An hour later they had everything they needed except for two jerry cans and a siphon hose.
They found those in the company’s repair shop.
“Smell those cans. Make sure they had diesel in them. We can’t use them if there’s gasoline in them.”
“It’s diesel. There’s about half a gallon left in one, a little less in the other.”
“So that’s it? That’s all we need?”
“Nothing else on the list.”
“Good. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Truth was, the group looked rather ridiculous as they pushed their shopping carts four abreast down the highway.
More than once spectators had to stifle laughter as they watched the men pass, and rude comments abounded.
“Look. It’s a bunch of housewives coming back from the mall.”
Despite that, the carts were a good means of getting the monstrously heavy parts from one place to another. If they’d had to carry the parts by hand, they’d have had to stop every hundred yards to take a break.
Three days after they left they finally made it back to their camp.
Scarface’s words of appreciation for all the work they’d put in:
“It’s about damn time. I was starting to think all you lily-livered cowards deserted on me.”
Luck is a funny thing. Sometimes it shines on the good guys. Sometimes it’s as elusive as a red-headed Eskimo. In wartime, which side wins a battle frequently depends not on who has the superior force or the best training or the better firepower.
In wartime, the side which wins the battle is frequently the side which had the better luck.
Scarface directed Parker and his men to work their way north and west through the woods until they’d made it to the disabled bulldozer. They were to deposit the parts at the dozer and to dispose of the shopping carts at the nearest ravine.
At that same time, Jason and Jacob were scouting the area south and east of Manson’s camp.
They didn’t know about the dozer project.
Couldn’t have known.
None of the cameras in the trees, mostly blocked by leaves, picked up the team’s parts delivery, or their excursion back out of the area.
It was what it was. If Lady Luck had found favor with the Dykes boys they’d have seen the men with the parts and likely blown them away.
Barring that, they’d have at least figured out what the men were up to and found a way to permanently disable the bulldozer.
But that didn’t happen.
And so it was that ten yards from the dozer, hidden in the high weeds which had grown up around it as it sat inactive for many months, were the parts Manson needed to repair it.
He had only to show up with a helper or two and install them.
Chapter 10
It might seem rather odd, under the circumstances, to some people. After all, just a day prior Dave hated the people who took his little girl.
He believed they’d taken her against her will and held her captive, forcing her into slavery and brutally making her do any number of horrific things.
For weeks he’d played out scenarios in his mind of the things she was having to do, the conditions under which she was being forced to live, the beatings she was given.
Then he met Sal.
He found out he’d been totally wrong about pretty much everything.
It turned out Beth wasn’t being mistreated at all.
It also turned out Beth had developed, against all reason, a genuine love for the old man.
So while it might seem rather odd, it was really quite natural Dave and Beth would honor Sal’s request to come with them.
Whether he’d find a permanent home with them or just settle in the same general area, he wanted to be a part of young Beth’s life. She’d taken to calling him “Grandpa Sal,” and that warmed his heart. For it turned out he’d developed a love for her as well.
Any reservations Dave had about bringing the old man along dissolved when he looked into Beth’s pleading eyes.
He owed it to her.
He owed it to her for breaking his promise to her on the day she left for Kansas City. He’d said the week she spent with her Aunt Karen would fly by, and they’d be together just days later.
It wasn’t his fault, and she was old enough and bright enough to understand that. So she wouldn’t hold it against him. In fact, she didn’t even remember it.
Even if she had, it was likely the broken promise would bother him more than it would her. For Dave was a man who didn’t make promises lightly. And he almost never broke them.
Besides the broken promise there was another, perhaps more important reason, for Sal to come along on their journey back to Kansas City.
Dave saw the way Beth held the old man’s hand. He was so filled with rage he couldn’t understand the way she ran to Sal’s rescue when Dave was beating him. With tears in her eyes, she’d begged for Sal’s life.
In all likelihood, had she not done that, Dave would have killed him.
She felt great affection for the man who’d taken her. She now understood why he did so and forgave him. She’d grown attached to him, and after spending every moment with him for weeks had grown to love him.
Dave, on the other hand, hadn’t seen his daughter for a year and a half.
He couldn’t believe how much she’d grown. She was no longer his little Peanut. She’d grown into a headstrong young girl. She’d toughened up.
And like it or not, she’d spent a lot more time with Sal lately than with her father.
Dave was her Daddy and always would be. But he’d been an absent father of late, and the separation had created a chasm between the two.
It wasn’t anybody’s fault. And it was unavoidable considering the nature of the circumstances under which they were separated in the first place.
But it was what it was.
Dave had to face the uncomfortable and heartbreaking fact that Beth was now closer to Sal than she was to her own father.
That would certainly change in the days ahead as they got to know each other again and made up for lost time. But a year and a half was a very long time in the life of an eight year old. It would take considerable effort on Dave’s part to close that chasm.
And while he did so he’d have to be mindful of Sal’s new place in Beth’s life. He couldn’t just shove the man out of the picture and take over.
He never thought he’d have to share his youngest daughter’s love and affection with another man.
Well, maybe later on, when she chose some low life to be her groom. But certainly not now, while she was still a kid.
It would be a hard adjustment for Dave to make, but he’d do it.
And so it was that the three of them climbed back aboard the ridiculous contraption Sal called his “rig,” and set out across the western United States a thousand miles to Kansas City.
Dave had no clue what would happen in the coming days. At fifteen to twenty miles a day it would take them awhile to get there. It was possible Dave and Sal would be the best of friends by the time they arrived.
It was also possible they’d develop somewhat of a rivalry for Beth’s love and affection. That maybe they’d grate on each other’s nerves. That maybe by the time they arrived in Kansas City they’d be desperate to part ways.
Another possibility was that Sarah would demand Sal be banished from their lives. She’d certainly come to hate the people who took her daughter away, even though she’d never met them.
She might not be so quick to forgive, as little Beth and now Dave had been.
She might curse Sal and might even lay hands on him as Dave had.
She might, as she’d done many times in the past, overrule Dave’s decision and put her own in place.
Sarah was headstrong and stubborn. She frequently saw her way as the only way and labeled Dave a “dumbass” for not being on board with her.
She typically got her way. After all, she was the undisputed boss of t
he family, and Dave was a strong believer in the old “If mama’s not happy, then nobody’s happy” theory.
At the same time, though, Sarah was a reasonable person. She’d be able to see Beth’s affection for Sal and would understand it.
She wouldn’t suspect, as Dave did early on, that it might be something akin to Stockholm syndrome.
She’d see it for what it was: a genuine love which developed between two caring individuals thrown together under difficult circumstances.
In the end, Dave was fairly certain Sal would have a permanent seat at the Speer family table and his own bedroom to boot.
Chapter 11
Parker had to admit, he was impressed.
While he was gone, Manson had snuck away to a nearby farm in search of tools to steal. It turned out to be ridiculously easy, for the first place he came to was the farm of Karen and Tommy Henson.
The farm was abandoned now, and Manson had no idea why. He also had no idea the farm’s residents were in the nearby bunker and might soon fall victim to his assault.
Finding no resistance, he snuck into the barn and found a tool box full of wrenches. Hanging above a work bench he found a new set of battery cables and some ground wire.
By the time Parker returned with his parts the tools were already sitting on the seat of the dozer and ready to be put to use.
Oftentimes the relationship between two prison cellmates is based more on fantasy than reality.
Thrown together for twenty four hours a day for months or years on end, cellies have a lot of time to talk. They frequently spin lies to each other to make their lives appear more interesting than they actually are.
It’s not uncommon for an inmate to come to accept his cellmate as a mover and shaker or a successful man on the outside, only to find out later he’s a low-level punk or a nobody.
During their stint at the federal prison at Leavenworth, Manson regaled Parker with stories of his youth, when his father taught him everything he knew about engine and transmission repair.
Manson claimed to have overhauled his first engine at age ten. His first transmission at twelve.
By high school, he said, he was repairing all his friends’ cars in exchange for beer and reefer.
He was so good, he claimed, that the auto mechanics instructors at his high school came to him for help with difficult projects.
That led to stories of Manson’s Army days, when he learned to work on the big rigs: the tractor trailer combinations the Army used to haul tanks and artillery pieces all over the world.
Manson got bored with repairing such trucks, according to his account, and requested a modification to his MOS, or technical specialty. He wanted to work on tracked vehicles. On earth movers. On heavy equipment.
Apparently for someone well-versed on troubleshooting and making repairs on an Abrams tank, working on a Caterpillar bulldozer is a piece of cake.
So despite Parker’s suspicions that Scarface had exaggerated his abilities all those nights in the cell, he seemed to be exactly what he claimed to be.
Manson went right to work replacing the generator. With the assistance of two helpers, who knew nothing but could lift the monstrously heavy part and hold it into position for him, he seemed to be well on his way to getting the job done in short order.
Parker watched from the side, impressed by Scarface’s talents and sure he’d be cooling his heels in his new bunker within a day or so.
Then a shot rang out half a mile or so to their south, and everything suddenly changed.
Barry Davis was one of Manson’s better troops. Not because he was particularly smarter than the others, for not a single one would ever pass for a rocket scientist. Most couldn’t spell “scientist” given three tries, and many couldn’t spell “rocket” either for that matter.
No, Barry Davis distinguished himself in Scarface Manson’s eyes because he was loyal to a fault and quick to act. He followed instructions quickly and efficiently, without asking a lot of questions.
He was one of Manson’s “go to” guys when he wanted something done quickly.
And now Barry Davis was dead.
Parker had been telling the men for days to be careful.
“Don’t smoke cigarettes unless you’re at least a hundred yards away from camp. The smell of burning tobacco can carry for great distances. It can tell the enemy exactly where we are.”
“When you move about, keep a low profile. Just because they’re holed up in their bunker doesn’t mean they can’t call in reinforcements from outside.”
“When you need to leave the camp to take a leak, let the guys know so they don’t freak out and shoot you when they hear somebody rustling through the woods and can’t see your face.”
“Never, ever smoke at night, not even away from camp. Just don’t do it.”
It was all common sense stuff, really.
But common sense isn’t that common when you’re dealing with a group of dumbasses.
It was only fitting that Barry Davis was the first of Manson’s men to fall victim to Jason Dykes’ rifle.
For it was Davis’ fault that Jason and Jacob were in the forest undetected to begin with.
It was Davis who was on duty the night before, tasked with watching the pillbox for any sign of movement.
He had a set of night vision goggles. And they worked well.
But they chose a most inopportune time for the batteries to go dead.
Manson did have a backup pair. He’d procured two sets and a box of batteries from a prepper in Martinsburg a month before.
The backup pair was ready to go. All Davis had to do was switch them out.
But Davis didn’t know where the backups were.
The box of batteries, on the other hand, was right by his feet.
It probably would have been better for Davis to keep eyes on the bunker while kicking a friend who was sleeping nearby, then to dispatch the friend to find the backup pair of goggles.
But it had been quiet to that point and Davis made a command decision.
Which happened to be wrong.
He removed the goggles from his face and replaced the batteries.
During daylight it was a two minute job.
At night it took a little longer.
Five minutes isn’t much time.
But it was plenty of time for Jason and Jacob Dykes to crawl out of their bunker and steal away into the forest.
Since it was Davis who let the brothers get out of their bunker, it was only fair he be the first one to fall. And the following day, as he left the camp in search of a good tree to piss against and a place to grab a smoke, his head exploded.
The brothers took off, running through the woods to regroup and to reposition themselves.
Neither of the brothers had ever joined the military. They’d never been in combat, and wouldn’t know a line patrol from a bivouac.
They could pick out a tank from an armored personnel carrier, but only because they played a lot of video games when they were kids and watched old John Wayne movies with their dad.
Guerilla warfare, especially, was something they never trained to do.
But they reckoned it was mostly about common sense.
Stay on the move, stay out of the enemy’s sights, and take out targets of opportunity as they arose.
If none arose, to go looking for them.
Oddly enough, neither felt fear at the knowledge there were men in the same forest who wanted to kill them.
Also oddly enough was that Jason, who fired the kill shot, felt no remorse.
No anger either. Just… nothing.
One down. Many more to go.
Chapter 12
Scarface stopped turning his wrench just long enough to bark out an order to Parker.
“We’ll stay here. Go find out what in hell that’s all about.”
They were unneeded words, really. Parker was already moving toward the sound of the shot.
Both men assumed, considering the relative st
upidity of their men, that it was one of their own.
Perhaps shooting at a rabbit, or one of the dozens of squirrels they’d seen each and every day since their arrival.
Maybe one of them was cleaning his weapon and allowed it to go off. If that was the case, Manson decided, he hoped it took the fool’s head off with it.
Scarface had been in the Army but never in combat. It didn’t even occur to him there was a third possibility.
Parker saw action in both Iraq and Afghanistan. He’d been a good soldier and a war hero. He had a stellar reputation until that day he chose to drive drunk. He killed a young mother and paralyzed her son. And from that moment on everything good he’d ever done in his life was forgotten.
But he still remembered his combat experiences. And he was off like a shot even before being ordered to investigate, because he knew there was a chance his men were under attack.
His men took cover when they heard the shot. They hunkered down and took a head count, but not much else.
If Parker hadn’t announced himself when he got close to camp he might have been shot by one of his own men.
“It’s Parker. Don’t shoot. I’m coming in.”
The men breathed a sigh of relief. Now that their lieutenant was here they didn’t have to think for themselves.
That was a good thing, for every combat veteran knows it’s easier to follow orders than to make the tough decisions on what to do and when.
“Who’s missing?”
“Davis.”
“Crap.”
Despite his error in judgment the night before Davis was a good man who Parker could rely on. If he had to lose a man he’d rather it have been one of the others.
“Did he take his weapon?”
The group gave a collective shrug. No one knew.
“Where was he before he left?”
“Over there, by that fallen tree.”
Parker made his way to an old pine, felled by a lightning bolt a couple of years before. Its burned trunk was just then being devoured by termites, new growth coming up from its roots.
There was no rifle. No nothing, except for a half-emptied bottle of water.
A Tearful Reunion Page 5