I Will Fight No More Forever

by E B Corbin

  Doughboy showed no reaction to what they were doing and said nothing to correct Henry about the volatility of the missiles. Either he didn’t know much about the built-in safety features or he was playing a game with Henry. “Get some blankets from the bunkhouse.”

  “Aw, Jesus! We gotta go all the way there?” Petey grumbled.

  “You wanna be responsible for fuckin’ these things up?” The guy in coveralls came to the door of the shed. “Move it! We gotta get this done today.”

  The two men placed the missiles back where they got them and jumped in the front pickup. As they sped down a path barely wide enough for the truck, the guy in coveralls shook his head. “I don’t know why we have to deal with imbeciles like those two.”

  “You want to live free, don’t you?” Doughboy challenged him.

  “Don’t want to live next to imbeciles, though.”

  “When this is over, we’ll have enough space for each of us. You won’t have to see them again.”

  The man in coveralls shrugged. “Can’t be too soon for me.”

  “While we’re waiting, I’ll check out the CLUs. One of you help me move them to the back of my truck.” Henry hoped to be able to shoot some photos of them away from these two and their prying eyes. If nothing else, he’d get them on film with his flag pin. But a few stills would be nice. He also wanted to learn more about the men he was dealing with. “I know Petey, Biggie and Doughboy here, what about you? You have a name?”

  “You don’t need to know our names,” Doughboy spoke in a growl. “Just do your job and be on your way.”

  Henry twitched his head and dropped his shoulder. “Okay, I’ll just call your friend Coveralls.”

  “Suits us fine,” Coveralls said. “You talk too much, anyway.”

  “I like to know what and who I’m dealing with. Just trying to be friendly.”

  “Don’t want to be friends with somebody who asks too many questions.” Coveralls spit a brown wad of tobacco onto the ground barely missing Henry’s shoes.

  Henry didn’t move. “I’ll bet your teeth are in great shape.”

  “My teeth ain’t none of your business.” The man glared at him.

  Henry ignored his response and walked over to the shelves. He hoped there was enough light inside the shed for the video as he slowly eased from left to right to get the whole shelf. “Lot of firepower here.”

  Doughboy pushed Henry aside and reached for a box on the lowest shelf. “This is one of the CLUs. Scooter, grab that other one over there.” He pointed to the parallel wall, which held a similar assortment of ammunition.

  Henry stepped outside and moved to his truck. The buzzing started in his head before he took two steps. He paused to survey the area. They were in a clearing about halfway up a tall hill. He couldn’t get an unimpeded view of much of anything but trees from this location. He scanned the trees, looking for a threat, and saw nothing but a gray squirrel scampering up a pine trunk. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched even though no one was in sight.

  He was in the process of lowering the tailgate when something poked him in the back. He swung around to find Scooter, aka Coveralls, holding a box about 18 inches square. He made no apology for bumping into him.

  “Watch it!” Henry elbowed him out of the way. “Those things have a lot of sensitive components. You screw them up and you won’t be able to hit the side of a mountain. I’ll not take the blame for it!”

  Doughboy came out with the second box and positioned it carefully in the bed of the truck. Both men watched over Henry’s shoulder as he opened the lid on the first box. The CLU looked used and worn. He pulled it out and attempted to put his eye to the lens. He swung around to sweep the woods more thoroughly for whatever caused the buzzing in his head and nearly collided with the man in coveralls. “Goddammit! Will you two back off? I need some space here!”

  Neither man said a word as they stepped aside, but they kept their attention on Henry.

  Henry knew he wasn’t going to get a chance to scan the area with both men watching him like hawks. “Do you have any tools around? I need a screwdriver.”

  “What for?” Doughboy asked. “Those units are self-contained. Shouldn’t be poking around inside them.”

  “I’m not going to poke around inside. I need to clean off this eyepiece. Can’t do it if I can’t get it off. I should have a special cloth, but my shirt will have to do.” Henry stared at the Army man until the man in coveralls turned and walked to the shed.

  “We’re not going to have a visual on the targets anyway.” Doughboy hitched up his jeans again. “Don’t know what you’re making such a fuss about.”

  “So you’re planning on setting the coordinates and letting the Javelin do its thing?”

  “Pretty much, yeah. We’re not trying to take out a tank—our target’s bigger than that.”

  “You know these were designed specifically as anti-tank missiles, don’t you?”

  “So?”

  “So, they weren’t made for widespread destruction. They’ll explode in one spot and that’s it.”

  “I know what they’re made for. Don’t need you tellin’ me. It was what we could get, so it will have to do the job.”

  “If you’ll tell me what the target is, I might be able to make some adjustments on the missile itself.” Henry had blurted out the first thing that came to mind. He didn’t have the slightest idea of how to make adjustments or even if it could be done.

  Doughboy’s eyes turned wary as he stared at Henry without blinking. “We need to blow up a building.”

  “What building? How big?” Henry tried to keep his voice calm and not let the alarm he felt be detected.

  “Just a building. That’s all you need to know.”

  Henry felt as if he were running into a brick wall every time he tried to get specific information. Without it, he didn’t know if Sam could convince the FBI to take any action. He sat the CLU back onto the truck bed, waiting for the man in coveralls to come back with a screwdriver.

  He had no idea what he was going to do with it when he got it—he never took a CLU apart. In fact, he had very little hands-on experience with the Javelins. Occasionally, the SEALs went on a joint mission with the Army and the missiles were supplied as backup. He couldn’t recall once when he used one, aside from a few practice sessions.

  If he could get a shot of the missiles when they were lined up outside, he was certain it would get some action from the Feds. Ten Javelins would be hard to ignore. But it was going to be tricky and dangerous. These guys didn’t trust him, and nothing he’d done so far had changed their minds. He leaned against the tailgate, still scanning the trees for danger.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Out on the road, White Cloud watched the Hummer stop behind them. Two men dressed in fatigues got out and approached, one on either side. Both had a crew cut so short it was hard to tell the color of their hair. The one on Sam’s side had a receding hairline that couldn’t be hidden. His eyes were tiny orbs in a pockmarked face. The second man’s muscles would have made it hard for him to keep his arms at his sides if it wasn’t for the AR-17 held in front.

  The second man tapped on the driver’s side window with the rifle. White Cloud rolled it down.

  “You lost or somethin’?”

  Sam leaned over the console and said the first thing that came to her mind. “We’re looking for an antique shop that’s supposed to be on this road, but we can’t find it.”

  “Ain’t no shops of any kind on this road. You’re in the wrong place.” The man’s voice rumbled out of his chest. “You’d best go back the way you came.”

  “But I need to get a birthday present for my mother,” Sam whined. “I have to find that shop.”

  “Maybe you didn’t hear me, lady. Ain’t nothing on this road. Move along now.” He stepped back and pointed the rifle at the side of the Firebird. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen to this nice automobile you’re in.”

  Just then the receiver crackle
d, drawing in the man’s attention. “What’s that?”

  Sam was thankful the receiver looked old and innocent. “It’s an old transistor radio. It was going to be my mother’s gift, but it doesn’t work.” She clicked off the device before voices came back.

  “Oh, yeah? Let me see it.” The man took one hand off the rifle and held it out.

  Shit! Sam held it up and wiggled it. “Nothing but a cheap plastic relic.”

  The man leaned his head inside the car. “I said let me see it.”

  Sam clutched the small rectangle to her chest and wrinkled her forehead. She hoped she could summon tears if needed. “Please, it’s just a cheap gift. If I can’t find the other antique shop, it’s all I have to give to my mother. Please!” A tear dripped down her cheek.

  “All right, all right.” The man stepped back. “Just turn around and go back to the main road. If we see you again, we’ll shoot first and ask questions later.”

  Sam nodded and White cloud put the car in gear. He made a U-turn and headed back the way they came.

  Sam sat the receiver back in the console and turned it on. Still static. “We can’t hear shit anyway. Let’s wait on the highway.”

  “It will be difficult to stop.” White Cloud had an edge to his voice. “They are following us.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Sam glanced at the side mirror. “Why the hell are they following us?”

  “I am not so sure they believed your story about the antique shop even though your tears were quite impressive.” White Cloud shrugged.

  Sam smiled. “I tried my best.”

  “Or perhaps they are not happy to see you with a Native American. The taxi provided a better cover.”

  Sam slumped in the seat and kept her eyes glued to the mirror.

  When they reached Route 26, White Cloud turned toward the reservation. They crossed over the Deschutes River; the Hummer kept pace behind them.

  “Shit! They’re still with us.” She shook her head.

  White Cloud continued to approach Warm Springs, keeping their speed below the limit. “I will stop at the casino. It has security.”

  “But it’s for casino patrons, not us.”

  “I know the chief of security. He is another student of Uncle and will be happy to help if necessary.”

  They turned into the half-filled parking lot of the casino, and White Cloud parked the Firebird in a handicapped spot near the entrance. “The Hummer is waiting in the rear of the lot. Perhaps you should go into the casino. I will be right behind you in a minute. We do not want to look like we are together.”

  “Why not? I’m not ashamed to be seen with you!”

  “They do not need to know everything. It is best if they do not know our connection.”

  Sam opened the door to get out.

  White Cloud touched her arm. “You need to leave your weapons here. None are permitted in the casino.”

  “Well, hell,” Sam muttered, but she took the 9-millimeter from her purse and the .38 from her ankle holster. She slid both into the glove box.

  “That is all you have?” He raised his eyebrows at Sam.

  Sam sighed. “I have a knife. Does that count?”

  “It is a weapon.”

  Sam dug the knife from its scabbard at her waist. “I don’t feel comfortable without anything.”

  White Clouded nodded. “Neither will those two in the Hummer, if they follow you inside. If they don’t leave their weapons behind, they will be stopped and arrested immediately. The security is very diligent about the restriction.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Sam threw her knife in with the guns. “I’ll head straight for the gift shop. Pretend like I’m looking for something for my mother.”

  “I will find my friend and watch the door.”

  Sam took in a deep breath. “Okay. Here goes nothing.”

  She watched the reflection of the Hummer in the plate-glass door before she entered. It didn’t look like anyone got out of the vehicle, so she breathed a little easier as she searched the lobby for the gift shop. She saw it to her left and strolled into the vast space filled with rubber tomahawks, beaded dresses for girls, and small feather headdresses for boys or girls who wanted to be warriors. Past the children’s section, she stopped to touch the T-shirts with the Indian Head Casino logo.

  She glanced over her shoulder and spotted White Cloud talking to a tall Native American in a brown uniform. The man’s face wore a hardened scowl, and Sam felt confident he could handle those two in the Hummer should they decide to drop in. She moved to another aisle in the shop, picking up a deck of cards with Indian-chief heads instead of the usual jacks, queens, and kings.

  Because she felt she should buy something in exchange for sanctuary, she checked the price of the cards then turned to find the checkout area. The gift shop was empty except for an elderly couple asking the clerk for help with the colorful wool blankets. Sam continued browsing while she waited for the clerk to be free. As she strolled down the aisle, she felt someone brush her arm.

  She jerked away ready to give the person a dirty look for not respecting her space. Her glower changed to surprise as a needle penetrated the sweatshirt she wore. She opened her mouth to protest but her tongue tingled and didn’t work. Within seconds she felt her legs start to prickle then grow weak She could barely lift her arms or hold her head up.

  A blond woman held her elbow and guided her to the side exit. Sam tried to resist, but her muscles were not cooperating. Her lips felt like lead weights, unable to move. She tried to swallow and found it took all her strength to get her throat to function. Her head felt as if it were floating high above her neck and shoulders. Her whole body tingled as if attached to an electrical circuit. Her arms would not operate, her ankles would not bend.

  Her mind wanted to break free. She felt like a zombie, walking through the parking lot with the blonde guiding her to a silver sedan parked behind a dumpster. Every muscle in her body acted like a rubber band stretched to its limit. She had no control over her limbs. Her panic escalated as she began to have trouble breathing.

  “Relax,” said the voice beside her. It sounded as if it came from a deep well. “The more you struggle, the harder it will be. You’ll be fine when I give you the antidote.”

  Antidote! Jesus Christ! What had this woman done to her? She felt herself being pushed into the front seat of the car; the seat belt stretched across her chest. She could only sit and stare. She couldn’t blink; she couldn’t even turn her head to see if White Cloud saw what happened to her.

  As the car backed out of the parking space, Sam caught a glimpse of the side door they’d used. No one stood there looking for her. If her shoulders slumped at that realization, she couldn’t feel them.

  The car weaved through the parking lot and headed for a rear exit. They weren’t going to pass the Hummer, although Sam almost wished they were. Maybe those two guys would save her? Yeah, and maybe there was life on Mars.

  Up until now her mind had remained sharp and clear, but she felt it slowly slipping away. Her vision blurred, but her awareness fought to remain sharp. All she could do was watch as they left the casino behind and headed toward Portland. She felt as if a straitjacket covered her whole body. Not one muscle moved.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  The buzzing grew so loud, Henry felt as if his head would explode. He studied the woods and the area around him but could find no reason for alarm. He shook his head to try to clear it. The buzzing continued.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  Henry barely heard the Army guy’s question over the buzz. “Nothing. Just a headache. Why’s it taking them so long to get a few blankets?”

  “They have to strip them from the beds. We don’t have extra shit lying around.”

  Henry picked up the CLU again and scanned the woods once more. He’d used the screwdriver to take off the eyepiece and had acted like he’d cleaned it. He’d almost sighed in relief when he managed to reattach it without a problem. He tu
rned a full circle looking for danger. He saw nothing to worry about. But then why was his head ready to explode?

  The sound of a motor broke through the silence, and Henry watched the pickup approach, weaving through the woods. He saw no road or even a footpath for the truck to follow. The vehicle broke into the clearing and sped up. For a second, Henry thought it was going to drive straight into the orange pickup. It stopped nose to nose with Henry’s truck and Biggie, the driver, jumped out with a grin on his face.

  “Not funny.” Henry wiped his hair from his forehead, hoping to hide his anxiety.

  “Oh, what’s the matter, pretty boy? Did you think we were going to smash it?” Biggie grinned at Henry.

  “It needs to be smashed. It’s a piece of junk.” Petey slid out from the passenger seat and grabbed three blankets from the bed of the truck. “This’s all we could find.”

  He tossed the blankets to Henry.

  Henry caught them and tossed them back. “Lay them out on the ground.”

  “Aw, hell,” Petey moaned to Doughboy. “You do it. We got ’em.”

  “Just lay them down and quit bitchin’. You sound like my wife.” Doughboy shook his head.

  Petey looked surprised. “Didn’t know you were married.”

  “There’s a lot of things you don’t know.” Doughboy pointed to a flat area between the trucks and the shed. “This’ll work fine. Let’s get those missiles out here. I don’t want to waste all day with this shit.”

  Petey and Biggie spread the blankets and brought out all the missiles while Doughboy, the guy in coveralls, and Henry watched. Henry knelt by the first missile and pretended to scrutinize it. He turned it over in his hand, checked the secondary firing point. He knew that the missiles worked with a two-way propulsion system. First the missile is ejected from the launcher, then when it reaches a certain distance from the operator, the main rocket motors ignite. If he could screw up the second ignition the missile would fall to the ground within yards of the launch site and never make it to the target.

  The problem was, he wasn’t sure how to make the second ignition fail. He could pull wires, but a lot of it was run on software. Without knowing how to access that, he had no guarantee he could stop these missiles. The best chance of avoiding catastrophe on the reservation would be for the Feebies to clear out the compound. Of course, that could turn into a siege situation that no one wanted and might not prevent the Javelins from firing.