by W. J. Lundy
“Yes, sir, L-Tee,” Stephens answered. Stephens moved from the group and herded the recruits to their rucksacks, giving them a minute to swap photos and personal items from their duffels and into the field packs. “You got everything ya need in those packs—sleeping bag, some clothing, and such. Don’t worry about holding on to them olive drab rags from training; you both have fresh camies in the packs. Hurry up and get them on. You can hold onto your boots; now ain’t the time to break in new ones.”
Stephens stepped off, quickly returning with a pair of M4 carbines equipped with advanced optics. “These were laser zeroed and paired to the optics. It’ll be good enough for now. The vests over there are loaded with mags; find one that fits and stand by. We’ll be leaving soon,” Stephens said.
Jacob was kneeling in front of his issue duffel bag, moving items to the larger rucksack. Placing a photo of his family in a front pocket, he looked up at Stephens. “Is this our base then? Will we be coming back here?”
Before Stephens could answer the question, the lieutenant moved up on them from behind and answered for him. “This is O.P. Thunder; just a jumping off point back to the States—a place where units go to rest, regroup, and gather replacements. A month ago, it was in Northern Michigan. Who knows where it will be a month from now if we fail.
“I’m Lieutenant Marks. You already know Stephens. Like the rest of us, he’s been fast tracked through promotions and is now your acting squad leader.” Marks turned to face the rest of the group, watching as they broke open the wooden crates to begin removing ammo cans and loading magazines. “You met the famous and bearded James last night. He’s as abrasive as three-grit sandpaper but listen to what he has to say. The big guy that yelled at ya is Rogers. He’s our everything expert, and if he tells you to do something, you better do it.
This right here is Alpha Squad… Assassins. We aren’t much of a squad, but this is what we got. I’m sure you know the main base got hit yesterday. The Deltas are getting bolder. They’re moving farther north away from the ponds, and we’ve been tasked to make it stop. We’ll get all the details later once we’re en route.
“I heard you all had a part in some of the cleanup action yesterday. That’s good, but it don’t mean shit to us here. Plinking Deltas from a hilltop doesn’t impress me much. You just do as you’re told and maybe you’ll survive the week.” Marks stared down into their blank expressions before turning and leaving the barn.
Stephens waited until the lieutenant left the space then looked back at Jacob. “Just stick with me for a few days, okay? You’ll get yourself squared away in no time. You too, Winslow; let Sergeant Stephens show you the way,” he said, smiling. “L-Tee wants us outside and ready to get on the trucks as soon as they show up. We’ll be moving to the coast soon.”
“Stephens, where the hell are we going?” Jacob asked.
“I told ya, we’re going back… back to the States. Gonna get in deep and start killing these things,” Stephens said. “These are good people—real good. We’re lucky to be with them.”
“That’s it? A week and a half of training and they’re sending me back?”
“Don’t worry about any of that. Just concentrate on staying behind your rifle; let me and the L-Tee worry about where we’re going and when we’ll get back.”
Jacob finished filling his pack and adjusted his vest; he leaned back and examined the faces of the men around him. They were hardened and leathered, not the soft and scared faces of the men in his training platoon. James was just finishing with the ammo detail. His sleeves were rolled, exposing a forearm covered with tattoos. A globe and anchor tattoo was prominent on the side of his neck just below his beard.
The stocky man, Rogers, was breaking up the remnants of the wooden crates and stacking the bits in a corner. Jacob figured the man couldn’t have been more than five foot ten, but his posture was broad and intimidating, and he had the voice of a giant. He then watched Marks move back across the barn and examine a map in a plastic pouch. He held a scrap of paper next to it while his finger traced a path along the map. Jacob shook his head, intimidated. Jesse caught the movement and shared a similar expression. “I know man, I think we’re in way over our heads,” Jesse whispered.
The sound of screeching brakes stopped the men from what they were doing and caused them to look down toward the muddy road. “All right, Assassins, that’s us. It’s time to saddle up!” Stephens called out.
Chapter 7
Jacob moved quickly from the barn. At the bottom of the hill, he saw a large panel van with a Humvee positioned to the front of it. Marks was standing at the side of the van, talking to the driver as a second man slid the side door open. Jacob rushed down the hill and was ushered into the back of the cargo van. He shuffled to the side wall and dropped to the floor with his new rucksack on his lap. After the rest of the men piled into the van, Jacob used his feet to slide closer to the van’s wall and men packed in around him.
He opened the top of the bag, sorting through his new equipment. Multicam uniforms, webbing to match, a new Kevlar helmet, a second pair of boots, a poncho liner, and a large freezer bag filled with socks. There were two MREs and several bottles of water. At the bottom of the bag was a small compartment, where he found boxes of extra ammunition. Jacob shook his head wearily as he closed the top of the pack. It really is just the bare essentials, he thought.
The van eased forward, causing its occupants to sway as it bumped through ruts in the road and splashed through deep puddles. It moved up a hill and picked up speed as the road seemed to level out. Stephens crawled across the floor of the van and grabbed at Jacob’s vest, pulling on his ammo pouches and checking that everything was snapped tight before moving on and doing the same with Jesse.
“Expecting trouble?” Jacob whispered.
Stephens finished with Jesse’s vest and looked up. “Have to be ready for anything once we leave the gates,” Stephens said.
James coughed and opened a bottle of water. “They’re everywhere now. Not in numbers like you’ll see in the States, but the fuckers have managed to get by the blockades,” he said before taking a long gulp of water.
“Blockades?” Jacob asked, feeling ignorant on the state of the world.
James put the cap back on the bottle and slid it into the cargo pocket of his trousers. His left hand removed his boonie cap. He scratched his head, thinking before speaking. “There’s a final defensive line spanning from Lake St. Claire to Lake Erie. It’s the only thing keeping the 401 Corridor closed… we lose that, we lose Quebec. We took out the Mackinaw Bridge early on. Back East, the 10th Mountain Division has managed to plug the Buffalo route into Canada.”
Jacob let his head drop as he thought about what he’d heard. “What about the West?”
James shook his head without speaking.
The van abruptly stopped and the driver’s window rolled down. At the same time, the sliding door swung open. Two weary looking Canadian soldiers with scruffy beards and soiled uniforms looked into the van, the lead man holding a bright flashlight. Jacob watched as the others strained their mouths wide and opened their eyes. The first soldier in the door examined them as the second stood back with his rifle at the ready. The soldier pointed at Jacob. Jacob quickly opened his mouth, showing the man the roof of his mouth and gums. The soldier nodded and slammed the door shut before slapping the side and allowing the driver to take off.
“Welcome to the hot zone. We have officially left friendly lines,” Stephens said.
Jacob observed the rest of the team loading magazines and letting the bolts go forward, prepping their weapons. He followed suit by checking and double checking the safety on his rifle. The van slowed and made abrupt maneuvers, causing the occupants to sway back and forth.
“Most of the roads this far west are still blocked. We haven’t had the time or resources to clear the highways,” Stephens whispered, seeing the question in Jacob’s eyes. “Out here, if anyone approaches that you don’t personally recognize, you ch
allenge them… do you understand?”
Jesse nodded and Jacob mumbled a soft yes.
“The Deltas are sneaky. They’ve learned they can’t cross the border en mass without being detected so they started sending out smaller groups in ones or twos. Once they get enough of them together, they start harvesting. It’s happening more frequently, hundreds every day, and the refugee camps have become their favorite target,” James said. “Even if we kill a hundred for every two we lose, we’ll run out of soldiers by the end of the year.”
“Jesus,” Jesse gasped.
“Nahh, he had nothing to do with it,” James responded, lying back against the wall of the van. “This is the Devil’s work.”
The vehicle stopped abruptly, again causing the occupants to shift. The passenger in front quickly exited the vehicle and flung the side door open. Marks looked in over the occupants and said, “No time to waste; let’s get moving.”
The men poured out of the passenger compartment, pulling on their packs and holding weapons at the ready. Jacob positioned himself close to Stephens as his eyes swept the terrain. The van had stopped just outside of a tall wooden barrier. The rain quit but the sky remained dark and gloomy.
They were at the edge of a small coastal town, where a stretched-out main street separated brick storefronts. Garbage and broken glass covered the pedestrian walkway that ran in front of the buildings. Looking down the long street, Jacob could see a narrow marina filled with small watercraft. Farther out was what appeared to be a large Navy ship sitting in the water.
The air stank of death and burning garbage; a heavy acrid odor that couldn’t be escaped. He tried to pull his shirt up over his nose when Stephens looked at him. “It’s the smell of destruction, ash, and decay. After the attacks, damn near every bomb in every Army’s arsenal was dropped on these things to try to stop them. In Europe and Asia, they even used nukes. Rumor is we might have even dropped some in the Southwest, down on the Mexico border. The shit that didn’t blow up usually burnt in the days after. All this stuff, places like this, have been abandoned. Left to rot. That, my friend, is what we have here today and what causes this glorious aroma.”
“That’s our ride,” Marks said, pointing at the ship. “Stephens, lead us out. Keep us tight to the left side.”
Stephens nodded and pointed at the bearded soldier; James grinned and pulled his cap on tight. “James, you got point. Rogers, you take slack. I’ll bring up the rear with the cherries and L-Tee. We need to move quickly so we can get on board before the Deltas know we’re in town.”
James slapped the bottom of his rifle’s magazine and stepped off, not looking behind him. Rogers waited until James created a bit of distance then turned and winked at Jacob before falling into the slack position, following James down the debris-ridden sidewalk. Stephens pushed Jacob off ahead before moving Jesse behind him; they fell into a long, stretched out column, traveling slowly but deliberately at the same time.
Jacob watched as James and Rogers worked together clearing areas and blind spots around corners. They quickly cleared danger areas and leapt back ahead before pulling the rest of the column in close behind them.
The way they traveled down the main street was far different from anything they’d done in training. The method in which the point man and slack man played off of each other’s movements and hand signals seemed choreographed. Jacob slowed as he watched the men out front clear another corner until Stephens moved up behind, urging him forward.
“What’s wrong? You see something?” Stephens whispered.
Jacob flinched, startled by the man moving up beside him. “What? No, it’s just… how am I supposed to do that?” he asked, pointing ahead with a free hand.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get it. Trust me, you’ll be glad you got teamed up with us,” Stephens answered.
Jacob stopped and froze when he noticed the men out front had vanished from view. Stephens grabbed him by the collar and together they knelt behind the body of a large Chevy sedan resting on flat tires.
“Where did James go?” Jacob whispered.
Stephens didn’t answer; instead, he put a gloved finger to his lips to signal silence while he searched the streets ahead. Jacob looked back and saw Jesse lying flat on the ground, his M4 resting in front of him. Marks was just behind him, looking through a pair of binoculars. Jacob turned back ahead and searched the empty street.
He saw a flash of movement on the far side of the street, which turned out to be a stout woman in a flannel shirt and camouflage pants. She carried an assault rifle close to her chest and ran to the front of what was once a pharmacy. She stopped at the front and two more men dressed similarly ran past her and leapt through the broken storefront window. After a brief pause, she followed them inside.
“Deltas?” Jacob whispered.
“No… bandits, maybe militia; either case, they’re bad news and we try to avoid them when we can,” Stephens answered.
Jacob looked at the building then back at Stephens. “So we just ignore them?”
Stephens shook his head. “Any groups out here are usually bad news; the types that can’t adapt to the camps or military service. Best case, they’re friendly and want our gear and help but they’ll slow us down and deplete our supplies.”
“And worst case?”
“They’re hostile and will kill us to get what we have. Listen, some of them ain’t all bad, but the groups out here are noisy and they take a lot of chances. Especially the ones this close to friendly lines, there’s usually a reason they choose to live in the hot zone. We need to keep our distance, okay? You may find this hard to believe, but it’s not all puppy dogs and rainbows outside the wire.”
Jacob nodded his understanding. Stephens pointed far ahead, turning Jacob’s attention back to the patrol. The point man was on his hands and knees and waving them forward.
“Okay, bro, you need to be sneaky now. Get your ass up there without them seeing you,” Stephens whispered, patting Jacob on the back.
Jacob nodded and pushed himself back onto his rear. He gripped his rifle tight as he took a last look toward the pharmacy building. The stout woman was nowhere to be seen. He stepped off lightly at first, testing the sound of his footfalls. Hearing nothing, he picked up the pace and ran ahead expecting to hear the sounds of gunfire. Finding another bit of cover ahead, he stopped and ducked low to hide behind a small van while he caught his breath. He glanced back and saw Stephens signaling for Jesse to move up.
Jacob duck-walked ahead and looked around the front bumper of the van. Closer now, he could see into the pharmacy storefront and hear the sounds of shelves being pushed over, but the woman was still nowhere to be seen. Looking ahead, he spotted Rogers waving him on impatiently. Jacob got back to his feet and sprinted forward. Running with his head down, he didn’t stop until he was feet away from Rogers. He carefully slowed his pace and knelt down beside the other soldier, breathing heavily as he pressed himself into the cover of an old stone bench.
He looked over his shoulder in time to see Jesse move up and drop into cover beside him. They held their position until all of them were grouped back together. Rogers shot Jacob thumbs up before the man climbed back to his feet and resumed his patrol just behind James. Stephens waved Jacob on and he moved ahead and fell back into the column. Looking around, they’d manage to move through the town and were now approaching the marina.
Long sets of wooden docks with small boats in all states of disrepair greeted them. Some were sunk in the water all the way the rails, their taut ropes still tied to cleats on the docks. In some places, larger boats had dropped below the surface and taken bits of the wooded pier structure with them. Jacob moved quicker now, mimicking the movements of James and Rogers ahead as they ran crouched down on the tips of their toes and stopping only briefly to look at their surroundings.
Soon they were deep into the marina, near a U-shaped fork in the wooden docks. James stepped near the edge of the dock and reached out at a filthy canvas tarp, cov
ered in mildew and mold. He tugged at the edge and fought the fabric until it moved. Rogers stepped forward and assisted the bearded solder; together they removed the heavy tarp, revealing a dark inflatable boat resting beneath.
As soon as the craft was uncovered, the two men leapt aboard and dropped the outboard engine into the water. The boat was coated in a non-reflective black paint, the bottom made of a soft aluminum covered in rubber skin. Marks ran up behind them with Stephens and Jesse in tow. “Okay, let’s get this thing moving. We have a rendezvous to make.”
Jacob moved along the dock and prepared to jump onto the small inflatable when a gunshot echoed from the main street.
Chapter 8
“Aww shit, they’re in it now,” Rogers gasped, looking through the scope on his rifle. “Not much I can do from here; they’re out of range.” He was positioned high in the bow of the inflatable, standing so that he could see beyond the marina and into the main street.
Marks moved ahead to look past him. “What do you see?”
“Looks like those fools attracted some unwanted attention. I got Delta movement coming on to the main drag, less than ten for now. Those fools better move before more show up or they’re gonna get cornered,” Rogers reported. A woman’s ear-piercing scream put emphasis on Rogers’s statement.
Marks looked down then toward James sitting over the controls; his eyes were locked on the town, his gloved hands pumping into fists hungry for action. “It’s not our mission, James. Come on, let’s start the boat and get us out of here.”
James, instead of starting the engine, raised his hand. “Sir, if I may?”
“Go on, but make it quick.”
The pace of the gunfire from the main street picked up, as did the screams. The sound of the battle was terrifying but still far away. Suddenly, the chaos was joined with the howls of the Deltas. “Sir, just let me put some fire downrange, help pull some of them Deltas back in our direction and give those fools a fighting chance at least. Hell, sir, we got time and distance on our side. We can get in the water before them things get anywhere near us,” James said calmly, yet failing to hide the urgency in his voice as he continued to look back.