The Storm Maker

by Sid K

  “We could get attacked here as well,” Evyk said.

  “And they could cut the phone line to this house,” Hayett said.

  “We are well fortified here,” Sthykar said. “We could hold them here till our food runs out, and I am not worried about the phone line, I have my radio, I could transmit directly to the House of War if I wanted. No, we shall stay for the night and leave at the first light of morning.”

  “I believe we should take Sthykar’s judgment,” Relkyett said. “He is top in the chain of command here, but more importantly who here thinks they know more about battle tactics than Sthykar?”

  “Now that you put it that way,” Jontvyk laughed, “none of us even comes close. I second his judgment.”

  Rest of them nodded in agreement.

  “Alright then,” Sthykar said, “There are fifteen of us with four ATRs amongst us. We will have four shifts with the first one having three members: myself, colonel Jontvyk and Relkyett. The watch crew takes the ATRs and hands them over to the next shift. The rest of us will sleep with our hunting rifles loaded right next to us. Relkyett, you tell them about placing the sleeping bags.”

  “Yes,” Relkyett said, “I will show them free spots then I will join you and Jontvyk on the first shift.”

  Sthykar and Jontvyk picked up their ATR rifles and walked around to find windows to set themselves up while the rest of them dispersed to get their sleeping bags. Relkyett showed them various places in his house where they could put down their bags.

  * * *

  Corporal Montex walked in the room where the Boss Hantex was relaxing on a sofa and musing aloud over a drink of whiskey.

  “Come on in, Corporal Montex,” the Boss said, raising him his glass. “Pour yourself a glass and take a seat. Tell me that you have the dead scientist.”

  Montex did not say anything. He wanted to get the whiskey before he delivered the news he had come here to convey, because he knew that the Boss was going to lose his temper over it. He poured himself a glass of whiskey, sat down on the sofa, took a couple sips of whiskey and then let out a big sigh.

  “He is dead but, he got away first,” Montex said.

  “WHAT?” The Boss slammed his half full glass on the table.

  “A damned pencilhead with one bullet escaped you? How did it happen?” Boss Hantex demanded to know.

  “Wait, before you get on my back,” Montex said raising his palm. “He had help—armed help.” He took the bloody ATR bullet from his pocket, handed it to Hantex and asked, “What is this?”

  “You should know it’s a Starfirian ATR rifle round,” Hantex said.

  “I do know,” Montex said. “I cut it out from the body of one of our dead soldiers. Starfirians are here.”

  “What is going on here?” Hantex asked. “What do you mean by the Starfirians? Police? Army?”

  “Their police don’t have automatic rifles and their army doesn’t do civil investigations. It is those hunters our gate guards told us about,” Montex said. “What I haven’t told you is that I sent dogs and eight soldiers after the scientist and whoever was with him. One of them just radioed me; they were ambushed and the dogs and trackers, and five others are dead, only three are making their way back here.”

  “That’s it,” Hantex got up. “Take some soldiers and hunt these hunters down.”

  “Are you serious, Boss?” Montex said. “Finding those hunters, in hundreds of acres of woods will require hundreds of soldiers. Not easy to find anyone in daylight, definitely not experienced hunters in night.”

  “We can’t just sit here,” Hantex said. “That scientist must definitely have told why he was here to those hunters for them to get involved in saving him.”

  “Well, they couldn’t save him,” Montex said. “The scientist is also dead; he died in an earlier gunfight.”

  “Now that’s some good news, nevertheless that bastard pencilhead must have told the hunters of our plans,” Hantex said. “You have to track them down.”

  “I am thinking something,” Montex said. “What are those hunters going to do? Call the police? That is exactly what they would do. Who else would they go to? They will tell the police, then they will go back to where they came from, letting the police worry about us.”

  “I get it,” Hantex said. “If we deal with the police, we don’t have to worry about the hunters.”

  “Exactly,” Montex said. “the police station is at a fixed location in the town, much easier to take it over than running around the woods at night trying to find some ghosts.”

  “I will have Suka take some Rangers and take care of the town police,” Hantex said. “My machine is almost ready, but I need a bit more time. I can’t have the SPASI suddenly showing up at our door like those hunters did.”

  “Don’t worry about them,” Montex said. “I will prepare for the SPASI raid.”

  “Good,” Hantex said.

  “Now let me go wake up some soldiers,” Montex said. He finished his whiskey with one large gulp and walked out of the room.

  The Boss sat back and poured himself more whiskey. The plan was coming together nicely, he thought to himself, except for these annoying glitches here and there. But he was ready and it wasn’t long before the final step of the plan would be implemented. He smiled to himself dreaming about the future he was going to create.

  * * *

  The hunters on the last shift woke everyone in the house as soon as they saw the sunlight come in through the windows. Relkyett brought eggs, milk, cheese and sausages from his pantry for breakfast, while the rest prepared for the day ahead. They checked, cleaned and loaded their rifles while eating and then put together their bags and luggage.

  “We aren’t leaving for good, are we?” Karyett asked. “I would hate for our hunting vacation to be cut short just after a day or two.”

  “No, keep your bags here but bring the ammo along,” Sthykar said. “Unfortunately the hunting vacation is over. Do you want to be out hunting in the woods where armed men will be waiting in ambush?”

  “The colonel is right,” Jontvyk said, “we have a battle on our hands.”

  “The town police can fix this,” Carvyk said.

  “I doubt a small town like Coldwoods has more than twenty policemen,” Sthykar said. “We just need the police chief with us for his authority over the town lands. But we are going to have to deal with these villains when the shooting starts.”

  “Everybody ready?” Relkyett asked. They were all there. “Let’s go. I will lock the doors.”

  They went out and to their cars.

  “No cars,” Sthykar said. “We go through the forest”

  “We will be safer in the cars,” Tulkar said.

  “Said like a mechanic,” Felptar said. Everyone chuckled. Tulkar scoffed and looked at Sthykar for an explanation.

  “There is only one road,” Sthykar said. “They could have prepared a roadside ambush. We would give them clear targets and they would trap us between their firing positions.”

  “Alright then, follow me,” Relkyett said. “I know the way through the forest.”

  Relkyett put his rifle on his shoulder and walked eastward to the trees; the rest of his friends followed him with their rifles in their hands, their eyes and ears alert to any sounds.

  * * *

  Coldwoods Town Police Department was located slightly off the main district of the town. The central town road did not go to it; instead one had to take a side road towards the woods heading southeast to reach it. The police station was surrounded by trees on all sides along with two roads which the police building bifurcated. The police building was a large, one story rectangular room with the main door facing westward and a small side door on the southern side. There were two parking lots, one in the south and other in the north side of the station, around ten spaces in each of them for the police cars as well as for those of the visitors.

  The morning was just dawning and the first sunlight was coming through the station windows, however the ac
tivities inside had already begun. The police chief, a man in his forty’s, was sitting behind his desk in the center of the station facing the main door. He was leaning over some papers with a pen and was making the next week’s patrol schedules. His pistol lay on the table besides the papers.

  There were three desks on each side in front of the chief’s desk. An elderly policeman just to his right was leaning back in the chair and reading a newspaper and had a shotgun on his table. A young man was making coffee next to the wall on his left standing just behind the rifle racks. There were eight other policemen sitting and standing around the desks, talking, drinking coffee; four of them were playing cards and one was sleeping on his desk with his head over his hands. He was one of the two who had been on the night shift; all the rest had arrived about an hour ago.

  Suddenly the main door was flung open, hitting the wall. The police chief dropped his pen, looked up and then stood up. Five men lunged into the room; one of them pointed his pistol at the chief, while the other four aimed their rifles at the rest of the staff. The elderly policeman had dropped his newspaper when the door had slammed open, and picked up his shotgun and was aiming it right back. The young policeman making coffee had also managed to grab a repeating rifle out of the rifle rack and aimed it at the intruders. But the rest of the policemen were caught off guard and no one had managed to draw their pistols.

  “Nobody move,” the intruder with the pistol shouted.

  “Why, you have to be mad, fellow,” the police chief said as he eyed his own pistol on the table. “You are attacking a police station.”

  “Seems like we hold all the aces now,” the same intruder said smirking at the shocked policemen who were still holding their cards in their hands. “I am Capitan Suka Manx, and if you want to live you will order your men to drop their guns.”

  The police chief took stock of the situation. He could not reach his own pistol in time and fire it before this man called Suka opened up. A couple of his men were ready to fire with a shotgun and a rifle, but they could not take out all five before the invaders opened up. The rest would try to draw their pistols; he would be sacrificing at least five to six lives in the gamble. He would not do that. He decided to stall for time.

  “Capitan of what?” police chief asked. “What kind of a syndicate dares attack a police station?”

  “Concerns you none,” Suka said. “Now I know what you are thinking, chief. You are thinking ‘can I reach for that pistol’ and ‘can my boys draw their pistols fast enough’, but let me tell you, don’t bother. Instead ask that grandpa with shotgun to look out the window behind him.”

  The chief nodded at the elderly policeman who slowly moved back while keeping his shotgun aimed at the intruders and then turned his head to look out the window.

  “My…” he stuttered, “There are ten...fifteen men outside with rifles.”

  “Now tell that boy to look out his windows,” Suka pointed to the policeman near the coffee table who stepped back a bit to reach the window and look out.

  “Chief, same here,” he said, “ten to fifteen armed men in our parking lot.”

  “So what is it going to be chief?” Suka asked.

  Police chief realized that his situation was hopeless. However, there were still a few policemen off duty. He had to bide his time and hope they would call the colonel of the local warrior class.

  “Throw down your guns boys,” police chief said. A few dropped their pistols to the ground right away; a couple were hesitant and looked at him and he nodded to them. He stepped away from his table.

  “Take them away,” Suka said to his men, and they led the policemen outside. They also picked up their pistols and took all the rifles and shotguns from their respective racks. Suka was still holding his pistol as he walked over to the chief.

  “Call in your off duty policemen,” Suka said, “one by one.”

  “They patrol in twos,” Chief said.

  “Fine, call them in pairs, but call them all,” Suka said. “I know you have seventeen policemen in Coldwoods; eleven are here, now you call the remaining six.”

  The police chief was now distressed, realizing that there would be no one left to call for help. The town folk would take a while to realize that their police were in trouble. There was barely any crime in Coldwoods; the last arrest they had made was more than three months ago. Police absence would not be noticed quickly.

  Suka saw that the police chief was lost in thought and stepped closer, directing his pistol right at him. “Start making the calls, or else.”

  The chief had no choice and he complied with Suka’s demands. As the off duty policemen came in, Suka’s men grabbed them in the parking lot.

  * * *

  It was a long drive from Southstar to Coldwoods and Sayett felt strange once again traveling down the same road where he had been ambushed. But now he had some serious muscle with him. The road was nearly empty, as it had been before, and Sayett struck up a conversation with the driver.

  “What’s your name, son?” he asked. “Are you from around here?”

  “I am Qyett,” the driver replied, “I live in Southstar...have lived there all of my life and have driven all over this area. That’s why they made me your driver.”

  “You must know this area very well?” Sayett said.

  Qyett nodded.

  “Ever been to Coldwoods?” Sayett asked.

  “Actually, yes,” Qyett said, “and I am not surprised that is where the trouble lies.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I have a friend, well he is actually a distant cousin, who owns a hardware store, well it’s actually an industrial supply store and I drive a truck for him every now and then, delivering to customers,” Qyett said. “Some months year ago he started having these foreign customers who bought a lot of materials from him and they always had it delivered to Coldwoods when they didn’t pick it up.”

  “Foreigners? Ranxians?”

  “We wouldn’t know I don’t know what a Ranxian looks like, neither does my cousin. They were foreigners for sure though.”

  “But why do you think they were suspicious?” Sayett asked.

  “He found it odd that they always paid cash even when they were buying expensive equipment and machinery. But what made him real suspicious was that when they had their purchases delivered, they never gave an office address. They had it delivered at the side of the road in Coldwoods where they would load it up on their own cars. What’s more, some of the goods they ordered were so specialized that even my cousin’s big industrial supply store did not stock them. He had to order it from the manufacturers and then deliver it.”

  “What kind of goods?” Sayett interest was heightened.

  “Now, I know what you are thinking, Detective Sayett,” Qyett laughed. “Industrial goods, all paid in cash, shady foreigners—you are thinking illegal arms makers and smugglers. But it wasn’t that. It was more radio, electrical and meteorological equipment and parts. So my cousin knows that I am a guard in SPASI. He had me deliver it to them one time and I went down to Coldwoods and exchanged products for cash on the side of the road. That was during my off hours and I didn’t wear the uniform so they didn’t suspect me.”

  “Did you report it to SPASI?” Sayett asked.

  “Before we delivered, a junior detective and I went through all their purchases. We compared it to the list SPASI maintains of the tools and the machines needed to make arms. Not many products in common. Further, the orders and visits to my cousin’s store by them suddenly stopped. So we didn’t pursue the matter further.”

  “That’s quiet strange I have to admit,” Sayett said, “although large cash purchases would explain why they robbed so many banks—they needed the Starfirian currency to buy these tools. At the same time these people did not buy any material that would pique SPASI’s interest either, as you found out.”

  “I might be getting excited and connecting things,” Qyett said. “This might not be the syndicate that we are goin
g after on this raid.”

  “Well, we will find out soon enough,” Sayett said. “Let’s see if your cousin’s products turn up during the search.”

  Sayett then relaxed against the back of the seat. He took out his pistol and kept it on the dashboard and closed his eyes. “Wake me up when you see the Coldwoods town board.”

  “Will do.”

  They drove a few hours, Sayett had a nice nap, and he was quite wide awake now. His pistol was still on the dashboard. He rubbed his eyes and yawned once.

  “Feeling fresh?” Qyett asked him.

  “Ready for the raid,” Sayett said smiling. “How far to Coldwoods now?”

  “Almost there,” Qyett said, pointing ahead at a one lane side road. “That road is a shortcut to the town police station. I am going to turn there.”

  “No,” Sayett said. “Keep going straight. We are not going to the police station, but directly to their address.”

  “Not bringing police with us?”

  “I don’t know if they can be trusted,” Sayett said. “With all the millions of stars that these people have robbed from the banks, they could have bribed one or two policemen who might alert them of our presence.”

  “As you say, Chief,” Qyett answered and kept driving straight, past the side road, followed by the other nine trucks.

  Now they were deep in the backcountry. Dense trees lined both sides of the road, there were barely any other cars and the mountains were visible at some distance. Suddenly Qyett braked hard, pointed ahead and shouted, “Four men on the road! They have rifles.”

  There were four men standing in the middle of the road with their rifles aimed and ready to fire.

  “Pointed right at us,” Sayett said grabbing his pistol.

  Sayett ducked under the dashboard, Qyett grabbed his submachine gun from the dashboard and ducked just as a hail of bullets shattered their large windshield and covered them with broken glass.

  “We could run them over,” Sayett said.

  “I don’t think so,” Qyett replied, “I saw two big cars parked across the road just behind them.”

  “You are right,” Sayett said. “They would have shot out our tires as well.”