First Strike

by Richard Turner

Sheridan was tired and hungry. His muscles were tired and his joints ached. They were down to one meal a day and in the cold, it never seemed enough. With the temperature dropping daily, the clothes on their backs were not enough to keep them warm.

  Cole had a fire built. Sheridan was about to object when the sergeant pointed out that they were the only group of people sitting around in the woods without one. Having one made them fit in with their surroundings; should an enemy drone fly over it would just see another bunch of refugees trying to keep warm. Sheridan quickly relented. He knew Cole had made the right call.

  An hour later, Sheridan found himself on sentry duty. They had taken refuge for the day behind a large tree-covered mound. Sheridan sat with his back against a tall fir tree looking out toward the capital. He stopped counting the number of drones the Kurgans had in the sky over the city. Every couple of minutes one would let loose a missile, which would streak at supersonic speed at its target. Occasionally, the defenders would fire a ground-to-air missile up at the drones. It was suicide. The instant the soldiers in the city fired, three Kurgan drones would fire back, obliterating whoever had been there. The Marines trapped in the capital were being systematically hunted and destroyed without the Kurgans suffering a single casualty. Sheridan wondered how much longer this uneven fight could go on.

  “Pretty gloomy sight, isn’t it?” said Cole as he sat down beside Sheridan. In his hands were two cups of black coffee.

  “Doesn’t make me want to go there,” replied Sheridan.

  “And yet here we are trying to find a way in.”

  Sheridan took a sip of coffee and felt it warm his innards as it slid down his throat. “I’ve been sitting here studying the Kurgan’s deployment and it stretches the entire length of the capital. They’ve dug trenches about two hundred meters back from the forward edge of the city. I don’t think we can get in that way. I hate to say it, but we may have to hike around the capital and try approaching it from the other side.”

  Cole picked up his binoculars and studied the tall mountains behind the city. He didn’t like what he saw. They were almost out of food and with the weather getting worse by the day, he doubted they had the strength to make it. “Sir, I don’t think we could make it up and over those peaks, not with a person on a stretcher and a civilian with us. If it were just us Marines, I’d say go for it, but we’ve got other people to worry about.”

  “I know. It looks like it’s the front door or nothing.”

  Cole surveyed the refugee camp. A couple of seconds later, he said, “Sir, lend me your civilian jacket.”

  “Why?”

  Cole handed his binoculars over and pointed down at a group of people standing around a roaring fire. “What’s wrong with that picture?”

  Sheridan studied the people for a minute and then shrugged his shoulders.

  “Sir, take a good look at the man in the blue jacket talking to a couple of women near the fire.”

  Sheridan looked again. The man appeared to be having a conversation with the women. “Sergeant, I’m still not getting it.”

  “The bastard is clean and has no beard. He’s got to be from the capital. I’m willing to bet my pension that he’s a black-marketer who knows a way in and out of the city.”

  Sheridan raised up the glasses once more and studied the man as he dug into his jacket and handed over what looked to be cans of food to the women in exchange for their jewelry. “Damn, you’ve got good eyes. I would have missed that.”

  “I’ve seen his kind before,” explained Cole. “He’s a human parasite, but right now he’s the answer to our prayers. Can I have your pistol too?”

  With a nod, Sheridan handed over his jacket and pistol to Cole. “What’s your plan?”

  “I intend to drag that fellow back here so we can ask him a few questions,” answered Cole, grinning. “Sir, if this goes south, get your ass out of here.”

  With a handshake, Sheridan took Cole’s rifle and wished him luck.

  With the collar pulled up on the back of Cole’s borrowed jacket, he walked through the woods, eyes fixed on his target. Keeping his head down, he avoided making eye contact with any of the people moving about the ramshackle group of shelters that had been built around the fire. Cole could hear the man asking anyone else if they wanted to make a deal with him before he moved on.

  “I do,” said Cole, trying to sound tired and despondent.

  “Ah, a new customer,” said the man. With combed blonde hair and a round face, the man was the polar opposite of the disheveled refugees. “How can I help you, my good man?”

  Cole kept his head down. “My child is sick. I need medicine. What do you have?”

  “I don’t have any medicine on me today, but if you tell me what you’re looking for I can return tomorrow . . . if the price is right.”

  “I’m not a doctor. Perhaps if you took a look at my daughter, you could determine what she needs and how much it is going to cost me?”

  “Sure, friend,” replied the man, smiling.

  Cole placed a hand on his arm and steered him away from the fire.

  “Is your child near?”

  “Near enough,” said Cole as he pulled out his pistol and jammed it hard into the man’s back.

  “Just a minute, my good man, there’s no need for that. I told you already, I don’t have any medicine on me.”

  “I don’t give a damn. Keep your mouth shut and keep moving. If you try anything foolish, I’ll put a bullet in your back and leave you out here to die.”

  The man went to object but received a sharp poke in his side with Cole’s gun, warning him to be quiet.

  Sheridan called Obermman over to take over on sentry as Cole and his prisoner walked into their camp.

  With a swift shove from behind, Cole pushed the blonde-haired man to the ground. “Cover me,” Cole told Garcia while he removed the man’s jacket and dumped everything he had at his feet. Placing all of the jewelry to one side, Cole piled up the bags of freeze-dried food and saw that they were military rations.

  “Where did you steal these rations from?” Cole asked the terrified man.

  “I found them,” stammered the man.

  Cole pulled back on the hammer on his pistol and pointed it at the man’s head. “Don’t lie to me, you little shit! You stole these. Give me honest answers and I’ll let you keep all of your fingers. Lie to me again and I’ll have Agnar cut off your fingers, one by one.”

  The man looked over at Agnar, who slowly pulled out his bayonet and smiled.

  “You’re not refugees,” protested the man, looking around the group. “You’re soldiers. You can’t treat me like this. It’s your job to protect me.”

  Sheridan said, “Right about now, I’m willing to throw out the uniform code of conduct and do whatever feels right. Now, answer my sergeant’s question.”

  Agnar flipped his knife around in the air.

  The man recoiled in horror and tried to crawl away. Cole grabbed his collar and held him tight. “Okay, okay, call off your man and I’ll tell you what you want to know,” cried the man.

  “Where did you get those rations from?” demanded Cole.

  “I got a man in supply who sells them to me.”

  Sheridan grinned. “So you know how to get in and out of the capital?”

  “Yes. I was a civilian maintenance engineer before the Kurgans came. There are dozens of tunnels underneath the city. Most were barricaded up by the military, but I found one they had missed.”

  “Is it far from here?” asked Cole.

  The man shook his head.

  “I take it you come and go at night to avoid the Kurgs?” Sheridan said.

  “Yeah, there’s an old sewage tunnel that comes out near the river. The iron grate there isn’t locked.”

  “When do you use it?” asked Cole.

  “Usually just before dawn.”

  “Good, you can take us there tomorrow morning,” said Sheridan.

  The man looked about at the weary dirt-covered p
eople standing around him. “You’ve got to be joking. There’s too many of you. We’ll be spotted for sure.”

  “For your sake, I hope not,” replied Sheridan bluntly.

  “Sir, what shall I do with the jewels and the food?” asked Cole.

  “I doubt we could return the jewelry even if we wanted to, so bury it. As for the food, keep some for us and then give the rest away.”

  Cole nodded.

  Sheridan walked over until he stood over the black-marketer. “As for you, you had better be telling the truth, or Agnar’s going to make you regret the day your mother gave birth to you.”

  With their reluctant guide in the lead, Sheridan waved for everyone behind him to follow. A damp, cold fog clung to the river, masking their movement.

  Agnar carried Hollande on his back. As quietly as possible, Tartov and the two other crewmen were shepherded by Obermman. Garcia held Kelly Green close to her as they crept along. At the back of the pack, Cole and Andrews kept guard.

  As they snuck past a fire, a dog barked loudly. Everyone froze in their tracks. An angry voice hushed the animal. Praying that they hadn’t been seen, they continued. After ten more tense minutes, the black-marketeer stopped by a lone pine tree, turned around to face Sheridan and quietly said that the grate was right below them. Leaving the man under guard, Sheridan slid down the wet riverbank until his boots touched the water. He checked both ways to make sure that he wasn’t being observed before carefully crawling over to the rusty iron grill covering the tunnel entrance. He reached down, grabbed hold of the gate and pulled back. It was unlocked. A wave of relief swept over him. He half expected it to be booby-trapped. He scurried back up to his friends.

  “Okay, the coast looks clear,” said Sheridan. “Let’s go.” He turned to help Agnar with Hollande when gunfire suddenly erupted.

  Through the mist, Sheridan could only see the muzzle flashes of several weapons firing. The sound of bullets cutting through the air made Sheridan duck. He shoved their guide to the ground, brought up his rifle to his shoulder and prepared to engage whoever it was attacking them.

  Agnar was already on the move to the tunnel.

  A second later, the shooting stopped. A voice moaned in the dark.

  “Don’t move,” Sheridan warned the black-marketeer. With adrenaline coursing through his veins, Sheridan advanced into the fog. A dark shape moved toward him. Instinctively, he laid his weapon’s sights on the person.

  “Sir, please lower your rifle, it’s me,” said Cole calmly.

  “What the hell just happened?”

  “Andrews jumped me. Before I could bring my rifle up to fire, he hit me in the side of the head and then opened fire on the people in front of us. One of the crewmen is dead, and the other has a hole blasted through his neck. Garcia is treating him, but he won’t last long.”

  “Where’s Andrews now?”

  “He ran off into the fog. Can you believe it? The bastard’s one of them. He’s probably heading straight for the Kurgan lines.”

  Sheridan swore. “Get everyone moving. Tell Garcia to leave the crewman. We can’t afford to waste time on him.”

  “Right,” replied Cole, turning to give the orders.

  Kelly Green emerged out of the mist with Obermman and Tartov, who was shaking like a leaf.

  “Straight down there,” said Sheridan pointing toward the river.

  A couple of seconds passed before Cole and Garcia joined Sheridan.

  “He’s dead,” proclaimed Garcia.

  Voices called out in Kurgan. The sound of a drone flying overhead told them their time was up. In seconds, their heat signatures would give them away and a missile would be on its way.

  “Follow me,” said Sheridan, leading the way.

  The inside of the tunnel was pitch-black. Sheridan turned on the light on the forestock of his rifle so he could see. A beam of light illuminated the way. The tunnel wasn’t very high. Sheridan had to bend over. Up ahead, he could see the lights from several other weapons marking where the rest of his people were.

  “Hold up,” called out Sheridan.

  Garcia said, “What’s that disgusting smell?”

  “Sewage,” replied Cole.

  “How far do we have to go?” Sheridan asked the black-marketeer.

  He said, “It takes about fifteen minutes to get where we’re going.”

  “And where might that be?” queried Cole.

  “To an old maintenance building. My contact will be waiting for me there.”

  “Lead on,” said Sheridan waving his rifle down the dark tunnel.

  “Where’s Andrews?” asked Agnar.

  “He ran off,” replied Garcia. “The lousy son of a bitch was one of them.”

  Agnar shook his head, made sure Hollande was as comfortable as she could be on his back and followed close behind Sheridan.

  Sipping his cup of coffee, Sergeant Munroe was growing concerned. It wasn’t like his partner in crime to be late. He checked his watch and saw that he was only a couple of minutes late. He opened up a packet of dried fruit and was about to pop some in his mouth when he heard the sound of the hatch leading down into the tunnel begin to creak open.

  “You’re late,” said Munroe loudly as he helped to pull open the heavy iron lid.

  A rifle poked out of the narrow entrance as Sheridan climbed out.

  “I’m not late and you, Sergeant, are under arrest,” proclaimed Sheridan. “If there are other soldiers involved in this crime, I’d think about selling them out for a lesser sentence if I were you.”

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