He kept going, and Lily let him go. As he retraced the route she'd led him along through Lafayette back to the military camp he felt conflicting emotions. Relief that he'd escaped and could be alone, and dread that the young woman would never want to speak to him again after this.
He'd just turned the corner onto a smaller street that would lead to the gate the civilian workers used to get in and out of camp when two shapes materialized out of the gloom in front of him. He stopped, alarm bells ringing as he remembered Lily's warning about crime. Even worse, a quick glance around showed motion out of the corner of his eye as two more shapes slipped in behind him, closing fast.
The fact that he was a stone's throw from the military camp was small comfort. Whatever Lily said about Lancers patrolling this area the street looked deserted aside from these obvious assailants.
“Whatever this is, I'm armed,” Pete warned, reaching for his sidearm as he backed towards the wall of the building to his left so all of the shapes would be in view.
He flinched as a flashlight beam hit him in the eyes, and heard mocking laughter from the approaching shapes. “Now does that seem like a good idea, Chainbreaker?” one of the men in front of him asked. “I can just see the charges filed for your court-martial: unstable corporal gets spooked in the dark, pulls out a gun in the middle of Lafayette, and shoots at fellow soldiers.”
“Make that his post-mortem hearing,” another voice said, sounding less amused. “You pull that gun, you've got four witnesses who say we were forced to defend ourselves.”
Pete let his hand fall away from his pistol, feeling the sinking weight of inevitability. And he'd thought this night couldn't get any worse. “Let me guess. Members of the glorious 102nd?”
So much for Lancers not patrolling the area.
“Yeah, we're 102nd,” the first voice said. “Word is you enjoy picking fights with us.”
“Because it happened once, five years ago, with someone I had a past grudge with?” Pete asked.
He heard a quiet clicking from one of the men ahead, which might've been knuckles cracking or some sort of nasty weapon being drawn. “Once is enough.” Past the blinding light Pete saw the shapes closing in. “Just relax, Kid, we don't plan to seriously injure you.”
Right. Well, he might as well get this over with. Pete dropped into a low crouch, shading his eyes and picking out the Lancer with the flashlight as the first one he'd go for. “Well you're right, I did enjoy picking a fight with Vernon. Tell him that for me.”
Without waiting for a response he lunged forward, one hand sweeping out to knock the flashlight aside while he brought the other one in to swing at the shadowy figure's head.
Half blinded, he completely missed. The next thing he knew an explosion of pain from a fist in his gut folded him over. Before he could recover he was tackled from the side and thrown to the ground, where he found himself huddling in the middle of a flurry of painful punches and kicks.
Pete hadn't expected to win against four attackers, but he'd hoped to do a bit better than that. Unfortunately it looked like the fight was over before it even began.
Although when they dragged him to his feet, one man holding him in a full nelson so the other three could get to work on face and body blows, it was obvious they were just getting started.
* * * * *
Pete had to grudgingly admit that, if nothing else, at least the Lancers knew how to administer a beating on a helpless victim without causing serious or permanent injury.
It hurt like the blazes, and he could barely stagger the rest of the way to Epsilon's barrack when they finally let him go, but nothing felt broken and he still had all his teeth.
Jack swore and leapt to his feet the moment Pete lurched through the door. “What happened?” he demanded, rushing forward to help Pete the rest of the way to his cot and easing him down onto it. While Pete swayed dazedly his friend fumbled around in his bag for a washcloth, wet it from a water bottle, and started dabbing at his face.
Pete took the cloth from him. “Lancers,” he said, gingerly sopping up the blood still dribbling from his nose. “Sent by a guy named Fred Vernon.”
His squad mates had muttered and spat in disgust at the mention of the 102nd, but when they heard Vernon's name that turned to outright cursing and dark looks.
“Vernon, eh?” Chavez said. “Wouldn't put it past him . . . guy's a real piece of work.”
Pete swigged some water and walked over to spit it into the portable sink. It was closer to red than pink, so he swished another mouthful and spat again. “He's got a reputation?”
“You could say that.” The sergeant shook his head sourly. “Nobody can prove anything, but the general agreement around camp is he's a snitch. His superior officers sure seem to love him, and he's got an army of cronies. He's the sort who brownnoses influence just so he can use it to screw over people he doesn't like.”
“Sounds about right.”
“I dunno,” Monty piped up. He wilted slightly as everyone turned to him, but kept going. “I mean, rumors get to even the recruits eventually, right? What I've heard paints him like the type who works within the “system”. I don't see him siccing a bunch of his men on you.”
“He's got a point,” another squad mate Pete hadn't met yet said. This guy was seriously flouting regs with his thick stubble, ragged clothes, and long, lank black hair. “Not unless the guy really doesn't like you for some reason.”
Pete started to smile, then winced when it pulled at a cut on his lip. “Well five years ago I called him a thief and a coward in front of a bunch of Chainbreakers and Lancers, then punched him in the face.”
“That would probably do it,” Chavez said. Pete thought he was hiding a smirk. “Man certainly knows how to hold a grudge.”
“Forget that,” Jack snapped. “What are we going to do about this?” A murmur of agreement spread through Epsilon Squad.
Chavez glanced at the scruffy soldier, who just looked back impassively. The sergeant shrugged. “Report it.”
Pete paused in wiping at the fresh blood oozing from his split lip. “You just got finished telling me he works the system. There's no way that would accomplish anything.”
“That's right,” Chavez said evenly. “And I also finished telling you he screws over people he doesn't like, and like you said he really doesn't like you. Pursuing this could get Epsilon in a world of trouble we don't need right now. Report it and do nothing else, that's an order.”
“So we're the type of squad that doesn't do jack when one of our own gets jumped in the streets?” Jack demanded incredulously.
“If it happens again we will,” the scruffy soldier replied. The rest of the squad nodded solemnly. “But for now we give Vernon this one, see if once was enough to get old grudges out of his system.”
Pete met and held Chavez's gaze. “I'm not going to do nothing if it means I've got to look over my shoulder every time I leave this building. I need to hear it from you personally that next time we respond.”
Chavez twisted his lips into what might've generously been called a smile. “You've got my word, for what it's worth. If the Lancers mess with you again we'll give them a demonstration on the difference between them and real soldiers.” Epsilon Squad hooted their agreement.
Pete nodded reluctantly and got back to doing what he could for his minor but painful injuries.
Chapter Thirteen
Captives
Pete lay prone next to Jack atop a hill overlooking the slaver logging camp and the stream it sprawled beside.
Their position was near the “back” of the camp, an area of dense undergrowth they'd have trouble sneaking through. Thanks to that it would be difficult to get in and do their job, but that hardly mattered because their job was an afterthought.
He and his friend had been assigned to go in and free the slaves while Chavez and the other two teams took out the half dozen slaver guards and secured the seven CCZ residents of the camp. Not exactly urgent, since if the sergeant su
cceeded they'd free the slaves anyway.
But still potentially important; if any guard got desperate and decided to take the slaves hostage or even start slaughtering them in revenge, Team 2 needed to be there first to prevent that from happening. Or at least half of team two, since Monty and Nelson had been left with the squad's two trucks over half a day's hike to the west of here, guarding them and keeping them hidden until the squad returned.
That return would be the slaver trucks at the center of the camp. Once Epsilon took out the guards, freed the slaves, and looted the camp, they'd drive the vehicles back to get the squad's trucks and their two squad mates. Then it was just a matter of sneaking their way a few hundred miles through CCZ territory.
They were in deep here, and a lot could go wrong before they could get out. And all for twenty or so slaves in a ramshackle camp. But between increasingly tight slaver security on their slave camps and the fact that this war definitely hadn't been kind to the CCZ, this was still one of the best targets available for a single squad to hit.
Pete glanced at Jack, who nodded. “No problem,” his friend whispered. “Glad the newby and the dead weight aren't here for this, though; no way they'd be able to manage it.”
Pete had no way of knowing whether or not that was true, since he hadn't really had a chance to see the other two members of his team in action. But the infiltration would be hard for him so it would probably be beyond at least Monty, and Nelson hadn't seemed all that impressive either.
He glanced at his watch, confirming the time. The rest of the squad would probably attack before he and his friend got through that tangle, so at best they'd be late to the party. But it was better than being early and accidentally revealing their presence and alerting the camp.
With a nod back to Jack he slithered down the hill, staying in a fold that blocked their view of the tattered tents below. This sort of exercise was nothing new to him or his friend, and they moved with the easy familiarity of long experience, eyes on their surroundings for any potential threats.
There shouldn't be. Chavez had planned the attack to take place at lunch, when as few people as possible would be wandering around. And with any luck if things went smoothly they'd catch most of the guards and camp residents in the middle of their meal and take them without a shot.
At the base of the hill they eased their way through the thick tangle of undergrowth there. Along the way they encountered signs of woodcutting, for construction and firewood, as well as a small clearing with the surrounding trees full of badly covered human waste and trash. It was apparently a spot where people had come to relieve themselves, drink and smoke, or just hang out.
Finally they reached the edge of the tangle. There was no fence around the camp since it was in the middle of nowhere, so the slavers relied on leg shackles to keep the slaves from bolting. That made it look surprisingly vulnerable.
Which, Pete supposed, it was; the rest of the squad had already begun their attack, and it was going as smoothly as he could've hoped for.
The two sentries had already been picked off by Chavez and Torm, the scruffy, long-haired soldier who would've been the sergeant's second in command if Pete hadn't been assigned to Epsilon. The two had snuck in close and taken the enemy guards out with knives, all without raising the alarm.
With the way clear the rest of the squad moved in fast, entering the camp from all sides. Those few residents outside the dining hall at this hour were quickly quieted with gags and taken prisoner, their hands and feet bound by zip ties. Then they were left where they lay as the veteran soldiers continued on to the dining hall.
Pete and Jack broke from cover for the slave barrack less than twenty feet away, a crude, poorly made building with barred windows and a heavy, reinforced door. From the direction of the dining hall he could hear more shooting as at least one guard rushed outside to investigate the few noises the captured CCZ residents had managed to make.
The shooting didn't last long, the camp guards caught by surprise by the attack, and as Pete reached the barrack door he caught a glimpse of his squad mates bursting through several of the dining hall's doors, yelling for everyone to get on the ground in broken Chinese, Russian, and a few other common languages used by CCZ occupiers.
There were no guards on the barrack. The slaves, exhausted after only half a brutal day of felling, limbing, and bucking trees, probably with no better tools than simple axes and saws, would be taking whatever rest they could until they were forced to work again. A simple padlock on the door kept them in.
Pete reached over his shoulder to grab the bolt cutters sticking out of his pack, checking around once for threats he or his squad mates had missed before focusing on snipping the lock. There was no sign of anything he should be worried about, although among the sounds of the attack from within the dining hall he heard someone laughing, which seriously wigged him out.
Shaking his head, he got back to his job and tossed the ruined lock aside, then yanked open the door and eased inside. Jack came in just behind him and watched the door in case any enemies approached.
Which left Pete facing a score of emaciated, beaten down men. “All right, everyone,” he hissed. “Grab any possessions you have and find a safe place to hunker down, but be ready to move fast if you need to.” The slaves stared at him blankly. “We're here to free you,” he added.
A ragged cheer swept through the barrack, and the slaves burst into motion. One man paused to point at the broken chain patch on Pete's upper arm. “You guys are Chainbreakers.”
Pete blinked. “You've heard of us?”
The man smiled wanly. “Word gets around among the slaves. Any scrap of hope. You, the 51st, the Jackrabbits along the western border.” He gestured to his manacled legs, loose enough he could walk but not at any good speed, and definitely not run. “You can imagine we like to dream of rescue, unlikely as it is.”
“Well here we are.” Pete motioned, and the man hurried away to gather his few meager possessions.
A whistle outside got their attention. Jack looked out. “Looks like the fun's over.”
Pete clapped his friend on the shoulder as he slipped past him out the door. “Find the key to these manacles and get these people free.”
Outside he found three members of the squad herding the slaver guards and CCZ residents into a huddle by the trucks. Two other Chainbreakers were sitting morosely on the hood of one of the slaver vehicles while one, Martin he thought, was kicking a front tire and cursing. Chavez and Torm were nowhere to be seen.
It only took Pete a moment see what had Martin so pissed off: the tires on the trucks were slashed, and dark stains on the ground below their engine blocks spoke of cut lines or punctured tanks. Sure enough, as Pete approached he caught a whiff of diesel in the air.
He swore. “What happened?”
Danny, one of the soldiers up on the hood, pointed with disgust at an older Chinese woman among the prisoners, who spat at them and glared when she realized she'd got their attention. She looked more than a bit pleased with herself. “This one ran straight for the trucks as soon as the attack began. We didn't see until she was nearly done, and by then it seemed pointless to shoot her.”
Pete flinched slightly. Was the guy saying he would've shot a civilian to prevent damage to the trucks? An old woman? He wasn't sure he wanted the answer, so he went with a different question. “So what's the verdict? Do we radio our guys with our vehicles to pick us up, or send a runner out to get them? Hike out on foot with twenty half-starved freed slaves?”
Danny made a noncommittal “Iunno” noise and motioned to a small shack not far from the dining hall that Pete assumed was the overseer's quarters. “You'd have to ask Sarge.”
So that's where the man was. Torm too, probably. Pete nodded and jerked his head towards the slave barrack. “Help Porter get the manacles off the slaves. Then if we're not going anywhere anytime soon we might as well get everyone into the dining hall and finish off the meal the slavers kindly provided for us.
”
Martin scowled. “Sarge didn't tell us to do any of that, newby.”
Pete arched an eyebrow and tapped the corporal insignia on his sleeve. “Sorry, Private, didn't quite hear that. Care to repeat yourself?”
The three soldiers sullenly glanced at each other. Danny slapped the hood. “I'll loot the trucks. You two go help with our charges.”
Martin swore and headed off with the last member of Team 1. Pete left them to it and started for the overseer's quarters.
He entered in time to see Torm finishing up the knots on an older Chinese man bound to a chair in the center of the somewhat plain room. Chavez was standing off to one side, and nodded curtly at Pete as he came in. “Well?”
“You know the trucks are toast?” Pete asked.
The sergeant grimaced. “We'll strip the camp, get a meal, then hike the freed prisoners out. Your boy Jack up to running back to the truck to have them come get us?”
“I'll send him out now,” Pete said. Although he hesitated to leave, eyes on the bound overseer.
Chavez seemed amused. “Want to observe?”
Pete felt a surge of misgiving. “Observe what?”
Torm finally spoke up. “A quick look through the camp hasn't produced much, and even a miserable little logging operation like this should have some loot. We're going to ask our friend here where it's hidden.”
That didn't do much for his misgivings. So was that Torm's job in Epsilon? Interrogating prisoners was allowable, but far too many people crossed the line into torture. “What if there isn't any?”
The scruffy private shrugged. “We've got time until we head out. Worth a try.”
Pete nodded and moved over to stand next to Chavez, wanting to ensure the man didn't do anything he shouldn't. “I'll stick around for a few minutes.”
Torm shrugged again, really not seeming to care, and pulled a chair around in front of the bound man, straddling it with his arms resting on the back. “Overseer,” he said with mock politeness, “why don't you tell me a bit about yourself?”
Nuclear Winter | Book 3 | Chain Breakers Page 25