Every new town brought a sigh of relief and the thrill of expectation. They imagined the fun they would have there, the women and the goodies they might find. It was a like a drunken teenage camping trip with a really cool chaperone who let you party as long as you didn’t get out of hand. Everyone agreed that if Thomas would ease up on that rule about drinking he’d be the perfect boss.
Their second day in town they paid a visit to the houses closest to them. A few more people got killed and some loot taken but Thomas felt the day was a success. They didn’t want anyone in the houses immediately around them anyway. It made them nervous, like they were being spied on. Since the residents didn’t have the good sense to run, Thomas sent men to take care of them.
Another team roamed the town with the tanker truck. They were fortunate to find that a lot of the homes in the town used oil furnaces with tanks in the yard or the basement. They used their transfer pump to suck those dry. That fuel would top off the trucks and they’d go searching for more tomorrow to store in the tanker. There was such a wealth of fuel in the town that Thomas even had the men on the lookout for a fuel trailer that they could pull behind the tanker for additional capacity.
Spirits were high when they sat down to dinner that night. One of the men had killed an elk earlier in the day, cutting it into steaks and roasts. The smell was insane. Joints were passed, which only made the men more ravenous. Thomas agreed to let them play some music as long as they were reasonable with the volume.
“Hell, you worried about the neighbors, T? Shouldn’t be. We killed them all,” Lawdog cracked.
“I ain’t scared of the people in this town but there ain’t no point in broadcasting our position either,” Thomas replied.
Lawdog gave a sheepish grin. “Sorry, I was trying to be funny.”
“We already got one fool, don’t need another. Right, Mundo?”
Mundo frowned, then smiled at Thomas. “We gotta be driving these people nuts with the smell of that meat. We should drive around after dinner telling everyone we got free food just to see if any good-looking women come out. That would save a lot of work. Make them come to us instead of having to run them down like rabbits.”
“Going away party ain’t until the end of the week,” Lawdog said. “You know the rules.”
“Why can’t we have a welcome party too?” Mundo asked.
“‘Cause too much partying will make you soft,” Thomas said. “And everyone is getting too soft already.”
Mundo didn’t respond to that. If Thomas had any idea how much he really partied, especially that he’d been regularly drinking on watch, he’d kill him. He couldn’t help it. Since he’d been around twelve years old he’d had a taste for booze and it had never gone away, despite some legendary hangovers.
Dinner was amazing that night. None of the men had eaten elk before. It was so good that they joked they should carefully guard Buddha Boy against injury because they had no cook skilled enough to replace him. They were laughing about this very thing when an object came sailing over some of the men’s heads and landed near the fire. Before they even had time to consider what it might be, trash or an empty bottle, it exploded, blinding them with intense light.
Nearly all the men were affected, sitting so tightly together around the fire. Lawdog, Mundo, and Thomas, standing together, staggered into each other, rubbing their eyes. Shootah, also blinded, backed into the grill, screaming when he dropped a hand to the surface to catch himself. Thomas tried to shout orders but had no idea what to tell people to do.
“We’re under attack!” he yelled, but it was nowhere near loud enough to be heard over the chaos.
There was a clatter and a hiss. Thomas recognized it as the sound of a smoke grenade. The men who could still see, whose direct line of sight to the flash-bang had been blocked by other men’s bodies, were now just as blinded as their companions, unable to see through the dense cloud of smoke. Then there were two gunshots immediately alongside the group.
Thomas hoped it was one of his own men, someone able to see, who had been able to fire back at the attacker. “You get ‘em?” he yelled.
There was a screech of pain. Thomas recognized the voice. It was Mundo.
“Fuck!”
Then there were more screams and a low sputtering sound, nothing Thomas recognized or had heard before. It was a rapid mechanical sound that could possibly be a suppressed full-auto weapon of some sort. There was screaming all around him now but not the screams of dying men. These were the screams of injured men.
Then he felt a searing pain in his neck, the sting of a projectile. A second hit him in the ribs. He twisted his body and caught a burst in the groin that doubled him over. He fell over a box of cooking utensils and hit the concrete hard. He couldn’t see and scuttled backward until his head struck metal siding.
He was against the outside wall of the building. The sputtering stopped, then a clatter came over top of the groaning of his men. Something had fallen or been thrown down. He hoped it wasn’t grenades. If so, they were dead.
Who had grenades besides them? Had this been one of his own men? Surely there was no one in this town with that kind of gear.
Then he heard the laugh. A cheerful, maniacal laughter disappearing into the night. He clutched his swelling groin and rolled over to his side.
42
As the smoke cleared, the men whose eyes were less affected by the flash-bang took up weapons and formed a secure perimeter. With Thomas not fully recovered, they fell back on their training. Others began caring for the fallen, trying to determine if their brothers were blinded by the flash bang or had been injured.
“Thomas! Where you at?” Droopy had been spared the direct flash of the grenade because of another man sitting in front of him. He was running around with his weapon trying to find his boss.
“Here!” Thomas called.
Droopy found him in a dark recess, sitting against the wall of the building, waiting on his eyes to start working again. The scene in front of them was gradually improving and he understood the effects weren’t permanent. Droopy helped him to his feet. He kept an assisting hand on Thomas, trying to steady him, but Thomas yanked free.
“What the fuck just happened?” Thomas hissed. “Where were the sentries?”
“Whoever it was must have come in the back. We found a hole cut in the fence. The men on the gate came as soon as they heard trouble but they each caught a round to the face.”
“Real rounds?”
“Yeah, they dead,” Droopy said. “The rest of you got shot up with paintballs.”
“Paintballs?” Thomas spat. He wiped at his shirt, feeling the sticky mess on his uniform. He blinked a couple of times and was able to make out rough shapes. Green blobs. The glow of the fire. When he could see well enough to make out Droopy standing before him, he grabbed him by the shirt and slammed him against the building.
Droopy started to shove Thomas away, but wisely restrained himself from putting hands on him. He gritted his teeth as Thomas, probably a hundred pounds lighter than him, repeatedly shoved him into the metal wall. He could smell Thomas’s foul breath when the man got in his face.
“Was this one of our people?” Thomas demanded.
“I don’t think so, T,” Droopy replied.
“Was this one of our people?” Thomas screamed. His volume silenced the chaos in the camp and everyone stopped what they were doing. They understood his anger but it was never a good thing when Thomas got this mad. Somebody usually died.
“I don’t think so,” Lawdog offered, walking unsteadily toward Thomas. “None of our people would have done something like this. This wasn’t a prank. We got two men dead and one unaccounted for.”
“Who’s unaccounted for?” Thomas asked, releasing Droopy and taking a step toward the fire. The movement caused a shooting pain in his groin. He flinched and grabbed for his swollen testicles.
“He-Man ain’t answering his radio,” said Lawdog. “He was on watch down at that church, up
in the bell tower.”
“Anyone have serious injuries?”
“A lot of swollen nuts,” Mundo said. “What kinda sadistic asshole does something like this?”
“I didn’t ask you!” Thomas barked. “I suggest you shut the fuck up.”
Mundo limped away, trying to walk off the pain.
“We have a couple of eye injuries,” Lawdog said. “Shot in the eye with a paintball. Some of them may be blinded in that eye, I don’t know. The groin injuries aren’t serious but they may be disabling for a few days.”
Thomas was disgusted. They’d never come under attack like this before. No one had the audacity. “Lock this place down,” he ordered. “Get two trucks together with people who can walk and see. We’re going to check on He-Man.”
Lawdog found Mundo and they put two ten-man teams together. They loaded the back of the trucks like they were cartel soldiers on patrol, everyone on their weapons and ready to shoot. Each truck had a man on the belt-fed gun. In their anger they wanted to start lighting the town up, blasting everything in sight, but Thomas made them hold off until they saw what awaited them at the church.
No one was ready for what they found. The trucks parked in the street, their headlights illuminating the church. Men with handheld spotlights played them around the scene, searching for anything of concern.
“I’ll be damned!” Mundo said, hopping out of the truck. “Over here with that spotlight.”
The men with the spotlights responded by directing the beams toward a car parked in the handicapped spot in front of the church.
“That He-Man?” Droopy asked, hopping down from the bed of the truck.
The spotlights converged on the car, as did the headlamps and flashlights of the other Bond soldiers.
“Y’all got to help me,” He-Man begged. “I’m stuck.”
Mundo started laughing at the sight. He-Man was sprawled over the hood of the car like he was about to be searched by the police. His pants were around his ankles.
“Are those Wonder Woman panties?” Droopy asked.
“They ain’t mine,” He-Man growled. “Asshole jumped me. He glued me to this car and I can’t move. My hands and my knees are glued down. And these ain’t my fucking underwears.”
“That ain’t even underwear,” Mundo said. “That’s like little girl panties. You some kind of freak or something.” He doubled over with laughter but the motion caused his groin to ache. He straightened out, frowning.
Thomas stepped forward and took in the scene. “What the hell happened?”
“Somebody got to get me loose,” He-Man said, louder.
“I asked you what happened,” Thomas repeated.
“I heard a noise but I thought it was somebody come to relieve me.”
“Was it time for someone to relieve you?” Thomas asked.
“Well, no,” He-Man admitted. “But I heard a noise. I started down the ladder to check into it and the ladder was booby-trapped. The steps broke and I fell all the way down. Then some guy jumped on me and stuck a needle in my neck. He drugged me and I woke up like this.”
“You know this guy?” Thomas asked. “You recognize him?”
“No, I couldn’t get a good look. It was dark and it happened so fast.”
“This guy that got past you killed two of our men. He could have killed all of us. Instead he just shot us up with paintballs like some sick bastard. He made punks out of all us. If you’d been doing your job we—”
“I was doing my job!” He-Man yelled.
“Not well enough. Not living to up to the standard. You know I got standards.”
“I’ll make up for it,” He-Man said desperately. “I’ll do anything you want. You name it.”
“No,” Thomas said, “you won’t.” He raised his rifle, flipped the safety, and dumped a dozen rounds into He-Man’s flinching body.
The Bond soldiers didn’t react. They weren’t surprised. They’d all been expecting this, knowing how seriously Thomas took sentry duty. He had a zero-tolerance attitude toward failure and this was a significant fail. Besides, somebody had to pay for the indignity they’d suffered and there was no one else immediately at hand. He-Man would have to do.
“Mundo, take over this post. Fix the ladder. Whatever it takes. Just get your ass up in that tower and no one better get past you. Got it?”
“Yes, sir!” Mundo jogged off toward the church.
“Call back on the radio!” Lawdog called after him. “Before we leave, make sure you got his night vision and that it works.”
“Roger that,” Mundo replied.
“Get his gear,” Thomas told Droopy. “Guns and ammo.”
Droopy hurried off to do as he’d been instructed.
“We gonna bury him?” Lawdog asked.
“Hell no, we ain’t gonna bury him,” Thomas said. “We’re leaving him as a message for this town. I want whoever the hell came at us tonight to know what we’re capable of. If we’ll kill one of our own for not doing his job, it might tell the people of this town a little something about how serious we are. If they’re not scared, they better get that way real fast.”
“Hey, Thomas?” Droopy called from the car.
“What is it?”
“You need to see this, man.”
Thomas glared at Lawdog then strode over to the car.
“There’s writing all over it,” Droopy said, playing his light over the car.
Sure enough, there was a message written in Sharpie on the door of the car.
Thomas leaned over and began reading out loud. “Gentlemen, you have unwittingly crossed a boundary that you don’t want to cross. Beyond this town is the territory of The Mad Mick. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get back in your little green Army trucks and go back the way you came. If you continue south on this highway, I’ll kill each and every one of you. Signed, The Mad Mick.”
“What we gonna do?” Droopy asked.
Thomas stared at him like he was idiot. “We’re packing up and heading south tomorrow. We’re going to catch this bastard and make him pay.”
“Tomorrow?” Lawdog asked. “We just got here, man.”
“You questioning me?”
“No. I just wanted to be certain.”
“You certain now?”
Lawdog nodded. “Yes, T. We head out tomorrow. We’re going to find this Mad Mick and kill him.”
43
After sprinting from the car dealership, Conor retraced his steps, knowing the path he’d taken was relatively safe. Once clear of the scene, he spread a bandana on the trunk of a car and laid out the hot elk steaks he’d snatched from the grill. He unsheathed his fixed blade knife and rapidly sliced the steaks into strips the thickness of jerky. When he was done, he sheathed the knife and pulled an empty plastic shopping bag from his back pocket. He usually carried two in his gear. They took up no room and could serve as gloves, socks, or for carrying things such as random elk steaks you might happen across.
He put one of the strips of meat in his mouth and groaned. That was some good stuff. The rest of the bag went into a dump pouch on the back of his battle belt. It would be easy to get to while he was on the move.
While he jokingly called himself a fat boy because he was so fond of his food, he did what he could to stay in good shape specifically for circumstances like this. He set out running at a jogging pace. Near the church where he’d taken out the sentry, he stopped to retrieve the rifle he’d taken off the man. The sentry had a decent scoped carbine, which Conor threw across his back, and an M9 handgun that was already stashed in his Go Bag.
Neither of the weapons appealed to Conor all that much. He had better gear than that. However, the weapons might be of use to someone back home who didn’t have anything. He also hated the idea of leaving weapons behind so they could be used against him. No use arming the enemy.
Conor’s system, if he had a choice, was not to exert himself so much that he’d been unable to fight if it came to that. He jogged until he bega
n to breathe hard then he’d slow to a walking pace. When his breathing recovered, he was off running again. Although it wasn’t the stealthiest mode of travel, his objective was to put distance between himself and The Bond. They would come after him, but he didn’t expect they’d do it tonight. It would be tomorrow. They’d be unable to resist the challenge, the taunt he’d left them. They’d be unable to let go the insult of his attack on them. They would want to make an example of him, which was something he had no intention of letting them do.
It took him about an hour to reach his cache of gear. He paused there to rehydrate and finish the last of the magnificent elk dinner The Bond had been kind enough to prepare for him. He tracked down the hobbled horse using his night vision, speaking to it until the nervous animal calmed enough that he could saddle it. Conor imagined he looked a bit unnerving in his helmet, night vision, and assorted gear, like some insectoid creature stalking the horse in the dark.
When he had everything strapped onto the horse he led it out of the woods and back onto the road. He felt comfortable riding on the road under these circumstances. The Bond’s trucks were loud. He’d hear them coming. He expected he’d have to ride all night. That was okay. He had a good horse, a full belly, and a pocket full of chemical stimulants if he needed them. He nudged his horse and they barreled off into the night.
44
Though everyone coming along with Barb’s team understood that she was in charge, there was no honeymoon period. The folks from Wayne’s camp were scared and wary, both of her and what lay ahead of them on their journey. The stiff contingent from Pastor White’s group, while not openly hostile, was not exactly friendly. Everyone listened to her and did as she asked but there was no sense of camaraderie. There was nothing that bonded them together as a group, though she had hoped that marching off into the unknown would do exactly that.
Brutal Business: Book Three in the Mad Mick Series Page 25