Scouts Out: Books One and Two

by Danny Loomis

  Pointy melted to the ground in slow motion, with Irish a click of a second behind. Even without ghillies they wouldn’t have been observed, since the pair didn’t seem to be interested in anything but the trail they were on.

  Pointy’s whispery voice came through his com. “Whatcha think, Irish. Locals?”

  “That or poorly trained bad guys. Those rifles they carried looked like military hardware.” Ian did a slow 360 with the scanner strapped to his arm, but didn’t pick up additional movement or noise. “We’d better slow it down a bit. It seems kinda busy on this street corner to want to rush into anything.”

  “No argument from me,” Pointy breathed.

  They followed the two men who entered a small clearing where four tents were set up. Three others were gathered around a cookfire, dipping stew out of a large pot. As the two newcomers joined them, Ian motioned Pointy to circle the encampment clockwise, while he went counterclockwise. There were no signs of additional men. Minutes later they met on the far side of the encampment.

  “Looks like hunters,” Pointy said, indicating half a dozen carcasses strung up between two trees. These were deer-like creatures which were everywhere on this part of the continent.

  “Yeah, but not your normal hunters,” Ian said when one of the newcomers entered a tent and brought out a light machine gun. “Not unless they’re going dinosaur hunting. I think this is a foraging party.”

  Pointy nodded. “Want to sweep the area, see what we find?”

  Ian hesitated, and shook his head. “No, we’ll just mark them on our map and call it in later. I want to get that settlement checked tonight.” They quietly withdrew, and continued to the south.

  It was almost full dark before they reached the ridge line overlooking a small settlement. Additional time had been spent dodging small hunting parties. Security was lax in every group. Ian had an uneasy feeling about the number of foragers.

  Six buildings made up the hamlet, three homes and three barns, all clustered together. Several dozen acres of land were logged, stumps pulled from the ground, and plowing had been in progress. The tractor that pulled the plow was still in the field, but there was no sign of recent work. Light came from the windows and smoke rose from the chimney of one of the homes, but the other two houses were dark.

  Ian ghosted to one of the barns, Pointy close behind. They circled it and peered in each window, but only saw farm equipment and several empty stalls. The other two barns were the same. He paused long enough to exchange his Webley for a needler.

  “The houses without lights,” he whispered. “You take the left one, I’ll take the right.” Seconds later Ian was at the back door of the darkened house, which had been kicked in. He worked around to the front and began to notice the charnel stink of death. The front door was also a broken ruin.

  He glided through the front entrance, night sights on high gain. Nothing. The smell was stronger. He entered the kitchen, and recoiled. Two dead on the floor. Boys, no more than ten or twelve. He squatted down for a closer look. They’d been tortured. As he dispassionately studied the twisted, broken things on the floor, he locked his mind away from the roiling emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. He came stiffly erect and entered a back bedroom. An old woman was still tied spread-eagled to the bed. Death had taken a long time to arrive from the looks of it.

  “Ian, they’re all dead over here,” Pointy whispered, anguish in his every word.

  “Same here,” he muttered thickly. “Meet me inside the first barn.”

  Ian covered the woman’s body with a blanket. With exquisite care, he brought each of the boys’ bodies in and laid them on the bed next to the woman. He left the house, and drifted to the barn. He was without feeling, and moved as if through syrup. Pointy was already inside. They faced each other, Ian without expression, Pointy with tears running down his cheeks.

  Ian gestured to the right. “We’ll check out the lighted house. You watch the back. Kill anyone coming out.” He holstered his needler and began moving away. He could feel Phil’s hesitation before following. No time for that now. He’d explain later.

  As he approached the house two men came out, deep in a muttered conversation. He slipped behind them, palming his vibra-blade. The one on the right died, his throat cut to the bone. A reverse thrust, and his blade plunged into the left one’s temple. A twist of his wrist, and the body dropped like a bundle of old clothes alongside his still-twitching partner.

  He spun and re-focused. Everything was crystal clear. He was through the open door, and slashed his blade across the throat of a man just exiting. Ian was beyond him and into the kitchen before his victim slumped to the floor. A large man lifted a butcher’s cleaver to chop down on him. He spun to the side, disemboweled him and plucked the cleaver from his hand on the way by. A smaller man backed out the door, clawing for his pistol. The side of his face shredded with the impact of a dozen needles from Pointy’s gun.

  Ian sprinted for the stairs. He shifted the cleaver to his right hand, the vibra blade in his left. A voice was lifted in query in one of the rooms upstairs. Ian found himself at the top of the stairs, and flowed into the first bedroom. A man fastened his pants, turning from a woman—no, a girl—strapped naked to the bed. The cleaver left his hand, caught the man under the point of his chin and almost decapitated him.

  He dropped to the floor and slashed upward with his blade. The attacker who’d followed him into the room shrieked, his pelvis split by Ian’s knife. Ian rose to his feet, and was impaled on the eyes of the girl. A terrible gladness filled them, along with a spark of hope. He slipped away, still riding the wave. The last room had two men, awakened out of a drunken sleep. That didn’t slow the speed with which they drew their pistols and fired.

  Ian dove under their muzzle blasts, and knocked both off their feet with a flying tackle. He rolled over them, two strokes opening each from crotch to sternum. He spun to his feet, knife questing. Nothing left to kill. With an effort he forced himself out of the killing rage, and turned off his vibra-blade. “Okay, Pointy. Come on in. It’s secure.”

  Seconds later Pointy was in the doorway, eyes wide at the scenes of slaughter he’d passed. “You okay, man?”

  Ian gestured. “There’s a girl in the next room. Think you could help her?” Pointy rushed out. Ian started for the door, popped up his visor and made it to the hallway before falling to his knees and vomiting. He was still on hands and knees retching when Pointy carried the girl out.

  “I’m taking her outside. Looks like a slaughterhouse in here.” He shuddered.

  Ian managed to gain his feet and followed. Once outside he unsteadily sat on the front steps, and tried to drink from his canteen with shaking hands. The adrenaline rush was wearing off, and he felt like an old man. An old man covered in blood, he discovered. He shivered violently, and unsuccessfully tried to hold down the water he’d just gulped.

  He wiped his lips and sat back, feeling somewhat better. He got up, weaving as he headed toward the barn. Inside was a deep sink with water spigots, where he proceeded to wash off as much of the blood as he could. Pointy brought over a couple of rags to wet down and took them back to the girl, trying to clean her up and perform simple first aid.

  “You’d better take off your gear, Irish,” he said. “It’ll make it easier to wash up. Goddamn, what happened in there, man? I’ve never seen so much blood.”

  “I executed them, Pointy. Those slimy, rotten excuses for human beings had to be put down hard as possible.” He took a deep, shaky breath. “Almost didn’t come out the other side of it that time.” He peeled off his overgarments, and began to scrub his body.

  “Yeah, I agree they needed killing. But that was weird, man.” Pointy moved back to the girl, tried unsuccessfully to get her to drink some water. “This poor thing isn’t gonna make it either. I think she’s bleeding internally.”

  Ian stopped washing and knelt by her. “Honey, can you hear me?” Her eyes fluttered open, and locked on Ian’s. She began whispering f
aintly. He leaned closer to hear. She faded away, life disappearing from her eyes, her body.

  “Shit,” Pointy said. “What a waste. What a rotten, terrible waste.” He gestured toward the darkened houses. “What makes men do this?” He laid a blanket over the girl, covering the eyes that were still locked with Ian’s.

  Ian exhaled. “I didn’t get much of what she said, but apparently this crew was led by a man they nicknamed ‘Undertaker,’ or something like that. He left a couple hours ago, and was due back in the morning with a bunch of recruits.”

  “Did you catch the difference in uniforms these guys had, compared to the others we’ve seen today?” Pointy asked. “These had darker uniforms.”

  Ian roused at that. “We’d better take a closer look. Soon’s I get cleaned up, we’ll go over their gear. Need to come up with a way to cover this up, too. Make it look like they fought among themselves, started a fire, something like that.”

  “You gonna call this in?” asked Pointy.

  “Of course. But not the whole story, until I get a face-to-face with Brita. That okay with you?”

  “You’ll get no argument from me, slick. But I’d sure like to know what happened in there before we call anybody.”

  “That’s fair. Once we get this mess in order, I’ll do just that. Right now, though, we need to move before that Undertaker guy gets back with more of his friends.”

  In the basement of the lighted house they found what they were looking for.

  “Look at these weapons,” Ian breathed. He held a Mauser model 211 sniper rifle, with a 20 X variable scope. Thirty more were stacked against the wall, along with several cases of 10mm caseless ammunition for them. “It seems we’ve broken up a sniper’s nest.”

  Pointy squatted next to a case of anti-personnel mines, and began to load an empty sack with them. “We weren’t able to bring our own booby traps, so what’s wrong with theirs?”

  These particular devices were lightweight sheets of metal, eight centimeters by twenty, and very thin. They were coated on one side with a layer of plastic explosives, which had steel ball bearings imbedded in it. The other side could be attached to a flat or curving surface, and had built-in trip wires that would stretch out ten meters either side. Pulling out the wires activated it, so hitting the tripwire would explode and catapult dozens of ball bearings out in a sleet of steel. Anything within thirty meters would be killed or crippled.

  “Good idea,” Ian said.

  A thought struck him. “You know, we may be able to cover up our tracks so the bad guys don’t realize what happened here.” He hurried up the steps, calling over his shoulder. “Keep loading up on booby traps, and leave everything else as it is.”

  Two hours later, Irish and Pointy settled in on the back side of a small hillock, two kilometers from the settlement. In a quiet, emotionless voice, Ian re-lived the entire nightmare again. As he wound down, Pointy could only shake his head.

  “You got nerves of iridium, Irish. I never could’ve done that. Never in a million years.” He perked up. “What’re you gonna tell the L.T.? I know you want to explain this to Brita first, but she’s not here.”

  “The sniper weapons put a new slant on it,” Ian said. “The Lieutenant might be able to take care of our problem.” He keyed in to the regimental security frequency.

  “Eagle, this is Blue Two. Sitrep, over.” He repeated this several more times before he got a response.

  “Blue two, this is Eagle. You’re not due for a report until noon. What gives?”

  “We made contact three hours ago. Settlement three tango eleven wiped out by enemy. They were setting up sniper training. Had to break contact with extreme prejudice. Need to talk with the L.T. on this one.”

  “Roger, Blue two. Wait, out.”

  As they waited for Lieutenant Kwan to get back with them, Ian fingered the patch they’d removed from one of the enemy uniforms. Double lightning bolts with a hammer, worn by Alliance special forces called Thor’s Hammers. They were rumored to be good as the LRS. If they were on Star’s End in any appreciable force, things might get very interesting.

  “Kwan here. That you, Irish?”

  “Roger that. We made contact with what looks like some of Thor’s Hammers. Had to remove nine of ’em. None escaped, nor were they able to warn anyone about us.”

  There was silence for a moment. “Say again. Nine Alliance commandos dead?”

  “That’s a roger. They were setting up what appeared to be a sniper school. Recruits are being brought in this a.m., but aren’t here yet. We need a cover story about how they were discovered. Maybe by neighbors, or a security patrol out checking homesteads. Also, could you get a fire mission from Lieutenant Stanton? That would not only cover up our tracks, but also take care of part of the sniper problem.”

  “I’m sure we can think up some kind of cover story, might even call it an atrocity discovered by the planetary militia. Get some of the fence-sitters to fall over on our side. Nice work, Irish. Kwan out.”

  Ian heaved a sigh of relief. “Now I’ve only got to worry about Valkyrie’s reaction when I tell her the whole story.”

  Five minutes later, the first artillery rounds began landing in the settlement. “Let’s move, Pointy. We need to be out of this area by first light.”

  * * *

  Captain Stanton Vogel, the Undertaker, led his twenty-five recruits across another ridge line. They were only a couple of kilometers from the settlement he’d taken over for his training camp. He was mildly surprised at the quality of these recruits. They’d been steadily moving from the assembly area where he picked them up, with ten minute breaks each hour. Not only were they quiet on the move, there was no talking during breaks. A promising start.

  He stopped the column when the sound of repeated explosions reached him. Artillery, and lots of it. He beckoned the leader of the recruits forward. “Take the men back to the last clearing we passed. Wait for me there.” He moved forward rapidly as he could in the darkness before the man had a chance to acknowledge his order.

  Fifteen minutes later he looked down from a hill north of the settlement. He was still five hundred meters out, and could see little more than fire and smoke. The artillery barrage had let up just minutes before. In the predawn light he could make out the farmyards and what was left of the buildings through his binoculars. There was no movement. He waited another half-hour, but still nothing.

  With improved light, his binoculars worked well enough he could observe almost every foot of ground in the destroyed settlement. Still nothing. Cautiously, he advanced towards the shattered remains of the dwelling he had left yesterday afternoon.

  The house had caved in on itself, and was still burning. Two weeks of planning, a successfully completed raid on the settlement, the meticulously drafted plans for training dozens of snipers. Gone. He turned and began trotting back to where he had left the recruits, face a mask of stone. Had they miscounted the number of people at the settlement? Had a visitor stumbled on them? It didn’t matter. They would all pay. His best snipers had been in that house. They had been together for over five years, and accomplished every mission without fail. He wouldn’t fail them now.

  For most, vengeance is considered with deep felt emotions. Captain Vogel’s thoughts of vengeance had no tinge of sentiment to warp his thoughts. Yes, they would pay for this. The Undertaker, considered the best sniper in the Alliance, was going active.

  * * *

  Ian came awake with a start. The girl’s staring eyes faded from his dreams when he sat up and scanned their immediate area. The sensors were still in place and showed nothing within two hundred meters.

  “Sun’s setting, Pointy. Up and at ’em.” Seven meters away, what looked like a pile of leaves stirred.

  “Shitfire, man, I was just getting to the serious part of my wet dream.” Pointy’s helmet emerged from the nest he’d built around himself. “I had a flash of brilliance, Irish. When we reach the next village, why don’t we hide in the pub and count all
the gooners who come in?”

  “Gooner? What’s that?”

  “That’s what a bad guy’s called on this planet. At least what I’m callin’ ’em since we ran across those goons last night.”

  Ian chuckled. “Name sounds good, unfortunately the pub doesn’t. It’ll probably be closed when we begin our prowl.” He pulled the top off a packet of wafers, added water and waited for them to heat. “Once we eat, let’s boogie. Still got ten klicks to go.”

  The sun was dipping below the horizon when they started their southward trek. Pointy again took the lead, and eased through the forest without a sound. They moved slow enough their ghillies made them nothing more than a ripple. Several campfires were detected by their scanners within two kilometers of their location. More foraging parties.

  When he’d reported the multiple groups of foragers to Lieutenant Kwan, he learned the other teams were seeing large numbers of gooners—the name seemed appropriate, somehow—headed toward suspected guerrilla encampments. Intel also reported increased activity all along the western seaboard, especially around Richland. Several suspected rebel sympathizers had been detained and questioned. All evidence pointed to increased preparation for some kind of hostilities.

  One Senator from Richland had begun calling the guerrillas Jeffersonians. Ian felt this was a mistake by the government to even semi-officially recognize the insurgents as a political identity, but Captain Sanchez, who was the government liaison at the moment, wasn’t able to convince the politicos it was a bad idea.

  Ian shook off his musings and concentrated on the task at hand. All that mattered was to ensure the task force made it to the ground intact. After that, politics be damned. They’d kick ass and go home.

  Their scanners blipped. A large amount of movement one hundred meters to their front. They dropped down and bellied up to the top of a small rise. Directly below, several dozen men passed from east to west along a dirt road at a rapid trot.

  “They’re taking physical training,” Pointy whispered. “Look at their togs.” All the soldiers below were in shorts and t-shirts, doing their best to run in cadence.