Hellfire- The Series, Volumes 1-3

by Leigh Barker

  “What can I do?”

  Ethan smiled. He’d misjudged the man. Not something he did very often, but it happened.

  “We’re going to get the kid back. But she’s being held out in the forest north of here, and from the look of the place, it’s a ranch or a farm.” He looked at the man for a moment. “Or a compound.”

  Brad took a long breath through his nose. “Jesus. Survivalists?”

  Ethan shrugged. “Could be. Or some religious cult. I’ve only got a map and low-definition satellite image of the terrain to go on, but, yeah, could be preppers.”

  Brad stood up and walked back and forth for a moment, then stopped in front of his photo gallery. “You’ll need some firepower.” He turned. “M16s?”

  “Yes, and some long-range leverage.”

  “M40?”

  “That’ll do the trick.”

  “Got a brace of M40A5s.” Brad nodded to himself as he made a decision. “Take what you need.”

  Ethan got off the desk and put out his hand. “Thank you. We’ll get the kid back, and it’ll be down to you.”

  Brad shook his hand. “Come on, let’s go pick up some gear.” He led the way out of the office.

  Ethan caught up with him. “The squad is down at the stores, waiting for you.” He hoped they’d hear them coming and put back whatever they’d lifted.

  Loco sat in the back of one of the Humvees and checked out his M40 sniper rifle. It’d been used, but not badly. He looked up and smiled at Smokey, who was sitting opposite and examining his submachine gun that he’d use for close support.

  Chuck was driving and had an M16 in the passenger well. He would’ve liked it better if the vehicle had been armored; then he could’ve just driven it right into the middle of the compound. But it would’ve been heavy, real heavy, and the terrain was swamp, so it was unlikely they’d even get to the compound. Okay, he’d take what he had; it was better than the civilian SUV.

  He saw the diner coming up on the left and cut through the oncoming traffic and pulled up in front of the place, ignoring the blaring horns from the drivers who seemed to think he should’ve waited for a gap. No point having a Humvee if you don’t show it off, was his opinion.

  A minute later the second Humvee, driven by Jerry Winter, repeated the maneuver, with the same cacophony of sound.

  Ethan stepped out of the vehicle, shook his head and walked quickly over to the other Humvee. “For Christ’s sake, Loco, put that back in the vehicle!” He pointed at the M40. “You’ll have every cop in the city screaming in here, thinking your some nut gone postal.”

  Loco looked lovingly at the rifle, sighed and put it on the back seat and closed the door. Then he looked in through the smoked window to make sure nobody passing by would see it and run away screaming.

  “Okay,” Ethan said, when he was sure nobody else was carrying. “Brad provided us with some detailed maps of the area, but we’re still going into this pretty much blind.” He stepped through the door being held open by Ben, slid into one of the booths lining the back wall, and waited for the others to squeeze in. It was cozy, but quiet.

  He looked through the stack of maps, picked one and spread it on the table, then smiled at the waitress, who’d strolled over from the counter. “Coffee, ma’am.”

  She scowled at him. “I look like a ma’am to you?”

  “No, ma—miss.”

  “I’m not a miss neither.” She poured coffee into the thick mugs and stood at the end of the table, waiting.

  They watched her expectantly. She was going to do something, they were sure of it.

  Ethan winked at her. She jumped a little, scowled and then smiled.

  “Get you something else?” she asked him. “Anything you fancy.”

  “Thanks…” He leaned forward and read her badge. “Lucille.” He tapped the map. “Gotta plan our hunting trip first. Then, who knows?” He winked again.

  She pushed out her chest, even though pushing out was the last thing it needed. She turned and thumped back to the counter.

  “That’s you set up for later,” Loco said with a grin.

  Ethan ignored him.

  Chuck turned the map and studied it carefully, while the others sipped their coffee and waited. Chuck was the man for this job. After a few minutes he turned the map back to orientate it to Ethan, then pointed at the area where the girl was being held.

  “There’s the road in.” He pointed it out. “Easy to defend. That’s where me and the sniper team come in. We’ll flush out the vermin before they turn around and bite you on the ass.”

  “The terrain’s good. High ground on both sides of the road.” Ethan tapped the map. “That hill has clear line of sight along most of the road.”

  Loco leaned forward and nodded.

  “Sure, but not where it matters.” Chuck ran his finger along the road. “That’s four, five miles.” He shook his head. “I know what you’re thinking. Loco’s good, but not that good.”

  “Thanks, Gunny,” Loco said.

  Nobody knew if he was thanking him for the compliment, or for pointing out his limitation. Nobody really cared.

  “Let’s hear it, then,” Ethan said, and raised his eyebrows.

  Chuck turned the map again and stopped to wait for Lucille to come back with a refill. They all smiled at her and she edged away back to the counter without taking her eyes off them.

  Chuck put his finger on the compound, or whatever the hell it was. “That line there…” He ran his finger south to north along a grey line. “That’s a pull-boat canal.”

  “A what?” Smokey said, leaning forward.

  “A canal for shipping out the cypress trees they used to chop down around here,” Chuck said.

  Now Ethan leaned over the map. “Right. Then that’s our way in.”

  “Agreed,” Chuck said. “Me, Loco and Smokey’ll drive right on down the road. We’ll put on some stupid hunter’s hats, roll cans of beer on the dash, and sling some dead animal over the hood. Anybody watching the road will just think we’re city folks thinking we’re some sorta ace hunters.” He smiled. “Or they’ll think we’re hillbillies pretending to be civilized.”

  “That’ll be city folks,” Ethan said. “Haven’t seen many hillbillies can afford a Humvee.”

  “Right. We’ll roll past the compound and Loco and Smokey’ll decamp and take up a position where they can give you cover if you need it. I’ll drive on, put the vehicle into the trees someplace and hike back to join them.”

  “Copy that,” Ethan said. “We’ll borrow a boat and come down the canal, right onto their doorstep. Piece of cake.”

  They all looked at him. Whenever he’d used that expression before, it’d been nothing like a piece of cake, more like old Lucifer astride a cruise missile. But what the hell? Nobody wanted to get old and pee through a tube.

  “When do we go?” Ben asked.

  Ethan shrugged. “Doing anything else today?”

  Ben smiled. “Let me check my diary.”

  Ethan took out a second map and handed it to Chuck. “We’ll take 61 up to here.” He pointed at a spot north of Woodville. “Then head west until we find a boat hire place.”

  “Bit vague,” Chuck said.

  “That’s tourist country. There’ll be boats.” Ethan folded the map. Briefing over. But Chuck had a point. Hoping to find a boat wasn’t very… tactical.

  “You boys looking to do a spot of fishing?” Lucille asked, arriving to clear away the coffee mugs. “My cousin has an airboat where you was talking about.”

  Ethan let the fact she’d been eavesdropping pass. “Where’s he at?” He caught himself before he dropped into Cajun-speak.

  She waved a hand at the folded map and Ethan spread it out on the table again.

  “There.” She pointed at Woodville.

  Ethan thought about it. “It’s a way to where we want to be.”

  “Honey,” Lucille said, “Cousin Henry’s airboat will do sixty miles an hour. Where you want to go in more hurry
than that?”

  Good point. “You got his address?” That was a dumb question.

  “Better, I got his cell.” She took out her cell and pressed speed-dial. “Henry, honey. Got some folks want to go someplace in a hurry. You got the time?”

  She handed Ethan the phone and continued collecting the coffee mugs.

  A minute later, Ethan killed the call and handed the phone back to her. “I’m obliged, Lucille. I’m back this way, I’ll be sure to say thanks.”

  She leaned towards him, only the coffee mugs saving him from a breasting. “You bring that lil girl back safe and sound. All the thanks I want.” She shook her head. “These religious nuts are everywhere, taking our kids and brainwashing them.”

  Ethan watched her go and caught the look from Loco. “We’ve got the shit end of this mission, so get set up on the road and wait for my signal.”

  “Copy that,” Chuck said.

  “What’s the signal?” Loco asked.

  The whole squad stared at him.

  “How long you serve with me in Afghanistan?” Ethan asked quietly.

  “Dunno. Two years, maybe.”

  “And what signal did we use to tell each other we were ready to move?”

  “Double-click on the radio. So what?” Loco looked puzzled.

  “Tell you what,” Ethan said, putting a hand on the little man’s shoulder, “let’s use that, then.”

  “Okay, works for me. But I still don’t see why we can’t just use our cells and talk to each other.”

  “Just go with it, Loco,” Ethan said. “It’s a military thing. You’d never get it.”

  “Wilco,” Loco said with a grin.

  The airboat was a nightmare. Cousin Henry was borderline insane and demonstrated it by heading out through the bayou and into the marshy lake at a speed that would’ve given a test pilot reason to change his shorts.

  Ethan, Ben and Winter hung on with the grip of death and squeezed their eyes shut against the spray whipped to a frenzy by their speed and by the huge prop screaming right behind them. They were going to get where they wanted to be real quick, but would they be able to function when they arrived? Ethan put his head down and thought happy thoughts.

  The boat slowed so suddenly they all lurched forward. Ethan looked up and followed Cousin Henry’s pointing finger. There was a narrow, overgrown channel ahead. Ethan pulled himself up as much as he dared and shaded his eyes. The channel ran dead straight into the swamp. He recalled the map. Five clicks straight down there was their objective. And they might be alive to achieve it. He signaled Cousin Henry to go.

  The airboat slid into the channel and through the overgrown vegetation at a gentle pace. They could’ve been tourists enjoying a fun day out crocodile watching. Ethan had hated crocodiles since he was a kid. Louisiana, so the crocodiles’ll be alligators. He hated those the same. Too many horror films.

  Ethan wiped the spray from his G-Shock and looked at the passing reeds. Ten knots. Fifteen, twenty minutes. He could do that. God knows he’d been on worse vessels in action. Yeah, true, but he’d chosen this one, not had it forced on him. Maybe they should’ve just driven up to the compound in the nice comfortable Humvee, like Chuck and the other team. And been made a mile away. Two Humvees on the same road? Not likely.

  Twenty-five minutes later he reached up and patted Cousin Henry on the leg. He killed the engine, but their ears carried on replaying the roar of the motor. “We’ll walk from here.”

  Cousin Henry took the ear defenders off and looked around, then down at Ethan. “That’s a trail. Not much, mostly used by game and a few local hunters. It’ll take you most of the way you wanna go.”

  Ethan nodded and waited while the airboat moved slowly forward until it bumped softly into the bank.

  “You want me to wait for you?” Cousin Henry said.

  “No. No, thanks.” Ethan jumped onto the bank, took out his billfold and peeled several hundred dollars off.

  Cousin Henry shook his head. “Lucille tol’ me what you’re about. Go get the kid.” He started to put his ear defenders back on, then stopped. “And you fuck those nutters up. You fuck them up real good.”

  Ethan nodded, waved and got away from the swamp water, and the alligators. And Cousin Henry’s insane mode of transport. Never again.

  Chuck heard the double-click on the radio and came awake from his nap. A few seconds later the Humvee was cruising down the blacktop through the long lush valley with its three occupants apparently drinking beer and telling loud tales of another great hunting trip.

  A giant of a man stepped into the road a few hundred yards ahead and raised his hands. He wore pale blue jeans and a denim shirt with the sleeves torn off to expose his tree-trunk muscles and snake tattoos. He had a semi-auto hunting rifle slung by a strap over his shoulder.

  Smoky whistled. “Jeez, that guy is eight feet tall!”

  “Nah,” Chuck said, “seven, tops. But forget his size, check out the BB gun. It’s an Ambush 300 Blackout.” He whistled quietly. “Don’t want to get on the wrong end of that.”

  “Run him down,” Loco said.

  Chuck ignored him, slowed the Humvee and lowered the side window. “You in trouble?” he asked the huge man.

  “Where you guys going from?” the big man growled.

  It was like a question, but without a brain to steer it.

  “Been huntin’,” Chuck said, and jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards the other two. “Didn’t shoot anything worth a damn. But put away some beer. Jesus, did we.”

  The big man looked past him at the two fools upending beers in the back. “You fixin’ to stop off anywhere around here?” He tried to make the question sound casual, and failed.

  “Nah,” Chuck said. “Gonna roll right up to Jackson. Unless you know a good place we can shoot some deer.”

  “You do that, you get busted. Deer season ain’t started.”

  “Jackson it is, then,” Chuck said.

  The big man leaned forward and saw Chuck’s M16 in the passenger well. A person of normal height wouldn’t have seen it, but that didn’t count. It was a mistake and Chuck knew it. Getting old and slow.

  The man stepped back a little and started to unsling his rifle. It was a semi-automatic hunting rifle that looked like a regular military weapon, and for all intents and purposes it was. At a range of about two or three hundred yards it was deadly. The Humvee was a hell of a lot closer than that.

  Chuck sighed, unlocked the side door, pushed his feet against it and slammed it into the big man. It wasn’t armored, but that didn’t make much difference, except it didn’t kill him. It hit him square as he pulled his rifle free. He took the full force of it in the face and right elbow. It was enough to drop anybody. He staggered back, grunted, shook his head and swore. And stayed on his feet.

  “Shit!” Loco said. “I’m gonna shoot the fucker!”

  “What for?” Smokey said, leaning over the front seat to watch. “He hasn’t done anything. Except being born a moron.”

  “That’s enough for me,” Loco said, and drew his Sig.

  “Put that away,” Chuck said, as he climbed tiredly out of the vehicle. “He might be Catholic.”

  Loco turned to Smokey. “What the fuck does that mean?”

  Smokey shrugged.

  “Can you drive?” Loco asked.

  “Yeah, of course. Why?” Smokey said, without looking.

  “Because Gunny’s gonna get creamed.”

  “Doubt that.”

  Chuck stepped onto the road and closed the Humvee door carefully, as if he was afraid it might get damaged. As though smashing into the giant was nothing.

  He waited for the big man to recover as much of his wits as he was ever going to find. He didn’t believe in facing off to a drunk, a loon, or somebody hit by a Humvee door. When he was satisfied the man was ready to go, he put out his hand as if to shake.

  The big man looked at the hand, then at Chuck. “You hit me with the fuckin’ door!”

 
“Sorry about that,” Chuck said. “I thought you were going to try to shoot me.”

  “I fuckin’ was!”

  “Changed your mind?”

  “Like f—”

  Chuck kicked him in the groin with his desert boot and watched him sink slowly to his knees. “Can’t abide all this profanity.”

  The man groaned, grunted and whimpered, but he still didn’t go down. Chuck sighed heavily. “What’s your name, son?”

  The man’s face was screwed up tighter than a constipated Presbyterian preacher’s. Gradually his eyes opened.

  “What? What the fuck are you ask—”

  Chuck put his finger to his lips. “Shhh. There you go again with the profanity. I just asked you your name.”

  “What the fu… what you want that for?”

  Chuck shrugged. “Seems like the Christian thing to do. A man should have a marker on his grave.”

  The man’s jaw dropped and he put a huge hand on the road to push himself up. “Nobody ain’t gonna put me in no grave! Not unless I says so!”

  Chuck glanced at his watch. “Gotta go now, son. Boss is waiting.”

  The big man was finally on his feet, bent forward a little, but he was upright. It was only fair and sporting.

  Chuck stepped forward and hit him in the sternum. It looked like a nothing punch, fast, sure, but no big wind-up or flexing muscles, just loose and quick. Something cracked like dry wood on the quiet road and the big man fell backwards like a chain-sawn oak. Chuck stepped over him and got back into the Humvee.

  “Now because of all that educating, I’m gonna have to put my foot down. And you know how I hate speeding and breaking the law and stuff.”

  “Yeah, we know that, Gunny,” Loco said, staring out of the window at the hillbilly asleep on the road.

  Ethan raised his fist and crouched, and Ben and Winter dropped down on the overgrown trail and waited. It was probably nothing, it usually was, but when it wasn’t nothing, getting out of sight was a good thing to do.

  Ethan edged back and put his head near theirs and whispered, “The compound’s a hundred yards ahead. Looks like a damned POW camp, razor wire, lights, the works. Somebody isn’t very hospitable.”