Project Terminus

by Nathan Combs

  Admiring Chris’s artistry, Randal stated, “I make it six Tangos down, two in cover.”

  “That’s affirmative,” said Chris.

  “Eagle-One, eyeball only.” Then he called Sean. “Apollo, SITREP!” (Situation report)

  “All quiet, Thor,” replied Sean.

  “Roger. All posts, let’s see if we can get these two morons to surrender.”

  Calling to the two men, Randal said, “You’re surrounded. Come out now with your hands up or you’re dead.”

  There was no response.

  “Highlander, put a burst into those boulders they’re using for cover. Let’s see if the SAW can get their attention.”

  Highlander had never been in combat before. He was incensed that someone would try and kill his family. Because the two tangos were on his right side and he was in an elevated position, he could actually see the tops of their heads. He thought about blowing their asses away right then and there, but figured that would not make Randal a happy camper. He damned sure didn’t want to piss off Randal Coltrane.

  The nine round burst from the SAW blew out chunks of rock from the boulder.

  “Okay, okay! Don’t shoot, we’re coming out! Don’t shoot!”

  The two Tangos emerged with their hands up. When they were in an exposed position, Randal ordered them to lay face down on the ground, spread eagled. They complied. Wade and Bill, who had begun flanking them as soon as they dove for cover, materialized above them. With Wade covering, Bill did a quick pat down, cuffed them with flex-cuff ties, and yanked them to a sitting position.

  “We’re secure, Thor. On me,” said Wade.

  Randal said, “Copy. Highlander, check the downed Tangos, then cover from the plateau. Eagle-One, maintain over-watch.”

  “Roger,” said Chris.

  “Copy,” said Highlander.

  In full battle dress, their faces streaked with war paint, the three former SPECOPS warriors loomed above the two tangos.

  Randal asked, “Who are you?”

  When there was no reply, Bill said, “I’ve got this.” He cuffed their heads, knocking off their baseball caps. The love tap exposed their bald heads, faces covered in tattoos, brass nose rings hanging from their nostrils, and multiple piercings on their lips and ears. “In case you didn’t understand the question, I’ll ask it again. Who are you?”

  The smallest one, head down, eyes averted, muttered, “My name’s Jim.”

  “Not your name, asshole. Who are you with and where did you come from? And look at me when I’m talking to you.”

  Jim looked up at 250 pounds of angry, camo faced Bill Scarlett, and opened his mouth to speak, but the other one said, “Shut-up, Jim.”

  Kneeling in front of the man, Bill went nose to nose. “Shut up, Jim? Shut up, Jim? Motherfucker, if you don’t start running off at the mouth like a psychic woodpecker right now, I’m gonna rip off your worthless head and shit down your neck.”

  The Tango looked up at Bill with a smile, revealing a mouth full of sharpened teeth, but said nothing. Bill’s quick, short jab to the jaw put him down and out. Wade dragged him out of sight and cuffed him to a sapling.

  Bill moved to kneel with his face just inches from Jim’s and said, “You will tell me what I want to know, and you’re gonna to do it right now or I’ll slit your throat.”

  Jim started crying and blabbering at the same time.

  Bill said, “Calm down and slow down. I can’t understand you.”

  Taking a deep breath, he said, “I told you, my name’s Jim. And we’re members of The Light.”

  “What the fuck is The Light?” snarled Bill.

  “It’s a group…I mean, we’re a group of…please…I don’t want to die.”

  Wade squatted down next to Bill and said, “Jim, if you tell us what we want to know, you’ll be okay. Just calm down and answer our questions. Can you do that?”

  After a few seconds, he whimpered, “Yeah.”

  “Good,” said Wade. “What is The Light? And Jim, if I think you are lying or omitting information, I’m going to let the Hulk here,” nodding towards Bill, “do whatever he wants to do with you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes-sir,” babbled Jim. “I understand. The…The Light’s a group of…of…people who control…I mean…they control…th-they’re in control of this area.”

  In a soft voice, Wade said, “I want you to calm down, Jim. I know you can do that. Now, why do you have so many tats on your face and skull, and why are your teeth filed to points?”

  Jim was petrified. “Well, we…I mean, it’s kind of an initiation. I-I—”

  “Initiation my ass, you’re a fucking cannibal,” bellowed Bill. “Fuck this guy, Wade, let me have him.”

  Bill and Wade were playing good cop/bad cop, and it was working. Jim started screaming, “No, please! I’ll tell you whatever you wanna know, jus don’t kill me.”

  Wade glared at him long enough to make his point, then said, “All right, Jim, but I’m not a patient man, and I’m already growing tired of this. I’m going to ask you some questions, and you’re going to answer them truthfully. If you hesitate even for a second, or if I even think you’re omitting information, you belong to the Hulk. Got it?”

  “Yes sir,” moaned Jim. “I got it.”

  “Good,” said Wade. “Are the members of The Light cannibals?”

  Jim hesitated for just a moment, then began crying again. With tears streaming down his face, he said, “Yeah. They force people they capture to join em. If you refuse, they cut your head off with a sword and they eat you. And after you join em, they make you get these tattoos, and they file yer teeth down. If you get sick, they cut yer head off and eat you. If you piss off the leaders, they cut yer head off and eat you. They fucking eat you,” he screamed.

  Seconds later, Jim composed himself, but continued crying. “They captured me six months ago. I was scared. I didn’t have no choice but to join them. I don’t wanna be there, but I ain’t got nowhere else to go. I’m scared all the time. They’re not good people, they’re…they’re…”

  “Evil?” offered Wade.

  “Yes,” said Jim. “They’re evil.”

  Wade was doubtful Jim had insider knowledge about The Light, and decided their best chance for Intel was from the one cuffed to the tree. Taking Randal and Bill aside, he said, “Take him to the OP and interrogate him. When you get there, send Sean to come help me with Jim. Then we’ll compare their stories.”

  Randal and Bill hoisted the now conscious but still belligerent Tango to his feet.

  Wade held up a finger and said, “Hang on a second, Randal.” He leaned down and asked, “Jim, what’s your buddy’s name?”

  “I don’t know fer sure. Everyone just calls him Gator.”

  “His name’s Gator?”

  “Yeah,” said Jim. “That’s all I know him by. Just Gator.”

  Wade motioned Bill over and in a low voice said, “His name’s Gator.”

  Bill laughed. “A cannibal named Gator? What’re the odds?”

  Ten minutes after Randal and Bill took Gator to the OP, Sean arrived and was getting his first up-close look at a member of The Light. “What the hell is that?”

  Wade grinned. “This is Jim.”

  “Great, it has a name. But what is it?”

  Laughing, Wade said, “You’re starting to sound like Bill.”

  Wade took Sean out of Jim’s hearing and told him the cannibal was responding and had obviously been under duress. “He’s afraid Bill’s going to cut his throat, so I want you to take out your knife and sit close to him, on his right side. Make sure he sees it. Fiddle with it. Give him the evil eye. But don’t say anything unless I give you the nod.”

  Returning to where Jim was sitting, Wade squatted in front of him while Sean, as instructed, squatted on his right. Wade stared at Jim until he started fidgeting, then said, “Listen up, Jim. You get one shot at this. I’m going to ask you some questions and you’re going to answer them truthfully. If you hesitate
before you answer, if I think you’re blowing smoke up my ass, Sean here, who hates piercings and tats, will cut the piercings off and the tats out. Then he’s going to slit your throat. Do you understand?”

  ******

  At the OP, Bill pushed Gator inside and jerked him to a sitting position. Kneeling in front of him, he growled, “Okay, Gator, I’m not gonna mess around with you. You either answer my questions or you’re gonna die. Got it?”

  Gator, looking a little less confident than he did earlier, said, “You’re fulla shit. You ain’t gonna kill me. There’re rules.”

  “What rules are you referring to, Gator? The Geneva Convention, maybe?”

  “Well…yeah, that one.”

  Grabbing Gator by the throat, Bill went nose-to-nose and snarled, “Listen up, asshole, the Geneva Convention doesn’t apply here. It no longer exists. Geneva no longer exists. It’s just you and me, and I can do whatever the hell I wanna do with you. And right now, you little prick, I’ve decided I don’t want to ask you anything. Fuck you. I’m just gonna cut your fucking head off.” He pulled out his Cold Steel Trail Master, which is a big knife, and moved the blade towards Gator’s neck.

  Gator looked terrified as he begged Randal for help. “C’mon, man, don’t let him do this. This ain’t right.”

  Randal stared at him while Bill began putting enough pressure on the blade to draw blood. In a second, Gator’s resistance and pseudo toughness scattered like leaves in the wind. Still looking at Randal and with a shaky voice, he said, “Okay, all right. I’ll tell you what you wanna know. But I don’t wanna die, man.” He swept a pleading gaze over both men, and then asked, “How do I know you won’t kill me after I talk?”

  In a matter of fact voice, Randal said, “You don’t. The only chance you have is to tell us what we want to know, and it better be the truth.”

  ******

  Jim was shaking so hard he looked like a tuning fork.

  Wade decided he was ready to be interrogated. From a squatting position, he glared at Jim and said, “Who found us?”

  “I did. They send us out every few days to look for— Well…for food. They thought a lot of people would be livin in the mountains and, you know…would be easy pickins if we could find them.”

  “All right,” said Wade. “Tell me how you discovered us.”

  Jim risked a look at Sean slapping a big Ka-Bar Combat Bowie into his palm, then said, “We’re supposed to go to the highest peak and look for smoke from campfires. I was on top of that mountain over there,” he nodded toward the mountain on the other side of Fort-T. “I was glassin the area and saw a woman with a kid, and then a man came from…where-ever, and he was talkin to them, and…and about a minute later, he looked in my direction, then…then he pulled out some binoculars and…and I thought he saw me, so I got out of there.”

  Wade asked him what he reported, and he said he told his boss he found a man, a woman, and a kid.

  Wade said, “I think you’re lying, Jim.”

  “No! I’m tellin the truth. I just told him I found a man, a woman, and a kid, and they’d be easy to take. That’s the truth, I swear.”

  “And you led the patrol back here?”

  “Yeah, but Gator was put in charge.”

  Wade stood and walked two steps away from Jim, then turned back, knelt down in front of him, and said, “What were you supposed to do when you got here?”

  Jim started shaking his head slowly from side to side, and Wade repeated, “What were your orders, Jim? I won’t ask you a second time.”

  Fear-filled, Jim answered carefully. “We were supposed to take all three alive, and bring them back.”

  “And what were you supposed to do if you couldn’t take them alive?”

  Jim turned pale and decided Wade would know if he lied. He didn’t want Sean to practice his slicing and dicing skills on Ma Kettle’s little boy Jim, so he said, “We were supposed to butcher and pack em out.”

  Wade’s eyes narrowed and he moved in close to Jim’s grill. “How many kids are there in The Light?”

  Jim definitely didn’t want to answer that question, and he looked pleadingly at Wade.

  “I already know the answer, Jim.”

  Resigned, he said, “They think kids are a delicacy. And they think they’re too much a hassle to keep as slaves so…there ain’t no kids in The Light.”

  Wade was thoroughly disgusted and wanted to bash his face in, but realized Jim would tell him anything now. He might even be repulsed by his own admissions. “Okay, Jim, tell me about The Light. How many members are there?”

  Jim thought for a moment. “Maybe seven or eight hundred. But it changes all the time. You know, dependin on how many people they capture. Sometimes it’s more.”

  “Do they have a headquarters?”

  “Huh?”

  “Let’s back up,” said Wade. “Where were they when you joined them, and where are they now.”

  Jim sighed. “I didn’t join em. They captured me and forced me to join them. That was in Chattanooga. A couple a months ago, we started moving east lookin for food. Right now, they’re in Robbinsville.”

  “Where in Robbinsville?”

  “We—I mean they took over a school. I think it’s the elementary school. They built a stage on the football field that’s used for the ceremonies, and that’s where Mohammed talks to everyone.”

  “Who’s Mohammed?”

  “Mohammed Saadeh. He’s the leader.”

  “Is he a Muslim?”

  He considered that for a moment, then said, “I don’t know. I mean, he’s not religious.”

  Wade wanted more information about Saadeh, but decided it was time to make Jim feel more comfortable first. “Would you like some water, Jim?”

  Jim nodded enthusiastically, and Sean took the canteen from Jim’s belt, sniffed it, and trickled some water into the cannibal’s mouth. Jim had a grateful expression on his pinched face, and Wade was confident he’d just made the decision to fully cooperate.

  “Tell me everything you know about Saadeh.”

  “Well, I mean, what do you wanna know about him?”

  “How big a guy is he, what does he look like? Stuff like that.”

  “Oh…okay. Yeah, he’s…maybe six feet tall, kinda skinny, and…let’s see. He doesn’t have any tats on his face, and he has long brown hair and a big bushy beard.” Jim looked at Sean smacking the combat Bowie into the palm of his left hand, then pleadingly at Wade.

  “You’re doing fine, Jim. Go on.”

  “That’s about it, I guess.”

  Wade got in Jim’s face again. “You guess? Come on, Jim. Think. Does he wear a hat, or a turban, or any kind of jacket, or something that indicates he’s the boss?”

  “Oh crap,” moaned Jim. “I forgot. Yeah, he always wears a red cowboy hat.”

  Wade’s eyebrows shot up. “He wears a cowboy hat?”

  “Uh-huh.” Jim grinned and cackled. “Maybe he thinks he’s John Wayne.”

  A slight nod from Wade, and Sean’s knife was in Jim’s face.

  “That’s not funny, jerkoff. I loved John Wayne,” screamed Sean.

  Jim threw it in reverse. “I’m sorry, sir. I-I didn’t mean anything bad by it. Honest. I’m sorry.”

  ******

  Randal was following the same interrogation format with Gator, back at the Observation Post.

  “Here’s the deal, Gator. I’m going to ask you questions. I want honest answers. If I think you’re lying, or if I think you’re sugarcoating your answers, Hulk here will start cutting you up into small chunks,” he placed the tip of his knife against Gator’s groin. “Starting with your nuts. You got it?”

  Gator nodded.

  Randal said, “First question. How long have you been with the Light?”

  “Umm…since they started, I guess.”

  “When was that?”

  “I’m not sure exactly. I mean, it’s not like I keep track of time. But…about a year ago, I think.”

  “What
’s your function with them?”

  “I’m a platoon leader and a resource officer.”

  “What’s that?”

  Gator hesitated.

  Randal said, “We’re done with him. He’s all yours, Hulk.”

  Bill started moving the Trail Master’s blade towards Gator’s throat.

  He screamed, “No please! I’m not lyin. I mean I won’t lie. Just…just don’t kill me.”

  Randal gave Gator the evil eye for almost a minute, then said, “You’re starting to piss me off, Gator, but I’ll give you one more chance. If you lie, if you hesitate, or if you candy-coat an answer to make yourself look better, you’ll be dead before the last word leaves your mouth.”

  Gator started babbling in a terror-filled voice. “I promise. Ask me anything you want.”

  An hour later both of the interrogations were complete, and Wade and Randal met to compare stories.

  The Light consisted of approximately 800 members. Gator put the military arm at around 300, while Jim thought it was about 400. They both said The Light was a non-religious, cannibalistic group that took prisoners and either forced them to join or ate them. Gator corroborated Jim’s statement that when a slave’s usefulness ran its course, they were beheaded in a public ceremony, roasted, and eaten. Both acknowledged the leader was Mohammed Saadeh, and in general, agreed on his physical size, long hair, bushy beard, and red cowboy hat.

  Gator, who was privy to more information than Jim, told Randal they were heading for Asheville, and it was their MO to take captives and add to their food inventory as they went from town to town. He also confirmed they were in Robbinsville, headquartered at what was once the elementary school.

  Wade agreed the information matched and asked if he got anything on their military capabilities.

  “Well, it appears they’re not well trained or armed. They’ve been in business for roughly a year, and during their ceremonies, they’re fed some type of homemade hallucinogen. Their general, as Gator called him, is a guy named Paul Justice, who was an NCO in the Army. Sounds like he’s familiar with combat basics, patrol techniques, and the like, but Gator says he’s a total asshole and everyone hates him. As far as weapons go, they have no weapons systems…just a collection of small arms. They do have intra-squad radios and some night vision capability. Their enforcer is about seven feet tall and weighs maybe five hundred pounds. He’s sadistic and does whatever Saadeh tells him to do, but he’s dumb as a rock. They aren’t mobile, but they do have a dozen horses that are used by the hierarchy. Also, they’ve never encountered any type of resistance, so as a unit they’ve never been in a combat situation.”