by M. D. Massey
A few hundred yards further, her trail veered off into the woods. About fifty yards in, we found some 5.56 shell casings and a bit of blood. So, either she got hit, or she’d hit one of her pursuers. Based on the scattered shell casings that were left along the trail it looked like she was running and gunning in retreat. Another hundred yards in and it looked as though she’d been flanked; four larger sets of footprints converged with hers, and there appeared to have been a minor struggle. Her footprints disappeared after that, leading me to believe she’d been incapacitated and carried off.
The larger footprints looked military. I chewed my lip a moment or two before deciding what to do. “Gabby, I need you to head back to the airstrip and find Bobby.”
“But what about Captain Perez? If these were punters, you’re going to need help getting her back.”
I shook my head and pointed at the tracks in front of us. “Those prints were made by military-issue boots—I’d stake my life on it. Something tells me that these aren’t just your run-of-the-mill punters, and that puts us in uncharted territory.” It’d been years since I’d seen any military personnel, and most of them had been ragtag units that were almost as bad as punters. I strongly suspected that this group had long ago gone rogue, and that getting the captain back wasn’t going to be easy.
The look on the Gabby’s face told me she didn’t want to be left behind. Despite any feelings she might have had on the matter, there was no way I was taking her with me; at least, not until I knew what this group was all about. I knelt in front of her and placed my hands on her shoulders. “Look, all I’m going to do is run a scouting mission, find out where they have her, and then I’m coming back to get you two so we can spring her together. But right now, what I need for you to do is find Bobby, and then wait for me near the Facility.”
She nodded, but the look on her face told me it was with reluctance. “Alright. But if you don’t come back by tomorrow morning, we’re coming after you.”
I shook my head slowly. “Uh-uh, no can do. Under no circumstances are you to come looking for me. I need you two back at the Facility, guarding it in case these guys show up.” She looked unconvinced, but didn’t object. “Just remember to stay out of sight, and don’t engage with them unless they try to get into the place. I know you and Bobby can do that. I’ll be back by morning—just go find Bobby and wait for me near the Facility.” She nodded again with a bit more confidence, and then took off into the trees.
5
Men
Once she was gone, I picked up the trail and headed after whoever took Captain Perez. I had no intentions of heading back to get Gabby and Bobby at the moment; that was just a ruse to get her out of the way. I also sincerely doubted that they’d run into anyone that far off the roads; getting them to “guard” the Facility was just a way to get them somewhere they’d be safe.
I was hunting people now, and having those two stumbling around would only complicate things. Not to mention how conflicted I was about turning an eleven-year-old kid into a killer, or rather, more of a killer than she already was. And with Gabby and Bobby safely out of the way I could do what needed to be done without worrying about anyone else getting hurt. Well, except the clowns who nabbed the doc. Without her, I didn’t have a chance in hell of getting Kara back… and in my mind that made them as good as dead. They just didn’t know it yet.
Their trail wasn’t hard to follow, which told me that while they might be military, they were undisciplined. The last time I’d seen the doc she’d been in uniform, albeit sans rank and name tags. If this group was former military, I was certain she’d have tried to pull rank on them; that they’d snagged her anyway pretty much confirmed they were a rogue unit. Based on past experience, I also suspected they would be a mix of former military and civilian, since any two-bit self-made warlord would be actively recruiting in order to increase his numbers.
It was rare to see those kinds of groups last, though, as they tended to disintegrate eventually due to infighting and rebellion. It took a very strong leader to keep a group of violent men and women together and working toward a single purpose, and those were in short supply these days. Any fool could see why punters stuck together; criminal enterprises always seemed to thrive wherever there were people to prey upon. But keeping a paramilitary group together was another thing entirely, and it worried the shit out of me that there might still be one that was operational in the vicinity.
The reason why was simple; punters tended to work in isolated and fragmented groups, which meant that while they were dangerous, they normally steered clear of the settlements. On the other hand, an organized paramilitary group with a competent leader could become a sizable threat over time. Such a force could invade any area where a power vacuum existed, rapidly taking over the region and enforcing martial law. I’d seen it happen before, in Afghanistan, and here in the States after the bombs fell.
The last thing we needed was a tin-pot dictator trying to take over the Hill Country safe zones, especially now, considering how vulnerable and impressionable people would be after the ’thrope raids. I knew that most folks tended to take any port in a storm, and the promise of protection against the raids might be enough to make them easy prey for a warlord. I hated to think what life would be like in the settlements if such a thing occurred.
Setting such thoughts aside for the moment, I turned my attention to the task at hand, and took off at a lope to follow the trail left by Captain Perez’s attackers. Within a few hours, I began to pick up sounds and smells that indicated I was nearing their camp. I slowed my pace and left the trail, choosing instead to come upon them from an unexpected, and likely unguarded, angle. I moved as quietly as possible through the dense brush, coming over a small hill to view where the group had set up camp.
Whoever these people were, they’d taken over one of the old training areas and turned it into a makeshift command post of sorts. They’d managed to move a number of metal Con-Ex containers to form a crude stockade around their CP, or perhaps that had been done before they arrived. I also noted immediately that they’d salvaged the remains of some barracks tents in order to get four serviceable shelters for their troops. If they were using all that space it could indicate a sizable force, perhaps fifty to sixty heads. In any case, I could see at least three sentries patrolling the wall, and a dozen more of them milling around inside the compound.
There were also two quonset huts inside their perimeter, as well as a three containerized housing units. It was anyone’s guess where they were keeping the captain, but based on the number of people I’d seen already seen in the compound, this was not going to be easy. I was going to have to go in undetected, find the doc, get her out quietly, and then haul ass out of here before someone figured out she was missing.
That was if she was in any condition to travel. While I did see some females carrying weapons inside the walls of the compound, I also knew what could happen to an attractive woman like Captain Perez among a group of violent individuals. In fact, I’d hazard to say that her looks were likely the only thing keeping her alive at the moment. That, and she might have convinced them she was worth something to them due to her medical training. In fact, they probably already had her working in their med station. I decided to hunker down and gather as much intel as possible on these assholes, and then once I had an idea of where she was, I’d move in and snatch her in the lonely hours of the night.
At least, that was the plan. I’d just have to see how things went, once I got inside the place.
I caught a glimpse of Captain Perez just a few hours before dark. When I saw her, they were leading her from one of the CHUs to another. There were two guards with her, and I noted that one of them entered the trailer with her while the other remained posted outside the entrance to the housing unit. They were probably concerned that she’d try to make a break for it and keeping her under close guard, a reasonable assumption. She appeared to be uninjured, if a little worse for the wear, so I figured we’d be able to
get away quietly once I took out her guards.
After dark, I realized there were some major issues with my plan. For one, the relative size of the camp was small, and there were roving patrols moving at odd intervals all night long. Just one slipup and the place would be crawling with bodies looking to put a hurt on us. Secondly, I needed to know more about what this group was all about. Although their actual numbers turned out to be a bit less than what I initially guessed, from what I could tell they were fairly organized and efficient. That had me worried, since a group like this could pose a severe threat to the Hill Country settlements and safe zones, should they decide to move north. And with a ’thrope pack threatening the area, the last thing I needed was a secondary threat in the form of a group of marauders raiding the settlements as well.
Unfortunately, it looked like a simple rescue operation would be out of the question. The alternative was just as risky, but it would offer a greater chance of success over time, as well as the opportunity to collect a great deal of intel on this group in the process. It looked as though infiltration would be my only option. Needless to say, I was not looking forward to putting this plan into action.
Once I decided on a course of action, I headed back to the Facility to let Gabby know what I was going to do. The last thing I needed was for her and Bobby to show up trying to rescue me and spoil all my fun. And, at some point I’d probably need their help to get the doc out, so it was imperative that I kept them apprised of the situation. Of course, this could all end up with me being shot, but I chose to look on the sunny side of things when it came to the risk of my imminent demise. Living under the constant threat of species extinction will do that to you.
By the time I got back, Bobby had returned and he and Gabby were sacked out on the roof of the building we’d found earlier. Not wanting to get clawed in the face or shot, I tossed pebbles at them until they both woke up, and called up to them in a stage whisper. “What the hell are you two doing, sleeping without someone on watch?”
They both rubbed sleep from their eyes, and then looked away. Finally, Bobby spoke up. “There’s nothing around for miles, boss—not even a single deader. It’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen. It’s like somebody sprayed some sort of undead repellent around here that’s keeping them away.”
I considered that information for a moment, and tucked it away for future reference. “Well, regardless of the lack of undead around here, there’s a paramilitary group patrolling and searching the area just south and west of us. So, you two need to keep watch no matter what when you’re not in a secure location—especially when I’m not around.”
I raised an eyebrow and waited, knowing that at least one of them could see me. Finally, Bobby answered me. “I got it. Will do, boss.”
Gabby spoke up then. “What’d you find out? Is Captain Perez okay?”
“As far as I can tell. The thing is, there are too many of them for me to just break her out, and besides that they’re too well organized. I count at least thirty to forty inside the compound, and they may have more out on patrols and recon teams. They keep three men on their perimeter wall at all times, plus a gate guard, and they run patrols inside the perimeter on an unpredictable schedule that changes every hour.”
I could hear Gabby rustling around in the dark. “Just let me get my gear together and I’ll go with you. I can create a distraction, and then you can go in and get her.”
“Uh-uh, no dice. These guys aren’t the sharpest knives in the drawer, but that doesn’t mean they’re completely stupid. Somebody halfway competent is giving them orders and keeping them together as a unit, and I doubt a simple distraction will cause them to drop their guard or shift personnel enough to leave a hole in their perimeter.
“So, I’m thinking we need to take an alternate tact. Meaning, this is going to have to be an inside job. I’m going to get myself recruited into their militia and then formulate a plan to get the doc out once I’m inside and in their trust.”
Bobby whistled softly, “That sounds pretty risky. I don’t know if I like it.”
“Me neither,” Gabby whispered.
“Well, it’s the only plan we got. Now, Bobby, I’m going to need you and Gabby to take turns observing their compound, because when I give the signal I’m going to need you to make a delivery for me…”
6
Regiment
The next morning, I was standing inside the tree line within shouting distance of the gates to the camp, and wishing I was anywhere else but here. There were three ways this could go: they could shoot me before I got in the camp, shoot me after I got in the camp, or take me in as a new recruit. I hoped like hell they were in the recruiting mood.
I walked out from the trees with my rifle held over my head. “Don’t shoot!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. I saw the gate guard and two wall sentries perk up and shoulder their rifles, aiming them in my general direction.
The gate guard yelled back, “I don’t know who you are, but you’d best turn around and head back the way you came. We don’t take in strays, and we don’t do handouts.”
“I’m not looking for a handout—I’m looking for work. I have my own gear, and experience, of the sort an outfit like yours might desire.”
One of the sentries eyed me more carefully. After a moment’s consideration, he yelled back, “Hold there.”
I could see the two sentries speaking to the gate guard, but I couldn’t tell what they were saying. I remained silent and waited with my weapon held overhead, expecting a bullet in the gut any second. Instead, I saw the guy at the gate peel off and head back toward the center of their camp. The sentries kept their rifles trained in my direction, never taking their eyes off me all the while. A few minutes later the gate opened and four of them came out of the gate, weapons sighted in on my torso. Each was armed with an assault rifle; I noted two AR-15 variants, an AK-47, and an SKS. So, they were armed, but not too well supplied then. Good to know. They quickly surrounded me, took my rifle and sidearms, and began marching me inside the compound.
I looked at one of the goons that took my weapons. “Do I get a receipt for those?”
He pushed me roughly in between the shoulder blades with the butt of his rifle in response. “Just keep moving. The commander will decide whether you’ll get them back.”
Once inside the compound, they took me to one of the quonset huts and marched me inside. Just inside the door there was an older white male, maybe early fifties, standing behind a portable table that was covered in maps. He was dressed in Army fatigues with full birds on his lapels, which I found rather strange. That might indicate he wasn’t on active duty when the bombs dropped, as Army personnel stopped wearing rank insignia on their uniform lapels after they transitioned to the ACU-style uniforms, right around the time I was hunting terrorists in the ’Stan.
Just for shits and giggles, I snapped to attention and saluted him. I figured, what the hell, in for a penny, in for a pound.
The “colonel,” or commander, or whatever the hell he was ignored us for the better part of five minutes. During that time, I studied him to see if I could get a handle on what I’d gotten myself into. He was stocky, perhaps once muscular, but his belly had gone to fat. That indicated these folks tended to eat well, so they were at least well supplied, and I suspected that meant they were commandeering food from the locals wherever they operated. I also noted that his hair was neatly trimmed in the military style, which was quite a feat considering the lack of electricity; it was difficult to get that look without a pair of electric trimmers.
Strangest of all, his uniform appeared to be pressed and starched, if that were even possible. I pitied the poor fool who had to heat an iron over a fire every night to get the creases in those things for this pompous idiot. On top of that, I noticed that he was wearing the old-style black leather combat boots, and that they were spit shined to a high gloss. Honestly, who in the hell worried about such a thing these days? It took a special kind of arrogant prick to bother wi
th looking neat and proper, when most people were just struggling to survive from day to day. Combine all that with the gut and the rank insignia, and I was ninety-nine percent positive I was dealing with a bona fide Colonel Walter E. Kurtz wannabe. It took everything I had not to spit on his boots.
Suddenly, he snapped off a half-assed salute to me and spoke, in a voice not unlike George C. Scott’s version of Patton. “At ease, at ease. So, I understand you want to join up with our unit.”
I dropped my hand and assumed the parade-rest position, then cleared my throat, not out of nervousness, not for this jackass, but because my throat was dry and I didn’t want to sound like an idiot. “That’s correct, sir.” Might as well stroke his ego some more for good measure; it seemed to be working well at the moment.
He looked up at me, taking his eyes from the maps before him for a moment and studying me with a set of piercing blue-grey eyes. I noticed that one eye was weeping slightly, and he dabbed at it with a handkerchief that he pulled from his pocket.
He gestured at the eye. “War injury, took some shrapnel over in Iraq. First war, not the second.” He looked at my eye, the one that was nearly ruined by shrapnel. “I see we share something in common. Did you get that during the Great War?”
I shook my head. “Afghanistan.”
He nodded. “And you were with…?”
“3rd of the 75th.” I left it at that. If he was really military, he’d know who I was talking about.
“Ah. You boys did some fine work over there. Damned shame we didn’t just level the place. Lot of soldiers and marines died, fighting for a people who didn’t want us there, trying to free a people who didn’t want to be free in the first place.”
I simply nodded. He was mostly wrong and partially right. But trying to reduce a complicated situation like Afghanistan into black-and-white and sound bites was like thinking you could reduce American politics to a Schoolhouse Rock cartoon. Good luck with that.