by A. American
Ian came up beside and leaned back over the hood of the wagon, resting on his elbows. “Anything out there worth looking at?” He asked.
I shook my head. “Nah. I was up here earlier today. We’ve got everything we need. The Altoona market is a little better, I think.”
As I watched the crowd, two men suddenly stood out. I hit Ian on the arm. “Hey, man.” Nodding my head, I said, “Look at those two guys right there.” He looked where I indicated. “Notice anything funny about them?”
He shrugged. “Besides the tacky track suits?”
Nodding, I replied. “There’s the tacky track suits. What looks like new shoes. They’re clean shaven and their hair is short.”
“They look like some eastern European douchebags.” Perez added as he took a drag on his smoke.
“They do, don’t they.” Ian and Perez suddenly caught onto what I was thinking.
Ian straightened up. “They’re trading for food too.”
“Yeah. Lots of it from the looks of those bags,” Perez replied.
Standing up, I said, “Let’s go see what they’re trading with. I’m curious.”
The two men wandered around the stalls looking at the offerings of produce, eggs and the occasional fish or other meat. It appeared to me they were very deliberately not paying attention to us. I walked over to a small table where a bearded man in overalls and nothing else was trying to barter eggs. He was looking at something in his hand. “Howdy,” I said.
He looked up. “Howdy, yerself. Lookin’ for some eggs?”
I picked up one of the brown eggs and inspected it before replacing it in the bowl. “No. I’m curious. What did those guys over there trade for your eggs?”
The man smiled and held up a small gold coin. “He traded me this.”
“Can I see it?”
Eyeing me suspiciously, he said, “You going to give it back to me, Sheriff?”
I laughed. “Yeah, I’ll give it back. Just curious what it is.”
He dropped it into my hand. “It’s an African gold coin.”
I saw he was indeed right. It was a tenth ounce Kruggerand. I handed it back to him. “Nice swap for some eggs.”
He looked at the coin in his palm. “Yeah it was. I give ‘em three dozen.”
With a nod, I said, “Thanks.”
We took a couple of steps away and I told the guys, “We need to have a word with those two.”
Ian was looking around. “You think they’re alone?”
I shrugged. “Hell if I know.”
“We should wait until they leave the market. If there’s any shooting, we don’t want any civilians getting killed,” Perez said.
“Good idea. Go over there and get Jamie and Lee Ann. Let them know what’s up. Keep an eye on those guys. When they leave, we’ll follow them.” I said.
“Keep an eye out for anyone else,” Ian said, and added, “I bet they have an over-watch someplace.”
Considering the statement, I said, “I’m going to wander over to the wagon and call Sheffield and get them to send some folks down here.”
“Good idea,” Perez said as we parted ways.
I made my way back to the buggy and keyed my radio. “Hey, Eustis, you guys listening?”
“Go ahead, Morgan,” Livingston replied.
“I need you guys to get some people up to the Umatilla Kangaroo as quick as you can.”
“What’s up?” He asked.
“I think we may have some Russian visitors in town.”
His reply was less than assuring. “What?”
A little irritated, I said, “Just get some people up here. Now!”
With that done, I walked back over to Ian. The two men that we were watching were at the edge of the market. There was nothing else for them to look at, but they were delaying leaving, or so it appeared. I maneuvered us away from them, to give them some space. It didn’t take long for them to take the opportunity to leave the market.
They headed west down 450, away from the market. I told Ian and Perez to get the wagon and bring it around. Catching Jamie’s eye, I motioned for her to follow them. We met at the corner of the Kangaroo lot. The two men were about a block away when I heard the wagon start up. Ian was smart and didn’t just drive through the lot. He went through the parking lot of the post office and came out on Kentucky Ave.
When the two men saw the wagon moving towards them, they started to run. Quickly, they had a whole block lead on us. But Ian was behind the wheel and raced towards them as we started to run. One of the men pulled out a pistol and fired at Ian. Jamie and I both fired back, dropping him in the street. The other one tried to get away on foot.
But it was futile. Ian came up close to him and Perez swung his rifle like a ball bat, knocking him down. We got to them just as Ian was rolling him over. The man was shouting and wrestling with Ian. I ran up and kicked him in the head, taking the fight out of him. We were all on the side of the buggy when a shot rang out. I immediately grabbed Lee Ann and pulled her to the ground.
The first shot was followed by an intense barrage of fully automatic fire. From where I was lying on the ground, I could see a truck of some kind on 450 to our west. It was obviously military, but small. We all began to return fire from under the wagon. Our return fire slowed the advance of the truck, but the machinegun fire continued. The incoming rounds snapped as they passed us and splattered the hot asphalt in front of us that burned our skin. Bullets were hammering into the armored panels on the side of Sarge’s war wagon. Combined with our return fire, the sound was hellish.
Suddenly, there was the sound of a heavier weapon firing from behind us. I looked over my shoulder to see one of the new MRAPs we’d confiscated from the DHS, its Ma Duce machinegun working away. The gunner was holding the trigger down on the joystick and the old Browning was working hard.
Looking back under the bug, I saw the small truck start to back away. The large fifty-cal rounds skipped off the road in front of it as well as slammed into it. I could clearly see large holes in the windshield. The truck continued to back up but veered off the road and rammed into a house. There was more fire now pouring into the truck as another MRAP had joined the first, along with a couple of Hummers.
Someone called a ceasefire and it was suddenly quiet, though my ears were ringing ridiculously loud. I looked at Lee Ann. She was reloading her H&K, and two empty mags lay on the road beside her. “You OK?” I asked.
She nodded. “Yeah, my elbows are burned from the road. Are you ok?”
I looked around and replied. “Yeah. I think so.” And I stood up.
Ian was sitting on the one man we’d caught. He wasn’t saying anything. It wasn’t until I took a second look I realized he wasn’t conscious. “Is he alive?” I asked.
Ian looked down at him, then rolled him over. A large section of his forehead was missing above his left eye. “Uh, that’d be a negative.”
“No shit,” I replied.
I heard the unmistakable voice of Sarge barking, “I can’t leave you fucktards alone for a damn minute, can I?”
He and the guys got out of one of the Hummers and walked up to us. Dalton looked down at the man on the ground. “Hmm. Ain’t getting much out of him.”
Doc quickly knelt beside the man, but it was obvious there was nothing to be done for him.
Sarge nodded before replying, “Let’s go check out the truck and see what’s in there.”
A line of men had formed in the street and we slowly approached the truck. Knowing that MRAP was right behind us with its large weapon was reassuring. Coming closer to the truck, I could see blood dripping out from the passenger door. The driver had reversed when the heavy rounds started slamming into it. It had veered off the road and come to rest on the front steps of a small house. The truck sat askew with the left rear tire nearly onto the front porch.
Once at the truck, Dalton pulled the passenger door open and stepped back, his rifle to his shoulder. But it was obvious these men were no longer a threat.
The two men inside were dead. Really dead. Fifty caliber bullets do horrible things to a human body. Not to mention the small truck. Steam poured form under the hood with a hissing sizzling sound. Coolant, motor oil and other fluids leaked from under the vehicle onto the painted concrete walkway.
Dalton leaned into the truck and retrieved an AK-74 and slung it over his shoulder. “I’m keeping this.” He then grabbed what was left of the man in the passenger seat and pulled it out into the yard.
Mike walked around to the driver side and yanked that door open. “Holy shit!” He shouted. “Check it out. He lost his head!”
The windshield was shattered and I couldn’t really see through it, so I stepped up behind him. “Oh damn,” I said. “That’s fuckin’ gross.” It looked like the driver took one of those huge fifty-cal rounds right in the grape. It busted like an over-ripe melon.
But I was more interested in the truck and asked, “What is this thing?”
“It’s a Gaz Tigr,” Dalton replied as he pulled a pistol from a holster on the body he knelt beside. Looking at the pistol, he added, “I’ve never seen one of these for real. Only read about them. Think I’ll keep it too.”
“What is it?” I asked.
Standing up, he replied, “It’s a Russian 9mm Grach.”
“Let’s see what else is in this thing,” Sarge said.
The truck was full of weapons and ammo. Not to mention the assorted gear men need to conduct combat missions. There were radios, GPS units. Personal kits that disturbingly held family photos and the like. I was sorting through one of the packs. It was kind of interesting to get a glimpse into the life of a man I didn’t know by seeing what he carried.
The one thing that we found extremely odd was that each of the men, even the ones killed back at the market, carried a cell phone. I collected them all. “What are you going to do with those?” Livingston asked.
“There’s a shitload of information in these. I’ll go through them and see what I find.”
As we went through the equipment, laying it out in the street, a larger crowd began to form. They peppered us with questions to the point they got on Sarge’s nerves. He pointed at a couple of the Guardsmen and told them to push the crowd back. The men did as instructed, and we were again able to focus on the task at hand.
Perez wandered over with the ever-present cigarette in his lips. He walked straight to the bodies and began searching the pockets. After a moment, he smiled and stood, “I knew they would have some!” He held a pack of Russian-made cigarettes in his hand.
“Is that all you’re worried about?” Ian asked.
Stuffing the pack into a pocket, he said, “Priorities, my man.” Looking at me, he added, “We have another problem. Two tires are flat on that wagon over there.”
I looked back at Sarge’s buggy. “Oh, you’re shittin’ me.”
Perez shook his head. “I wouldn’t shit you; you’re my favorite turd.”
I looked at Sarge. He was shaking his head. “Good job, dipshit.”
“It ain’t my fault!” I shot back.
From the crowd, a man said, “I can fix them tires for you.”
I looked back to see who was talking. He was a skinny bearded man, like most are today. I waved him over and asked, “How can you do that?”
He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “I got everything I need back at the shop. I can break them off and patch them.” His eyes darted back and forth before adding, “But it’ll cost you.”
Of course it will, I thought. “And what’s it going to cost me?”
The man nodded at Perez, “A pack of them commie smokes.” He licked his lips as he rubbed his chin. “I haven’t had a smoke in a long, long time.”
Perez looked back, “No.”
I held my hand out, “Give ‘em up.”
Perez got indignant. “Hell no! Give him something else!”
“I don’t want nuthin’ else.” The man replied.
Jamie stepped around from the back of the truck. She’d been back there digging through the equipment and said, “Here, you can have one of mine.” She tossed a pack of cigarettes to the man. Seeing them, he reached out as if he were being offered something from heaven.
I reached out and snatched the pack out of the air. “Fix the tires,” I said, waving the pack at him. “Then you can have these.”
The man looked as though he was just told there was no Santa Clause. Licking his lips again, he said, “Give me one. Just one.”
I opened the pack and shook a smoke out and handed it over. He took it and closed his eyes and ran it under his nose as he took in the aroma of the tobacco. Placing it in his lips, he reached to his pocket where any smoker would keep a lighter. But he patted his pocket and looked up desperately. “Anyone got a light?”
Perez stepped over and lit the man’s cigarette. He inhaled deeply, savoring the taste and smell of the tobacco for real this time. After holding it in for a long moment, he blew the smoke out. A smile crossed his face and he muttered, “Whew, head rush. Damn that’s good.”
I held the pack up. “Get on those tires and these are yours.”
With a look of determination and the fag clenched in his teeth, the man nodded at me and quickly departed. My attention was turned back to Sarge, who I could hear hollering about something.
“What in the hell are you bunch of booger-eatin’ knuckle draggers thinking?” He shouted.
Mike’s arms were full of things from the truck. He looked at Sarge confused. “What?”
“You ain’t takin’ none of that shit! All of that goes with Morgan back to the ranch so we can go through it all very carefully!” Sarge replied.
Mike looked at his haul of loot. “What do you think you’re going to find in this stuff?”
“Well, I don’t know,” Sarge replied quietly. Then shouted, “That’s why I want to go through it all, you numbskull! Take that shit and dump it into the wagon.”
Mike looked at Dalton. “Why’s he gets to keep that AK and pistol?”
Sarge crossed his arms over his chest. “You really going to screw with that big man? He’d pull yer arms outta their sockets.”
Mike looked back at Dalton. Dalton held his arms out in front of him, then jerked them out to his sides while making a popping sound. Mike’s head went back and he asked, “You wouldn’t?”
Dalton nodded. “Oh yeah. I’ve seen me do it.”
“Put that shit in the wagon, Mikey,” Sarge said.
Butt hurt, Mike started towards the wagon, “This is bullshit.”
As he passed me, I said, “Don’t worry, you’ll get it back.”
Mike smiled. “Thanks, Morg. You’re all right.” He looked back at Sarge and added, “Not like these other assholes.”
“You’ll get it back after I take what I want from it,” I said with a laugh.
Mike looked back at me. His lips were curled into a sneer. “You’re a dickhead. You know that?” I flipped the collar of my shirt up and pulled my head down to my shoulders. Sarge started laughing as Mike stomped off towards the buggy.
Sheffield walked up and said, “This is all very entertaining. But what are we going to do about this?”
Confused, Sarge asked, “About what?”
Annoyed, Sheffield held his hands out, “This! We’ve got dead Russians in town!”
Sarge rubbed his chin and looked thoughtful for a second. “I see what you mean.” Looking at Sheffield, he said, “I think we should kill ‘em. Oh wait. We already did that!”
Sheffield shook his head. “Would you stop being an asshole for just a minute? We’ve heard rumors that there were Russians. But now we know there are. What are we going to do?”
“Calm down, Captain.” Sarge said. “We’ll deal with them as they show up. There isn’t much we can do.” Sarge looked at me and asked, “What exactly happened here?” I took a few minutes to lay out what happened. Sarge, Sheffield and Livingston listened carefully until I finished.
“Where are the two you saw in
the market?” Livingston asked.
I pointed back down the road towards the buggy. “They’re back there.”
“Let’s go have a look at them,” Sarge said.
We walked back up the road to the buggy. The man I’d given the smoke to was there, jacking the buggy up. The Russian we’d caught was still there on the far side of it. I rolled him over so they could see him. Sarge studied the man for a minute before speaking.
“What is with these Russians and their fetish with track suits?”
Sheffield looked at him and asked, “That’s what you’re wondering about?”
Sarge pointed at the body. “Look at him. They were obviously trying to get some food. Maybe a little intel at the same time.” Sarge looked at me and asked, “You said they were trading for food?”
I nodded. “Yeah. They traded one guy a tenth ounce gold coin for a few dozen eggs.”
“Did you hear ‘em talk?” Sarge asked.
Shaking my head, I replied, “No. But we could go back to the market and find the folks they traded with.”
“Let’s go do that,” Sarge said.
As we walked back to the market just down the road, we passed the body of the first man we shot. There were two Guardsmen there keeping people away from it. Sarge stopped and asked, “Did he have anything on him?”
One of the men shook his head. “Not really. A wallet and the pistol was about it.”
“I already got the phone he had,” I said.
Sheffield shook his head. “I don’t get why they had phones. There’s no service here.”
Sarge held out his hand, “Let me see one of those phones.” I handed it to him and he looked at it. “Their cell systems are different than ours here. Most of the world uses a different type that actually provides better service.”
I laughed and said, “That was a long time ago, old man. There are only two kinds of systems used today, and Russia uses the same ones we do. I turned the phones off because they had signal bars. I don’t know if they’ve put up portable towers or what and I don’t want someone to be able to find these things, so leave them off.”