STEELE
Black Hawk Hill, IA
He hoped to god that Thunder and Tess, as well as Red Clare, had pinched the rear of Jackson’s column. That was the only way it would work. They had to push all of Jackson’s forces inside the kill zone or they would leave too much to chance. He hid, standing behind a tree peering out. Smoke rose up from Sauk and Fox Hills. Thunder and Red Clare were in the fight. Whether or not they were winning was a different story.
Just as he feared, the .50 caliber machine guns were tearing into his line. As the soldiers zeroed in on the enemy, the gunfire became more deadly. It was heavy, methodical, and louder than a SAW M249 banging a repetitive du-du-du-du-du-du. Trees exploded and splintered, shooting wooden fragments into the air and his people. Volunteers ducked for cover, some to never stand again.
“Keep firing!” he screamed. “Turrets! Shoot the turrets!” He had no idea if anyone heard him.
An impenetrable white cloud filled the trees as soldiers threw M18 smoke grenades. Combined with the smoke from the guns their ability to see was severely crippled.
“Smoke screen,” he cursed. “Fuck.” No one could see anyone now. The enemy soldiers could move forward or backward with little impediment. More canisters were shot into the hills and Steele ceased to see much of anything but the immediate trees around him. Rounds repeatedly exploded into the tree trunks sending splinters of wood into the air. He ducked and moved closer to Frank’s part of the line.
Frank stood near a tree letting rounds go off in bursts with his AK-47. “Frank,” Steele called at him. Frank gave him a snarl.
“Can’t see shit,” he yelled at the soldiers.
Steele got closer. “We have to move closer.”
“Are you fucking crazy?”
“We can’t let them escape.” He grabbed Frank’s arm. “This ends now.”
Frank gave him a crazed look. He barked a loud, “Fuck it.” He turned his head and called down his line. “Iron Drakes. Let’s fuck some shit up. Move!” he screamed. They stood, leaving their concealed positions. Frank gave him a sneer and sprinted down the hill for the Humvees.
Steele turned back to his people. “Sable, charge!” Steele roared while running down the back of his line. “Charge!”
MAUSER
Black Hawk Hill, IA
Mauser’s squads fanned out and they began their trek up the back of the hill at a jog. Jarvis ran next to him, holding his M4 contact ready as he peered just over his optics. His finger necklace bounced on his chest as he moved, the fingers, making an odd tapping noise atop his gear. On Mauser’s other side was Campos with his M249. His cheeks puffed out in physical effort.
The first two hundred yards of the hill was a slight incline covered with tall thin brown grass. The farther up the hill they moved, the steeper it became. Trees began to dot the hillside.
Mauser’s heart was in overdrive and his adrenaline caused him to ignore the fatigue in his legs as they moved fast up the backside of the hill.
He slowed down as his radio clicked. “Mauser.”
“Sir?” Mauser’s squads continued to move. He stopped, listening intently.
“We’re taking gunfire from the hills here.” The voice grew faint as Jackson talked to somebody else with his microphone hot. “I don’t give a shit. Pick up a gun and fight.” It grew louder again as he spoke to Mauser. “The bastards are charging down the hill. Get your men up that hill now.”
Mauser’s men had drifted ahead of him. “Copy that, sir. We are Oscar Mike.”
“Hurry, goddammit. They think they can win.”
Mauser double-timed jumping over logs and pushing his way through branches. If the battle wasn’t raging on the other side of the hill, they would have easily been given away.
Smoke tendrils curled down the hill. “Stay close, men. No Blue Falcons,” Mauser half-yelled at the others. The men naturally slowed as their vision diminished in the fog of battle. Mauser could make out Campos next to him lining up the sights of his M249 SAW through his 3.5x35 ACOG optic.
Darker shapes formed in the hazy smoke. People were among the trees. Mauser took aim with his SCAR-H, his eye filling the scope, a man shape zooming in.
Campos opened up with his light machine gun in six-round bursts with a high-speed da-da-da-da-da-das. The M249’s rate of fire was much higher than the .50 cals thundering on the other side of the hill.
Mauser kept his breathing steady and depressed the trigger. His SCAR banged. The extractor ejected a shell casing, flinging it into the air and his target collapsed.
The ghostly fog embraced them and Mauser lost sight of Jarvis and Campos as they were consumed. He pressed forward, gun to his shoulder, both eyes wide and scanning the misty trees for enemies.
STEELE
Black Hawk Hill, IA
Bullets slammed into the trees behind Steele, cracking into the wood like an axe. He dove for the ground. Dying leaves and soft earth met him. Where are those coming from? He stooped his head and checked his six o’clock.
A vertical line of bullet holes erupted into the oak where he had been standing. They’re behind us. They’re flanking us. The thought had barely flickered in his mind before he rolled to his side. Shadows advanced from the back of the hill. They dodged from tree to tree. “Volunteers behind us.” Harvey turned around only to be struck by a bullet just below his eye. He twisted his head to the side and buckled onto the forest floor.
Steele fired into a form charging for him and the person fell to the ground unmoving. Using his other arm as support, he transitioned from target to target. He scanned the area trying to find friend or foe. The Sable Point volunteers were mostly gone. Only Harvey’s dead body, leaking brain and blood into the soil, was left.
Steele stood cautiously. Ashen smoke enveloped the trees, an out-of-place autumn morning fog. Gunfire rippled in the background, a dozen thunderstorms converging at once.
A murky form morphed into a man ahead of him. A predator of men, his rifle was trained on Steele. The form stalked ahead. Reddish-hair emerged behind the sights. Steele’s heart pounded in his chest and his breath became shallow as the man took step after step, closing the distance.
“Steele,” the man-shape uttered.
Steele’s hand drifted to his holstered Beretta. You’ll never beat his trigger with your gun holstered. But it’s better to go down with weapon in hand than defenseless on your knees.
“Not so fast, buddy,” Mauser said. He squinted over his sights. He took a step closer and hovered only a few feet away, staring at Steele as if he didn’t believe it was really him.
Steele started to sidestep in a circle slowly. Never backward. Step offline or take the initiative. The gun in his face took any initiative. The two men circled around each other.
“Never thought I’d see your traitor ass again,” Steele said. He took another step, forcing Mauser to keep rotating.
“Me a traitor? You need to take a look around you, bro. We’re what’s left of the military and you’re up here with a bunch of armed criminals.”
“Jackson’s a madman!” Steele yelled. His heart pounded in his chest, echoing in his ears. “He’s trying to murder us, and for what?!” His left hand felt heavy on the handle of his Beretta as if it had never been there before.
Mauser’s brow furrowed. “‘Cause you murdered our men.”
“Our?”
“What about what you did to Gwen?”
Pain filled Mauser’s eyes and his eyebrows lightened up.
The earth exploded forty yards away. Steele dove into the earth and Mauser was taken off his feet from the shockwave. He tumbled onto the leaf-covered forest floor. Steele blinked and wiped dirt out of his eyes. Trees cracked and toppled over near where the mortar round hit. Mauser rolled off his back, using his arms to push himself onto all fours.
Steele pushed himself off the ground. He stumbled upright, his hand finding the handle of his handgun.
Mauser scrambled onto his feet. His hand rested on his sidear
m. They both were ready to draw, waiting to make a move.
“Left-handed, now?” Mauser said.
“Took a round through the right. Hand ain’t been right since.”
Mauser crossed his feet as he moved laterally. “Ha. You couldn’t even keep up with me with your strong hand. Let alone your off-hand.”
“Don’t matter.” Yes, it does. He’s fast off the draw. Maybe with my right hand but not the left. I know it. He knows it. Just not enough time to train it up to speed.
They circled each other. It was more of a wolf circling the family dog. Mauser had every advantage. Steele’s crippled arm, healing leg, and off-hand draw all stacked up against him.
The gunfire blurted out behind them. Shouts. Dying cries. They locked eyes, Steele’s harsh blue with Mauser’s thundercloud gray.
“Make your move, Kemosabe,” Mauser taunted. He sneered like he knew an evil secret. “It will all be over soon enough.”
“I wish it hadn’t come to this.” His finger itched for the trigger.
Mauser’s finger taunted him, tapping the handle of his gun. “You were my brother,” he said softly.
“Were.”
How quick are your fast-twitch muscles? How many reps have you put down range? How many times have you practiced getting the gun out of the holster and presented it to your enemy? How many times have you set your sights to shave time off your firing time? Every question was a check plus in Mauser’s favor. He simply was going to win the shot.
If I dive to the ground, maybe I can throw him off long enough to get a shot off. Once the firing started, it wouldn’t stop until one of them ceased breathing.
Steele went into autopilot. He stopped thinking and went through the motions of what he had done thousands of times, almost all with his other hand. It wasn’t that the mechanics were different, but have you ever written with your off-hand? It was just different. Clumsy and awkward at the same time, still practiced and deadly.
He ripped his M9A1 9mm Beretta from his holster. He couldn’t hear the gun metal sliding over the hard plastic holster. He pulled the gun up and toward his face. The gun reached his chin. Fire burst from Mauser’s gun. The close gunshots made his adrenaline spike of the charts.
Steele punched out his gun responding with sluggish bangs. Mauser flinched. His firearm wavered in his hand. Steele gazed over his sights.
Mauser’s gun lowered. He took a hand off his gun and pressed it in the center of his chest. He turned his hand upright and smeared the red liquid between his fingers. He looked back up at Steele and gave him a little smile. He dropped to his knees, his backside resting on his boots.
Steele ran for him. Mauser tipped to the side and rolled onto his back. Steele jumped down next to him, dropping his gun. He grasped Mauser’s hand tight and it felt like he wrapped his hand around iron. The blood stuck between their palms, suctioning them together.
Mauser grimaced, his face in pain. “Got me pretty good, didn’t you? With your weak hand too.”
“Not weak, just not as strong.”
Mauser gave Steele a faint smile, his teeth stained red. “You’re stronger than you look.”
Steele let his chin dip to his chest for a moment, collecting himself. “How did this happen?”
Mauser half-laughed and it turned into a fit of coughing. “No idea, buddy.”
Steele stared out through the gun fog. More shapes stirred in the trees. Random gunfire rang out. I just shot down my best friend.
“Hold on,” Steele said. He pushed onto the bleeding hole in Mauser’s chest. Mauser struggled to get enough oxygen with the added pressure. “We’ll get you help.” Blood pumped out from around Steele’s hand.
“Help!” Steele called out. He frantically looked around. Only trees, fog, and gunfire answered him.
Mauser’s voice came out soft and he sounded like a totally different man. He had always had a booming voice filled with vigor and life. “Mark.”
Steele stared back at him. “Yeah, buddy?”
The crow’s feet around Mauser’s eyes deepened. “Sorry about Gwen. I never wanted to hurt either of you.”
Blood oozed from the corners of his mouth. He stopped moving and his hand stayed gripped in Steele’s, firm and uncompromising.
Steele blinked a few times, unable to accept that his best friend was gone. I did this. “Your watch has ended, but you will not be forgotten, Benjamin Mauser.” Steele ripped his badge off his chain and placed it over Mauser’s head, letting it rest on his chest.
Leaves crunched behind him as he sat back. He wrung his hands in front of him. He wiped his face, feeling the sticky blood streak across his bearded cheek. Seconds, perforated by gunfire and yells of victory, passed into history. He suffocated in gun smoke and drowned in the blood. The body of his best friend turned enemy lay next to him, pale and unmoving.
The outlines amidst the trees grew closer as if they were hunting him. He could see the guns level in his direction. Three men grew close and stood with their guns pointed at him.
“Mark,” came a woman’s voice. She ran for him and crashed down onto her knees beside him. Gwen cupped his cheeks in her hands. “Are you okay? What happened?” she said hurriedly, reading his eyes for answers.
He looked over at Mauser’s body. “Ben,” was all he could muster.
She glanced over at the still body. “Oh my God, Ben.” She crawled over to where he laid. She put two fingers on his neck. Mauser was the palest shade of pink. After a moment, she glanced back at Steele. Angry tears filled her eyes.
“He’s dead.”
“I know.”
She crawled back to Steele. Tears streamed down her face. B.B., Gerald Newbold and Sheriff Donnellson peered down at them. Frank topped the hill, a big grin on his face. He raised his AK-47 up in the air. Larry hobbled up the hill with an arm wrapped around Trent. His people emerged from the fog of battle. He couldn’t understand what had happened. He turned back to Gwen, his face pleading for an answer.
Her tear-filled eyes softened and she tried to wipe the grime on Steele’s face with her hand. With a regard for Mauser, she sniffed back her tears and looked Steele in the eyes. “We won.” She cried and laughed at him. “We did it.”
Steele eyed Frank and then turned back to her. “We won?”
She nodded her head. “You did it.”
He shook his head no. So many people had died for this victory. How can I live with all the loss? She wrapped an arm around him and helped him up. They walked over to the edge of the hill. Steele gazed down at the road.
Bodies were strewn over the hill. You will live with their losses because there is no other way. He would have to live in a world where victories would be filled with sorrow for the dead and hope for the living. He wasn’t even sure if that was a different world or just a shade of the past.
Smoke floated up from the Humvee engines. They were riddled with bullets. Camouflaged men were strewn atop the Humvees and inside open doors. They littered the ground where they had been brought down by a plethora of civilian small arms fire.
Steele trudged down the hill, taking in the carnage he had unleashed upon his people. Their loss filled him with sorrow, but if he hadn’t brought them here to fight, then all people would have been run down, enslaved, or murdered at the whims of Jackson and his men.
Gunfire rippled from the sandbag wall. Steele held his binoculars up to his eyes. A half-dozen Humvees drove in the opposite direction.
“Jackson’s escaped,” Steele said.
“Most of his force has been destroyed,” Frank replied.
“True. But I know that man. He will always be a threat.”
Steeled watched them drive away. Had he really won anything at all except a bit more time?
“Captain Steele,” shouted Frank. More and more people flooded in with the wounded. “Captain Steele.”
“Victory!” his people yelled. They laughed and cried. They gripped arms and hands and each other in exhausted happiness to be alive.
> “Victory!” They screamed holding their weapons up in the air, but all Steele felt was the tiredness of the long road ahead.
He gave them a grim smile and turned his head to the sky. “Victory!” he yelled into the trees.
KINNICK
Warden, IA
Kinnick lifted the pin attached to the chain from the freezer door. The silver handle was cool to the touch and he pulled the lever. The heavy door opened. His candle flickered and the light was slow to illuminate the two Marines sitting inside. Volk gloated, a sneer splitting his face. Whitehead was hesitant to lift his chin, using all his remaining energy to meet Kinnick’s eye.
“Come,” Kinnick commanded. He waved them forward with his fingers. The two men pushed themselves upright.
“What are you going to do with us?” Whitehead mumbled.
Volk gave him a shove in the back. “Just go.”
Whitehead stepped passively past Kinnick. When Volk got parallel with Kinnick, he stopped. He studied the colonel’s chin as if he was trying to find a place to punch. His eyes danced up to Kinnick’s.
“You know, Colonel.” He licked his lips. “I’m not sorry for what happened. Those dumb kids had it coming.” A small smile curled up on the left side of his mouth.
Don’t make me regret this decision. Kinnick’s words came out like a one-two punch. “Move, Sergeant.”
Volk stared down at Kinnick’s lips then let his eyes return to Kinnick’s and gradually nodded his head. He turned away and walked through the dark kitchen. It was just past midnight. Kinnick followed them.
The Marines and Green Berets stood waiting. Every piece of gear was on their person. Their long guns were pointed downward, his men relaxed. They stared at the convicted men and Kinnick alike. Gary and Martha stood to the side. Martha was wrapped in a robe and Gary a thick woolen sweater. They appeared even more tired than his men.
“Volk and Whitehead.” The Marines turned and faced him. Kinnick took in the moment, seconds ticking by. “Collect your gear. We’re leaving.”
Volk gave him his signature sneer. “I knew you wouldn’t fall for this bullshit.” He elbowed Whitehead. “See. I told you. We ain’t subject to that bullshit.”
The Departing (The End Time Saga Book 4) Page 43