth to live like a king was now gone. And, on top of that, he had to give this impertinent lieutenant a free pass after the man had destroyed his plans.
“Do we have a deal?” Cameron asked.
“It’s my word against yours in the end,” Roper growled.
“Your word against my evidence, the sworn testimony of the town’s chief of police, and the testimony of Sergeant Gibbs.”
“And if I don’t sign? What are you going to do?”
Cameron turned to Gibbs, “What do you think, Sergeant? What should we do with Roper and his men?”
Gibbs looked at Roper. The sergeant’s dark face was hard and unyielding. “I fought in Iraq and Afghanistan. I got shot. I saw men get maimed and killed. I served under some good officers and some not so good officers. But I never served under someone who would lie and deceive to line his own pockets. I heard about that crap, but I only got to experience it here, in the States, under your command. If I had my way, I’d stand you up against a wall and shoot you for consorting with the enemy—”
Roper laughed sharply, trying to sound contemptuous. “That’s a fancy word, Sergeant. You know what it means?”
“What I mean is that you should be tried for dealing with the enemy, dereliction of duty, lying to your superior officer, undermining the mission, and a host of other charges if I had time to think of them. For all of that, you should be shot.” Gibbs’ voice was full of loathing. “You disgust me. You’ve violated all I hold dear about my time in the army.”
Roper stared at Gibbs.
Cameron nodded. “Sergeant, if we don’t shoot Captain Roper, do you have any other suggestions?”
“Sir, if the captain does not sign your documents, in my opinion we can’t afford to let him go. Even with as much as we’ve got on him, he’s not worth a lick of extra risk.”
Roper clasped his hands together to keep them still. He began to shift uncomfortably in his chair, while he tried to keep his voice level. “You kill me, you’ll have to kill all the men who chose to come with me.”
Gibbs said to Cameron, “I suggest we find a remote building and lock them all up. We’ll separate Roper from the rest of the men. We can leave them there for some time. Maybe after a week, we ask the men if they want out…without their captain. Or would they like to remain locked up with him until Colonel Stillman comes back?” Gibbs paused and almost smiled at Roper. “I’m betting they’ll want to go free and leave the captain to his own fate. Especially when they know he could have spared them the whole ordeal.”
“Not a bad idea,” Cameron said.
“You’re just digging yourself a bigger hole,” Roper said. The shaking in his voice betrayed him.
“I’ll take that chance. We’ve got enough evidence against you to give us cover either way. Of course, you can sign these documents to make our separation official and legal and then head off with a truck and some supplies, just like we told you in Hillsboro. It’s your choice.”
Roper just sat there. It was a bitter pill, but he was out of options.
Cameron pushed back his chair and stood up. “We don’t have all day. It’s time to make up your mind. Sign and leave with some resources, or don’t sign and get locked up. Your call, Captain.”
Roper sighed. He would take the easier route. Revenge wasn’t worth making his personal situation more difficult. “Give me the papers.”
Chapter 44
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W hen word got to Leo that the Army was gone, he gathered his men. He had prepared a list of twenty-five names. They all knew how to handle weapons, they were all experienced fighters, and none of them would be shy about killing civilians. He had chosen the list with care; they were some of his best men.
He wanted to strike quick and hard, leaving no complications to trail behind him. He’d take a few of the valley residents alive so that they could tell him where to find the seed. He’d tell them that this was just business, that he had no reason to hurt them if they gave him what he was after. After they told, they would be eliminated. Joe hadn’t mentioned survivors, and Leo saw no sense in leaving any. There would be no one to tell any stories about what had happened there.
The men brought were equipped with military-issue M16s. The four pickup trucks waiting for them had already been loaded with packs heavy with ammunition. In addition, Leo was bringing along three M60 machine guns, one M2 heavy machine gun, and three mortars. After loading supplies and ammunition, and filling the gas tanks, it was early afternoon by the time they left Hillsboro, and would be night before they arrived at the valley entrance.
They drove through the countryside, with Leo in the lead truck. He had a map, which he consulted as they worked their way along the county roads towards the valley. It was near dusk when he stopped the caravan at a crossroad. They had not yet arrived at the little village of Clifton Forge.
He got out and his ca
ptains piled out to gather around him. “We’ll split up here,” Leo told them. He spread out his map on the hood of the pickup. “I’ll take three trucks and head west. I found an old road that goes into the valley from the west.” Leo pointed to one of his captains, a man who had distinguished himself in the early battles with desperate refugees. “You’ll take one truck with five men and head to Clifton Forge. You wait there until about two hours before dawn, then you head to the valley entrance.”
“We’ll be headed into an ambush for sure. Big Jacks’s gang was killed there, and he had a lot more than six men,” the man replied.
“You think I don’t know that? You stop a mile before the bridge, cross the river, and climb the ridge. You don’t go over the bridge, idiot, you go around it and attack the guards from behind. If you run into too much resistance, you retreat. Your job is to keep them focused in that area while we go over the west ridge. We’ll come down and join up with you. We’ll sweep through the valley and take out the bridge defenders. They won’t expect us to come from behind.”
“We get any mortars?” the captain asked.
“No, you got to be able to move fast. You take one M60 with you. The rest is rifle work.”
As it grew dark, Leo led the three trucks to the west. Looking over his shoulder, he could see the headlights of the fourth truck moving along the road to Clifton Forge.
Clayton and his men moved through the gathering evening on the ridgelines, setting up their defensive positions above the road where it led in from the bridge to the south. They were positioning themselves as Jason had done during the battle with Big Jacks’s gang. Only now Jason had more shooters available to him. After carefully making sure everyone was in position and properly spaced, Jason and Clayton hiked away from the bridge. The narrow canyon shallowed with the ridges sloping down to the valley floor as they got further away from the bridge. They saw Tom emerging from the trees on the other side, coming across the road to join them.
Tom didn’t look happy. “I doubt they’re going to come over the bridge,” he said.
Jason sighed and nodded. “Yeah, I know.”
“They going to come up the ridge. In the woods,” Clayton said.
Tom scowled. “That could be either side. We can’t be sure they’ll come from the direction of Clifton Forge.”
“We put out some scouts on either side,” Clayton said. “In the woods, east and west of the bridge.”
“We don’t have enough men to spread out all over the woods,” Jason remarked.
“Don’t need many,” Clayton said. “Just a few to fire some shots, let us know where the attack comes from.”
“That’ll be dangerous for the scouts,” Tom said. “There’d only be a few against who knows how many.”
“Not if they know how to move through the woods. My men can do that. They can shoot and melt away.”
“I get it,” Tom said. “If they can keep retreating, we’ll meet up with them. Then we have a shootout in the woods. I’m betting we’re better at that than any city militia.”
“How many guys do you need?” Jason asked.
“Just two on each side,” Clayton answered.
As night fell in Hillsboro, Tommy and Hank Ames walked along the dark sidewalks toward the militia warehouse. As they got closer, they passed the police van parked on a side street. They could barely see the figure inside wave at them through the window.
At the corner of the side street, before turning on to the broader road where the warehouse entrance was located, they passed Specialist Jackson. He was crouched down behind some steps of a building on the corner, his rifle in hand. There was a flash of a smile and a thumbs-up from him as they walked past. Jackson’s would be backup with a clear shot at the guards if things went wrong.
They emerged onto the street, crossed it, and walked towards the warehouse entrance half a block away. There were two guards out front.
“Who’s there?” one of the guards called out as they approached.
“It’s me, Hank. From the police department.”
“What the hell are you doing here? This ain’t your area.”
“Yeah, but I got a business proposition for you.”
“What’s that?”
“This guy.” Hank laughed and shoved Tommy forward. “He quit the army, didn’t want to go with them. He wants to buy a weapon. Says he’ll pay me if I can hook him up.”
The guard sounded amused. “So whaddaya want me to do?”
“Sell him a rifle, or something. Hell, you make money, I make money. No one will know.”
“What’s your name?” the other guard asked Tommy.
“My name ain’t important. What’s important is, I can pay with gold,” Tommy said.
“Gold. Really?” The second guard’s voice sounded interested.
“Why don’t you just join the militia?” the first guard said. “You can get a rifle for free, and regular meals as well.”
“I just quit the army. I ain’t interested in joining another group. Following orders and stuff.”
The second guard leaned forward, his quiet voice beginning to sound eager. “So, we sell you one, you can’t stay here. Can’t have you knocking people off in town.”
“Ain’t planning on sticking around. I’m heading out on my own. Going to get back to my family. Now you want to sell me a rifle or not?”
“Why don’t he buy one from you?” the first guard asked Hank.
“‘Cause we don’t have that many. Someone would notice a missing rifle. Shit, I figure you got hundreds in the warehouse, so who’d know if one was missing? And if anybody notices, it’s like someone counted wrong in the first place.”
“Okay, what you got?” the second guard said.
Tommy took out the two gold coins and a gold necklace, held them up so a faint glint could be seen. “What’ll this buy me?”
The guard looked at the gold with a greedy eye. “That real?”
“The weight says so. You want to feel, you gotta show me something.”
“That’ll get you a rifle and some ammunition. Won’t be our best, but it’ll work.”
The second guard turned toward the door. The first guard looked at him dubiously. In that instant Tommy and Hank struck. They grabbed both guards. Hank stuck his pistol in the side of the guard who had spoken to them first. Tommy pulled his knife and stuck it against the other man’s neck.
“Don’t make a sound or I’ll slit your neck open. Open the door.”
“You shoot us, you wake up the other men and they’ll kill you,” the first guard gasped.
“Don’t need to shoot you. I just slit this guy’s throat and then slit yours. Then we take the keys and go right in.
“Reach down, slowly, take your keys and unlock the door,” Hank ordered.
“Either of you yell, you both get your throats cut,” Tommy said.
The second guard complied. Tommy and Hank shoved the men inside. It was dark and silent; they seemed to be in a small anteroom that opened up into what they sensed was a larger space.
There was a sudden small, bright light. Hank had snapped on a small flashlight and put his hand over the beam to let out only a sliver of light. “Rechargeable batteries,” he said as Tommy looked at him in surprise.
They could now see that the back of the room had a large opening with the main warehouse beyond. An immense space with shelving that faded away into the dark.
Handing Tommy the flashlight, Hank quickly handcuffed the two guards to a steam radiator. Tommy went over to them and whispered, “You don’t have to die, but you will if we run into any problems. Now I’m going to ask you a question and I want a straight answer. If you lie to me, I’ll slit your throats now and I won’t have to worry about you. Got it?” The two guards looked terrified.
“Okay, here’s the question. How many other guards are there and where are they?”
“There aren’t any,” the second guard said in a quavering voice.
“You’re sure now. None a
t the other doors? Remember your life depends on the answer.”
“There’s no other man doors,” the first guard said. “Just rear loading bay doors, four of them. They’re big roll doors and they don’t open from the outside. You gotta open them with the chain hoist from the inside. It’s a pain with no motors.”
Tommy looked at Hank and nodded. Hank slipped back out the door, closing it gently behind him. Ten seconds later Terry Jackson came in, his rifle at the ready position in front of him. They waited in the dark.
Many long minutes later, Tommy heard the low mutter of the police van’s engine pulling up outside the door. A moment later the door opened, and Hank and Les Hammond joined them.
Tommy left Hammond to watch the two guards while the others quietly went through the warehouse. It wasn’t hard to find anything. The weapons were stored for easy access. They collected arm-loads of M16s, and they found two M60 machine guns with cans of 7.62mm ammunition. Those went straight out to the van. Boxes and boxes of 5.65mm ammunition for the M16s were loaded into the increasingly heavily laden van. Tommy figured they had a couple of thousand rounds of rifle ammunition. His only concern was that he could not find any mortar tubes or rocket launchers. He did find some mortar bombs, which he took. At least they wouldn’t be available to the militia in a fight, and the platoon had mortars that could use them. An hour later they had the van fully loaded and riding low on its suspension.
Before they left, the men stopped to look at the guards handcuffed to the radiator.
“Should we just leave them?” Tommy asked.
“You’ll never get away with this,” the guard who had been eager for the trade said. “We know who you are.” The other guard’s head snapped round toward his partner, horror on his face. “Shut your mouth,” he hissed.
“So we better kill you so you won’t talk,” Hank said.
“Maybe we should finish them off now, since they know you,” Tommy said.
Hank pondered the proposition. “They’ll be found sometime tomorrow. If they’re alive, they’ll tell everyone, so I can’t be seen again. The whole militia will be looking for me.”
