Alpha swung Everett with all his might and let loose. The creature’s vice-like grip had broken the splint, Everett’s leg flopping back and forth, his pin-wheeling body crashing into the exposed underside of the Humvee with a sickening crunch. Everett’s corpse landed in a lifeless heap. The Centurions tore the two men apart.
When they were done, Alpha raised his arms and roared in victory, the other Centurions joining in one by one. They learned a valuable lesson about defeating those who would harm them. Alpha sniffed at the air, once again picking up the trail they needed to follow. The rest of the Centurions fell in line behind him.
The medical team and a tow vehicle arrived expecting to pick up two slightly injured men, the corpse of a Centurion, and a disabled vehicle. What they found went far beyond their worst fears.
A gurgling sound drew the attention of Brad Peters and Dr. Julia Talbot. Sam Johnson was on his hands and knees vomiting. A cleanup man from BoDex and a medical technician hovered over the barely recognizable bodies of Everett and Becker.
“Doc, maybe you better check on Sam,” Peters suggested.
She looked over at the mangled bodies of Black’s men. “Yeah, since I can’t do a damn thing for those two. What do you think we’ll run out of first? Body bags or places to stack them?”
Peters instructed his crew to grab body bags and pack up Becker, Everett, and the Centurion. The creatures might be lurking nearby; he did not want to waste any time. Peters picked up a pry bar from the tow vehicle. It was not much of a weapon but it would have to do.
Dr. Talbot helped Sam Johnson back into the medical transport. Peters climbed into the cab of the tow vehicle. “Let’s go,” he said softly into the radio. He held the pry bar as the two vehicles pulled onto the dirt road and headed back to BoDex.
These latest victims brought the total to eight dead, two injured, and four Centurions destroyed. In less than a day, the BoDex Research & Development facility was well on its way to becoming the BoDex Mortuary.
“Fantastic meal, ma’am,” Sean Foster said.
“Sure beats the MREs we were packing,” Kurt Cummings added. He and Foster sat at a heavy wood table in the resort’s dining room with Eric Mitchell and Bernie Robinson. They had all washed the camouflage paint from their faces.
“Tree bark beats an MRE,” Robinson quipped. The military men grunted agreement while stuffing their mouths with Sara’s au gratin potatoes, baby peas, and stuffed chicken breasts.
“Sergeant Foster, would you like me to prepare a basket for your other two men outside?” Sara asked.
“No need to trouble yourself, ma’am. When we’re done here I’d like to send out these two.” Foster pointed a fork at Robinson and Cummings. “And bring the other two back here to eat, if that’s okay.”
“Aw, c’mon, Sean,” Robinson groused. “Haven’t I spent enough time out there today? I’d feel terrible if this great food went to waste.”
“I’m sure Dave and Sal can handle the job, Bernie.” Foster smiled. The scent of apple pie wafted into the dining room. “Eric, do you need to check on the girl?”
“Her name is Jennifer,” Sara said.
Foster raised his eyebrows.
“She mumbled her name before she fell asleep,” Sara replied.
“She should be fine,” Mitchell said. “I’ll check on her in twenty minutes.”
Foster nodded. Jack stood in front of the fireplace cradling a mug of coffee. “How is it you can stand there and not dig into this magnificent feast?” Foster asked.
“I get food like that all the time. Any of you men married?”
“What woman in her right mind would have any of these misfits?” Robinson replied.
“Then I guess you wouldn’t understand that old adage about the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach.” They all laughed. Foster glanced at his watch. Black should have arrived by now.
Sara carried in a warm apple pie. “Who’s got room for—” She stopped. There stood Jennifer in the doorway. Sara plopped the pie down and wrapped Jennifer in her arms.
Foster leaned toward Mitchell. “I thought you said—”
“I was afraid to give her too much sedative,” Mitchell interrupted. “She’s just a kid so I had to guess.”
Foster was afraid the girl might tell the MacGregors what happened to her parents.
Jack watched the nervous exchange between Foster and Mitchell. He thought they would be more excited to see Jennifer up and about, but instead they seemed worried.
“Where am I?” Jennifer asked in a groggy voice.
“You’re safe at our resort, sweetheart,” Sara said. “These men are here to help you.” Sara took Jennifer’s hand. “Come over and meet them. Then I’ll make you something to eat.” Sara led a reluctant Jennifer to the table. “That’s Jack, my husband. He’s the one who found you. Oh, and I’m Sara.”
Jack extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Jennifer. You look a lot better than when I found you.”
Sara asked, “Can you tell us what happened to you?”
“I can take care of her, ma’am,” Mitchell offered. Jennifer cringed behind Sara.
“She can stay with me in the kitchen.”
“Yeah, she’ll be fine with my wife,” Jack said. “Why don’t you guys cut into that pie?”
Foster decided against saying anything. While he could not have Jennifer telling these people what she’d witnessed, he wasn’t really sure what she had seen. If she did spill the beans about the massacre at BoDex, and if his worse fears about who Black was came to fruition, it would be the same as signing a death warrant for all three of these innocent souls. He had to get her away from them as soon as possible.
“I guess I should get some food into my other men, if the offer is still good.” Foster motioned to Robinson and Cummings. “Hit the road, guys, and send Sal and Dave back. And remember, no one in or out except the relief team.”
“Got it.” Cummings grabbed his automatic rifle. He called out to Sara, “Thanks for lunch, ma’am.”
Jack sat next to Foster. “What was that about no in or out?”
“Just making sure we keep things orderly until the relief team arrives,” Foster said. “Following orders, is all.”
“Yeah,” Jack replied, “just following orders. I guess that’s what a good soldier does.” He got up and strode into the kitchen.
Mitchell sat silently. He was beginning to think Jack MacGregor wasn’t buying what Foster was selling.
Sara sat at a small prep table in the kitchen, watching as Jennifer hungrily chomped on a chunky peanut butter and raspberry jam sandwich, chasing each bite with a gulp of cold milk.
“So, Jennifer,” Sara said, “how old are you?”
“Fourteen,” she answered around a mouthful of peanut butter and jam.
Jack entered the kitchen. “Do you have room for me at this table?”
“Sure, if Jennifer is okay with it,” Sara said.
“Yeah, it’s okay,” Jennifer replied. “Can I have more milk, please?”
“You can have whatever you want, sweetheart.”
Jack put his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Relax, honey, I’ll get it.” He retrieved a pitcher of milk and refilled Jennifer’s glass.
“Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome, Jennifer,” Jack said. “Uh, how did you come to be out in the woods all by yourself?”
She stopped eating and stared at the sandwich in her hands. She didn’t speak. Her eyes blinked rapidly. Finally, she said, “I don’t remember.”
Sean Foster eavesdropped from the kitchen doorway. He let out a sigh when Jennifer confessed that she couldn’t recall what happened to her.
Foster’s earpiece came to life. “Sean, this is Bernie.” Foster moved to the far end of the dining room. “We just let a Humvee through. Six occupants, all dressed in black. Man identified himself as Black.”
“Roger that,” Foster replied. “What’s your impression?”
“Look like a b
unch of hard-asses,” Robinson said. “You want us to wait here or come back?”
“Stay where you are, but keep your ears on, just in case. We don’t know these guys, their intentions, or their capabilities.”
The blue BoDex Humvee carrying Black’s team sped into the resort’s parking area. Black, Collins, Graham, Williams, Popavich, and Rossi piled out, weapons at the ready.
Black barked out orders. “Graham, cover the rear! Popavich, left flank! Rossi, right flank! Williams, watch the vehicles! Collins, you’re with me!” Black and Collins raced up the stairs, shoved the resort’s front door open, and came to an abrupt stop in the lobby, face to face with Foster. Collins held his weapon at waist level, pointing it at Foster.
“Who the hell are you?” said Black.
“Master Sergeant Sean Foster, and you must be Black.” Foster noted the serious weaponry and lack of identification patches on the men’s black fatigues, not even the customary United States flag shoulder patch.
“Where’s the girl?” Black demanded.
“She’s in the kitchen having something to eat,” Foster said.
“Mealtime’s over. Get her out here. We’ll take her with us, and you can go back to wherever you came from and forget you ever saw us. Or her.”
“Slow down,” Foster said. “She’s just a kid, and she’s had a very rough day.”
“She’s not a kid to me. She’s an objective we have now attained. Your orders were to turn her over and then get lost. You have a problem with that?”
“What I have a problem with is your attitude.” Foster nodded toward Collins. “And your pit bull there. I suggest he lower that weapon.”
“I don’t take suggestions from you or anyone else.” Collins’s submachine gun remained trained on Foster’s chest.
Mitchell had stayed out of sight in the dining room, just as Foster had ordered. He didn’t like where this was going. He slipped into the kitchen. Jennifer sat at a small table with the MacGregors. Mitchell held a warning finger to his lips.
“What’s going on?” Jack whispered.
“Just be quiet,” Mitchell warned.
Jennifer looked panicky. Sara whispered, “It’s okay, Jennifer. No one is going to hurt you. Jack and I won’t let them.”
Foster squinted at Black. “Weren’t you part of Operation Backfire-Zero-Six? I never forget a face.”
“You never saw me before,” Black said. “Now get the damn kid out here before my men tear this place apart!”
Foster had left his radio on, enabling the rest of his team to hear the conversation. He only hoped they picked up on the call for help he had buried in the exchange.
“Did you hear that?” Vincenzo asked.
“I heard it,” Serrafino said. He spoke into his radio, “Everybody get that SOS from Sean?”
“We got it,” Robinson said. “What do you want us to do?”
It was up to Serrafino, as the next senior member, to handle the team. Operation Backfire was the phrase used if any of them were in trouble. Adding zero-six told the number of unfriendlies. In this case, all six occupants in the Humvee were to be regarded as potential threats.
“Bernie,” Serrafino called over the team net, “get down here quick. Kurt, stay at the bridge and watch our backs. No reinforcements for these nasties get in, understood?”
“Got it,” Cummings responded.
“Mitchell, are you able to answer me?” Serrafino radioed.
Mitchell’s voice was barely audible. “I’m okay. I’m out of sight guarding the good guys.”
“Roger,” Serrafino replied. “Any sit-rep for us?”
“Got two inside with Sean, one by the vehicles, the other three must be around the exterior of the building.”
“Roger. Stay where you are. We’re on our way.”
Serrafino and Vincenzo backed into the trees bordering the dirt road and waited for Robinson.
“What the hell is going on?” Jack demanded.
Mitchell dropped to a knee between Sara and Jack. “You have to keep quiet! We’re here to help you, okay? Please believe me,” he said. “Is there a back way out of here?”
Sara pointed to a door at the far end of the kitchen.
“Okay. Just sit tight, and trust me, okay?”
“For now,” Jack answered, locking eyes with the young medic.
Mitchell moved quietly to the rear door and lifted the edge of the curtain. Another man in black crouched behind a large Dumpster. Mitchell eased the curtain back in place. “No good. There’s someone out there.”
He cupped his hand over his mike. “This is Mitchell. We cannot exit out the rear. One unfriendly by the Dumpster.”
“Roger that,” Serrafino replied. “We’re almost there. Hold your position.”
“You were ordered to relinquish command and get lost. What the hell is your problem?” Black shouted.
“I can follow orders if they’re legitimate,” Foster replied. “Maybe I better contact my commander.”
“I’m done playing with you,” Black snarled. “Get out of my way! I’ll get the girl myself.” He moved to shove Foster aside. The two men grabbed each other by the front of their fatigues.
“The man said move!” Collins shoved the muzzle of his weapon against Foster’s temple.
“And I say freeze!” Mitchell bellowed, bursting through the doorway. He stood rock steady, sighting along his shoulder-braced assault rifle. Collins stared at the muzzle pointing between his eyes.
“You don’t have the balls to pull that trigger,” Collins snarled.
“I’ve done worse for less reason. Now lower that weapon. Now!”
Jack stepped into the open behind Mitchell. He saw Foster and a man in black shoving each other, a second man in black holding a weapon against Foster’s head, and Mitchell holding his own rifle on all of them.
“What the hell is going on?” Jack shouted.
“I told you to stay there!” Mitchell yelled. “Now get back in the kitchen!”
“The hell I will!” Jack barked. “This is my property. Maybe all of you better get out before I call the sheriff!”
Black shoved Foster away. Collins’s weapon was still raised. “Who the hell are you?” Black asked.
“Jack MacGregor. My wife and I own this place. That’s who the hell I am.”
Black glared at Foster. “This is how you keep things under control? How many goddamn people are here?”
“Jack and Sara, along with Jennifer, the girl.”
“How nice you’re on a first name basis with your new best friends.” Black shook his head. “Who knows what? Can you at least answer that?”
Foster turned. “Please, Jack, go back to the kitchen. Trust me, okay?”
“Something stinks here, Sergeant.” Jack looked at Black. “It stinks real bad.” He walked back to the kitchen. Collins and Mitchell still held weapons on each other.
“Mitchell,” Foster said, “go back there and babysit.” Mitchell reluctantly lowered his weapon and backed into the kitchen, never breaking eye contact with Collins.
Foster faced Black. “Nobody knows anything. They asked the girl and she couldn’t remember, so no problem, okay?”
“I’ll question her myself,” Black said. “What happens to her, and the other two, depends on what she tells me.” Black had not intended to question the runaway girl until he got her back to BoDex, but a plan was forming in his head that could take care of all three civilians.
Black whispered to Collins, “Duck out front and make sure Williams is ready when the rest of this guy’s team comes down the road.”
Serrafino, Vincenzo, and Robinson were hunkered down behind thick foliage at the edge of the parking area, comparing notes from their recon around the building.
“I got one on the left flank, another by the Dumpster watching the rear exit,” Vincenzo reported.
“Yeah, and one more on the right flank,” Robinson added.
“Okay. With the one in front watching the vehicles and the two
inside, we got all six,” Serrafino said. “Now the question is, what’s the best way to neutralize the outside guys without alerting the inside guys?”
“The guys on the flanks can’t see the front or rear lots. Maybe we could take out this guy,” Vincenzo nodded toward the man in front, “and then take out the rear guy, and leave the flanks for last.”
“I like it,” Serrafino said.
“One thing,” said Robinson. “Are we sure Sean wants us to use force? What if he jumped the gun?”
“Bernie,” Vincenzo replied, “have you ever, in all our time together as a team, known Sean Foster to jump the gun?”
The lone guard paced back and forth between the three parked vehicles and the front porch. As soon as he was out of sight, Dave Serrafino moved stealthily toward him, using the Humvee, SUV, and station wagon as cover.
Serrafino crouched by the front wheel of the Humvee, waiting for the sentry to cross. That’s when he planned to render him unconscious with a classic chokehold. The man was almost in front of him. Serrafino started to rise, when the front door swung open and another man stepped out. Serrafino dropped back out of sight and pressed himself against the vehicle’s front wheel.
“Williams! Any more of those soldier-boys show up yet?”
“Nothing yet.”
“Keep an eye out. We need to make sure we get the drop on them before they realize what’s happening.” The man went back inside.
Williams fished something out of his pocket. He unwrapped a candy bar, then threw the balled up wrapper on the ground.
Serrafino silently came up behind Williams. He whipped his arm around Williams’s neck and applied a sleeper hold. The man struggled briefly but Serrafino’s muscle bound arm was too much. Williams’s body went limp. Serrafino dragged him behind the Humvee, then felt for a pulse and found one, glad he had released pressure in time. He wanted this guy out of action, not dead. “Nobody likes a litterbug, Mr. Williams,” Serrafino whispered.
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