by Franks, JK
Shaking his head, Archangel went back to the map. “Yokena? Is that where it happened?”
“Yep, report earlier today indicates we lost a whole squad there and most of the vehicles and weps. They were one of the multi-national groups doing food pickups for this camp.”
“This can’t be the first time it’s happened. Why is this one important?”
Vincent frowned, the wrinkles in his dark face resembled the topographic map they were studying. “I mean, we have had other casualties and lost supply trucks before, but not like this. The guerillas were well armed, well trained and had good intel. One report suggests they may have had drone coverage of the firezone.”
“So, Vincent, you think they had help?”
“We know they did. Army, maybe Navy. Some of the stuff was improvised, but since the pres clamped down on food and fuel to the military bases, it’s been heating up. Just a matter of time before it all blew.”
“I don’t like the idea of fighting our fellow soldiers.”
Vincent nodded, “I know, man, sucks ass, but don’t let anyone else hear you say that. Who’s in charge of P-group now?”
Archangel shrugged and started going through the satellite photos from the area. “After Midnight disappeared and the ranch failed…I lost track.”
“What about all our embeds?”
Archangel knew what Vincent was asking. The Guard had embedded mostly invisible Praetor-5 and a few Praetor-9 soldiers in every branch of the military. They were there to provide immediate intel from every camp and battlefront in the world. They could also take command if the need arose.
“Communication is the problem―we can’t get to most of them with the president’s comms blackout.”
“Her people won’t even be aware of them,” Vincent said.
“True.” That was one of the more closely held secrets of the Guard.
“Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?” Archangel mumbled. Who will guard the guards? The unofficial motto of Praetor. “Okay, so we pay a little visit to Yokena to see who was crashing our party. Let’s bring all the toys, who knows what we might need?”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Near Yokena, Mississippi
Rollins was recalling the drones. Scott had begged them to leave them up to look for his friend. The Navy man explained that they were nearly out of power, and in a few more miles he would have been too far to control them or receive the sensor data and video.
Skybox gently placed a hand on Scott. “We will pull back far enough to wait. Bartos will be fine for now.”
“You don’t know that, Sky. He was almost certainly injured in that crash. The NSF is going to go ballistic when they see what we did. If they know a prisoner escaped, they will stop at nothing to find him.”
Skybox couldn’t argue that it was frustrating to leave a man behind, but he’d had to do it more often than he cared to remember. His friend would not be able to let it go, he knew that. Bartos was a good man and damn tough. Unfortunately, he might need more than that to avoid capture. The NSF had shored up its fighters with foreign troops, mercenaries. Some of these would be formidable opponents.
Scott looked to Jack whose head was resting against the window, eyes closed. He knew the man was tired but couldn’t imagine sleeping when Bartos was missing, probably injured—maybe worse.
“You need rest,” Skybox said nodding over to Jack. “He’s got the right idea.”
Scott loosened the tactical vest and removed the earbud. “Maybe later. How far do we need to go?”
“Nearly to the coast. May as well go back to base and regroup. The supplies and farmers from Yokena are about an hour ahead of us. If those guys have drones, they could spot either of our convoys at distance.”
Scott knew they had packed up everything they could in the community including seeds, tools and even some commercial tractors. This, along with the salvaged military equipment and supplies liberated from the NSF, made the mission a success. To everyone there, the mission was only half complete. The plan had been to also hit the internment camp and free everyone there. They lacked the manpower to make that happen, and instead, it seemed that camp had been the one to send more of the black-clad troops toward the farms in Yokena. Somewhere in the middle, they had found the wreckage of the Humvee, and probably not too far away, would be Bartos. They were heading in the opposite direction, away from his friend. If the roles were reversed, he felt sure Bartos would be doing the opposite—going directly into the teeth of the enemy to save his friend. He thought about Gia, about the engagement. Had that made him weak, was he now second guessing doing anything she might view as reckless?
He motioned to the driver. “Pull over.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Internment Camp, Jackson, Mississippi
Archangel pulled his neck wrap to cover his nose and mouth. The smell from the so-called ‘aid camp’ was horrendous. Vincent had told him to expect it, but the reality was even worse than he had feared. “Goddamn!”
Vincent looked over and shrugged, “This is your first one, some are a bit worse.”
The fetid odor of decay and rot was in such stark contrast to the protectorate he’d departed from earlier in the day. “This is some Third World kinda shit, Vince. God Almighty, I can see why the Army is pissed that these things exist.”
“Well, it is Mississippi,” Vincent said with a grin before motioning to several of the guards outside the command building. “Get those cases from the rear of our Humvee and store them in the base commander’s office. He’ll know what they are.” The guards saluted and quickly disappeared into the parking area.
The command center was separated from the ‘housing’ area by fifty yards and several runs of high fencing. The well-manicured lawn of the former Arkansas National Guard base went right up to the high fence. On the other side were mud, trash, huts and hundreds of gaunt, silent faces looking out. Beyond them were more fences and miles of farmland with various crops, none of which these people were allowed to eat. This was a mistake, we should have gone straight to Yokena, Archangel thought.
Vincent touched his arm, “You okay, man?”
“Yeah, sure.” Archangel forced his muscles to relax. This was not his fight, he was here on a mission. Focus.
They walked on farther, the destination, a large warehouse ahead. Once inside, the smell diminished, and he began to realize one of the black-suited soldiers was speaking to him, one of the people responsible for this place. “What did you just say?”
The man in front of him was in his mid-forties, slightly plump with a jolly expression that seemed wholly out of place. When he spoke, the waddle of fat under his chin jiggled slightly. “I said,” the man began with a note of irritation, “I’m Captain William Bailey, my friends call me Will. I am in charge here.”
Archangel wondered briefly how this fat, pitiful excuse of a man had even survived until now. What had he been before the blackout, some mid-level department head? A politician? The tactical belt around the man’s waist appeared to be losing its battle to retain the belly spilling over it. This man was overweight while thousands were starving under his watch. Prisoners or not, no one deserved to be treated like the people being held here. Archangel ignored the man’s outstretched hand. “I’m not your friend and get the fuck out of my way.”
Vincent guided him past the shocked base commander to speak with the men directing the resupply missions. They wanted specifics, what they were hauling, normal routes and timetables and anything else that might clue them into who had attacked. How large of a force would they possibly be facing? An Asian man also in an NSF uniform was waiting, his posture told them he hated this place as much as they did.
The two Praetor commanders were back on the road ninety minutes later. Accompanying them were additional vehicles with two-dozen heavily armed NSF troops. “You believe, Chiang? I mean about his men capturing one of ‘em?”
Archangel didn’t much care one way or the other. This was not part of his official m
ission. His job, as unpleasant as it was, was to protect aid camps like the one he just left from being attacked by the Army. “They should have made it back to that camp or reported in by now.”
Vincent nodded, “Probably just highwaymen. Still, that’s pretty ballsy to go after a military force directly like that. Be nice to interrogate the man, find out where they were from.”
“Military force,” Archangel said dismissively with a laugh.
“Look, man, I know. I’ve been dealing with the asshats for months. They are a shitty excuse for soldiers, but since Chambers started bringing in some of the outside talent….well, they can be pretty effective. Most of that supply detail was made up of coalition troops.”
Archangel had worked with foreign fighters all over the world. The SSG, or Black Storks, in Pakistan, Spain's UOE Green Berets, French GIGN and Israel’s elite Sayeret Matkal. He knew and respected the talent, dedication and training of men in these services. Just because an elite soldier wasn’t American, didn’t diminish the potential lethality.
Since 9/11, the Department of State had gotten much closer to the military to help push political goals backed up by military strength. With the fall of most countries and regimes around the world, the president had her pick of Spec Op soldiers to fill out her security forces. Not just from former allies of the US either. The man at the aid camp, Chiang, had the characteristic look and weapons of a former Chinese Night Tiger. Rumor was, even some Alpha Groups’ top people had been brought in from Russia. He was not yet sure how comfortable he was with all this. These men would fight for money and survival, not for America.
“Vincent, when you got that alert that day, did you envision all this?”
The black man laughed, “Are you fucking serious? Shit, man, I remember thinking, ‘Why the hell is command messaging me about a fucking blackout?’ I was on leave that week getting in some fishing up in Minnesota. So far off the grid, I had no idea how bad it all was.” He glanced out the side window at the vacant fields as they passed. “Nobody could have expected all this.”
I’m not so sure about that, Archangel thought.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The familiar feel of the handlebars and shift levers granted him a calm he rarely felt. Skybox was pissed, and Jack woke up just long enough to tell him he was crazy, but even he agreed, it was at least something to do. Scott always carried his bike and kit when he left the community. Seeing it strapped to the back of the Jeep was so normal no one ever thought about it anymore. While a convoy might be spotted by a drone operator, a lone cyclist…maybe not. Certainly, he wouldn’t be worth coming after, even if someone with the NSF took notice.
Once again, he sped down the back-country roads of Mississippi, shoes clipped into pedals and rifle across his back. He had mapped out a search grid with Skybox before they parted ways. Bartos was traveling south, he would have to clear the immense forest area before coming to any roads. Scott would traverse a line about fifty-miles long for the next several days, then drop back to an even longer arc. The chances of actually seeing Bartos were remote, but he was counting on Solo possibly catching his scent and then making contact.
He had a few water bottles and a small LifeStraw brand water filter to make more. He carried a small pack of provisions, and Skybox was going to leave some additional supplies farther out. The locations had already been input into the Garmin GPS on the bike. When he found Bartos, they would simply call the AG for a pickup and take shelter till they showed up. It was the perfect plan—it was a ridiculous plan, and Scott knew it. The chance of finding his friend was infinitesimally small. The one thing it could do, though, was let them know when the NSF had cleared the area. As soon as he was sure none of the NSF were around, no drones in the sky, he could call in Skybox, Garret and his team for a more proper search and rescue.
There was one other possibility. If Bartos still had his radio, Scott might be close enough to hear a call from his friend. Bartos had a habit of checking in on a very specific schedule when he was away from the base. Would he stick to that out here? Maybe.
He pedaled until dark and then kept going. Scott was beyond exhaustion. The adrenaline from today’s action had receded, leaving his body an empty shell. Even so, he had made the fifty-mile pass twice already. He pulled up next to an old farmhouse he’d spotted earlier and removed his pack. He ignored the house and instead climbed into the loft of the nearby haybarn. Part of the roof had collapsed. The smell of rotting hay combined with the musty tang from countless rats’ nests.
He dropped onto the floor and looked northward at the darkening sky. Stars were just beginning to emerge for their nightly display, but Scott ignored them and instead, focused on several that were unlike the others. First one, then another of the flickering lights were moving in the sky. Drones, he realized. That was good and bad. It meant the NSF was going all out to find who had done this. They wanted the people who attacked that squad. Did it also mean they knew about the escaped prisoner?
He had no way to know. He checked his GPS map, orienting it to give him a bearing on Yokena off to the northeast. Yes, there were a few drones there, but many, many more over what must be the crash area. They had to know Bartos was still out there. He would have the answers to who had attacked them, he would know where the supplies were.
Bartos was good, and Solo was incredible, but this was an army looking for them. Scott had no idea what condition either of them was in, but even at 100%, they would be no match against the NSF firepower and men. Scott watched as one of the lights that he thought was a stationary star now seemed to be moving and getting brighter. It was headed in his direction. Quickly he moved back under the barn roof that was still intact and unfolded a reflective mylar blanket and crawled beneath. He wasn’t sure if this would mask his heat signature, but it was something Skybox and Rollins had suggested.
Several times, he thought he heard the whine of the little drone engine, but in the darkness of the barn, he couldn’t be sure. His mind interpreted every noise as a danger. Eventually, the stress and fatigue of the day won out, and his body surrendered to sleep. The almost silent drones continued their dance across the sky.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Yokena, Mississippi
The Praetor commander had surveyed the battle scene at the farm, quickly realizing this was more than farmers fighting back. This had been a well-planned and executed assault by a small guerilla fighting force. It appeared the few NSF guarding the farmers had been overpowered. He assumed the captive workforce was liberated and may have even joined in the fighting. What came next, though, was surprising. There was clear evidence the liberators had then stayed on scene to ambush the supply crew coming to make the routine pick-up. Why would they have done that?
While the tactics were very solid and, in his mind, smelled of military planning and personnel, it wasn’t the Army. In fact, any of the branches would have moved in here in force, killed the NSF and taken what they wanted. Chances are, they would have then moved on to the closest of the aid camps, most likely the one a hundred miles back toward Jackson. So, it wasn’t the military….who then?
“Sir,” one of the NSF men approached cautiously. They all seemed to focus on the scorpion patch on his sleeve before looking at his face. “No way we can get a bearing on where they went. Too many tracks to follow. These farmers had trucks and tractors all over the place.”
He’d expected as much and dismissed the man without commenting. What was he doing out here going after what amounted to petty theft in his mind? It wasn’t the military, he should focus on other targets where the threat was more obvious. Something about this, though, something had his attention. Years in the service followed by years sharpening his spy craft gave him an intuition that he relied on. What am I missing?
Lifting the radio, he called, “Vincent, any signs from the escapee?”
A brief pause before, “Nothing, Archangel, no signs of anyone north or south of the wreck. We’ll expand it out farther tomorrow.”
He signed off and pocketed the two-way. He had tons of equipment and hundreds of men just looking for a target. Where are you hiding?
The barn had been destroyed by a nitrogen bomb. A simple mix of diesel fuel and fertilizer, both apparently available here by the tons. He surveyed the remainder of the scene. The house was taken out, too, apparently in the same blast since it had no signs of explosion other than the collapse. He walked up to the collapsed structure. Nothing recognizable remained other than part of the staircase and the front steps. He and his men had already been over everything here.
He walked up the steps to where the front door would have been, then turned and came back down. He stopped and went back up a step. Something…something didn’t feel right. He checked each of the steps again. There, one had a small bit more movement than the rest. He got down on the ground and used his tactical light to shine into the back of the wooden steps. Reaching in he pulled out a small device.
“Gotcha.”
The little metal unit was familiar to him. Not just the purpose, but this specific type. It was a clicker, a remote detonator. This version was exclusively used by only one military unit in the world. A clandestine branch known as Praetor. The device confirmed Archangel’s greatest fear, he was up against a fellow member of the Guard.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Solo put his nose close to Bartos' face. It bothered him that the man hadn’t moved much during the night, but air was being exhaled from his lungs. He lived. To Solo’s way of sensing—if he could breathe, he could fight. The simple logic would not have been too different from the man’s, had he been part of the internal conversation. Twice during the night, the dog had heard voices and seen lights in the distance. He’d wanted to go to investigate, but whatever bound him to this man was too strong. He somehow knew Bartos wouldn’t make it on his own, not in the condition he was in. Solo lay there throughout the day, and as the night fell, the man began to shiver. The air wasn’t cool, he sensed it was a bad sign and moved up against the man to share his warmth.