Military Fiction: THE MAC WALKER COLLECTION: A special ops military fiction collection...

by D. W. Ulsterman

  The second of Mac’s newly acquired cell mates was short and slight, with dark skin and eyes, a narrow face, and long, lanky black hair that hung to his shoulders. He avoided looking at Mac, his eyes remaining fixated on the concrete floor.

  The third man appeared to be the most dominant of the three. A few years younger than Mac, he was well over six foot, with broad, rounded shoulders, massive forearms, and a barrel chest. His hazel eyes were housed underneath a pair of massive dirty blonde eyebrows that matched a thatch of unruly hair that sat atop his head in distorted clumps and knots. A strong smell of body odor emanated from him, filling the entire cell with his stink.

  He’ll be the one I take on first...

  Mac was released from his shackles and told by the guards to step into the cell. Once inside, he turned to wave at the guards and then looked back at his three new cell mates.

  “Howdy boys! Love what you’ve done to the place!”

  The thin man moved to the far left corner of the twelve by twelve cell, pressing his body against the wall while the other two men remained standing in the middle of the cell, their eyes looking Mac up and down. The younger of the two looked particularly interested.

  Mac could hear the departing footsteps of the guards as he calmly regarded the two men staring at him.

  “Name’s Walker.”

  The younger and larger of the two men licked his lips, his eyes wide with anticipation. Mac watched as the man caressed the crotch of his orange jumpsuit with his right hand.

  “Hold him down, Frankie. Gonna love this sweet fish good.”

  Frankie, the older man with the tattooed skull, suddenly sprang at Mac, his arms outstretched. Mac’s right fist planted itself into Frankie’s nose – twice, with incredible speed. He intended the blows to be a warning to both men that this new cell mate was in fact, no easy pickings fish.

  Both of Frankie’s hands went to his face, his eyes streaming tears down his fleshy cheeks.

  “I think he broke my goddamn nose!”

  The taller man’s eyes narrowed as he sized Mac up.

  “Not right you hurting my friend like that.”

  Mac let out a sigh and shook his head.

  “Look man, this can go easy, or not. You even look at me like that again, and I’m gonna make you cry. And that’s not just me talking. I will literally make you cry, and cry loud enough that everyone in this place will know. So get your damn hand off yourself, stop eyeballing me, and sit down.”

  Frankie had recovered enough from the two punches to his nose that he moved back toward Mac.

  “He can’t stop both of us Motor.”

  Mac laughed as he pointed back at both men.

  “Ok, let’s try this again. Your name is Frankie, and your name is…Motor. You can call me Walker. Now I’ll tell you just one more time – sit the hell down NOW.”

  Frankie and Motor moved toward Mac, not realizing that in the close confines of the cell, their collective size actually made them much easier targets as they both were directly in front of Mac. The former Navy SEAL’s left hand jabbed into Frankie’s throat, while his right foot connected with the front of Motor’s left knee. Both men fell backwards, Motor’s hands clasping his now hyper-extended knee, and Frankie struggling for breath.

  The thin, short man who had been cowering against the wall in the corner of the cell looked back at Mac with a mixture of awe and appreciation as both Frankie and Nigel struggled to raise themselves up onto their respective bunks.

  Mac nodded toward the top bunk above where Motor sat.

  “That one mine?”

  The thin man nodded back at Mac, who in turn took two steps, placed his hands on the side of the metallic bunk frame, and catapulted himself smoothly onto the top bunk. Mac Walker then folded his arms behind his head and closed his eyes.

  “Hey Motor, could you do me a favor and take a shower tomorrow? You really stink, man.”

  Sitting on the lower bunk still massaging his knee, the prisoner known as Motor considered telling Mac to mind his own business, but then decided it would be better if he kept quiet and left this new cellmate alone.

  For now.

  XXIX.

  As he settled once again into the routine that was prison life, the days passed quickly for Mac Walker. It was nearly three weeks since he arrived inside of A Block that he received notification of a meeting with his new attorney, Finn Neeson. The message had been delivered by one of the prison administrators, who informed Mac he would be escorted to a secure meeting room the following day at 10:00 a.m. sharp. He would have twenty minutes to speak with his attorney and not a second more.

  That time had now arrived.

  Mac sat across a dark metal table from his attorney, his hands and feet shackled to the legs of the heavy table.

  “Hello again Mr. Walker. How are you doing?”

  Mac shrugged his shoulders as he looked back at Finn Neeson. He sensed something was bothering the man.

  “Doing well enough, considering. Don’t much care for getting reassigned to A Block, but nobody is messing with me at the moment, though I know plenty would like to, and eventually, somebody is gonna put up a challenge, but for now, things are just the day to day routine of waking up, eating, getting in and out of the shower room as quick as you can, and then heading back to the cell. It’s prison, right? That’s my life now.”

  The attorney shifted in his seat, his eyes indicating he wanted to say something, but was uncertain how to begin.

  “Just say it Mr. Neeson. What’s bothering you?”

  Finn Neeson looked down at his folded hands and then back up at Mac.

  “There’s some good news for you Mr. Walker. I have a lead on a video taken of the altercation at the gas station in Henderson. A trucker saw the whole thing. I’m trying to set up a meeting with him to secure the footage, but he’s afraid. Paranoid the government is watching him. Watching everyone who was there that day.”

  Mac snorted.

  “Paranoid? Yeah – he should be. So what’s the other news you’re avoiding telling me about?”

  The attorney shifted in his seat again, then cleared his throat.

  “Uh, it’s about Benjamin Williams, Mac. He’s uh…he’s dead.”

  Mac Walker sat silently for nearly a minute, his eyes unblinking as they stared back at Finn Neeson. Finally he spoke.

  “Who killed him? Was it Dasha Al Marri? Her errand boy Nigel?”

  The attorney shook his head.

  “We don’t know that. The investigation concluded it was…suicide. A single gunshot to the head – self inflicted. In the kitchen of his home, his family found him.”

  Mac’s eyes burned rage as the right corner of his mouth twitched.

  “Benny was the most positive man I ever knew Mr. Neeson, and his wife and kids were everything to him. No way he shoots himself so that his own family would find him like that. Didn’t you have people watching him? Where were they?”

  Finn Neeson nodded.

  “Yes, we had a man parked right outside the home. He didn’t hear anything. No gunshot.”

  Mac Walker’s voice issued forth like a slowly emerging volcanic eruption, growing in power and rage with each word he spoke, although the volume of his voice remained the same.

  “What was the gun they found on Benny? The one they say he used to shoot himself?”

  The attorney shuffled through a collection of papers in the binder the sat in front of him before answering.

  “It was a 22 caliber Ruger.”

  Mac raised his head back against his shoulders and closed his eyes.

  “Benny never used a 22 caliber. None of us did. What’s the report say about the barrel? Was it threaded?”

  Finn Neeson looked through the paperwork again and then shook his head.

  “Nothing here that specific about the weapon Mr. Walker.”

  Mac lowered his head again and took a deep breath.

  “That’s because if the barrel was threaded, that means it was capable o
f using a silencer. And that is why your man outside the house didn’t hear a gunshot. Somebody got inside that house, shot Benny in the head, removed the silencer, and then left the weapon in the kitchen next to him.”

  The attorney offered no counter argument to Mac’s statement on what really happened to Benjamin Williams.

  “Mr. Meyer feels much the same as you do Mr. Walker. He wishes to extend his deepest regret at the loss of your friend’s life, and assures you we are doing everything we can to get you released from this prison.”

  Mac shook his head as his fists clenched and unclenched under the table.

  “Me getting out of here won’t bring Benny back. I’m the last one left now. The last one from the Benghazi assignment. When it came to keeping them safe…”

  Finn Neeson felt the great sadness and burden Mac Walker felt for the deaths of his friends.

  “You must continue to fight Mr. Walker. You owe your fallen comrades that much.”

  Mac Walker strained against his bonds as he leaned across the desk, his eyes firing bullets back at the attorney.

  “Don’t tell me who and what I owe.”

  The attorney looked back at Mac, his own eyes returning fire.

  “I will continue to fight for you Mr. Walker, even if you’re too weak to fight for yourself. You’re not the only victim of this government - far from it. I’ve seen men and women with lives torn apart, their own friends and family dead, because of no more than what they were thought to know. Mr. Meyer has demanded we make you our single priority now. For whatever reason, he feels you are worth that effort. So, I will do what he asks, even if you want to put up your wall, wallow in your sadness or guilt, and consider living your days out in this god forsaken prison. I risk my own life to help people like you Mr. Walker. My life, and perhaps even the lives of my family. I understand what’s at stake here. Do you?”

  The rage Mac felt over the news of Benny’s death began to subside. The attorney was right – he needed to keep fighting. It’s what Benny, Jack, or Minnick would have done. Mac knew Finn Neeson was right – he owed them that much.

  “Oh, I’ll fight Mr. Neeson. You get me out of this place, I’ll find who killed Benny, and rip the life from them. I promise you that. You do your job, and I’ll do mine.”

  XXX.

  Two days after his meeting with Finn Neeson, Mac lay on his bunk inside of his cell, alone in his own thoughts. Most of the other prisoners were either at the cafeteria for dinner service, or watching television in the always overcrowded recreation center.

  “Walker – get up! They’re coming for you!”

  The whispered voice was from one of Mac’s cell mates, the thin, dark skinned man named Carlos. Carlos had been a used car dealer who also ran a small marijuana growing operation underneath the service garage of his dealership. He had been inside Allenwood for nearly a year, most of it spent as a designated sex toy for several of the more aggressive inmates. Mac had warned off both of his other two cell mates, Frankie and Motor, that Carlos was to be left alone.

  They didn’t much like that order, and threatened Mac that he would begetting his – soon.

  It appeared they intended to make good on that threat today.

  “Carlos – how many?”

  Carlos looked fearfully down the corridor, his face a mask of near panic. He knew that if Mac Walker was beaten, many of the men involved would then resume using him as their pleasure slave.

  “At least ten of them. Motor says he paid off the guards to give them twenty minutes to take care of you. They’re on their way right now. You gotta hide!”

  Mac jumped down from his bunk and put a hand on Carlos’s right shoulder.

  “I need you to find a guy named Chopper. I was told he might be interested in helping me out. Do you know who is?”

  Carlos nodded quickly, his head again turning to look down the corridor. Mac noted there were no guards in sight.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard of him. Big bearded guy, he’s older. Some kind of war veteran or something. He’s probably watching the television – him and some other guys always watch Duck Dynasty around this time. Like clockwork.”

  Mac offered Carlos a reassuring smile.

  “Ok, that’s good Carlos. Get down there and tell this Chopper that a friend of Shanks from C-Block needs his help. Can your remember that?”

  Carlos nodded again and then turned to go just as the sound of approaching footsteps echoed against the concrete walls of Allenwood Prison’s A-Block. Just as Carlos turned a corner, from the opposite side of the corridor, Mac saw the large figure of Motor come into view. At least eight other men were following close behind him.

  “Coming for you Walker! You hear me? Gonna mess you up every which way, boy! We’re all gonna have our turn with you!”

  Mac placed himself at the entrance to his cell. It was only wide enough to allow two men to enter at the same time, which would make it easier to defend than if he confronted the men in the corridor. He might be able to hold them off long enough until help arrived.

  If it ever did.

  Motor stood just outside the cell entrance, his eyes glaring back at Mac hungrily.

  “Little pig, little pig, you’re gonna let me in. ALL THE WAY IN.”

  Mac Walker made certain his mind and body were focused, yet relaxed, the state of mind he put himself into when he knew the killing of human beings was about to commence.

  “That little white boy is the badass you all been telling me about? He ain’t nothin’ but a soft little pretty white bitch!”

  The source of the voice that bellowed from behind Motor pushed its way through the small mob gathered outside Mac’s cell. It belonged to a hugely fat black man whose chin and neck rolled into one another as he spoke. The prison issued orange jumper looked to be in danger of ripping apart with every movement of his massively proportioned body. Mac was amazed anyone could eat enough of the prison food to maintain that much body weight. The man had to be nearly five hundred pounds.

  “So you the one they call Walker, huh?”

  Mac looked the man up and down and then shook his head.

  “You are one fat, ugly, son-of-a-bitch.”

  The morbidly obese black man laughed back at Mac.

  “Uh-huh – you talking like a sweet little bitch. Mmmmm…you gonna taste nice. Mountain gonna make you squeal real loud now. Uh-huh. Now you all drag this little piece of ass on out here.”

  Mac had little actual awareness of his movements following Mountain’s order for the others to bring him out into the corridor. He only knew he punched, kicked, gouged, slashed, and tore anything and everyone he could, the faces and bodies a blur of blood, bone, and movement. He held off anyone from entering the cell for several minutes, long enough in fact, to allow himself a moment to look back defiantly at the men still gathered outside the cell.

  Motor was leaning against a far wall, his breathing coming in whistling gasps, a long gash running from below his left eye, cut open by one of Mac’s blows. Two other men were in as bad as shape as well, one of them holding onto his right side, two broken ribs making each breath agony.

  Mac’s knuckles were split open in several places, his hands covered in his own blood, and the blood of the other men. He lifted those hands up and motioned toward those who would see him taken.

  “C’mon then – I ain’t done kicking the shit out of you just yet.”

  None of the men moved toward Mac’s cells, their eyes glancing over to Mountain, waiting to see what he intended to do about the standoff. Mountain in turn looked back at Mac, his oddly bright, pink tongue licking his lips.

  The big man moved far faster than Mac would have thought possible as he rushed into Mac’s cell. The momentum created by the moving mass of Mountain’s body pushed Mac backwards across the cell and into the back wall, the force of the impact expelling the breath from Mac’s lungs.

  Even with the oxygen momentarily dissipated from his body, Mac Walker fought like a caged animal, his fists, knees, and fee
t repeatedly striking blows onto the gelatinous mass that was Mountain. Mac could hear the big man’s breathing growing louder as he struggled to hold Mac down by wrapping his arms around him.

  Excruciating pain shot out from Mac’s right shoulder and he looked down to see Mountain’s teeth biting down directly onto his shoulder bone, Mac’s blood pouring out from the sides of Mountain’s mouth.

  The former Navy SEAL cried out in agonized rage, and with his hands and arms secured against Mountain’s body, did the only thing he could.