by Zack Finley
"Malnutrition takes time to overcome," I said. "Tom thought he was a few days from starving to death. Don't let him skip a meal, Tom wants him to eat at least three times a day."
"Tom warned me that Kurt feels guilty he is eating so much," Allie said. "Helping Craig will help him. Tom thinks Kurt has the acumen to be a sniper. We are both worried because he is so young, but he acts so much older than his years. I know you guys are worried I might hesitate to shoot to kill, but I'm committed. Kurt is, too."
Good to know. I left Allie for a circuit around the deck. The clouds overhead were darker, and it felt like rain. Rain would mask all our tracks and make the disappearance of the moonshiners seem more mysterious.
I returned to the galley to keep Craig company while the crew rested. Craig drowsed off, woozy from the drugs, and I nodded off soon after.
Tom left his captives tied up in two bunkrooms. He put three in one room and one in the other before coming to the galley. Tom checked on Craig before sending Kurt to relieve Allie in the wheelhouse. He seemed satisfied with Craig's condition and poured himself some instant coffee while the rest of us gathered around. He sat next to Craig, so Craig wouldn't strain to follow the discussion.
"Anyone ever hear of Brickey's Prison?" Tom asked, sipping his brew. "When the power died there were about 1,500 men in the prison north of here across the St. Francis River. All the guards left or never showed up after the president's speech. The guards locked the prison doors and left when the power went out. It took weeks, but the prisoners got out.
“Three of the guys brewing moonshine escaped from there. The other guy is just a local entrepreneur. He is with the group camped at Storm Creek Lake and Horner Neck. Unfortunately for him, a busload of inmates ran out of gas near Storm Creek Lake about a month after the power went down. They were well armed, having emptied the prison armory, and took over the area."
That explained a lot.
"The people camped at the lake found the barges about two weeks after they left Helena," Tom continued. "Between the corn and fish from the lake, they were in fine shape. They traded some of their corn in Helena for some beer kegs, buckets, and copper tubing. Then they were in the moonshine business. They traded some of their 'shine for seeds, a few small pigs, and chickens. The campers were doing quite well until the inmates showed up."
"Long story short, the inmates are parked in the campground. They have the only water pump, forcing everyone else to boil their water. They've borrowed women to cook and clean for them and confiscated all the vehicles with any gas. The inmates got bored and are expanding their operations. They are tired of camping in the woods and want more substantial quarters. They now regret burning out some of their neighbors. Inmates assigned to the bootlegger aren't part of the inmate leadership since it is a punishment detail. This group doesn't know anything about future operations or any new arrivals. They are due to drop off their new quota of 'shine tomorrow," Tom concluded.
"How many inmates are there," asked Ben.
"Around 30 more," Tom said. "They didn't take over completely until a truckload of reinforcements arrived early in December."
"How are they armed?" asked Joel.
"They may be exaggerating or lowballing us, but they claim the group has 10 automatic rifles, a lot of shotguns, deer rifles, and pistols," Tom said. "These guys had pistols and two shotguns loaded with buckshot. Only the top leaders carry automatic rifles."
"Anything else about the expanding operations?" I asked.
"Not sure whether this was real or whether he was trying to tell me something to please me, but they may have something going against a local farm," Tom said. "One of our inmates made the booze run last week and couldn't find someone who owed him some cigarettes. He kept asking about the guy until one of the leaders told him his friend was on assignment and to mind his own business."
"How many hostages in the main inmate camp?" asked Ben.
"At least one per trailer," Tom answered. "It has been enough to keep the rest of the campers from doing anything."
"Are the inmates confined to their camp or are some in the lake campground?" Mike asked.
"They may have informants in the larger camp, but no inmates, according to both the bootlegger and the inmates," said Tom. "The inmate running things is smarter than some. He promised to keep the two groups separate as long as the first group supplies him with fish and ground corn. Inmates don't have to work unless they violate camp rules. Our three stole from other inmates. They got the choice of making booze or execution. They started the detail with another inmate. He was shot when they didn't meet the booze quota their first week."
"Are we going to hit them tonight or wait until morning?" Ben asked.
"What do you think?" I asked.
"The odds favor us at night," Ben replied.
Everyone started checking their gear.
"Did you see a good spot for a sniper?" I asked.
"No good ones, I'll have to make do," Ben answered.
"Allie, Craig, and Kurt will remain with the Cumberland. We'll take the ninjas. Heavy load of ammo, just in case," I said. "It started raining, so bring your raingear, wouldn't want anyone to catch a cold."
A few chuckles, but mostly everyone was all business.
Outside the rain fell hard and steady. I bet it was snowing in Hickman, Kentucky where we started our voyage down the Mississippi River.
We planned to park the ninjas out of sight of the park entrance, just off the side road leading to the moonshine operation. We would worry about disguising our tracks later.
Why we bother with rain gear is a puzzlement; the water always seeped in anyway. I guess it was just a matter of the degree of wetness. Wet clothes gave all of us practice in ignoring physical discomfort.
In this case, attacking in the rain and darkness provided us a significant advantage. Add that to our combat training, and the odds stacked solidly in our favor. But no combat was risk-free. Random shots sometimes killed people. Or as we learned in Craig's case, wounded them.
As we splashed along the road to the battle zone, I realized we all assumed we would attack this group. These were bad men, with weapons, near our egress point, ergo they had to go.
It was the right decision, but something I needed to be more mindful of. Someday, the right choice might be to walk away. Our mission was to rescue Andy and bring everyone back to the Valley, not rid the countryside of bad people with guns. We could shift the Cumberland downriver and avoid this fight. We probably should have. I just didn't want to. And neither did my team.
I set aside the doubts and focused on the mission: rescue the hostages, kill the inmates, and avoid any life-threatening injuries.
The cold rain ended the party at the inmates' camp. The driving rain damped down the fire, leaving one miserable guard huddled under a tarp. He tried to stay warm leaning close to a sputtering, smoking pile of blackened embers. Mike slipped through the darkness to deliver a double tap from his suppressed pistol. The guard slumped forward and died without making a sound.
His death signaled the rest of us to move into attack positions.
Tom and Ben climbed atop separate parked vehicles. Both had night vision sights on their suppressed M4s. We realized this altercation was going to be at close range. Ben and Tom were our overwatch. They brought extra flashbangs if needed.
The camp held 10 trailers with an unknown number of inmates and hostages in each. We wanted to neutralize most of the trailers before a general alarm went out. The heavy rain would mask most sounds unless the inmates got off a shot.
Mike and I started at the nearest trailer on the right, while Joel and Razor tackled the farthest one on the left. We planned to use suppressed pistols until we lost the element of surprise.
Mike insisted on going first through the rear door, confirming my suspicions about efforts to keep me away from the tip of the spear. Tom set this up. Both he and Dr. Jerrod worried about the dire outcome if I took another round to the chest so soon after Oneida
.
The stench coming from inside the trailer burned my eyes. None of these fellas bothered to clean themselves or the trailer. Loud snoring from within, made it unlikely our targets would awaken during our stealthy entrance.
We were wrong, the snoring stopped when Mike slipped through the door. We froze for an eternity before the snoring resumed. Mike pointed to his left as I entered behind him. Someone slept on the kitchen table bed beside him. The target's back was to us. I nudged Mike forward to deal with those in the front of the trailer. This one was mine once Mike targeted those up front.
Mike fired his first shot, then I pulled the trigger, twice. The snoring stopped in mid-snort. After confirming the outcome, I slipped out of the trailer with Mike on my heels. "No hostage," Mike whispered.
I switched magazines, and we approached the second trailer.
This trailer had two men sleeping on the kitchen table and a hostage and an inmate in the front bedroom. It was routine until the woman screamed as Mike shot his target. Mike grabbed her mouth, so she only got off one sound.
I confirmed my targets were down, while Mike calmed the hostage. He still tied and gagged her before dragging the inmate's body off the bed and onto the floor. Dealing with hostages presented a virtual minefield, ready to blow up in your face. It was rare, but sometimes hostages warned their captives when their rescuers arrived. From his swift actions, Mike shared similar experiences.
We slipped out of the second trailer and crouched in front of our third target. A woman's scream was either so common the sound didn't warrant an investigation or the booze and rain muffled her cries so much no one heard.
Our third trailer was a repeat of the second, minus the scream. Three men and one woman. I just closed the trailer door when the distinctive splut of a suppressed M4 came from behind us. We took immediate cover.
Everyone froze, hoping the muffled sound was too soft to wake the camp. Ben radioed, “One man left the middle trailer and approached the sentry, forcing the shot.”
With six of the 10 trailers cleared, we had 11 or 12 hostiles to go.
"Mike and I have the right two trailers," I radioed.
A squelch, acknowledged, as we waited for the next step. If nothing developed, we would move in to take our fourth trailer. For now, we waited.
The door on the middle trailer slammed open, "Bull, what the fuck are you doing. Where's my booze?" shouted the man at the door staring into the darkness.
He looked back inside the trailer. "Einstein go get the booze; Bull must have passed out." We couldn't make out the muffled conversation from inside. "I don't give a fuck about the fucking rain, get your ass out there," with this the instigator pushed another man down the steps and out into the rain. It wouldn't take Einstein long to realize Bull was dead.
Two muffled shots. Einstein dropped where he stood, and the man in the door disappeared from view with a thump. We still might have resumed our stealthy takedown, except a burst of fire from an AK47 booming from inside the target trailer made the old plan moot.
Someone inside that trailer emptied the entire clip. Even drunk criminals had to hear that, rain or no rain.
"Give most of them a chance to leave their trailers," Ben radioed.
It took forever for those in the last three trailers to react. Too much moonshine, I guessed. Though they hesitated to leave their doorways, they eventually staggered out into the rain, only to get shot by our overwatch.
The inmates never got a shot off. They couldn't tell where the shooting came from, and the booze left them with little ability to reason. The two mobile teams moved in swiftly to clear the three trailers, securing the women hostages we found in each. There was no longer a need to gag them.
That left the final trailer with the active shooter. That rated a flashbang.
Upon entry, the only one left alive in the trailer was a former woman hostage, now wearing a blanket and grasping an empty AK47.
Tom sent Ben and Joel back for Allie. Joel would stay with Craig and Kurt on the Cumberland. Tom wanted Allie here at the camp to talk with the women hostages.
We kept the women tied up, but wrapped them in blankets, and carried them to the last trailer. The rest of my crew gathered up all the weapons and ammo we could find.
Ben and Allie rolled in on their ninjas about an hour before dawn. Ben pitched in to finish the search. Tom and Allie consulted privately before disappearing into the trailer where we stashed the hostages.
Once we cleared the last trailer, Razor offered to take the first guard shift. The rest of us crawled into the cars and trucks parked haphazardly around the camp to sleep. No one wanted to sleep in the trailers. I fell asleep as soon as my head hit my damp rolled-up poncho.
It was light but still raining when Tom opened the truck door to awaken me. My watch read 07:30. My back and hips screamed from my awkward sleeping position. I felt better than Tom, I doubted he slept at all.
I swung my legs off the seat and sat up behind the steering wheel. Tom slipped into the seat beside me, closing his door.
"How are the hostages?" I asked.
"Alive, but traumatized. We sent a truck back for the bootlegger, he will escort the women back to their camp. I hope he can convince their fellow campers we pose no threat as long as they don't shoot at us," Tom said. "I told Joel to take care of the three inmates on the Cumberland. The theft rule they violated was killing one of the hostages, depriving the other inmates of her services."
I grimaced at that revelation.
"A splinter group of about eight inmates hit a farm on Big Spring Road, a few days ago," he added. "One of the women overheard the plan. After the inmates consumed this week's quota of moonshine, they planned a big attack with the full group on that place late tomorrow afternoon."
"What do you think?" I asked.
"Andy and his crew might have found shelter at the farm. So, I think we should eliminate this threat, though if Roger trained Andy, he would have slipped out and left us a message at St. Francis Point," Tom said.
"You are right about Andy," I said, "unless he was injured. We didn't learn much about his group except they have small children and someone ambushed and robbed them, leaving two wounded and four dead. They might not believe we arrived so soon."
"I'll talk with Clyde, our bootlegger when he gets here. Most everyone got at least two hours of sleep. Let the guys sleep at least three more hours, before moving out," Tom said.
"What about you?" I asked.
"Allie and I will sleep after Clyde leaves with the hostages," Tom said.
I went to relieve the current camp sentry. Tom returned to the trailer where Allie kept watch. After spotting Razor walking the perimeter, I flagged him down to relieve him. Razor detailed where everyone slept before ducking into the truck I vacated.
My clothes felt wet and clammy, and I chafed in intimate places, especially when I thought about the clean, dry underwear in my ruck back on the Cumberland.
Razor stoked the fire in the pit during his watch. A massive pot of water boiled on the edge of the coals. I added the hot water to my pouch of freeze-dried turkey casserole. It tasted bland and unappealing, but it was hot and filling. I barely finished scraping the dregs out of the pouch when I heard the approaching vehicle.
I expected Ben's return with Clyde, the bootlegger, but couldn't take any chances and took cover, ready to sound the alarm if needed.
"Approaching the camp," Ben radioed.
"Come on in," I radioed back, feeling the jolt of adrenaline recede. I remained in cover monitoring the approaching vehicle and ensuring no one followed.
As Ben entered the campground, Tom left the center trailer and waved Ben to park the truck nearby. We rescued eight women. I wondered whether they would all squeeze in the cab, or if some would ride out in the rain.
Tom returned to the trailer with Clyde in tow. Ben came over to stand with me under the tarp at the fire pit.
"You should catch some zees," I said. "I expect to pull out of here in th
ree hours. Do you know who is next on guard rotation?"
"Mike, I think. He went down when you did. If we are moving out in three, I'll find somewhere to crash," Ben said, "it has been a long week."
I pointed out the truck I abandoned, and he headed for its back seat.
A few minutes after Ben settled in, Tom and Clyde came out of the trailer. Clyde got into the driver's seat of the truck parked in front, while Tom opened the three other doors, and waited.
The eight women hostages followed in a tight cluster. At first, I thought they all planned to crawl into the back seat, but two of the older women slid into the front seat beside Clyde. The other six ladies packed the back seat, no one chose to ride in the truck bed.