by Soren Petrek
“Follow the plan and separate them. The old women stay here. The boy goes in the basement, this one upstairs,” the leader instructed.
“Do as they say, Christine,” Madeleine wailed like a lost, terrified child. Christine heard her say the words, but when she met her eye she saw something there she had never seen before. She’d seen her grandmother angry, agitated, happy, but what she saw now was animal, blank and bottomless. Even under these circumstances she shivered involuntarily and allowed herself to be dragged away.
Madeleine sat down on a bench with Karen beside her as the two men who were left in the room pointed their guns at them. She thought that to her credit, Karen was holding up well, this not being a natural occurrence for her. Karen had been patted down with no enthusiasm or effort. They hadn’t even bothered with her, an old, terrified biddy. She would play this role the same way she had played the amorous, foolish French sex-pot all those years ago. She’d killed so many that way she could not see their faces. She remembered a few and guessed that maybe those were the ones that tugged at her conscience a little, until she thought of her brother and her comrades in the resistance and ordinary townsfolk shot based on information from a collaborator. A few had been her friends who made a bad choice and threw in with the wrong side. She killed them too, and made sure they saw who did it, as punishment for their crimes against their friends, families, and France.
Karen sat, touching Madeleine, and the two held hands like frightened children. Karen could feel Madeleine’s relaxed posture and the cool dryness of her hands. She instantly knew it wasn’t the gunmen who were in control. Her thoughts shifted to John and Sam and the others, and realized that these men who came to do them harm were quite literally up against the best. As her mind worked she saw each person for whom they were, and felt her own resolve strengthen.
“Do you want something to eat? We were making a meal?” Madeleine said to the leader, her head bowed and submissive.
The leader looked at the other man who shrugged and said, “Can’t hurt.”
The first man then motioned to Madeleine and Karen, with the short, wicked looking gun hanging down from a strap over his shoulder. The women stood up and resumed working on the vegetables and the meat that were on the counter.
“I see a knife move and I don’t like it, I shoot, got it?” The leader said.
“Oh yes, of course,” Karen said picking up the demure tone Madeleine was using. Good girl, Madeleine thought, she’s on board. Just don’t get in my way, she thought.
Ratty followed Christine up the stairs watching every sway and contour of her body. The rape he was planning excited him even more than her beauty. He pushed her in his hurry up the stairs and into the main bedroom. He threw her onto the bed face down and told her to take off her clothes. Christine glared at him, ready to kill.
“You will be very nice to me, very nice, or I will personally carve up that little boy down there right in front of you.”
“No,” Christine hadn’t gotten all the words but knew that for Yves’s sake she would have to go along, buy time, anything. This wasn’t over for her. Instead of fear she felt an all-consuming anger. Patience, she heard her grandmother’s voice in her mind say, patience.
As one of the men sat at a small table in the kitchen with his weapon in front of him, he drank from an open bottle of brandy he’d found on a shelf. The other man watched the two women more or less intently, and now and then walked over for a swig from the bottle. Madeleine knew there was little time, and the worst was probably starting to happen upstairs. She couldn’t let that cloud her mind just yet. Christine was strong. It flamed her hate as the thought crossed her mind. Hate was the difference between the living and the dead, at least it had always been that way in her world. That was her secret. She could act without hesitation, completely without humanity. And then she did.
Just as the first man set the bottle back down and walked the few paces back to the counter, Madeleine absently knocked an onion to the floor. The man reflexively stooped to pick it up. His body was between Madeleine and the man seated at the table. She too crouched down and reached for the onion allowing the man to pick it up which he did with his trigger hand. Before he could straighten all of the way, Madeleine reached into her pants, and in one fluid move flipped open the razor, slit his throat and pushed him back into the table. This caused the seated man to be pushed back while he had the brandy bottle up for a drink. Madeleine stepped to the side of the table, and pulled a butcher knife from the block and plunged it into the base of his throat and twisted it to do the most damage, severing his jugular and slicing through his vocal cords. She pushed him to the floor, pulling out the knife, and turned back to the other man. Karen had already pushed a knife bodily through the man from behind. The whole operation had taken seconds. Without another word, Madeleine kicked off her and shoes and reached into the pantry, retrieving one of John’s guns.
“I go for Christine. Leave the boy for now and watch the yard.”
Madeleine moved swiftly up the stairs, making no sound in her bare feet. She wasted no time. She threw open the door and saw the ratty man starting to climb onto Christine from behind. She opened up from the hip and Christine saw his chest explode, splashing blood down onto her. She simultaneously grabbed the man and flung him sideways as she slid out. Madeleine looked at Christine and there was no fear, no revulsion, just pure animal hate. She was magnificent with her mane of wild hair about her shoulders, her naked body streaked with the blood of her enemy. It was when Christine spit on the dead man’s riddled body that Madeleine knew there would always be somebody to take care of her family as long as there were women in the family like Christine.
Once downstairs, the women wrapped old blankets around the men’s’ bodies and dragged them into the back of the van, but not before Madeleine had taken their wallets. All of which, as she suspected, were full of cash. “Men like these do not have bank accounts. Christine, does Yves have a college fund?” Madeleine asked in French.
“Non, grand mere.”
“He does now,” she said, and poured a stiff drink of her best brandy for herself, Christine, and Karen. Christine let Yves out of the basement and he ran into his mother’s arms. He then ran over to Madeleine and hugged her.
“Everything is okay now, mon char,” she said, inspecting his head. Yves looked around wide eyed at the blood on the kitchen floor.
“Everything is fine, thanks to your great-grandmother,” Karen said as she raised her glass in a toast, her own Winchester not far from her side.
Madeleine smiled and opened a drawer and pulled out a pack of Gauloises, strong French cigarettes, and fired one up.
Christine laughed, “Those are bad for you grand mere.”
“Many things are bad for you,” she smiled and blew out her smoke, standing there in her bare feet.
Joseph snapped the phone shut and turned to his wife. “That was John, time to go.”
She was all action. Just as she was grabbing her own weapon, a cruel looking side by side shotgun, Nathan came charging into the yard.
“You got the call, Dubwana?” Joseph said, using Nathan’s Masai name.
“I did, I am on my way to my area near the ridge.”
The three hugged quickly and Ua put her hand on Nathan’s shoulder and quickly spoke in Swahili, “Make your ancestors proud, fierce son of the Masai.”
“I will kill the enemies of my people, for the glory of the Masai, my family and my friends.”
With that Nathan ran out of the yard as his parents watched him go. As he picked up speed he was all midnight grace, a blur of corded muscle, shining spears. He had taken off the bright clothing of the Masai, wearing only a grey pair of shorts. The remainder of his body was painted in great swaths of grey and green paint, just as John Trunce had taught him, time and time again. He was a ghost crashing through the woods, a wraith of immense power seeking glory in battle.
“I wouldn’t want to run into him out there,” Joseph said.
“Nor would I, for he is your son, a great warrior,” Ua said as she laid her hand on Joseph’s shoulder.
Joseph and Ua looked into each other’s eyes and she touched him on the cheek. Grabbing her gun and extra clips, she slipped into the seat of the produce truck, headed to the restaurant. John slung his rifle over his shoulder and drove his jeep into the woods.
Joseph, Sam, and John all arrived at the top of the ridge together. There was a good sized area at the end of the line to pull the vehicles into, protected from three sides. Both John and Joseph backed their vehicles in and under a canopy of heavy oak logs that had been felled and dragged into position, some time ago. John had more than one defensible position located on his property. He’d been working more on this one as of late, using his old farm tractor to do the heavy lifting.
“I’m surprised you haven’t taken the time to build a concrete bunker up here, Rommel,” Sam quipped.
“I believe in being able to move. Who knows what these guys have. Rockets for sure, but if I see a flame thrower, we’re out.” Joseph nodded in firm agreement. Sam had never seen a flamethrower used in combat but knew Joseph and his father had. Although he didn’t say it, he figured it was far more likely that his father would produce a flamethrower than the enemy.
Paco stood over Jose with his boot squarely on his chest. “You fool, what did you think you would accomplish? We now have more dead and the enemy is aware of our presence.”
“I should have been in charge, my uncle will hear of this,” he screamed.
“What he will hear is that you died gloriously in battle if I lose one man, you worm. I don’t care about your so-called men.”
What Paco wasn’t telling Jose was that as a precautionary measure he had distributed his men around the Trunce family compound. He had guessed correctly that the sheriff was a careful and prepared man. He once again felt vindicated in his insistence on preparation, having made sure his men were trained and experienced in the use of firepower. He fully intended to carry out his threat. Right now he didn’t have time to think about it.
Paco spoke into a small radio mouthpiece that connected him to Philippe and Manolo, “Echo two, this is echo one, report.”
“Echo one, this is Echo two, converging from east, cart path trail confirmed, vehicle passed through and trail leads upland to ridge area, sealing off this escape route.”
“Echo one, Echo three, troops advancing along skirmish line inland North and West, confirm exit cart path mined, Claymores set.”
“Determine enemy position and hold position 100 yards,” Paco instructed.
As they had trained for just such a contingency, his men had set Claymore antipersonnel mines, quickly and effectively cutting off a mad dash retreat. What was now becoming evident was that the man had some stronghold position on the top of that ridge to hole up in, maybe a cave or some other kind of fortified position. His information was that the man was military and Special Forces, that was easy to get. These days a kid with some spare time on a rainy afternoon could get your life story. The man would be able to hold out for a while, but a well-placed RPG would end the story right there. Time was a consideration, although Paco didn’t expect any interference from the deputies would amount to much. Any real help was more than an hour away, once someone called for help. Besides, his ace in the hole was now in a holding pattern high above Patience. His pilot, a Cuban ex-fighter jock, could land that small commercial jet on a dime or a stretch of highway, whichever was the most convenient.
John, Sam, and Joseph spread out through the trench, checking equipment and preparing for the pursuit they knew was coming. The front of the trench was built up slightly to provide better visibility but still dug in for protection from bullets and whatever else the enemy intended to fire at them. Two walls projected back from the front wall, making a three sided box that afforded the men a fast means of escape. The terrain behind the fortified area was heavily mined. Any attack from the rear would devastate any force coming from that direction. As Sam hurried to ready the heavy machine gun in his position, he remembered that he was wearing only shorts and no shoes. His father tossed him some boots and fatigues from a sealed plastic box, tucked into a small, hollowed-out area in the middle of the trench. John had designed the trench with fall back positions to the inner most one at the rear of the enclosure. That one was in case they couldn’t get out and to the vehicles, a decision they all knew would become extremely apparent almost right away. John and Joseph scanned the woods below the ridge for activity. They both could feel the enemy out there, but they didn’t come rushing up. All three men would have preferred that. Their experience told them that the enemy was cautious, and that meant preparedness and training. If these men had military training, they might be setting explosives. It wasn’t a great secret of military intelligence, it was just modern warfare.
“How are we set for Claymores, Colonel?” Joseph asked.
“I used a few remote detonate pieces. I didn’t want some fool kid or one of the dogs to get blown up,” John said.
Sam smiled. That big monster that had saved his life was no ordinary dog. He would never think of Genghis in the same way again. That animal could think. Maybe not in a way he understood, but it had saved his ass.
“Where is Genghis dad?”
“Don’t know, but he’s around. He knows what guns are and what men do with them. He’ll stay out of the line of fire.”
“He was in the right place at the right time,” Sam said.
Just then TJ called from behind a tree in a low but clear voice,
“Coming in, Colonel.”
All three men looked at TJ with a pronounced sense of respect. The smaller man looked just like his Mayan ancestors: small, fine featured, and the deep bronze color of the people of the equator.
“You a LRP, TJ?” Sam said.
“Mike Force,” TJ said.
Sam had been a small boy when his father and Joseph were crawling around the jungles of Southeast Asia but he had heard during his own training about the Long Range Patrols, or LRPs and the specialized Special Forces Mobile Strike Force, Mike Force.
“He wore the tiger. Report,” John grunted.
“I came through two lines spread out side by side. I could smell a third one, I think.”
“Strength?”
“Enough. At least twenty and they’re placing enough Claymores to make things damn interesting.”
“What about Nathan? Dad, he could charge into a tripwire. I better go find him.”
“Sam, remember I trained you and Nathan. He is a brilliant man. Smarter than you or I am and practical. I told him to stay on the periphery and to watch first. He will be up a tree to start and know where the mines are located in his area.”
“You’re right,” Sam said, breathing a little easier.
“Colonel, the enemy is well armed. I saw at least one rocket launcher and heavy machine gun. The guys I eyeballed looked calm, ready and well trained.”
“I expected a professional force. But we have the advantage. They expect a bunch of old farmers,” John said as the men dispersed along the front of the trench, watching and waiting.
Crockett saw the muzzle flash when his Colonel was hit. He responded. He didn’t determine whether John was moving. He had his orders and one chance to respond. John had told him since there had been an assassination attempt on Sam that a sniper was all but guaranteed, and if so needed to be neutralized. Crockett did not want the sniper repositioning, so his chance was now. He sighted the fifty caliber and scanned for the sniper. The guy was in a guile suit, and almost invisible, except to another sniper. Crockett was in his own suit made to accommodate his girth. Without hesitation he adjusted for wind and elevation and put one through the man’s brain. Mechanically he moved back, keeping concealed and moving into a blind that he’d constructed a couple of hundred yards away. He didn’t need to radio in to John, the fifty sounded like a damn cannon, the report pealing across the valley like thunder. He’d take
n a quick glimpse, relieved to see the old warrior moving with ease, must have incredible luck to have survived this long. Or God was on his side. Crockett smiled when he thought of all the armies that felt that God was on their side. Usually there were only two sides, so how the hell did that work?
Nathan lay along the length of a branch, high up in the canopy of a massive oak tree. He’d only just made it into the blind constructed up in the crotch of the old giant. He had been up this tree countless times in the past, but it had been a while. It was a little work getting up here. Maybe he needed to climb a little more often. He watched as the soldiers moved below him. Even to his untrained eyes, they looked like they knew what they were doing. He was worried, not for himself but for his friends, especially Sam. He knew John was as fierce as they come but Sam was capable of anything and would immediately put himself between harm and his friends or family. Then he came to a conclusion. We just won’t let that happen, and it won’t if John Trunce has anything to say about it. He waited until the men were well past and crept down the tree. He followed at a discrete distance and made sure there were no stragglers bringing up the rear. Nathan watched as the men strung wire from Claymores and noted the spots. He had spent so much time in these woods and was in them several times each week, especially in the recent past since they’d begun preparing for an attack. His father and he were botanists and had an ongoing competition about who could identify any new species. They had each discovered and named new ones themselves, to make the point that people need to explore their own environments and stop destroying them. The loss of knowledge due to the destruction of rain forest itself was incalculable. Nathan contained his natural instinct to charge on in. He knew it wouldn’t be long now.