Wretched Retribution

by E. G. Michaels

  “This is a multi-city attack. Weathers and Thompkins, your target will be New York City. Sanders and Vasquez, you have Philadelphia. Conklin and Feiler will take care of Washington, D.C. We’re going to burn these bastards out using napalm bombs. The external hardpoints on the F-35s will allow you to carry this specialized load.”

  Captain Jack “Stormy” Weathers raised his hand from the back of the room.

  “Yes?” the Colonel said.

  “Why can’t they use Bombers and drop a bunch of cluster munitions on them instead?” Weathers asked.

  Vasquez nodded her head in agreement. The cluster munition was a nasty bomb that released a few hundred grenade-size bomblets and could easily saturate an area.

  “Four reasons,” the colonel said. He held up four fingers for emphasis. “First, due to the previous Reaper attacks, we lost a number of bases and key personnel. To be honest, we’re scrambling a bit lately. The bombers we had were previously deployed elsewhere. They would take too long to return here in time for this mission. Second, our plan is to built around executing our attack as fast as possible. That requires using our existing pool of F-35s to hit them fast and get away before they have time to react.”

  A rumble of approval sounded out in the room. It made sense to Vasquez. Every pilot currently in the room flew an F-35.

  The colonel lowered two fingers and continued. “Third, we’re trying to preserve as much of the existing buildings and structures as possible,” he said. “Clusters will likely blow much of the targeted cities to shit. Then there’s the issue with unexploded bomblets.”

  Vasquez felt her breath catch. Cluster munitions could cover a wide area, but they didn’t always explode on impact. Any cluster bomblets which hadn’t detonated could act as unintended land mines to kill or maim civilians long after the mission had ended. They would have to use military personnel or bomb squads to locate and remove any undetonated bomblets. Based on past history, it would be a task that could take decades to complete.

  “Uh, sir, that’s only three reasons,” Weathers said. “What’s the fourth one?”

  “We have plenty of napalm. I can’t say the same for our cluster munitions. Any other questions?”

  “Sir, what about Fort Devers?” Vasquez asked. “The fort is under attack. If we’re getting pulled off air support for this mission, then is another squadron assisting those boys in the meantime?”

  “I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” Johnson said. “The brass at Devers made the call. They feel the base is only hours away from being overrun. We’ve sent several troop transports and are airlifting as many personnel out as we can.”

  Vasquez nodded once slightly and looked at her feet. She was really getting tired of hearing about the Reapers continuing to win.

  She spotted a hand shoot up in her peripheral vision and scowled. History had taught her if Weathers had a question at this part of a mission briefing, it was something likely to annoy their commanding officer.

  “Yes, Stormy?” Johnson asked in a tone of voice that suggested he knew he wasn’t going to like the question.

  “Sir, you're talking about killing millions of Americans,” Weathers protested. “I think—”

  “That’s enough, Captain,” the colonel interrupted. “It’s no longer millions of Americans in those cities. It’s millions of Reapers. Get it?”

  “Yeah, message received,” Weathers said glumly.

  “If we can wipe out a large portion of them in one coordinated attack, then our odds of beating them becomes significantly better,” Johnson said. “This is our way to hit the Reapers hard before they know what the hell is happening.”

  The colonel paused for dramatic effect and the room went deadly silent.

  “We realize there’s a small chance some civilians managed to hunker down in the cities and avoid the Reapers. That’s why we're planning to do an overhead city broadcast one hour before bombing commences. That should allow any civilians who were still there to evacuate the city.”

  Vasquez grimaced. An hour wasn’t much time for anyone in the city to escape safely. It was even harder if they didn’t already have easy access to a vehicle. The reality was Operation Flashpoint wasn’t just going to kill Reapers. Any civilians still inside the city limits would perish, too. Vasquez pushed those feelings of dread to the back of her mind and focused on the mission details. A lot of people were going to be counting on them to execute Operation Flashpoint and kick the Reapers in the proverbial teeth.

  “Any questions?”

  The room stayed silent.

  “Good. You got some time before you go wheels up. I suggest you grab some sleep and be ready to rock at 0400. You’re dismissed.”

  “Hey, Vasquez,” a familiar voice said. “Aren’t you from Philadelphia?”

  Vasquez turned and saw it was Weathers. She felt a groan coming up in her throat and immediately suppressed it. Weathers was a great fighter jock, but he was also a regular pain in the ass. “Yeah, Stormy,” she replied cautiously. “Grew up in Northeast Philly. Why?”

  “You okay with bombing your old hometown?”

  “That’s the mission. My personal feelings have nothing to do with it.”

  “Really? You don’t have any family still there? Any friends?”

  Vasquez saw Ace moving closer. She had a feeling her friend was getting ready to step in. She flashed him a look, letting him know that she had things under control, and he slowed his approach.

  “Hey, Stormy, I’d love to keep chatting, but I just got back to base. I need to get some rack time before this mission,” she answered. “I’ll see you at 0400.”

  Ace came to a stop next to him. Her friend had at least two inches and twenty pounds on Weathers. From the look on his face, if Weathers said the wrong thing right now, she’d be pulling Ace off of him.

  “Yeah, okay. Catch you guys later.” Weathers blurted before he fled the room.

  Ace waited until the other pilot left the room before saying, “You all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m good,” Vasquez said.

  “If you want to kick his ass, I’d be happy to help.”

  “I appreciate the offer,” she said. “Maybe another time.”

  “Fair enough,” Ace said. “You know I always got your back.” He offered a fist bump, and Vasquez tapped his fist with hers lightly.

  “I know. See you at 0400, Ace.” Vasquez turned and headed toward the pilot's sleeping quarters. With a little bit of luck, she’d be able to find an open shower and then grab some quality sleep before she had to be back in action.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Charles, do you have a minute?” Foster asked.

  “For you, I have several,” he replied.

  “I might be pulling on an old scab here, but I’m at a loss on what happened between your daughter and you.”

  “It’s a lot of old history.”

  “That’s true for every family,” Foster said. “You’re going to need to give me more than that.”

  “When you look at some families, they have the ideal child. One who always listens to their parents, does what's asked of them. They’re respectful and kind,” Charles said. “Then there’s other families. They have children who want to question and argue everything. They'll want to test every boundary put in front of them and resist every rule they hear. For Helen and me, we had one of each kind.”

  “Let me guess. Your daughter was the one who wanted to continually test boundaries?”

  “Yes, that’s right. When we first became parents, we tried to handle them equally but with a firm hand,” Charles said. “Within a few years, we realized that wasn't working. I saw far too many times where our daughter would run roughshod over Helen. I felt like I needed to make a conscious choice to become the disciplinarian of the family.”

  “I'm guessing that Lauren didn't like that.”

  “Not in the least. She was always resentful. She always felt I was too controlling of her mother. Eventually she started accusing m
e trying to control her too.”

  “Sounds like most teenagers.”

  “Perhaps. I think it was because her mom would almost never come to her defense in public,” Charles said. “What Lauren didn’t realize is that Helen preferred to discuss things in private. If she didn't agree with a decision I made, the two of us would talk it out privately and never in front of the children.”

  “Makes sense. It helps keep the image of their parents being unified.”

  “Absolutely. Except our daughter's view was that I was controlling the situation and her mom was too intimidated to speak up.”

  Foster did a double take. “Really? I can’t picture you bullying anyone. No offense, but you're not exactly the most physically imposing man.”

  Charles laughed. “I never have been, but there's more to parenting than just being bigger than your kids.”

  “I’ve never been a parent, so I’ll take your word on it.”

  “The final straw came when Helen and I decided to go out one night for dinner. While we were gone, our daughter decided to have her boyfriend over.”

  “Oh, boy.”

  “Oh, boy, indeed. We got home and found them passed out on the living room couch. There was drug paraphernalia everywhere,” Charles said. “Well, that was it. I completely lost my temper. I couldn't have her around Gregory if she was doing drugs. So I started screaming at her. She tried telling me the drugs weren’t hers. But how I could trust her when she had lied to us so many times in the past? I was sure she was lying to us again. So I told her she was no longer welcome in our house and needed to leave immediately.”

  “Wow, that’s pretty serious.”

  “I-I didn’t feel like I had a choice,” Charles admitted. “Gregory was just seventeen then. I had to think of what was best for him. Being around someone who refused to admit she had a problem with drugs? That wasn’t a good idea at all.”

  “I think a number of parents probably would make that a similar decision. They’d have to focus on what was best for their remaining children.”

  “That was also my experience when I was priest. It’s especially true when the troubled child is nearly an adult,” Charles said. He paused for a moment before continuing. “It wasn't until years later I found out that she had been telling us the truth. The drugs were not hers. Her boyfriend had brought them with him along with two bottles of wine. It wasn’t until she had passed out from drinking that he began to do drugs in our living room.”

  “Damn, that puts things in a whole different light. How did you ever find that out?”

  “Lauren confided in a friend who later told Helen.”

  “The friend took a bit of a risk, then.”

  “Yes, she did,” Charles said. “She did it because she felt it was wrong for Lauren to be estranged from her family. The problem was, I couldn’t betray her friend’s confidence.”

  “Was it Randy?”

  “Oh, heavens no,” Charles said. “He’s been a godsend for my daughter. I couldn’t have picked a better man for her if I had tried. I found out years later Lauren dumped the druggie boyfriend right after she was evicted from our home. But she’s never forgiven me. She blamed me for ruining her life. Worse, she blamed me for convincing her mother that somehow she was to blame for what happened.”

  “Well, it was her fault. She invited her boyfriend over when you weren’t home. Her guest, her responsibility.”

  “Most people would probably reach the same logical conclusion,” Charles agreed. “Unfortunately, not everybody thinks in such a logical manner. Especially my daughter.”

  “I think the time has come for the two of you to bury the damn hatchet. If we're going to keep everybody safe, this needs to become water under the bridge.”

  “I couldn't agree more, but she won't even talk to me.”

  “At some point, she'll have to. Just be patient.”

  “I've been waiting for years,” Charles said. “I'm willing to wait as long as it takes.”

  “Let me see what I can do to help make the peace.”

  “You can try. But to be honest, several others before you have tried and failed. What makes you think you can succeed where others have not?”

  “Maybe I’ll fail even worse,” Foster admitted. “But for the sake of you and the group, I’m willing to make the effort. Let me give it some thought and come up with the best way to do this.”

  “Of course. Like I said, I’m willing to wait as long as it takes,” Charles said. “Despite my daughter’s anger toward me, I’ve never stopped loving her. Asking her to leave our home was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  After the enlightening conversation with Charles, Foster decided he should check in with Walker or Sams and see where they stood with guns and munitions. He came across Sams, sitting in the kitchen, enjoying an apple.

  “Any more of those things?” Foster asked.

  “Sorry, last one.”

  “We’ll have to look for more on our next scavenging run.”

  “Good idea,” Sams said. “Something on your mind?”

  “Two things. I need to find Randy and go look at his boat. Have you seen him?”

  “Nope. What’s the other thing you’re thinking about?”

  “What’s our current ammo situation?”

  “Not as much as we’d like, but hopefully enough to get the job done.”

  “Meaning?”

  “We’re getting low on 9mm,” Sams said. “Nick’s been training Gregory, Randy, Lizzy, and Henry with the Glocks.”

  “Isn’t he worried about attracting attention?” Foster asked. He saw the door to the living room open, and Amanda walked into the room.

  “One of the neighbors was an aspiring rock guitarist,” Sams said. “Apparently he soundproofed his basement so the neighbors wouldn’t complain. Nick found some ear plugs. Those combined with some studio earphones are good enough to protect their hearing while they do target practice.”

  “Huh. I wouldn’t have thought that would work.”

  “Me neither,” Sams admitted.

  “Malcolm, you have a minute?” Amanda asked.

  “Sure,” Foster replied. “What's up?”

  “Not here. Let’s take a walk.”

  “Okay,” Foster said as he drew out the word. He turned toward Sams and said, “We’re going to go outside to talk.”

  “Outside?” Sams asked. “Aren’t you worried about making too much noise and drawing Reapers?”

  “We’ll talk quietly,” Foster said. “Or maybe we’ll hang out in the garage.”

  “Let’s go to the garage,” Amanda blurted. “Just to talk, I mean.”

  “Yeah. Got it,” Sams said carefully. “No hanky panky. Just a man and a woman having a, uh, talk. Be careful out there. All right?”

  Foster shook his head and began walking toward the back door. He glanced back and saw that Amanda was following closely behind. The two of them stepped out of the house and headed to the garage.

  Foster stopped short of the garage’s side entrance, turned back, and faced Amanda. He saw her motion toward the door. Foster opened it and stepped in, letting his eyes adjust to the dimmer lighting. He heard the door close a moment later, and the interior got a little bit darker. A flashlight went on, and he turned and saw Amanda was holding it skywards to act as an impromptu lamp.

  “What's on your mind?” Foster said.

  “Well, it's just that I've been thinking about you know what.”

  “You’re going to have to give me a better clue than that.”

  “You know, the thing.”

  “The thing?” Foster asked.

  “Yes, the thing,” Amanda said, putting more emphasis on the last two words.

  “Wait. Are you talking about the kiss?”

  “Yes, the kissing thing,” Amanda stammered.

  “Okay. What about it?”

  “I think it was a mistake,” Amanda blurted. “I mean-”

  “Wait, what?”r />
  “I just—I overreacted. You know, it was a spur of the moment thing. I had been trapped. I was scared for my life, and I-I just want to say I'm sorry.”

  “Uh, you just lost me.”

  “Well, it’s just that I kind of forced myself on you.”

  Foster chuckled. “I’m quite capable of defending myself if I need to.”

  “I know that. It’s just-”

  “It's okay.”

  “Really?”

  “Amanda, it’s all right,” Foster said. “I get it. With everything going on. We’re struggling to stay alive and-”

  The walkie-talkie interrupted him in mid-sentence.

  “Hey, boy toy,” Sams said over the walkie-talkie. “Are you there? Or are you too busy to talk right now?”

  Foster shook his head in disbelief. He brought the walkie-talkie up to his mouth and pressed the transmit button. “You realize you're the last person who should be calling me that, right?”

  “Of course,” Sams answered. “But if you two are done talking, we have something here you’re going to want to see.”

  “Copy that. We're returning to the house in a minute,” Foster said. He turned his attention back to the attractive doctor and added, “Sorry about that.”

  “Not your fault. Derrick can be like a hyper puppy sometimes.”

  “No argument here.”

  “You know, you're right,” Amanda said. “We do have a lot going on. I guess we'll just say it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, right?”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay, cool.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence between the two of them as both seemed to run out of ideas of what to say at the same time.

  “Was there anything else you want to talk about? If not, I've got to get back and see what Derrick needs.”