Muster

by Christoff Orr

  “Let’s go,” The Commander barked out, as he bent down to help his friend up off of the ground. He draped Conall's arm around his neck and the two did their best to make their way up the multiple flights of stairs towards freedom.

  They were a few floors up when they heard the explosion of the two grenades. They paused momentarily to spare a glance down towards their pursuers. Conall bent over, trying unsuccessfully to regain his breath. He drew ragged pulls inward, trying to fill up his lungs and support his body, but nothing seemed to be working. As he stood upright again, a new paint sent a jolt through him, shooting from the bullet wound up to his back and into his right arm. The blood continued to slowly seep out of his body, as it dripped onto the stairs. His head was getting dizzy and he had seen enough of his mates die, to know what was happening. “Give me your mags,” Conall said, now leaning up against the whitewashed wall of the stairwell. The words came out washed in blood, as they were awkwardly spat out of Conall's mouth. His lips were dry, yet his mouth was already swimming in blood.

  The Commander pulled his gaze from down the stairwell and focused it on Conall, unsure of what exactly he heard he quickly fired back, “What?” It only took the Commander a second to realize what was asked of him. Conall, who was a typical fair skinned Englishman, now looked chalky, like bread dough before it is baked. The whitewashed wall, which Conall had leaned on, betrayed Conall's fate, as crimson blood now rolled down the blocks and gathered on the floor at Conall's feet.

  “Hurry bruv, don’t have much time. You have to get out of here before…,” Conall was unable to finish his warning as he coughed up some blood. The pain that had gripped him so firmly just a few moments ago, had abated, allowing the soothing numbing of death to take its place.

  The Commander snapped a look back down the stairwell, then up towards the direction they had to go, and finally towards his friend. In his mind he wanted to yell, he wanted to say something like, profound. But, like Conall, he too had been around death enough to know its presence. He knew that the mission came first, no matter what or who it cost. So without another word, he dumped the three remaining frags he had on him and the four other fully loaded magazines. He then helped his mate, over to the stairs, propped him close to the wall, putting him in the best defensible position. After that, all he could do was place a hand on Conall's shoulder, as he muttered out, “I’ll see you around.”

  Conall flashed his typical smile, wanting to say something cheeky, but stopped by the lack of energy. He was able to reach around his neck where he pulled on a chain. On the chain was a small oval locket, which housed a black and white picture of his mother. He yanked on the chain and held it out towards the Commander. “For my brother,” He was able to mumble.

  The Commander thoughtfully took the chain, and the locket and pushed it down into his pocket, before he turned and ran at a full sprint up the stairwell. He was nearly to the top when he heard the first explosion. It stopped him in his tracks as he turned and thought of running back down. The first explosion was followed by a second and then a third. Next was an exchange of gunfire. Rapid at first, like a drum roll before a big revile. Then it began to putter out, till finally nothing. After a moment of silence, a single gunshot could be heard.

  The Commander knew enough that the gunshot came from a pistol, and was most likely not Conall’s. At that moment it felt like someone had just reached into his gut, and squeezed it with a vice clamp. His heart was pounding and felt like he was going to throw up. He turned and draped the barrel of his M4 over the railing, and pointed it downward, before firing six rapid shots down towards the approaching assault team.

  “Commander!” A voice called from one flight above called out.

  The Commander, still seething, shot a glance up to see Thumper standing there. He nodded towards the man and resumed his run up the stairs. Once on the same floor, he gruffly asked, “How much time?”

  “Not much, like two minutes,” Thumper quickly replied. “The rest have already started to head into the tunnel, but we can’t delay. Where’s Conall?” He asked as he looked past the Commander and towards the empty stairwell.

  “Not coming,” The Commander replied coldly. He then made his away around Thumper and rushed towards the supply room.

  For a moment, Thumper could feel himself deflate a little at the news. However, like he said, they didn’t have much time. So he too turned and quickly rushed to the supply room.

  Once in the room, the two men slammed the door shut and hurriedly threw some supplies in front of it. Just in case someone was nearby and wanted to follow them down the tunnel. They grabbed odds and ends, and eventually picked up a mattress that looked well overused and tossed it on the pile as well.

  Thumper was first to jump down into the hole and was quickly followed by the Commander. The two men looked in the direction they needed to go and could see the green glow of a chem light, indicating where the rest of the group were.

  Thumper looked down at his watch as he called out, “Forty-five seconds,” his words sounding empty in the large cement tunnel.

  The Commander looked at Thumper then back up to where they had just come from. “Will we be protected in here from the blast?”

  Thumper just shrugged, “I have no idea.”

  Aboard the USS Michigan

  “One minute sir,” The XO said as he stood next to Captain Hunley. He paused a moment, to give the Captain a chance to respond, then added, “You realize, once we do this they will know that we are alive. They will not take this lightly, and will come after us.”

  Captain Hunley stood there, solid as a marble statue, his arms folded, “I think it’s about time we made our presence known. Don’t you?” His words were stiff and ladened with authority.

  “Yes, sir!” The XO said proudly.

  “Trust me, this is only the beginning. I am going to make sure they know that we are still in this fight. That we still believe in America.” Captain Hunley said.

  “Thirty-seconds,” one of the crew called out.

  Everything was quite, only a light humming from the equipment could be heard. A few of the men fidgeted in their seats, but no words were said. Till the silence was broken once again by the final countdown.

  “Ten-seconds,” The same voice said again. “Six, five, four, three, two, one, time sir,” The voice said, its final words hung in the confines of the Conn.

  Captain Hunley held the words and pondered them a moment longer. How will history review this moment? Will history even notice the steps made today? He thought these question through. Then an even bigger question arose in his mind. What will his wife and children think if he ignores this moment? That was it, that was the tipping point. He closed his eyes briefly, said a silent prayer in his head, then when his eyes opened once again, he simply said, “For God and country, launch.”

  Epilogue

  Fly

  Remains of Camp Zion

  A stiff wind rushed in between the canyon walls, it weaved in and out the century-old structures like a formula one race car as it hugged the corners. A thin coating of white had freshly been applied during the nighttime storm. The colored rocks could still be seen peeking out of the crisp blanket, like children on Christmas morning. The sky had already started to turn from an angry gray to an optimistic blue, as the breeze helped to push the clouds along. The sun lunged its bright rays through what remained of the nocturnal storm. Its warmth already being felt upon the decapitated camps site, as patches of snow began to wilt under its gaze.

  After the survivors successfully escaped from Camp Zion, any supplies which remained, were either burnt or confiscated. Whatever was left behind by the Russians and Regionals, the Highwaymen quickly swooped in to gather. Once they left, only scraps remained, while the dead were left behind for the animals. Now, after the animals had picked clean anything of usefulness, the Scavengers had started to descend upon the camp.

  Where the main portion of Camp Zion had once resided, only a few indentations of life
remained. Even those though were now being covered up with the fresh snow. Just as a corner covers the deceased with a white sheet, so has nature, in an attempt to forget the loss that had taken place here. A few charred portions of canvas tents and wooden polls still littered the ground, and an occasionally a spent casing could be found, but not much else.

  A short distance from the camp, two massive gashes could be seen, where multiple claymores exploded and ripped at the rocky face of the mountainside. Just on the other side of the pile of rubble, the bodies of those who died, defending their home, still laid. Majority of them, though, had been stripped of their clothing and of anything deemed useful. All that remained now was their naked carcass’s, abandoned, to be beaten and ravished by the elements.

  A dozen turkey vultures sailed high in the sky, circling the depleted bodies on the ground. Occasionally one would swoop down, hop a few times till it came to rest near a mangled body. It would take a few pecks at he decayed flesh before returning heavenward to join its companions in their ever-present vigil.

  “Shew! Shew!” Jeb said as he threw a rock at the latest winged visitor. Jeb was the older of the two Fontana boys. Neither of them had finished high school and for them, the end of modern civilization was sort of a good thing for them. It allowed them to branch out and expand their horizons as it were. During the process of their so-called vision quest, they both ended up brandishing a large ’S’ on their face and rightly deemed themselves as Scavengers. Now doing their part too in the cycle of life, they have found themselves at what remained of Camp Zion.

  “She said I was even a maggot, that Scavengers were lower than maggots,” Two-Bit said before he zipped back up his fly. Two-Bit, the younger of the two brothers had an IQ lower than his shoe size and had a temperament of an ill-tempered badger. He turned to look back at his brother and asked, “Do you know what I said?”

  “You said and did nothing because you are scared little punk,” Jed said, his gaze still locked on the ground where he kicked over some rocks in hopes of finding something useful. He bent down to pick up something that held a glint of light from the sun. He had hoped it might had been an article of jewelry, however, upon closer inspection, it turned out to be only a piece of shattered glass. “Go figure,” He mumbled aloud, as he stood back upright, his gaze now searching for his useless brother.

  There, standing no more than ten yards away, stood Two-Bit, a sharpened blade held to his throat. The rim of a brown felt hat peaked out from behind his head. Tucked hurriedly under the hat, long tangled strands of brown hair danced about in the sudden gusts of wind. It wasn’t the hair though that grabbed one's attention, or even the knife, it was the eyes. The eyes of a young girl, in age, but not in spirt. She had the look of both predator and pray. They say the eyes are the window to the soul, and if that is the case, then these eyes were deeper than any cavern on Earth. If there was a soul at the bottom of such a caravan, it would be withered and found wanting.

  Only one of her eyes was visible to Jeb, but it held him tightly, preventing him from even moving. Her face stiffened, her eye focused, as her lips formed a single word. A word she gently laid out there, allowing the wind to pick up and carry to its betrothed. “Corvus.”

  A look of confusion washed over the face of Jeb, but only momentarily. For a second later, he too would be joining those that now laid exposed at his feet. He didn’t even hear the snap of the rifle, nor did he feel the slug punch through his right temple. He didn’t feel anything really, which in hindsight was most likely too good of a death for him. Someone of his nature, you would think, would deserve a more agonizing and elongated death. However it may be, this was the death given to him. One moment he was picking for treasures amongst the dead, the next, had joined the enteral brotherhood of the lamented.

  Two-Bit shuddered as he watched his brother’s head open up and expose its hidden treasures within. He watched the lifeless body collapses unceremoniously to the frozen ground. He tried to plead for mercy, for forgive, for his life; the only thing that came out though, was his own piss, which ran warmly down both his legs. As the warm liquid flowed he began to cry, like a child whose favorite toy had just been taken away.

  Rook, unflinching, continued to hold the blade tight against Two Bit’s throat. Her lips once again parted as she handed out her final decree, “These were my friends, my family. You shouldn’t have come here to rob them.” Then with that, she yanked her right hand quickly, and allowed the edged weapon to glide across the man's skin.

  It had been sharped to a surgical edge, permitting it to slide freely, unabated across the flesh, muscle and bone. By the time the tip of the knife had passed across the man's throat, his head had been pulled nearly all the way back. The fiery blood vaulted from the opened wound and landed heavily upon the fresh snow. The warmth of the blood melted the icy covering, and resembled red rubies as the individual droplets stabbed at the ground.

  A moment later, Rook dropped the body and proceeded to wipe the blood off on her pant leg. She looked up and watched as her brother and younger sister approached. “What now?” She asked as she replaced the knife into its sheath.

  Little Bird, who favored her right leg as she approached. A slight limp had taken up residence, ever since she was injured during the Battle of Camp Zion. She looked around at the frozen landscape, her eyes heavy with sorrow. “We have to find them.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Rook said as she grinned at her little sister.

  Notes From the Author

  When I first started to outline what is now called The Lost Nation Series, it was called We The People, and was to be a single story. That was over twenty years ago. My life and my writing style has changed greatly since I first conceived the concept of this story, hopefully for the better.

  Even when I first started Detriment, the first book in this series, I had planned on keeping the series at three books. I had stuck to that plan, even at the commencement of this book, which I originally had been titled Resolute. However by the end of the second chapter I knew I would never be able to finish the story in a single book. I quickly changed the name to Muster and mentally prepared to extend the series at lest another book or two.

  Hopefully all of you are enjoying reading the story as much as I am writing it. I am honestly surprises by the scope and depth of the story. Most writers, myself included, typically do not know where the story will go. We might know the end, but how to get it there, is completely up to the characters. We create the characters then let them grow naturally, making choices on their own. As an author, my job is to record the events as I see them. At least, that is what I attempt to do. Thank you for the support!!!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Christoff Orr, born on a US Air Base in Bitburg Germany, found his love and passion of American and US Military history early in life through the influence of his father, a US Air Force NCO. Christoff attributes his father as always pushing him to learn and become a better man, which motivated him to complete a college degree. Christoff graduated from Arizona State University with Honors, Sigma Cum Laude, with a BIS degree in Business & Economics with a Minor in US History. Christoff's love of writing and storytelling also began at a young age, and after completing his degree he aspired to become a published writer. Christoff and his wife live in Mesa Arizona with their four wonderful kids, two boys and two girls ranging in age from 18 to 5, and their dog, Stitch.

  If you liked this book, be sure to check out following:

  Lost Nation Series: Detriment

  Lost Nation Series: Forbearance

  The Great Boat Race: Dover to Dunkirk

  All Books Can be Purchased at

  ohanabookspublishing.com

  Others coming soon:

  Man O’ War

  Brothers Payne Series: Blood & Soil

  The Gate Keeper Chronicles: The Hidden Skull

  The House

  The Fox War Report

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