by John Grit
Chesty and Mel eyed Nate, but said nothing.
Donovan raised his hand. “Hold on. Stick around. I may need your advice before this is over.”
Soldiers within listening distance looked like they couldn’t believe what they’d just heard. A captain supervising this little operation was already overkill. They didn’t understand that Donovan wasn’t so much needing Nate’s advice as worried about the look on his face. He knew something was wrong with him. Donovan asking for advice from Nate was in no way a sign of his incompetence; it was proof he was so at ease with carrying the load of his responsibilities he had no need for affectation. There was a reason he seldom raised his voice, and he damn sure didn’t carry a swagger stick.
Nate kept walking. “I doubt that.”
The Captain motioned for Deni to come closer. He leaned to her ear and spoke low. “What do you think is eating him?”
“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “This situation might be bringing back bad memories or something. He’s a combat vet. Also, he’s been through a lot since the plague hit. Hell, he was just shot at while sitting next to his son only an hour ago.”
Donovan nodded. “Go with him. We have plenty of personnel to handle this mess.”
Deni said, “Thank you sir.”
She caught up with Nate, already halfway to the truck.
He heard her boots on gravel and looked back, then stopped.
She put a hand on his shoulder. “What’s up, Nate?”
Nate looked toward the truck and Brian. “It’s his job, not mine.”
“True enough.” She walked along beside him. “You know, my time was up months back. I might be a free girl soon.”
“Maybe.” Nate didn’t sound too sure. “You’re trying to cheer me up for some reason. Do I look like I need cheering up?”
She tilted her head and examined the features of his face as they walked along. “I don’t know. It’s hard to tell with you.”
He gave her a look out of the corner of his eye and kept walking. After four steps, he stopped and pulled her to him, holding her tight. They held each other in silence for some time.
She rested her head on his chest. “What’s going on, Nate?”
“I just think the Army can handle it.”
“They can, but that doesn’t answer my question.”
He released her and started walking again. “I’m fine. That’s all you need to know.”
Several rifle shots boomed from the direction of the house.
Nate looked at Deni. “I would guess Donovan just gave them a chance to surrender and they gave him their answer.”
A roar of full auto fire reverberated across the land. It lasted ten seconds and came to a sporadic stop. The SAW soon started up again, without the accompaniment of other weapons this time, keeping with short, three or four-round bursts.
By that time, Nate and Deni had reached the truck and Brian.
“Are you thinking there might be innocents in the house?” Deni asked.
Nate put his rifle in the truck. “That’s certainly possible.”
An explosion split the air.
“Sounds like Donovan’s using grenade launchers.” Nate saw smoke already rising above threes between them and the house. “He’s having them lobbed in through the roof. I half expected him to call in a helicopter gunship.”
Another explosion rocked the earth. “That one must’ve hit something inside,” Deni commented. “Sounded like there was a secondary explosion a split second after the grenade went off. Grenades will certainly circumvent the bullet-stopping solid walls.”
Nate opened the truck door. “Might as well have a seat and rest your bruised body. It won’t be much longer now that Donovan’s figured it out.”
The explosions stopped and there was no more firing. Nate guessed correctly that anyone left alive in the house was trying to surrender. Smoke billowed up above the trees in a large black cloud, then drifted downwind. A Black Hawk swooped in and landed beyond their line of sight. Picking up wounded, Nate thought.
Deni watched the smoke become blacker and rise into the blue sky until the tops of flickering flames rose above the tree line. Even at that distance, the snapping and crackling of a roaring house fire could be heard. After a few minutes, the black smoke turned gray. A sudden realization hit her when her stomach began to feel as if it held a cold block of lead, chilling her and weighing her down at the same time. There’s something dirty about using the power of a modern military against untrained civilians, even assholes who asked for it. Nate didn’t want to witness it; he had seen it before.
Chapter 24
Donovan stood in Chesty’s living room and handed Nate, Tyrone, and Chesty each a copy of his report on the interrogation of the captured militia members, including two who had run from the burning house. Mel had gone on patrol with a team of soldiers to learn more about the town. Deni was on duty.
“It appears this strange political group’s bigger than any of us believed.” Donovan thought for a few seconds. “I’m still trying to come up with a label that fits their ideology, but there doesn’t seem to be one, because the things they think society should be based on are totally contradictory. There’s just no way any society or government could be all of the things they want.”
“You mean Socialism without government, an economy where all necessities of life are free, and there is no monetary system?” Nate asked. “The closest example I could think of would be some Native American tribes.”
Chesty raised a brow. “Did they feed the lazy?”
“I’m sure everyone had to work,” Nate answered. “Survival was too tenuous to allow some to be a burden to the whole tribe. I know some tribes expected their men to die in battle before they got old and became a burden to others and women were expected to commit suicide if they lived to the point they were a burden. Eskimo women would walk out onto the ice in the dead of winter and walk into the wind until they dropped from exhaustion. Then they would die from exposure.” He shook his head. “These nuts don’t know what they want or what they’re asking for.”
Atticus stood next to Tyrone. He had stayed close to him ever since he learned of him getting banged up by the attackers in the large trucks, always with his shotgun in his hands and all of his pockets full of buckshot. “Sounds like a combination of One Percenters, Communists/Socialists, liberals, hippies, anti-Capitalists/corporation haters, anti-big-government, anti-military, anti-law-enforcement anarchists, who believe the government should provide everything free and with no taxes to pay for it.” He smiled. “Simple really. I don’t understand why you guys are having such a hard time wrapping your minds around this.”
“Sounds like heaven,” Nate quipped.
“And they’re such a peaceful, fun-loving gang,” Chesty added. “It’s not like they’re going around shooting at everyone they see.”
“They’re certainly not flower children of the 1960s,” Donovan observed. “So far all of them have been white, but they deny being racial purists and bigots. We haven’t come across any women in the group yet, either.”
Atticus feigned surprise. “You think they’re also anti-woman?”
Nate cleared his throat. “Might be they can’t find a woman stupid enough to join their group.” The expression on Nate’s face changed. It was obvious he was having an epiphany. “On the other hand, they just might have women in their group.”
“What are you thinking?” Donovan asked.
“Austin, Deni, and I ran into an ambush a while back. A woman faked a wound and led us away from the truck and Austin so others could attack him while he was alone. We had the impression there was a large camp nearby and the ambush was about keeping us away from that camp.”
Chesty broke in. “I remember Austin telling me and Tyrone about that, warning us how dangerous it could be if we ever ran into that bunch.”
Nate continued. “At the time, I was thinking the ambushers must be from the raiders the National Guard rounded up month
s back. I’m certain they didn’t get them all. Well, maybe it’s them. But they also might be part of this militia group.”
Donovan listened with interest. “Either way, they need to be apprehended and incarcerated. They’re a violent, lawless danger to the public. You should’ve told me about this sooner.”
“A lot has been going on and it slipped my mind. I got the impression you were mainly interested in the town, not the countryside.” Nate knew what was coming. “I’ll go with you and point out their position on a map, but I think I should stay in town with my son.” He glanced at Chesty and Tyrone. “Besides, I promised to help out the local sheriff a little longer while I’m still here.”
Donovan nodded. “I understand. Let’s get with it, though. It’s still early. There’s no reason why I can’t put together a team and get this done today.”
Nate walked to the corner of the room, where his rifle and pack were. “One other thing: There are children in that camp. While you’re doing your planning, keep that in mind.”
Donovan’s chest deflated. “Wonderful. Already, it’s going to take twice as many soldiers to get the job done clean with as few casualties on both sides as possible.”
Nate moved for the door. “Chances are we scared them off. I doubt they’re still camped in the same place, but they’re somewhere, and you should be able to locate a large camp with no problem. Their noise and light discipline is lacking. You won’t even need any infrared, just fly over the area at night and search for their big campfires.”
“Okay.” Donovan followed Nate out the door. “But that means the raid might not happen today or even tomorrow.”
Nate started to say something about how life’s full of trouble and toil, but instead spoke to Brian, who was taking a nap on the porch swing. “You want to stay here and sleep or come with the Captain and me?”
Brian sprung up and planted his boots on the floor. “Something going on?” He rubbed his eyes.
“Nothing to worry about,” Nate answered. “Let’s go.”
Soldiers standing guard at the curb saw that the Captain was leaving and sprung to life, setting up a perimeter around him and preparing to head out. Those who had been guarding the back of the house ran to HUMVEEs and piled in.
The column cut through what was the seedy part of the downtown area before the plague and Donovan noticed a large crowd of young men; many appeared to be inebriated and too young to legally drink. “Looks like someone has reopened a bar. I wonder what they’re selling as rotgut.”
Nate looked on with interest as they rode by. “I guess Chesty and Tyrone can expect that to be a trouble spot.” He glanced at Brian, who was looking at the rough men standing around drinking in front of a derelict building. “Dr. Brant can also expect more patients.”
“From the drunks fighting?” Brian asked.
Nate looked out the window. “That and men going blind and dying from whatever moonshine they’re pushing.”
“Maybe it’s just beer and they were careful about making the stuff the right way,” Brian offered.
Nate directed all of his attention at his son. “I hope so, but I doubt it. Those men and boys looked hammered. The last thing we need are a bunch of drunk punks running around looking for trouble. I have no problem with drinking, but these people are facing starvation and can’t be wasting time on nonsense. They should be helping at the farm.” He snatched the radio up to his mouth and warned Chesty and Tyrone.
Brian’s eyes narrowed. “What’re they going to do? Do they have the power to tell people they can’t drink?”
Nate put the radio down, “I doubt they’re going to do that. Some of the ones I saw were underage, though. I expect they’ll go easy on trying to enforce old laws that aren’t as important as staying alive, but they can’t let anyone sell poison and kill people. Anyway, they’ll first have to go there and see exactly what’s going on.”
Brian narrowed his eyes. “If they’re selling moonshine, what are they taking for payment? Money is worthless now.”
“Food, gold, silver,” Nate answered. “Also, ammo, guns, boots, anything useful.”
Donovan joined in the conversation. “Chesty and Tyrone might need backup if that crowd gets rowdy.”
“A few soldiers visibly out on the street can’t hurt. It may keep them simmered down,” Nate said. “They would appreciate it.”
Donovan spoke to a soldier sitting in the front of the HUMVEE. The soldier immediately radioed orders to a patrol team, telling the team leader to head for the bar.
~~~
After locating the ambushers’ camp on a map for Donovan, Deni, who happened to be at the FOB, was ordered to give Nate and Brian a ride back. On the way, Nate looked out of the HUMVEE and noticed Chesty’s truck already parked in front of the bar. Four soldiers stood around a HUMVEE parked out front in the street, their rifles slung across their chests from combat slings. He assumed correctly that Tyrone, and probably Atticus too, was with Chesty.
He had Brian with him and planned to let the others handle it, but the radio on his vest squawked and Chesty’s voice blared in the interior of the HUMVEE. “Nate, could you help us out? We have a few uncooperative drunken punks looking for trouble.”
Nate made a face that made it clear he really didn’t want to get into it with the locals in a bar, especially with Brian there.
Deni looked over at him and smiled. “No rest for the weary. Wouldn’t you know that the first thing they start producing is alcohol.”
“They should be making alcohol for fuel,” Nate complained. “Don’t they know they’re still facing starvation? Do they think the Army’s going to feed them the rest of their lives?”
Worry darkened Brian’s face. “Don’t let them hurt you, Dad. This isn’t worth any risk. The same goes for Chesty and the others. If they want to go blind drinking poison, let them.”
“You’re right,” Nate agreed. “This is Bravo Sierra, and these people should know by now that only those who work at staying alive 24/7 are going to pull through and last long enough to see society rebuild and come back to some kind of new normalcy that allows for a decent life.”
Deni pulled in behind the HUMVEE parked in the street. “You guys have got me worried now. I think I’ll call for more personnel out here. A show of overwhelming force might scare enough sense into them there won’t be any trouble.”
She reached for a radio.
“Shit! Brian, you stay here.” Nate exploded out of the HUMVEE and raced to Chesty, who was motioning from the bar doorway for Nate to come and help.
Deni jumped out and ordered the soldiers in the street to follow her.
Brian looked down and noticed that his father had left his rifle. For a second, he thought about bringing it to him but decided against it. Him being in the bar would cause more danger for his father, because he would be worried about him. Besides, Nate had his pistol holstered under his shirt.
Not wanting to barge into something he knew nothing about, Nate slowed to a walk before ducking into the building. He found it dark inside, with only three dim kerosene lanterns for illumination. The smell of alcohol and sweat hit him in the face. Tyrone was having a heated argument with four young men. It seemed they took exception to Tyrone’s “fake badge and uniform.” Atticus appeared to be ready to start throwing buckshot at any moment. Everyone in the bar was armed, but most of the men didn’t seem to want any trouble.
Chesty kept an eye on the rest of the crowd. So far most seemed content in just casually listening, taking it in as entertainment to go with their drink.
Tyrone’s baritone voice reverberated throughout the building. “No one said you couldn’t drink or that we were going to close this place down. We just want to make sure certain rules are followed, such as not selling or giving alcohol to minors.”
The punk’s drawl was thick as syrup, the taunt in every mispronounced word as obvious and old as bullying itself. “And whose rules are those, asshole? Yours?” the staggering drunk in his early twen
ties asked. “There ain’t no law anymore. I don’t care if you were a deputy before the plague. There ain’t no law now.” He looked blurry eyed around the room. “We can do as we damn well please, and there ain’t no one to stop us.”
Nate had seen his kind many times before, in many bars, in many countries. The young man was untested and unproven, and he knew it. That knowing was eating at him. Anxious to prove to himself he wasn’t a coward, he was looking for unnecessary trouble, and the alcohol pickling his brain was giving him just enough false bravado to find that trouble. The accompaniment of the other three young drunks made matters worse.
Decades ago, as a strapping teenage boy full of energy and private dreams of making the world a better place for those that followed, Nate had been shipped to a South American jungle war. The war had taken much of the energy and dreams out of him and had both increased his respect for some people and completely killed it for others. When he’d returned, he’d come back a man hardened and sharpened to a fine edge, the product of enduring too long in the real hell of this world, and envisioning too little of the imagined heaven of the next. He’d seen too many young men suffer every inch of their personal paths to their ‘reward.’
How in the hell, he’d asked himself a thousand times while in the jungle and years after he’d come home, can dying in agony with bullets or chunks of shrapnel burning red hot in your flesh and bone shards poking out of your body be called a reward? This was more of a sick joke than pinning a medal on a dead man or chiseling something poetic on his headstone. What wretched attempts to hide the ugliness of it all. He’d wondered who had come up with that bright and shiny lie. What reward? Having seen death in its most sickening, terrifying forms, he wondered… if this was their reward for bravery and devotion to duty, what would be their punishment for cowardliness?
Throw young men and women into a hell of unspeakable violence and rob them of their humanity. Then speak of them going to their reward? But only after they’d suffered. The lucky ones who died instantly, without pain or even knowing they would be dead in a few moments were few, and those who turned their lungs inside out with their last breath were many.