by Nova
Diesel and I were going to cut along a streambed and come out about fifty yards in front of the house. Ninja and Old Guy had the advantage of old cars, a shed, and whatnot that were strewn between the back of the house and the barn. The only thing we had for cover was the slope of the ground as it headed down toward the creek.
We synchronized our watches before leaving. I always felt like I had stumbled onto a cheesy movie set when we did that. I handed Ninja his Molotov cocktail and made sure he had matches. I had almost forgotten about them until Night reminded me to take some.
Now I was lying there in the weeds bothered by something. The vibe just didn’t feel right. The house didn’t feel right.
I mean, it was a piece of crap farmhouse, but that was no surprise. The truck that the witness had seen was parked next to the barn. Another truck, an older F-150, was parked next to it. Off in the distance a dog was barking, but that wasn’t anywhere near here.
Diesel was stretched out in the weeds about fifteen feet from me. Shit. I wanted to crawl over and ask him if he felt it too, but we were running out of time. The guys in the back would be going in two minutes.
CHAPTER THIRTY
I opened the cooler, pulled out two Molotov cocktails, and set them in front of me. Then I got to my knees, slung the shotgun over my shoulder, and looked over at Diesel. He was staring at me, waiting for me to move.
I grabbed the bottles and started running for the front window. While I ran I scanned the house, checking the windows for movement. I stopped and set one of the Molotovs at my feet.
The boom of Diesel’s shotgun was simultaneous with the window exploding. I extended my arm back for Diesel to light the Molotov I held. Through the ringing in my ears I heard him yell, “Up!” In a beautiful arc, I tossed it through the window.
On the other side of the house I heard the blast of Old Guy opening the back door for Ninja. I was already moving to the front door. Diesel fired double-aught buckshot, slug, and double-aught again, repeating through the load. He hit the door right below the knob. Shit! It didn’t open!
I ran up the steps leaving the other cocktail behind while I pulled the shotgun off my shoulder. I got it down and had a decent grip on it two steps before I hit the door sideways with my shoulder. The door popped open, no resistance at all, and I kept going, fighting to keep my balance.
The smoke from the fire in the next room was already picking up. It didn’t stop me from registering the fact that the room was empty. Fuck! I spun around. For a microsecond, Diesel and I stared at each other. Then we bolted out the door. Already I could hear gunfire from the back. Shit!
Diesel was in the lead. I stooped as I went by and grabbed the Molotov, tossing it away from the house and me. About three strides from the corner of the house, Diesel went airborne like a ballplayer diving for second base. He came down right at the edge of the building, his upper shoulders, chest, and head extended past the corner. The shotgun was at his shoulder, his cheek against the stock.
I was outside of him by two feet and didn’t stop. I came around the corner moving fast, knowing now that Casey, the little fucker, had conveniently neglected to mention how they all slept in the barn.
Him and the fucking sheriff—if I had to take a vacation to do it, I was going find both of them and kill them.
In front of me and to my right was the barn. One truck was parked in front of it; the other, on the right side. The barn had huge double doors, almost the height of the building. Set into one of them was a normal-sized entry door. That door was open. In front of it, I could see someone shooting toward the back of the house with what looked like an AR-15.
At least that little shit had gotten something right. Off to the shooter’s right, at the corner of the barn, another male with a similar weapon was firing at the house. I could hear handgun fire from the side of the barn but I couldn’t see who it was.
Diesel got their attention with a blast from the shotgun. I didn’t see anyone go down or even look mildly discomforted. Should have brought an M-14, dude, a voice inside my head scolded. The shotgun blast from Diesel also let them see me hauling ass in their direction. I cut to the right and headed toward an outbuilding that I hoped I could get to for cover.
That was when I saw or sensed a movement out of the corner of my eye. The barn had a loft with a window that was open. Someone was up there with a rifle. I was moving fast at an angle when he shot me.
My armor vest had ceramic plates in it. I got lucky, if you want to call it that, in two ways. The shot hit a plate, and it hit at an angle. Later, I realized it was an impossibly lucky angle. It still hurt plenty and it knocked me off-balance and stride. My momentum carried me forward in a tumble that ended with me going down hard to the ground.
I heard the boom-bam of the Barrett just about then. As I hit the ground I remember thinking, About fucking time, Hawk.
The good news was I had gone down behind the outbuilding I had been trying to get to. I was sitting up and working on clearing my head when I heard the sound of dogs barking. Jesus, I thought, the shit just keeps coming.
I got to my feet with difficulty and slung the shotgun. My intention was to pull the Ruger, go around the side of the outbuilding, and kill every motherfucker I saw.
I took two steps and got hit by seventy-five pounds of muscle and teeth.
The beast knocked me on my ass again and then clamped its teeth down on the outside of my right leg. The hungry sonofabitch was growling and shaking its head and wouldn’t let go.
The trouble was, I am left-handed and I was pinned down on my holster side. The Colt was gone, probably shaken loose in my first fall. Life is a bitch—but sharp carbon steel can fix a lot of problems
I grabbed the hilt of the bayonet, pulled it from the sheath with my right hand, and passed it to my left. Cujo was sending intense flashes of pain through my nervous system, and his eyes, which I had no problem seeing, stared at me with evil doggie hate.
I cut off his head. A K98 bayonet is sixteen inches long, and mine was made early on in the war, so it was quality steel. I kept it sharp, too. The hardest part to get through was the spinal column, but that only took an extra couple of seconds and a few more pounds of pressure.
After I safed the shotgun, I tried to stand up, unsuccessfully. I reversed it, used the shotgun as a crutch, and tried again. Then I started to circle the outbuilding. Damn, I hurt. I grayed out for a second but stayed on my feet.
About fifteen yards from me a man behind one of the trucks was exchanging rounds with someone near the house. I blew his head off with the Ruger. There were two bodies lying in front of the barn. One had a pair of mangled legs.
I saw Diesel coming toward me at a run. He was moving pretty fast for someone running crouched over. I kept walking toward the barn, giving a quick look to the house. Someone was down. It looked like Old Guy. I stopped at the white truck, dropped the shotgun, and used my free arm to brace myself against it.
“Hey, Gardener! You have a dog’s head attached to your leg!”
“Yeah. No shit. It hurts, too. So what do we have?”
He tore his eyes off the dog’s head. It was still staring at me and, if possible, looked even more pissed than before. “Old Guy is down. He’s still alive, I think. Ninja is somewhere in the trees. I think he’s covering the side door. I’m pretty sure he is okay.”
“Okay. Go get Old Guy and drag him around that tractor. Do what you can for him. I’ll cover you.”
“On it.” He took off running again. I slid down to the cab, using it to steady my shooting arm. The barn was quiet. I heard a shotgun boom from the trees. Ninja was on the job. I watched as Diesel slowed down enough to grab Old Guy by the collar and drag him to safety.
I turned and started walking toward where I had tossed the Molotov. It was maybe fifty yards away, but it felt like two miles. I bent over, almost fell over, grabbed it by the neck, and started back to the barn. When I got about twenty feet from the main door, I let the shotgun fall to the ground
. I dug into my pocket for the lighter I had brought, flicked the Bic, tossed the Molotov through the open door, and waited.
About a minute later, maybe less, two men came running through the flames inside the door. They had AR-15s at their hips and were firing as they came out. I shot one in the head. The other stopped like he had run into a wall and then went flying backward. The Barrett had spoken. I did the math in my head twice and came up with five both times.
Diesel was headed toward me, moving fast and looking the other way so he could keep an eye on the barn. We stood there for a minute watching the flames. Behind us, the house was further along in the burn-to-theground race. I noticed for the first time how hot it was standing there.
“Diesel, you okay?”
He nodded his head.
“Get Old Guy and move him down toward the creek. Be careful. We still have one unaccounted for.”
He was halfway there when Ninja came out of the woods pushing a woman in front of him with the barrel of his shotgun. My face was starting to feel like it was sunburned from the heat of the fire. I knew I should move but I wasn’t sure that I could still walk. I let him come to me.
“Holy shit, Gardener! You have a dog’s head hanging from your leg!”
“That’s King!” the woman screamed, looking at the head.
“Lady, the King is dead. Ninja, get her in front of us and help me walk.” I put my arm around him and we headed down the front yard until I told him to stop.
“Hey!” I yelled. The woman looked back at me. “Get on your knees and put your hands behind your head.” She sank to her knees, her back to Ninja and me. “Ninj, I need you to police the area. Don’t take any stupid risks but try to get those rifles.”
“What about—”
“I’m fine. Go before it gets too hot and the rounds start cooking off.”
As soon as he left, the woman said, without turning around, “I think me and you could work something out.”
I would have kicked her in the kidney but I knew I would have fallen over. Instead I just told her to shut up. Diesel arrived about a minute later with Old Guy. He set him down gently.
Old Guy looked at me. “Damn, Gardener, you need to get that dog’s head off your leg.”
“Well, I guess it’s unanimous,” I said. “How are you doing?”
“I’m okay.” He was awfully pale for being okay. Diesel looked up from where he was working on Old Guy’s leg. “One to the leg, one to the hand.”
Old Guy held up his hand, which was bandaged and bloody. “Can you believe it? They shot off my finger!”
I would have had a witty comeback, but this wasn’t a movie and I hurt too much.
But the woman found some words: “At least he didn’t cut your dog’s head off!”
“Shut up.”
What was taking Ninja so long? Old Guy grunted in pain as Diesel put pressure on his leg to stop the bleeding. I fished inside my pocket and tossed him my med kit. “Here. I’ll use Ninja’s when he gets back.”
A couple of minutes later Ninja was back. He dropped two ARs and one vest next to me. “Sorry, it’s getting too hot to get to anything else.”
The house had partially collapsed, and the fire in the barn must have found some ammo because it was exploding. It was time to go.
“Turn her around so she can look at us.”
Ninja got her to turn around. She wasn’t bad looking. Blonde hair with black roots. Brown eyes. A little pudgy, early twenties. A nice rack.
“So, you arresting me? Don’t you got to read me my rights?” More than a hint of a sneer in her voice.
“Sure,” I replied. “Tell me, first, though. When was the last time you had some really good Chips Ahoy cookies?”
She looked at me like I was nuts. “A couple days ago. Why?”
“Because.” Then I shot her between those brown eyes.
“Alright. Let’s go home, guys.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“Can you believe this shit?” Max said, looking at papers in front of him. He had been going through the “requisition options” that Casey’s Big Daddy had sent to help us make our wish list.
“You mean it doesn’t get any better than this?” I asked him. “I did like the part that you read about the free flags. I feel there is a real need for American flags and traffic cones these days. The free BDUs sound okay. Maybe they’ll include boots.”
“What do you make of the fine print, Max? Whoever wrote this had a twisted mind.”
“Not quite what I expected, Night. I knew there would be hooks, but I thought we could nibble off more meat than this before we hit metal.”
“Slide it over here.” I scanned a few sections. Sure enough, all the goodies were booby-trapped. “So let me see if I got this right.” I began reading aloud:
“Level One weapons. Okay, they will give us M-16s, four magazines per weapon, one hundred rounds for training purposes, and five hundred for reserve. That’s per year, and we need to be certified as qualified to use them. Oh, and we must demonstrate that we have secure storage facilities. Also under Level One, we can get Colt .45s, 9-millimeter Berettas, and shotguns under the same restrictions. We can be issued Type II body armor, although vests issued must match the certifying officer’s audited number of authorized users.”
“Yeah, keep reading,” Max told me.
“Level Two. Ah, now we get into the goodies. Oh, no wonder, we are also at the end of the standard package. Night-vision goggles. First-generation rifle scopes. Better vests. Helmets. But here’s the hook: All personnel will have to pass a background check and urinalysis test. All law enforcement or certified auxiliary personnel receiving said equipment will then be required to pass a three-week training course. Sites are available throughout the United States. Housing and food cost per participant must be paid for by the sponsoring agency.”
I stopped. “Do I even need to read the Level Three requirements?”
“No,” Max replied. “They want an on-site advisory team when they issue Level Three gear.”
“What the hell is their problem?” Night snarled. “Damn. You should have shot the little asshole and buried him in the woods.”
“Hey! We are still going to come out ahead on this,” Max told her.
“Yeah, plus I plan to shoot his scrawny little ass the next time I run across him,” I added.
She nodded, but I could tell she was still pissed.
“Look on the bright side, Night. Under ‘Miscellaneous’ we have a selection of pamphlets with titles like Know the Dangers of Fireworks and The Dangers of Drunk Driving.”
“Check the vehicles section,” Max said.
“The realistic level?”
“Yep.”
“Crown Vics with a hundred thousand miles, some repair needed. Suburbans. High mileage again is my guess, though it doesn’t say. So what are they trying to tell us, Max?”
He laughed. “They want to keep us on a short leash. If they can’t do that, then they want to be damn sure they can win any encounter with us.”
“So what was up with the ‘blank check’ bullshit?”
“If the history of this country has not taught you that bureaucrats lie every time their lips move, then nothing will. G, we can and will ask. But I say nothing above Level One if it has strings attached.”
I looked at Night, who nodded her agreement, adding, “I want to ask for a LaserJet with paper—a lot of paper and toner.”
“There’s always more than one way to do this. What we need is a crooked supply sergeant. Most of all, we need hard money.”
Night agreed with Max. A pensive look came across her face. She added, “With hard money, my old clan would be willing to help.”
“Order a lot of flags. We can fly them from the tollbooths,” I suggested.
We all grinned at each other.
We came up with some more additions to the list. We were going to ask for two thousand battle dress uniforms, boots, long underwear, and gloves. Night said, “We can
always drop it down if they balk at the numbers. I want to ask for coats also. A clan always takes care of its members, no matter how little they actually contribute.”
I looked at her and grinned.
“What?” she replied.
“You are just so freaking smart,” I told her.
“You two done with your moment?”
“Yeah, Max.”
“Good. Okay, we’ll take what the government is giving. We don’t have much choice.”
“Yeah.”
I was killing time before I was scheduled to go look over the people I was supposed to lead now. I had mixed feelings about the idea. I’d never seen myself as a leader. Hell, I don’t even like people all that much. Plus, I didn’t have a clue about the military stuff I figured you needed to know. Diesel or Hawk would have been a better choice. Shit, I didn’t even know how to march and I didn’t really want to know.
Max was sitting across from me, going through paperwork, when he looked up and asked, “Have you given any thought to how you are going to review your team?”
“Not really. I figured I would walk over to the park in front of the town hall, and Diesel would have them there. Then I would say my hellos and tell them to be back there the next day at 0600 to start their training.”
Max and Diesel looked at each other and shook their heads. “No good, G. You’re an officer. You have to make an entrance. Diesel and Ninja will turn them out. Diesel will present them. There may even be a small crowd.”
“A small crowd? What the hell?”
“G, think about it. This is a big deal for these people. They will have invited their parents, boyfriends, girlfriends, friends, and pets to this. Damn, what else is happening in town?”
Night added, “That’s something else we have to think about. Entertainment.”