As his head rose up from the coal trailer to look into the back of the locomotive, Reese found himself staring directly into the eyes of the Russian glaring back at him.
“What do you want?”
Reese continued to pull himself out of the coal trailer before answering the question, which caused the Russian to merely repeat it with more volume.
“What do you want?”
The Russian was covered entirely in dark soot, the whites of his eyes the only place not inked in blackness. Behind him the considerable heat from the engine’s coal-burning firebox washed over Reese, causing him to already begin sweating.
Losing patience, the Russian grabbed the front of Reese’s jacket with one blackened hand and pulled him down in front of him.
“What do you want?”
Reese removed the Russian’s hand from his coat and used his thumb to motion behind him.
“We were wondering why you’re slowing the train down.”
The Russian nodded and then turned to point at a small metallic box with four red lights on top of it. One of the lights was blinking.
“Trouble. Something ahead of us on the track. That signal tells me if track is clear or not. Track is not clear. Two miles ahead, not clear. We stop, walk up, and find out why.”
Without waiting for Reese to respond to the information, the Russian turned fully around and pulled back a lever that applied yet more brake pressure, causing the train’s speed to slow even further. Within minutes, the train stopped completely.
The Russian jumped from the locomotive and began making his way to the back of the train as Reese followed him.
Mac and the others had already exited the passenger car and met the Russian halfway. Both Mac and Bear were holding drawn handguns. Cooper stood just behind them with Brando sitting at his side.
“Something blocking the track up ahead. Need to go see what it is. Could be trap. Could be nothing. Bring guns.”
Having given his reason for stopping, the Russian turned around and began walking back toward the front of the train as Mac nodded toward the passenger car.
“Get the rifles Bear, and an extra magazine for each one. Also make sure we all have our communicators in case we’re separated, and grab the sight scope too. We’ll follow this Russian down the track to see whatever is bothering him, but if things go to shit, then we are on our own. You follow my lead - my orders. Understood?”
Everyone in the group nodded. Bear climbed back into the passenger car and then re-emerged a few minutes later carrying two M16 rifles they had taken with them from Cooper’s arsenal back at his ranch. As Bear was stepping down from the passenger car, the Russian was returning to the group with his own AK-47 under his arm.
Mac shook his head and pointed to the Russian’s rifle.
“Over the years I’ve heard so many people tell me the AK is the better weapon. No way, no how. Slower shooting, less accurate, and not nearly as reliable as the word of mouth makes it out to be. I’ll be carrying one of those American-made M16s, thank you very much.”
The Russian looked down at his rifle and then over at Mac as he took one of the M16s from Bear.
“AK-47 a better gun. More powerful. Russian. You’re holding a toy gun.”
Cooper Wyse checked both of his Colt shooters, before returning them to their holsters.
“I’d just as soon not need to use any of them.”
The Russian looked back toward the train tracks and motioned for the others to follow him.
“Ok – let’s go.”
For twenty minutes the group walked slowly down the train tracks as the front of the locomotive disappeared behind them. There was no sign of anything amiss, but the farther the group walked, the more intensely Mac’s eyes stared out in front of them.
The Russian continued to appear almost bored, his eyes looking down at his feet as he stepped along the dark, oil stained wood railroad ties that lay between the tracks.
Dublin was the first to point out potential trouble as her eyes caught a glint of something well in front of them. She could not tell if it was metallic, or glass, but her eyes definitely spotted it momentarily flashing before disappearing.
Mac had the group stop as he scanned the area trying to determine the best way to sneak up on whatever might be ahead of them. He took out the sight scope Bear had retrieved from the train and used it to look down the tracks.
“Tracks bend to the left up ahead, so I can’t see farther than that. We’re going to go off the tracks here, walk along them on the right keeping our heads down. That way the rise in the ground where the tracks are will provide us at least a little cover and protection if we need it.
The Russian shook his head while continuing to walk down the center of the tracks.
“I don’t hide. I’ll go to see what is up there. You can come. You can stay here. I don’t care either way.”
Mac was about to object but then changed his mind. The Russian would likely divert the attention of whatever was up ahead, and allow them a great chance of sneaking up on them from another direction.
“Ok – let him go. We’ll do just like I said. Head down there, Keep to the right of the tracks, and see what’s what.”
The group walked no more than a hundred more yards before Mac began to cough repeatedly. He continued moving forward and waved the rest of the group on.
“Come on…keep going.”
Cooper Wyse put his hand on Mac’s shoulder to get the older man to stop.
“You keep coughing like that Mac and everyone within a square mile will hear us coming.”
Mac’s eyes flashed angrily before realizing Cooper was right.
“I know – just give me a second to catch my breath here. Can’t seem to shake this cold, or whatever it is. I’ll be fine.”
The group waited another minute and then Mac began walking again.
“Ok, I’m good. Let’s go.”
The top of the Russian’s head could be seen above the tracks as he casually walked in front of the group about forty yards ahead. He was whistling.
A shout issued from directly in front of the Russian. It was in Arabic. Mac cocked his head to the left and then told the others that whoever was up ahead on the tracks intended to take all goods from the train.
The Russian stopped and replied in his own native tongue, causing the Arabic voice to scream back angrily in response. The Russian in turn replied in English.
“I don’t speak your language. Speak English, or shut up and get off of my train tracks!”
Silence from the Arabic speaking voice followed the Russian’s words. This silence was then shattered as several rounds of gunfire rang out. Yakov felt a moment of pressure in the top portion of his left shoulder and looked down to see a small bullet hole having ripped through the exterior of his heavy wool jacket. This pressure was soon followed by a increasingly throbbing pain.
He had been shot.
“Ok. You want to play with guns? Yakov show you how to play with guns!”
The Russian aimed the AK-47 in front of him and fired several rounds back in the direction of the Arabic speaking voice. As he did that, Mac and the others sprinted forward on the left side of the train tracks, crouching down in the hopes of staying out of view. Mac hoped that the Russian was smart enough to not point his weapon in their direction.
Everyone in the group looked up in shock as the Russian raced by on the train tracks above them, still firing his gun, a wide smile flashing beneath his massive beard as his long black and grey hair flew out behind him. Mac rolled his eyes at Yakov’s overly aggressive attack.
“Damn Russians.”
A large explosion sounded no more than twenty yards behind the group. Everyone looked back to see the detonation rise up into the sky. Mac’s jaw set as he motioned the group forward again.
“Grenade. The Russian is damn lucky they don’t know how to throw.”
More back and forth rifle fire sounded in front of them. The Russian was jamming another ma
gazine into his AK-47 as he glanced to his left and then waved his right arm forward.
“C’mon! We get those Muslim dogs!”
Bear, the tallest of the group, was able to spot at least eight men racing across the tracks just a hundred feet in front of them.
“Got at least eight in front of us, Mac. All armed.” Another grenade blast detonated just on the other side of the tracks, sending debris landing on top of the heads of Mac and the others and causing the Russian to jump and roll down to them from the top of the train tracks. He grimaced as he landed hard on his left shoulder.
Mac began to move forward again, the others all following. It appeared even Yakov had decided to defer to Mac’s expertise. The voices of the Muslim bandits could be heard just on the others side of the tracks. Mac leaned down and whispered to the group.
“Yakov, Bear, and me will go ahead another hundred yards or so and then make our way back to their location, guns firing. Give us just five minutes. You sit here as quietly as possible. As soon as you hear us shooting, you join in.”
Reese nodded silently as Cooper Wyse removed both of his Colt pistols from their holster. Dublin reached out to grab Mac’s forearm, telling him to be careful.
Mac’s group was no more than thirty feet ahead of where Reese, Dublin and Cooper waited when the third grenade went off directly between them. Mac, Bear, and Yakov were thrown forward and landed, unmoving. Reese felt himself carried backward, where he landed and then tried to roll over to his side, but his body refused his attempt. Cooper Wyse too was thrown backwards, where he remained motionless. Dublin, who was just behind Reese when the grenade detonated, was thrown to the left. Her head ringing, she rolled over onto her hands and knees while trying to replace the breath that had been knocked from her lungs. Her vision blurred and she felt herself on the verge of passing out. A voice seemingly coming from a great distance away, shouted above her excitedly as she felt herself being lifted up. This calmed her, as she was certain it was likely Reese taking her to safety. Her damaged awareness, still clouded by the grenade’s explosion, was unable to warn her she was being carried away by one of the Muslim bandits.
XXXII.
The Great Consulate was nervous. He was always nervous when his adviser stopped by for their regularly scheduled visit. Those visits used to be daily, then weekly, but now, thankfully, they came only once per month. Still, he would much rather they not came at all. He was too busy playing with his seeker in the killing room, and planning to burn the world for its ungrateful treatment of his legacy as a living and breathing god among the wretched creatures called the human race.
Only she had access to his private residence atop the New United Nations building in New York. She had placed him there years ago, soon after he was made Great Consulate. There he remained, and would remain, likely for the remainder of the world’s existence, which he knew to be coming to an end shortly. It was his will – and after all, he was a god.
The entrance door chimed the adviser’s arrival. He could hear her light steps as she made her way to his office – a large, ornately furnished room overlooking the New York skyline. The Great Consulate grabbed a handful of candy corns and waited behind his desk as the smoke from his most recently lit cigarette drifted upwards to the ceiling.
Somehow the adviser had hardly aged in all the years since their mutual rise to power. The Great Consulate, though a god, knew his body both looked and felt older, and yet, she remained a relatively vibrant, older woman. She was in fact, nearly five years older than him. She was already in her eighties, and yet, somehow remained much the same as she appeared to him over three decades ago.
“Hello, Great Consulate.”
Try as he might to conceal it, he cringed at the sound of her voice, as his stomach tightened in fear.
“Welcome, Adviser. Please, sit down.”
She took one of the two large leather seats on the opposite side of his desk, placing her folded hands on his desk and leaning in to look at him with her withering, cold, dark eyes. Those eyes had always made him uncomfortable. They seemed to know his thoughts, his fears, his weakness.
“You have no weakness – you are a god!”
The voice had returned to him, bolstering the Great Consulate’s confidence as he looked back at the adviser. A small smile crept across his thin, ashen face.
The adviser appeared to not like his smile, her eyes narrowing just slightly as they remained staring at him.
“Something amusing to you?”
The Great Consulate shook his head, panic again rising up inside of him.
“No. Please, continue with your update.”
She sat back in her chair, though her eyes remained fixated on him.
“Did you receive the notification of your status as Great Consulate Emeritus?”
The Great Consulate nodded slowly.
“I did.”
She waited for him to say more. He refused to do so, even as the rage of that notification reignited within him.
“You cannot trust her. She was the one who pushed the Consul to strip you of your authority.”
The voice was going against his adviser? Could it be true? Was she in fact responsible?
The adviser spoke again.
“It is effective immediately – has in fact been in effect for days already. You didn’t respond to my electronic message, so I wanted to confirm you knew your revised status in person. That is my purpose here today. I will continue to call you by your former title, but the Consul will not.”
The voice cried out inside of the Great Consulate’s mind.
“See! She was the one! This is her doing! She is a traitor to a god!”
The Great Consulate smiled back at the adviser, hoping he appeared calm and fully in control of his emotions.
“Did you offer any opposition to the Consul’s directive?”
The adviser shook her head.
“I did not.”
The Great Consulate leaned forward in his chair, his diseased, black-gummed smile growing wider.
“And why not?”
A corner of the adviser’s upper lip curled downward slightly as she smelled something foul and realized the Great Consulate was urinating below his desk.
“It was the right decision for the New United Nations. The Saudis agreed. You have served us, and them, well. It is now time to move on. You should do the same. We will continue to provide for you of course. You can remain here at the residence if you choose, or another location can be set up as well.”
The Great Consulate’s voice cried out a warning to him.
“She lies! They will kill you! She must not leave this place!”
Sensing some new danger in the Great Consulate’s eyes, the adviser stood up from the chair.
“We are already directing our drone program to prepare for the attack on Alaska to bring them back into compliance. The Saudis have also paid one of the Canadian warlords to strike at Juneau within days. They have been given significant weapons to accomplish this. It is our intention to make the Alaskans have to send all resources to Juneau to deal with the Muslim attack, and then send in our drones from the west and north. Our military directors have estimated we will have defeated the Alaskan rebels within seventy two hours. The Texas Resistance is already fragmenting under our repeated drone bombings. We have pushed them down into Mexico, where the cartels will begin to attack them from the south as well. Soon this pathetic rebellion will be fully terminated, and the entire former United States will be brought back into full compliance of the mandates.”
The Great Consulate sat silently, processing the information the adviser had just presented to him. The voice was right – she had betrayed him.
“You speak as if you are now the Great Consulate. Are you?”
The adviser paused, and then shook her head.
“No, only acting Great Consulate until a formal vote can take place.”
The voice cried out again inside the Great Consulate’s mind.
�
��Kill her! Kill her now! She has defied a god!”
The Great Consulate rose from his chair, his body trembling with both the betrayal of his adviser, and the fear of contemplating taking revenge. He had never acted against her, and the thought of doing so now panicked him.
She pointed a perfectly manicured finger at him.
“Sit down.”
The Great Consulate obeyed without thinking, his body complying with the request. He looked back up at the adviser as the fire of rage began to burn hotter within him. The adviser, thinking him having returned fully to his passive self, smiled back down at him.
Military Fiction: THE MAC WALKER COLLECTION: A special ops military fiction collection... Page 121