by Paul Kirk
“My daddy’s just doing some travelin’—he has to come from Australia.”
“No, honey. Think about the chances. About the likelihood.”
“You got no faith.” Liam stared at her, furious.
“Hah. No faith!” Angry, Terry shrugged from Shannon’s hold. She leaned closer to Liam. “No faith?”
“You love Uncle Andy now.” Liam was firm in his conviction.
“Yeah. I’m workin’ real hard on that now. But, no, I loved your father more than anything in this world, well at least before you two came around—and, I waited, Liam. I waited!” Terry staggered after her outburst. Seeking support, she leaned against the table, her legs shaking. Her sobs ran hard and Shannon scrambled to embrace her again. Liam placed the thick, heavy bear coat around her shoulders. He embraced her and began crying softly.
They stood there crying for several moments, until Terry kissed each on the top of the head. Taking the coat, she folded and placed it reverently into its box. She closed the top and smiled, wiping her eyes one last time.
“You did good, Liam. Real good. You too, Shannon.”
The two children watched as she carefully placed the box on a high shelf in the back of the storage area. Slowly, she turned to face them.
“Keep the memory of your dad alive, okay? Never let me forget. Okay?”
“Okay,” said Shannon.
“Yeah,” said Liam.
“But, Liam, think about what I said. You know? Your father hasn't returned in five years, okay? We need to consider our future.”
CHAPTER 8.12-Wanting Revenge
“Where the hell we at now, Larry?”
“The maps says we're on Arlington and trying to get up onto Brownville Road.”
Larry studied the map in his hands as he stood beside the passenger side door of the pickup. Phoenix sat with his feet up on the dash, thinking. Titmouse sat in the driver seat paging through a People Magazine he found still in usable condition at the Sheetz convenience store. Sinclair stood in the rear bed surveying the area looking bored.
“Where’s Luke and his trackers?”
“Hooked up with us five minutes ago. Checked in with Chuck at the rear. They’re heading up front. Luke wants to talk to you.”
“I’ll bet. Fucker’s probably pissed he got his ass caught out on the bridge.”
“You mean, the same like we did on our bridge?”
“Good point, uncle.”
“Yeah. That’s gonna be part of it, I’m sure. Chuck said Luke wants lead on this next phase and won’t take no for an answer.”
“He did, did he?”
“Wants to find the pricks who took out his men on the bridge and won’t be denied.”
“Huh.”
“Chuck said he’s possessed. Said Luke took it kinda personal.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Chuck said Luke’s got a bleeding slice across his forearm from a bullet.”
“Luke took a hit?”
“Yeah, the shot that that killed Smitty nearly caught Luke, too.”
“Wow. No shit?”
“If he had moved left instead of right he'd be history.”
“Some people have all the luck.” Phoenix blew cigar smoke out the passenger side window, listening.
“Anyway, he’s gonna wanna run hard after this team ahead of us.”
“I see.”
“He only wants ten men for the pursuit. Wants to move with speed.”
“That right?’
“He’s handpicked the men he’ll travel with.”
“Has he now.” Phoenix smoked his cigar with some pleasure. The fact that Luke was almost out of control made for a good ending to the days nearly complete fiasco. They’d lost twenty-nine men today when Phoenix considered both the bridge attacks and the Hellfire launch at the crest of Mount Washington. He was unfazed that his fighting force had dropped below 620 to 591 men for the first time since he had created his standing army. Such losses were to be expected as part of the burden of leadership against several uncanny foe.
“Send the crazy bastard to my truck, when he gets here.”
“I will. Be nice.”
“Make it clear Luke better ask for point lead or I’ll shoot ‘im where he fuckin' stands, got it?”
“I’ll tell ‘im.”
“I'm serious. I’ll shoot the fucker where he stands.”
“I know.”
“Be sure that you do. There's no wiggle room on this, he’s a good man and I don’t wanta waste ‘im...but, I got standards to maintain.”
“That you do.”
“Let’s find these bastards, uncle. Let’s find them now.”
“We will. It’s only a matter of time.”
CHAPTER 8.13-A Rusting Chevy Caprice
“We been spotted, Mac!”
“I know. Me, too. What kinda team is that?”
“They’re the real deal,” said Marty.
“They’re runnin’ tight,” said BB, “we barely caught ‘em coming.”
“How many?” asked Connor.
“Don’t know. Point man and the two I saw means more where that came from,” said Marty.
“Shit,” said Connor.
The team gathered together at the KFC not one hundred yards from the Brownsville Road cache they’d vacated. They had planned to wait there to see what developed at the Brownsville Road cache, or rather, the inaccurate 915 address provided on the crude map drawn and left at the mill.
"I hope it's them on that bird and with...Amanda," thought Connor. He clamped down on any further thoughts and focused on the emerging tactical issues. The recent discovery of a well-coordinated team in front of their forward position gave them a surprised pause. They’d yet to fully set the travel routine and considered their options.
“I hardly registered their point man. He’s top shelf,” said Marty.
“Think we made it undetected?” asked McLeod.
“Ahh, hell no. Point caught Surf Boy. I saw two men. They saw me. We got nailed. It’s a fact,” said Connor.
“Damn,” said Jackson.
“I’m sorry, Mac,” said Rhonda.
“Nah, believe it or not, Rhonda, it was me and Surf Boy that might’ve got tagged. You guys were already sliding into the parking lot.”
“Oh.”
“What we do now?” asked Jackson.
Nearby, Cody waited for an answer with both fear and awe.
“Well, we evaluate options and determine intent.”
“What’s that mean, sir?” said Jude.
“Means we sit here a bit and see if they send in a few probes.”
“What do I do? I can’t hide these horses anywhere,” said Jason. Frustrated, he held the reins, trying to keep them behind the KFC.
“You’re doing fine Jason. Keep ‘em quiet, if you can.”
“I'll do my best, sir.”
“Surf Boy, they’ll be comin’ off that alley below and probably around the Kroger’s across the street. That’s what I’d do. They'll try to surround and gain tactical advantage and position.”
“Agreed.”
“Yeah,” said BB.
Roger left his position at the edge of the KFC parking lot where he was hiding in a prone position. He had been studying the road to where the team had last spotted the unknown men. He approached the team. "I just saw at least one man slipping down that side road up ahead and to the right, sir."
"Nobles Lane. Thanks, Rog."
“Are they’re runnin’ like a true military op in your opinion, Roger?” asked Connor.
"I'd say yeah."
"Surf Boy?
“Yeah, Mac. Sure looked like it. From what I saw," said Marty.
"BB? Your thoughts?"
“I’d say the same. From the little I caught,” said BB, “How you wanna do this?”
Connor studied his team and smiled. “Well, we know we got a real team ahead of us. They’re dragging down nice and low—just like they’re trained.”
“Agreed,” sai
d Marty.
“Yeah, they’re not out lookin’ for food. They’re on task. What you wanna do?” asked BB.
“Who are they?’ asked Connor, deep in thought.
"Yeah, it'd be nice to know that," said Jackson. He stood at the edge of the KFC main entrance glancing both up and down the road, searching for movement. Jude was next to him and doing the same.
“Dunno,” said Roger. He headed back to his surveillance position.
“Could they be with Starkes?” asked Connor.
“The president? How?” asked McLeod.
“That bird overhead flew west, toward Route 51,” said Connor. “Could be they’re backtracking toward this location. Yeah, maybe to my map coordinates, to 915 Brownsville—timing’s ‘bout right.”
“C’mon Mac! We don’t have enough data to make that assessment,” said McLeod.
“What’s your solution then, John?” asked Connor.
“We need more than skimpy data that’s for sure. A point man and a few men behind him that might be onto us isn't much...could be anything.”
“Sure, John, But why now? Huh? I mean, a military team, right now?”
“We don’t know what kinda team’s out there. Military or not. Don’t make the situation fit your conclusions, Mac. Could be something else entirely.”
“Could be. My guts screaming otherwise, John.”
“Surf Boy? BB? What you thinkin’?” asked Connor.
“Let’s assume they're some kinda full-fledged ops. We slip left and right and scout just to see who’s comin’ for us.”
“Yep. I like it. BB, take the Kroger’s parking lot. Surf Boy take the alley. Let’s see who these men really are.”
“Got it,” said BB.
“Copy that,” said Marty.
“Do not shoot unless fired upon. Capture or fallback.”
“You sure, Mac?” asked Marty.
“I got my suspicions these are friendlies…channel six is primary…hold fire unless fired upon.”
“Understood,” said BB.
“Copy that, Mac.”
"Let's get this place ready for a firefight, in case," said Connor.
The team followed him into the KFC and devoted time to defensive positions and fortifying for assault. Tables were moved to the broken front windows and entrance and the wall between the front and back areas was assessed for sturdiness. Connor entered the roughed-up building to see the team settling. John McLeod followed close behind; the team sought an update.
“I think we got an experienced team up ahead. Not sure who they are, friend or foe. Keep sharp. BB and Surf Boy are takin’ care of any end arounds. Let’s see how this plays out. Roger is keeping an eye on things up the road. He'll give me an update on any change."
Connor continued. “Rhonda and Cody, hang tight behind that counter. Jason, John, load and prepare those horses near the backdoor for a serious bug-out for everyone in here. Jude? Jackson? You both stick with John on evac. If it goes bad, BB, Surf Boy and I’ll catch up at the junction of Route 51 up this road about three miles. We leave on my command. If we have to move in a hurry, shoot anything that moves on your way out, but only if I give the green light.”
The team acknowledged orders and continued preparations. BB's voice came through on the handheld. “Got ‘em! Two-man team. Both men armed and moving covertly. They know we're here. Do you copy?”
Connor slid toward the front entrance of the KFC to respond. He lifted the radio to his lips, prepared to speak, but was interrupted.
“Roger that, BB. I'm live on my end, too,” said Marty, “three men—they’re in full gear, Mac. They're fresh. Definitely military. Mac, do you copy?”
“I copy. Can you take ‘em down, BB? Over.
"Yeah. Fairly easy. Over.”
“Can you subdue only? Over.”
“Negative.”
“Roger that. Surf Boy? Do you copy?”
“I copy. They’re good, but I can probably fire a disabling shot in a few minutes. Over.”
“Roger that,” said Connor. He was thinking hard and evaluating options.
John listening nearby offered his opinion. “Call a truce, Mac. See what’s up.”
“A truce?”
“See who you’re dealing with.”
“A truce?”
“Okay, let’s not call it a truce. How ‘bout an introduction. Like when you and I met.”
“Hmm,” said Connor. He grinned at the thought.
“These’re not regular guys here, Mac. You said so yourself. Dammit, I’m leaning toward your way of thinking on this.”
“Starkes people?”
“Those men are man hunters on a mission in full gear. How’s that happen right now? Huh?”
“I dunno—”
“I trust your instincts, Mac. Call it out now or we’re gonna have a helluva a firestorm.”
“Hold BB. Hold Surf Boy. Over.”
“Roger.”
“Roger. Copy that.”
Connor smiled at John and went to the busted door of the KFC. With little thought, he stepped over the overturned tables and walked twenty feet to stand in the center of the road. Calmly, he gazed down toward the intersection of Brownsville and Nobles Lane. His M4 was slung on his shoulder and his hands were empty. In clear view and with military hand signals and his weapons stowed, he slowly waved the unknown team ahead of them to come clean. Carefully, he conveyed hand signals to their command suggesting that the two teams they’d dispatched to surround him be placed on immediate hold. His sign language could be easily understood, if the men were military, and particularly if they were Special Forces. With little thought, he walked to the dusty Chevrolet Caprice nearby and slid against the door to wait. Facing the potential approach of this unknown team, he pulled his radio from his pocket and placed it on the roof in clear view. He yelled to John McLeod.
“Prepare for bug out, John. If I take a hit or we're overwhelmed, get everyone to safety.”
“I got it, Mac…you're a crazy son-of-a bitch.”
“Head on down to my place in the mountains.”
“I said I got it.”
The radio burst to life.
“Tangos on my side just froze. They’re talkin’ on a handheld. Over,” said Marty.
“Same here. Over,” said BB.
Connor smiled at the reports. Slowly, he grabbed his radio off the roof and double squelched. In fact, he relaxed further, leaning gently against the car.
“John?”
“Yeah?”
“Two men are approaching, seventy-five yards. Down the middle of the road. Unarmed.”
“No kidding?”
“Yeah, I was going to code them into channel three to discuss a meet, but that's no longer necessary. They're in full military gear. I see men positioned behind them, stationary, locked and loaded. They're moving around some to let me know they have a bead, if necessary.”
“We screwed?”
“No. Not yet. Don’t think so, BB and Surf Boy confirmed covert assaults have stopped. I think we got us another meeting of the minds here—just like you said.” Connor studied the men slowly approaching. Big, cautious men. Though assessing their approach with intensity, his casual posture conveyed nothing more than a relaxing respite.
“I want you out here, John. That is, if you feel up to—”
“You want me to come out now?”
“Yeah. Change of plans. Hand off bug-out to Rog. I want your psychological assessment skills.”
“Well—okay. This is getting quite interesting.”
“It is that.”
John McLeod made his way out the door of the KFC after updating Roger. He moved slowly and empty-handed toward Connor, a burning pit resting in his stomach. As he neared, Connor reached for his radio.
“BB, Surf Boy? Two men are approaching me in the middle of the road, weapons stowed. Over.”
“Understood,” said BB.
“Roger. Copy that.”
“Slide on closer to home and prep to
set ‘em straight if need be. Over.”
“The side probes? Over.” asked BB.
“Keep an eye on ‘em. But I expect they’re gonna stay back for now. Over.”
“Roger that.”
“Copy that, Mac,” said Marty.
Connor gently placed the radio on the car roof and waited.
CHAPTER 8.14-As Circumstances Permit
“Wow! Check it out! That’s Colonel Connor MacMillen!” said Captain Daubney. His voice was soft, but insistent; and he lowered his binoculars.
“You sure?” asked Mickey.
“Yeah. Saw the painting Nicole made. Dead on likeness, though he looks a bit older.”
“What’s he doing?”
“Leaning on a car in the middle of the damn road—he knows we’re here.”
“Yeah?”
“Caught us like we caught him.”
“So what do we want to do?”
“Hold on, he’s signaling something to us.”
“Shit. He knows we got men comin’ at ‘im on both sides! He’ll defend and take ‘em out. Stand down! Tell ‘em, Top.”
Mickey radioed the advance teams. They paused. “They’re holdin’, sir.”
“Good.”
“He’s waving us in.”
“Should we go? I don’t like it,” said Mickey.
“Why not? That’s what we’re here for, right?”
“Yeah, but, we can’t just walk in there unarmed, sir.”
“He’s figured it out, Top. He knows who we are. Think about it from his perspective. C’mon, who’d just up and stand out there for everybody’s eyes knowing he’s got a firestorm comin’ down on ‘im?"
“Huh. Good point, sir.”
“To make it more interesting, I guarantee he’s got his team painting us right now, especially that Marty guy.”
“That's what concerns me, cap’n.”
“Which tells me we're fairly safe for the moment. Marty could’ve taken at least one good kill shot at us already.”
“True. Another good point, sir.”
"Let's move."
CHAPTER 8.15-Rats are Everywhere
“The main warehouse facility is surprisingly intact, ma’am.”
Colonel Starkes smiled and waited for the major to catch up. She was walking through the yard surrounding the Coatesville helicopter complex.