Chain Breakers (Nuclear Winter Book 3)

by Nathan Jones

  Over the last few months since the fighting died down the camp had even sprouted houses, along with larger barracks structures for soldiers and camp workers. Kathleen and Lily had started out in one such barrack, but as Pete's relationship with Kathleen got more serious he'd helped her purchase two decent sized tents so she and Lily would have more privacy.

  And, of course, so he and his girlfriend would have more privacy when he visited or even stayed the night, which was more and more often these days.

  The two girls would eventually have to move into a more permanent structure once the weather started cooling off. That, or maybe Kathleen would take Lily back to the Feldmann farm for the winter.

  She'd even broached the subject of Pete finding out how long he was expected to stay in the Army, since the terms of his enlistment hadn't been formally established. Which was an even grayer area now that his unit had been folded into the Canadian military. If he could manage to convince them to let him go before it got too cold, she'd told him he was welcome to come home with her.

  Pete hadn't known how to respond to that. He cared about Kathleen, very much, but he wasn't sure he was ready to get quite that serious with the young woman. Moving to her family's farm was almost a guarantee of marriage in the near future, which was a lot to take in.

  Besides, he wasn't about to abandon the Chainbreakers in the middle of the fight; the 103rd might have been relegated to guarding territory and keeping peace in Lafayette for the last few months, but the war against the CCZ was still going strong and eventually they'd be called out to join it again. When that happened it would be harder for him to get out, not only emotionally harder at the thought of leaving his company but also realistically, since no military made it easy for their soldiers to leave in the middle of combat.

  He wasn't sure whether he hoped the 103rd would stay stationed in Lafayette and he could get out and join Kathleen and Lily at the Feldmann farm, or whether he wanted to hear the announcement from Sergeant Branson that they'd be going on raids again tomorrow. Actually wanting to go into danger seemed insane, especially compared to the prospect of settling down in a safe, prosperous place with a woman he . . .

  He what? Pete certainly cared about Kathleen, and he enjoyed spending time with her. A lot. But was he ready to set aside everything else and tie the knot with her? He was still the same person who'd torpedoed his relationship with Alice, who'd struck off behind enemy lines to wage a one man war against the blockheads to do as much damage to them as he could, in any way he could.

  He still wanted that fight. Maybe for different reasons than when he'd started last year, but as far as he was concerned for much better ones.

  Pete growled to himself and took a deep breath of muggy air, glaring at the tents and crudely built structures around him. He'd been wrestling with this ever since Kathleen made the offer, and while he hadn't come anywhere near a decision he'd certainly managed to frustrate himself to no end.

  He needed to let off steam some other way than being with Kathleen, since she was her own source of turmoil at the moment. Nothing outright, but she kept on with that gentle, insistent pressure to make a decision. Combined with the quiet hurt she showed whenever he didn't seem overjoyed enough at the prospect of leaving his life behind to be with her, and she was slowly driving him up the walls with equal parts frustration, resentment, and guilt for feeling the other two.

  Maybe he'd see if anyone in Epsilon was available for a few hours and wanted to do some PT. While on camp duty they were getting plenty of that anyway, and Branson went out of his way to make sure they stayed on top of it, but even so more never hurt.

  But before he could head for his squad's barrack the flaps of the tent next to Kathleen's burst open, and Lily leapt out to block his path. “Know what today is?” she asked sweetly.

  Pete bit back a sigh; he should've made his escape faster instead of standing around wrestling with his own thoughts.

  The girl continued relentlessly. “It's the day you finally help me build a bed.”

  And there it was. He had the day shift on patrol, and the girls would be leaving for their laundry work at about the same time. Which meant he had a few hours free, and of course Lily knew it and was going to claim that time.

  “You're fine on your cot,” he argued. “Kids can fall asleep anywhere.”

  “I am not a kid,” Lily nearly shouted. “You know I'm a teenager.” Her lower lip jutted out sullenly. “And I've been sleeping on that stupid cot for months, if you can call falling to the ground every time I roll over and waking up with an aching back every morning like an old woman “sleeping.” She pointed an accusing finger at him. “You should have some sympathy since you sleep on a cot yourself. At least the few times you actually sleep with your squad, instead of on the nice comfy bed you built for Kathleen.”

  Pete knew what would happen next. After the cheerful request, then the pouting tantrum, would come the big sorrowful eyes and cutesy begging expression. He'd never even had a little sister and he could still see this obvious gamut of tactics coming from a mile off.

  On one hand he might as well just give in now and resign himself to spending his few free hours building the stupid bed. On the other hand if he let her have her way now she'd get the idea that the tantrums were effective and keep on with them.

  So he folded his arms and held his ground until she finally got around to begging, then gave in and spent the morning gathering materials and making her the best bed he could under the circumstances.

  It was only fair. He'd promised he'd do it a while ago now, and she really had been putting up with the cot for much too long. Especially now that Lafayette was an established camp.

  To be honest it wasn't all that bad. Lily was okay to be around, usually cheerful and talkative, and even when she was getting him to do stuff for her he mostly enjoyed spending time with her. And it helped when Kathleen finally dragged herself out of bed about an hour later and hung out with them as they worked, thankfully without a word about her family's farm or him leaving the Army.

  By the time they all had to head to their shifts Lily had a small but comfortable bed in her tent, and had unceremoniously tossed her cot out into the lane and sprawled across her new bed. Pete wasn't sure whether the girl would actually pull herself out of her comfortable position to go to work; she hadn't by the time he left for his shift.

  His duties at Lafayette varied, everything from patrolling the perimeter to sentry duty in forward emplacements, to patrolling the camp itself to keep the peace, to doing various menial chores to keep the camp running and the soldiers stationed there ready to fight.

  Today his shift was at one of the western emplacements, along the front where CCZ territory ostensibly began past where the Mississippi and Missouri rivers wildly diverged. In reality 103rd patrols kept the area clear for miles beyond that, and aside from a bit of harassment by enemy snipers those emplacements were basically the easiest post you could get.

  Too easy, usually; when they had the duty Pete's squad mates napped, read or played around on personal devices, or even played cards. They were there to be ready to man the big mounted guns in case of an all-out attack, and to give advance warning of any smaller threats if someone snuck up on the camp. And while Branson was always riding them about staying alert and constantly inspecting the surrounding area as part of their duties, the fact that the patrols would probably catch anything coming their way and anyway nothing had happened in over a month left them all complacent.

  Today was no exception. Team 3 manned the emplacement closest to the Mississippi, and to pass the time they were seeing who could manage to fling rocks all the way to the water. The hours passed in a slow crawl, full of shooting the breeze and horsing around. Saunders napped for most of it, and Pete spent the time reading some novel he'd borrowed from Lily that, to put it nicely, more closely suited the tastes of a thirteen year old girl.

  It was more than boredom that kept him turning the pages; like most of his time recent
ly, he did whatever he could to avoid having to think about the dilemma of whether or not to move to a farm and settle down with Kathleen. He was torn, but deep down he was leaning more towards not wanting to go.

  In spite of that he had a feeling he was going to end up saying yes anyway. There were worse things in life than getting everything you wanted and living content.

  Thanks to that inner turmoil he wasn't in a hurry to get back to Kathleen after his shift ended. So when they joined up with Teams 1 and 2 to head back to camp for drinks Pete told them he was coming along.

  His squad mates gave him surprised looks at this announcement. “Really?” Saunders asked.

  Pete hunched his shoulders. “What are you all so shocked about? I'm coming with you for a drink, not running for President.”

  His friend smirked. “Well yeah, but you haven't joined us for over a month. Usually you bolt for your lady friend whenever you get a moment of free time.” His smile widened. “Not that we blame you.”

  “Well not this time.” Pete looked around. “Unless I'm no longer welcome?”

  Saunders responded by throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Not at all, buddy. I'll even buy you your first root beer, just like old times.”

  He groaned. “You've got to be kidding me. We're still doing the whole not letting me drink thing?”

  His friend tsked and pulled him in a bit closer with an elbow around the neck. “You know it's not having a serious girlfriend or risking your life for your country that makes you a man, Childress. It's being a certain age.”

  Pete shoved him away. “I hate you so much right now, you know that?”

  His squad mates all laughed. “Come on, Kid, a free drink's a free drink,” Reed said.

  Unfortunately that was true. So after they'd settled at their table in Tanner's Pete shoved aside his irritation and let Saunders buy him the stupid soda.

  Tanner's was a new bar in camp, opened up by Hank Tanner, a soldier in the 51st who'd been crippled in the fighting to take this strip of land and had been discharged with full honors. He'd used his savings to take a trip down to Mexico and buy supplies, then returned to Lafayette, found a large tent being thrown out, patched it up, and opened shop.

  Like most of the Canadian settlers in the eastern US, and in the Canadian military in the area, Tanner was French Canadian. That meant whenever the 51st or their fellow soldiers were drinking in the bar half their conversation was in French, although Pete didn't really mind. There was plenty of buying and sharing drinks among the US and Canadian soldiers, a generally friendly atmosphere that made Tanner's one of the most welcoming places in camp.

  Although the mood tended to change when the welcoming atmosphere drew other people. Particularly tonight, when half the tables on one side were occupied by soldiers of the 102nd. They must've come in with a supply convoy.

  “Lancers, eh?” Saunders muttered as Epsilon Squad passed around the first round of drinks. “Guess now we can be confident there's no CCZ squad within 50 miles of here.”

  There were a few chuckles around the table, and a few dirty looks from the soldiers on the other side of the tent who'd overheard.

  “You've got room to talk,” a Lancer muttered, just loud enough to be heard. “The famous Chainbreakers have spent the last few months hiding in this camp, haven't they?”

  Pete and his squad mates just laughed off the weak jibe. They'd be back in combat soon enough, and the 102nd couldn't say the same. Not unless things really hit the fan, at least. He took a drink of his root beer as he idly glanced around at the Lancers. They really didn't look like much, out of shape and many of them not even carrying sidearms. Even their uniforms seemed to fit poorl-

  He choked, then sprayed soda all over the table and, entirely coincidentally, Saunders who was sitting across from him.

  “Hey!” his friend yelped, jerking backwards to avoid the worst of it. “What's the big idea?”

  Pete ignored him, the rest of the squad, and the soda that dropped from his grip and only by luck landed without falling over. Then he was on his feet and striding across the tent, ignoring the shouted questions of his buddies.

  It was one of the older Lancers who'd drawn Pete's eye. And his ire.

  The ragged group had gone back to having a good old time, one of their number returning to the story he'd been telling. But any experienced barfly could recognize the way Pete was stalking towards their table as a sign of impending trouble.

  The group quickly fell into wary silence. “Can I help you, kid?” a Lancer asked.

  Pete ignored him, still staring at the older man. “Long time no see, Vernon.”

  Fred Vernon, former sheriff of Newtown turned outlaw turned volunteer turned, by the looks of things, soldier, gave him an uncertain look. “I have no idea who you are.”

  Figured. “Pete Childress,” he snapped. “You robbed my friend and his family, stole their truck and supplies and left them walking halfway across the country with advancing blockheads hot on their heels.”

  A low rumble, partly angry but mostly disbelieving, broke out at the table. Pete now recognized several of the men there as Vernon's “boys”, who'd been with the former sheriff in Utah and had probably helped him steal Trev's truck. 102nd was famous for keeping squads of volunteers together when they enlisted.

  One of the closest Lancers swatted at Pete, hitting him in the chest hard enough to knock him back a step. “Get lost, kid,” he said. “We don't need that BS here.”

  “Easy, Hector,” one of his buddies murmured, glancing across the bar towards the table Pete had vacated, where the members of Epsilon were watching the show with amused curiosity. “I don't want trouble with Chainbreakers.”

  Pete did his best to not to swell up with pride at that. Darn straight: any squad of Chainbreakers could take on twice their number of Lancers, and everyone knew it.

  “If there's trouble he's starting it,” Hector grumbled.

  Vernon had been watching the exchange, obviously trying to decide how to respond. And knowing his gutless reputation probably hoping Pete would be distracted picking a fight with someone else. Pete didn't give him a break, keeping his glare pinned on the older man, until finally the former sheriff sighed and stood.

  “Yes, now I recall you, Mr. Childress,” he said. “The Kid. I speak occasionally with Lieutenant Faraday and Master Sergeant Davis, both of whom seem to hold you in high regard. They even speak of you from time to time, and of the Chainbreakers.”

  “That's nice,” Pete said, refusing to be buttered up. “Does anyone hold you in high regard?”

  Another angry rumble from the Lancers. Vernon held up a calming hand, then with firm, even steps came around the table to rest a hand Pete's shoulder. “A lot's changed since that time, Kid,” he said mildly. “There's no need for this.”

  Pete shook him off angrily. “Yeah, the thief would say there's no need to remind everyone of his crimes.”

  The older man's eyes narrowed. “You don't have a leg to stand on here,” he growled. “I was officially pardoned for my crime of stealing Trevor Smith's truck, thanks to my service fighting the blockheads in Utah. And for that matter I patched things up with Smith by the time the fighting was done. He even shook my hand before I left.”

  “Fighting,” Pete repeated mockingly. “The same way you “fight” here? Begging shifts guarding convoys and running from any sign of trouble, ignoring calls for aid and abandoning fellow soldiers in the field?”

  Yeah, the Lancers had that reputation.

  One that apparently hit a bit too close to home for Vernon. The man's face darkened dangerously, and he dropped his nice guy act. “That's what guarding convoys is, you arrogant little prick. We don't take precious supplies right to enemy raiders all wrapped up in a bow for them. If that means we have to make hard choices about aiding people in combat settings I won't apologize for my caution.”

  “You mean like your “caution” the night you refused to help Trev's squad when they got ambushed a stone's t
hrow from your position, and my girlfriend almost got killed because of it?”

  The former sheriff subtly glanced around the bar, aware everyone was listening to this. “I told him not to go in and he ignored me,” he said, then tried to change the subject in the worst possible way. “As for your “girlfriend”, if you mean Alice Thornton then from what Davis tells me she'd already hooked up with Rick Watson before we left. Your friend, right? He even proposed to her, so by now she's probably married and knocked up with his kid.”

  The words struck Pete like a blow. He hadn't sought out news from home, and had even more strenuously avoided letting any news of his situation get back to them, like when he'd asked Faraday to keep quiet about him if the lieutenant happened to run into anyone from Aspen Hill. Not to mention that when Pete left he'd done so knowing and even hoping that with him out of the way Alice and Rick could be happy together.

  Still, it hurt. He'd loved Alice, still did, and from the sounds of it she hadn't needed long to get over him.

  Then Vernon kept going. Pete could only assume that like any coward the former sheriff would never have the guts to stick up for himself, and so had no idea when he'd pushed a man beyond the breaking point. “She dodged a bullet there, avoiding getting dragged down by a little pissant like you. She probably thanks you for ditching her every time her new husband gets on to-”

  Pete hit him as hard as he could. Then, as Vernon staggered backwards wearing a surprised expression, he launched into a diving tackle and bore the man to the ground, where he hit him again.

  Those two punches were all Pete managed before one of Vernon's men caught his fist as he brought it down for another swing. Then more hands grabbed him and he was dragged off Vernon and shoved to the ground in the middle of a crowd of pissed off Lancers. Pete ducked into a ball as kicks and stomping feet rained down on him, along with curses and threats and even a few splashes of beer.