Authors: James Cook
Lena dug out three red armbands with the black SS symbol embroidered on each one. Looking closer, I saw each S was actually a slithering snake, and below the letters was a phrase in Latin:
Haud Misericordia pro Proditor.
If my high school Latin was accurate, it meant something to the effect of ‘No Mercy for the Traitor’.
Sounds like a real pleasant bunch
.
Also within the crates were RPG launchers, rockets, Russian grenades, flashbangs, explosive charges that looked suspiciously like C-4, remote detonators, claymore mines, and ten large black duffel bags.
“Take whatever you think you will need,” Great Hawk said. “But do not allow any guards to search you. If they try, kill them quietly.”
I deferred to Hicks. He grabbed six flashbangs, eight grenades, an RPG launcher, four rockets, four claymores, and one of the duffel bags. I put three of the flashbangs in an empty pouch and added three grenades to loops on my chest. Caleb did the same, then put the rest in the duffel bag.
“You’re carrying that,” I said, pointing.
“Yeah, I figured, me being bigger than you and all.” He grinned as he said it. I let it go. When a man agrees to carry more than his share of the gear, it is bad form to give him shit about it. One simply takes whatever ribbing comes one’s way with good humor and a sense of gratitude.
“Everyone put your radios on the command net,” Great Hawk said. “Mr. Garrett will give the order when all stations are in position. Remember, this is a coordinated attack. Do not jump the gun.”
We all nodded. Lena swallowed and took a deep breath.
“Good luck to all of you,” Gabe said. “I’ll be on the radio if you get lost. Remember, this is not a land-nav contest. If you’re not sure of exactly where you are,
do not
hesitate to ask for help. It’s what I’m here for.”
Muttered acknowledgement.
“Before we leave,” I said, “who’s going to watch her?” I pointed to Lena.
“None of us,” Great Hawk said. “She will proceed to the east gate to arrange transportation to the extraction point.”
I shot her a hard glare. “Really.”
She was unperturbed. “Yes. Really.”
I stepped closer until we were less than a foot apart. “Maybe you can answer a couple of questions then.”
He gaze was clear and steady. “Sure.”
“Why did you tell us to avoid the west gate?”
“Protests.”
“Protests?”
“Yes.”
“Protesting what?”
“Foreign occupation. The North Koreans are extremely unpopular. There have been similar protests in other Alliance city-states that ended in bloodshed. To avoid it happening here, the president authorized the demonstration with the caveat it be peaceful. Nevertheless, I did not want any of you walking into a powder keg. Your job is dangerous enough as it is.”
I tilted my head and nodded twice. “Okay, I’ll buy that. Next question. How do you know so much about the Alliance’s command structure?”
She waved her hands to indicate her outfit, a sensible charcoal-colored pants suit. “The clothes aren’t a clue?”
“They’re nice. The color definitely brings out the green in your eyes, and there’s just enough hug in the hips to show off how fit you are. I’m guessing you work out a lot. Other than that, I’m clueless.”
She surprised me again by blushing and pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Who still wears clothes like this?”
“I don’t know. A few businesspeople I’ve met. Politicians.”
“Precisely.”
“So you’re …” I held out a hand.
“You really don’t know who I am?”
“Would I be asking if I did?”
She signed and stood up straight. “I know as much about the Alliance leadership as I do because I am
one of them
.”
A photograph from the first mission briefing with General Jacobs surfaced from the murky waters of memory. It dawned on me why her name sounded so familiar, and I could have kicked myself for not figuring it out sooner.
“Shit. You’re
that
Lena Smith.”
A sad smile. “Yes. I am the vice president of the Midwest Alliance.”
*****
“That was nice back there.”
I looked at Hicks. We were on our way to the town’s central square and the residence of one Bailey Sandoval. “What?”
“Flirting with the vice president of an enemy country.”
“I wasn’t flirting.”
“She seemed to have a different idea. I think she was sweet on you.”
“
Sweet on me
? Who the hell says shit like that? What are you, an old west cattle rancher? Did I put a hitch in her giddyup, pardner?”
“Don’t try to change the subject.”
I sighed. “It was not my intention to flirt with her. I was trying to get information. I can’t help it if the ladies love me.”
Hicks snorted. “Did they love you back in your Coke-bottle glasses days?”
“Especially then. I was so hot they couldn’t stand to talk to me. Just walked away or asked me to leave them alone. I didn’t hold it against them. There’s only so much chiseled manliness a woman can handle.”
“I’m beginning to wish I brought my entrenching tool.”
“For what?”
“To shovel my way out of your bullshit.”
There was movement a few blocks ahead. Dark shapes ghosted through the shadows in a walking crouch. I saw hand signals pass back and forth, and the figures were clearly armed. I stopped and grabbed Hicks’ shoulder.
“Stop.”
Hicks froze and peered into the darkness. He had long ago learned to trust my eyesight. “You see something?”
“Yeah. Let’s get off this street.”
We moved to an alley two blocks over and waited next to an overflowing dumpster. “What did you see?” Hicks asked.
“North Korean special forces, unless I miss my guess.”
“Shit. What are they doing out here?”
I shook my head.
We stayed still and quiet. Every second that ticked by grated against my nerves. We did not have all night.
“Okay,” I whispered. “You take that end of the alley, I’ll take this one. Use your night vision scope. Look for movement. You see hostiles, take them out.”
Hicks checked his suppressor was firmly attached, made sure his scope was activated, and tapped me on the shoulder. He was gone in an instant, no noise, no wasted movement. I stared after him and wondered what secrets his past held. No infantry grunt I ever met had half his abilities.
Questions for another day.
I crept to the edge of the building and peeked around the bricks. The black shapes were still moving toward me, closer now. My instincts told me to hide, but the corner where I hid was dark. The short, fatigue-sporting soldiers seemed not to notice me. So I stayed, and watched, and whispered into my radio.
“Incoming on my side.”
The radio crackled, and Gabe spoke up. “Everything all right?”
“Tell you in a minute. Stay off the net.”
“Copy.” Gabe’s voice was strained, but he understood the necessity. Hicks chimed in. “Clear on my side.”
“You sure?”
“Affirmative.”
“Get back over here.”
I did not hear him approach. One second I was alone, and the next I felt a tap on my shoulder. “Stacked up behind you.”
“Stand by. I’m going to leapfrog the alley. Be ready to engage.”
“Roger that.” Not for the first time, I detected a note of excitement in his voice. I looked back.
“You like this shit, don’t you?”
A grin. “I do. I really do.”
“Sometimes I worry about you, Caleb.”
“Worry about crossing the alley.”
“Right. Okay, here goes.”
There is nothing a man can do to prepare for the maneuver I executed. You just go as fast as you can and hope for the best. In my case, it worked out. I flung myself from cover, stayed low, ran on the edges of my boots to minimize noise, and stacked up at the corner of the next alley over. No shots fired. No shouts. No explosions. I keyed my radio.
“Hicks, see anything?”
He had pied out the corner with his night vision scope. I checked mine, found it dark, and activated it. “They don’t seem agitated, but they’re still moving in our direction.”
“Tactical movement?”
“I suppose so. Their version of it, anyway.”
“Prepare to engage. Leave no survivors.”
“You sure about this? Maybe we ought to slip out of here.”
I stuck my scope around a narrow sliver of corner. “No time. They’re almost on us. On my mark.”
“Standing by.”
I called to mind everything Gabe and Captain Steve McCray taught me about close quarters combat. Accuracy. Speed. Violence of movement. Silence.
The shapes grew closer. Thirty meters. Twenty. Ten.
“Three, two, one, mark.”
I slipped enough of my torso from cover to aim from a stable shooting platform. By the time I lined up on my first target, Caleb had already loosed three rounds. A dark black head snapped back, and the figure attached to it collapsed without a sound. In the same instant as I mentally praised Caleb for his marksmanship, my finger squeezed down on the trigger. Another head snapped back. I made a follow up shot and resisted the urge for a third one. I was firing 6.8 SPC after all, not standard 5.56 NATO rounds. Which meant I did not have to shoot a man five times to make sure he was dead. Twice to the head was enough.
As often happens in combat, my training took over and I was firing again before I knew what was happening. Another dark shape dropped. Caleb’s rifle coughed twice and a fourth man died. Only two left now.
The one closest to me noticed something amiss, or maybe caught a dim muzzle flash, and started to shout something. He got out half a syllable before two rounds from my rifle tore his throat to shreds. Blood flew from his lips as I ended his misery with a third shot between the eyes. He went stiff, shuddered, and toppled like a felled tree.
Caleb let loose a final salvo of four shots. Two hit center of mass, and two blew holes in the diminutive commando’s upper sinus cavity. He died without a sound. Caleb and I looked at each other, nodded, and waited. No more sounds. No movement. I let a minute go by. It appeared the high-quality suppressors had done their job.
Static. “All clear.”
I gave Caleb a thumbs up by way of acknowledgement. Then I remembered Gabe was listening in and keyed my radio. “All clear. Let’s move out.”
“How many tangos?” Gabe asked over the net.
“Six. All down.”
“You compromised?”
“No. Proceeding on mission.”
“Roger.” Gabe sounded relieved. Hicks gave a ‘move forward’ hand signal, to which I nodded, hid my rifle beneath my bush jacket, and followed.
I spotted another patrol shortly before arriving near the town square. They were not North Koreans, but were nonetheless heavily armed. One even carried an RPK light machine gun with a bipod and drum magazine. I grabbed Hicks’ arm and led him down a side street. We stopped under an awning and stood in near total darkness. One of the guards carried a small oil lamp that let us see their outline as they passed.
“These fellas ain’t messin’ around,” Caleb said. “Think they know something’s up?”
“Could be. Doesn’t change anything. Let’s go.”
We approached the building from the rear. It had once been a hotel, but had been repurposed to house government officials. Sandoval’s residence took up three rooms, all connected by open doorways. He was on the second floor at the easternmost corner. There were two entrances, both manned by a pair of armed guards. If Lena Smith’s intel was correct, there would be four more guards posted inside, also heavily armed.
“Mission lead, alpha team,” Hicks told his radio. “We are in position, standing by.”
“Roger alpha team. Stand by, will advise when it’s time to start the party.”
“Roger. Alpha out.”
I checked my weapons for the tenth or eleventh time. Good to go. “So now we wait.”
“I’ll move to the corner of that building over there.” Hicks pointed. “Have a better shot at the guards on that side.”
“All right.”
Hicks moved. I waited. And waited. Ten minutes passed. I saw no patrols, no citizens conducting late night business, no voices, no music from the bars or taverns, no sign at all anyone was alive in Carbondale. The streets so busy earlier were now empty and silent.
I thought once again how the silence was the hardest thing to get used to in a post-apocalyptic world. No drone of planes overhead, no Doppler hum of cars on the highways, no news or traffic helicopters, no buzz of air conditioners or power lines or street lights. Over three years had passed since the Outbreak, and it still bothered me. I was beginning to think it always would.
Static. “Mission lead, Bravo team in position.”