Breaking the Beast

by Steven Bird

  With my curiosity piqued, I asked, “Do they have a specific plan—for that solid punch, that is?”

  “They know you’re carrying something important, something that might make a difference, but I didn’t tell them what exactly that was. I didn’t want to put your mission at risk. There’s nothing more valuable than what you’re carrying, and people might resort to desperate measures to get their hands on it if they knew.

  “They’ve got five or six running vehicles they plan to use. They’ll divide up into three groups: one of those will be carrying us, and the other two will be diversions, heading off in different directions. The OWA has a presence here, but their resources are limited, at least they are for now. That’s why we’ve got to act soon. We need to move before more of ODF and OSS resources arrive—which is a certainty considering the fact that they want to stop you, wherever you are, as well as to provide security for the support-unit withdrawal from the area.”

  “That’s a suicide mission, intentionally drawing attention away from us,” I protested. “The ODF will hit them from the air, and they won’t even see it coming.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. But at least they’re standing up for what they believe, in what may very well be their final hour,” Tamara said matter-of-factly, as if there was going to be no further discussion on the issue.

  I felt conflicted. This was my mission. Well, it was Ronnie’s, but I had done my part, and had inherited it. But now, it seemed someone else was calling the shots. Someone else was writing my plan of action. I was conflicted by the lack of a solid feeling of control, the feeling I had felt since being on my own after Ronnie’s death, but… this was, after all, the goal, right? I mean, I was supposed to somehow find a pocket of resistance somewhere that could help me get the Symbex and the research data to where it could be put to good use.

  Even though these folks here aren’t the ones to whom I was meant to deliver it, I knew I’d have a much better chance of success if I accepted their help. I also knew my chances would be much better if I had Tamara on my side for the long haul. This wasn’t about me and my ego at the moment; it was about something far greater than myself, and I needed to brush my alpha-male pride to the side and see things with a clear head. I needed her, and I knew it.

  With that internal argument pushed down deep and set aside, we set out to meet her associates at their pre-planned rendezvous location, which was located in the old Shaw Industries plant, which was just to the west off of I-75 and just beyond what they saw as a choke point created by elevated terrain.

  Tamara and I maintained a steady jog, hand-railing I-75 in the woods, remaining out of the moonlight the best we could while making time our priority.

  Winded and sweaty, we arrived on the east side of the facility and took a moment to gather ourselves, as well as observing before proceeding. I was exhausted. I was breathing heavily and was dripping with sweat. I looked at Tamara, and she looked as if she had simply taken a leisurely walk through the park. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t out of shape or anything, I think she simply operated at a higher level than most.

  I watched as she surveyed the area, brushing her reddish brown hair back behind her ear. The moonlight provided a gentle glow of light on her cheek, and I couldn’t help but become entranced by both her beauty and her determination.

  She turned to say something, and we locked eyes. I quickly looked away, feeling embarrassed, as if I had gotten busted for something, but what? I hadn’t done anything inappropriate. I was merely admiring her. Why did I feel so shy about it?

  “Are you ready?” she said, getting us back on track and clearing the awkwardness from the air.

  “All set,” I said, wiping the sweat from my forehead with my sleeve, and with that, Tamara left our position of cover in the woods and was making her way toward the building, stopping for only a brief second to make sure I was following along.

  We quickly dashed across the exposed dirt parking lot on the east end of the facility and made our way to the side of the building, getting close to the wall to hide in the shadows cast by the moonlight. Leaning in close to me, she whispered, “In the center of the building, there is an open area where our contact will be waiting. I was told to expect two vehicles here. The others are supposed to depart from different locations across the area, traveling in pairs. That way, unless they have at least three drones airborne at once, they can’t observe us all, possibly following the decoys instead of us. It’s a roll of the dice, but it’s what we have.”

  “Sounds good,” I muttered quietly as I double-checked the readiness of my weapon and gear.

  “Okay, then,” she whispered, “Let’s get moving.”

  We quickly made our way around the building to our planned link-up point. Once we reached the corner leading around to where the vehicles were supposed to be waiting, Tamara sliced the pie around the corner while I covered her from behind, scanning the employee parking lot located directly behind the building. Our left flank was exposed to the parking lot as we rounded the corner, leaving me with a feeling of vulnerability that I just couldn’t shake.

  My heart raced when I saw a tall, slender man in his mid-thirties and wearing all black step out of the darkness from behind a Ford Explorer SUV.

  “Chris,” she said with relief in her voice as she ran to him. “It’s so good to see you here.”

  “I wouldn’t miss helping you for the world,” he said as the two shared a warm embrace.

  Holding him at arm’s length, Tamara looked him in the eye and muttered, “I’m sorry things are ending this way. I wish…”

  “Shhh,” he interrupted softly. “Look, It’s okay. That’s how things go these days. I’ve come to terms with it. We all have.”

  Changing the subject, he looked to me and said, “You must be the famous Joe Branch I’ve heard so much about.”

  “Famous?” I mumbled, confused by his statement.

  “You’re a regular folk hero these days,” Chris explained. “We’ve heard a lot about you, mostly propaganda from the OWA, I’m sure, essentially labeling you as public enemy number one, offering sanctuary to whoever provides information leading to your arrest. But the way we see it, any enemy of the OWA is more than likely our kind of guy.”

  “What?” Tamara asked.

  “Yesterday afternoon at the OWA Regional Support Facility, when they began packing up shop to ship out, they started handing out flyers. As a matter of fact, I have one right here,” he said, removing a folded piece of paper from his pocket and unfolding it.

  “Let me see that,” she said, snatching the paper out of his hand.

  Leaning in to look, I saw a surveillance photo of me taken at what appeared to be the OWA commissary back in D.C. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  The flyer read, Sanctuary offered to the individual and family of the individual or individuals providing information leading to the arrest of insurgent terrorist Joseph Branch. Joseph Branch, who also goes by Joe Branch, is wanted in connection with the murders of both ODF officers and civilians alike. He is considered to be armed and extremely dangerous. Do not approach if seen. Contact your local OWA representative immediately.

  “Yeah, they’re turning up the heat,” he said, reaching out and taking the paper.

  Shaking her head, Tamara said, “I guess they’re banking on the hope that their withdrawal from the area, leaving innocent people to die, will prompt someone to step up and trade his life for theirs.”

  “Yep, and after a day or two of not receiving their Symbex, I’d imagine people will be lining up to do it.”

  Upon hearing this revelation, I felt my stomach tighten, and a sick feeling came over me. “This isn’t good,” I grumbled under my breath.

  “No, it’s not,” Tamara replied as she placed her hand on my shoulder. “You don’t have to worry about Chris here, Joe. He’s good people.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “And thanks for helping,” I said to Chris as I shook his hand.

  “Again, my pleasure,” he s
aid. “Besides, those bastards would probably renege on their promise to provide sanctuary anyway.”

  Turning to another man who had appeared from behind him, Chris said, “Bill here will be riding along with us.

  “Bill Bowers,” the man said, reaching out his hand. “Nice to meet you both.”

  Looking around, Tamara queried, “I thought we were supposed to have two vehicles per group?”

  “They had trouble with the other car,” Chris explained. “The starter has been having an intermittent problem lately, and it looks like it’s finally given up the ghost. Sorry, but at the last minute, we didn’t have any other running vehicles lined up. It’s hard to find one that hasn’t already been fried by EMWS equipped drones. If those bastards saw unauthorized vehicle movement, they would fry it without even asking questions.”

  “That’s better than being hit by a drone strike with an air-to-ground missile,” I added. “They weren’t shy about using those at first.”

  “I guess now that resources are tighter, those are reserved for known threats,” Bill quipped nervously. “The EMWS makes for a handy non-lethal way to deal with the unknowns, I guess. It’s also not a consumable item like AGMs and such.”

  “Come on, guys,” Tamara interrupted. “We can chat about tactics in the car.”

  Nodding in reply, Bill turned and climbed into the front passenger’s seat of the Explorer, picking a tactical shotgun up from the floor, while Chris slid into the driver’s seat, picking up a short-barreled AR-15 with a pistol brace for a stock from the seat as he sat down, and laid it across his lap.

  Tamara slid across behind Bill, and I took the seat in the second row directly behind Chris.

  As the vehicle started, the headlights automatically illuminated, followed immediately by Chris saying, “Dammit! I hate those things,” as he quickly extinguished them. “If I want lights, I’ll turn the damned things on myself. I hate how cars evolved into making those decisions for you.”

  “You won’t have that problem for long,” Bill replied.

  Wow, that was dark, I thought. Did he mean that the way I think he did?

  After a brief moment of awkwardness, Chris slipped a set of bifocal night-vision goggles over his head, switched them on, and began driving the Explorer out of the complex. We traveled quietly down Industrial Boulevard and onto I-75 South via Old Alabama Road. I-75 North would have taken us back into Chattanooga, which was an area we needed to avoid for the time being.

  Tensions were high in the vehicle. No one said a word. Each just looked out their respective windows as Chris guided us down the interstate as best he could with the NVGs while running dark. Looking up, I said, “Hey, can you open the sunroof?”

  Bill looked back at me from the front passenger’s seat like he was perturbed by my request. I clarified by saying, “Drones. I figured we could see and hear better with the roof open.”

  Acquiescing to my request, Bill began to roll the sunroof back as the cool night air swept into the vehicle. I stared up into the sky through the sunroof and was amazed by the clarity of the stars that night. The sky was crystal clear. “It’s going to be a cold one,” I said. “I’m glad I’m not sleeping on the ground tonight.”

  With a chuckle, Tamara said, “The night’s not over yet.”

  Just then, I saw one of the stars above us disappear, and then return. My eyes locked onto the star, as I saw another vanish and reappear just ahead of that one. Then it hit me, a drone was flying high overhead, occasionally blocking the view of a given star when lined up directly between us and the star, only to fly on ahead, revealing the star once again.

  “Drone!” I exclaimed, pointing toward the sky.

  “Where?” Tamara asked, as she too scanned the sky through the sunroof.

  Being in the front seat, Bill wasn’t in a position to see the area of the sky that we were focusing on, so he rolled down his window, sticking his head out and scanning the sky above.

  “Just focus on the stars, you’ll see it when it passes in front of one.”

  “There!” Tamara said. “I see it. It’s directly overhead. They’re onto us.”

  As Tamara and I both stared at the airborne threat above us through the sunroof, the deafening report of a handgun fired in close quarters stung our ears as we looked down and were stunned to see Chris holding a pistol in his hand. Next to Chris, Bill lay still, leaning out the opened window, streaming blood down the side of the car as we drove.

  Momentarily stunned by the confusion of what was occurring before our eyes, we heard Chris shouting, “Drop your weapons and get your hands where I can see them!” as his pistol was now turned on us. He flipped on the vehicle’s dome light and headlights and brought the vehicle to a stop. We saw that he was no longer wearing his NVGs, having removed them while the rest of us were distracted by the drone above.

  Tamara screamed, “Chris! What the hell!? What the hell are you doing!?”

  “Drop them!” he demanded, and we reluctantly complied.

  “I never signed up to fight,” he said. “You did. You brought this wrath down on us—you and your traitor friend here. We were getting by. We were all getting by. But now, everyone we love and care for is going to die when the OWA pulls out, all because of you and your stupid cause.

  “I’m not going to let my family die because of your poor choices. I’m taking the deal. I’m getting my family the hell out of Chattanooga and to a place where they will provide us with what we need to survive.”

  Pointing the gun directly at Tamara’s head, he then said calmly, “Now, place the pack with whatever the hell they’re looking for up here with Bill.”

  I hesitated briefly, and he shouted once again, “Do it!”

  I knew one flinch, one twitch of his finger and Tamara would die right there in front of me. Not having time to think about what to do, I reached over the center console and placed the pack onto Bill’s lap.

  “Good,” he said, “Now, toss your weapons out the window. I don’t want your friends at the ODF to come up on the vehicle and see you with weapons on your person. I don’t want to take the chance of getting cut down in the crossfire.”

  Doing as he said, we both tossed our rifles out the windows of the SUV.

  As Chris began some sort of half apology, half self-exoneration speech to Tamara, my eyes caught something moving in the sky out in front of the vehicle. It was the drone, exposing its upper surface to the moonlight as it banked and descended toward us.

  “That was no surveillance drone,” I stated calmly. “It’s one of the OWA’s light attack drones, and I think we’d all better get out of the car.”

  “Shut up!” barked Chris, assuming I was creating a ruse to distract him.

  I saw a flash of light up ahead as the drone fired on us. At that moment, time seemed to slow down for all of us. Chris could see Tamara’s eyes dart toward the distant flash. He began to turn his head as I shoved his pistol upward and way from Tamara, causing his trigger finger to discharge the weapon, firing into the ceiling of the car.

  Both Tamara and I reached for our door handles as a great burst of light and an overpowering concussion hit us like a ton of bricks, lifting the front of the Explorer up and flipping it over backward, causing us to roll off the road and down the hill toward the rainwater-drainage ditch that followed alongside the freeway.

  After several rolls, the vehicle came to rest on its top and flames began to sweep through the vehicle as I crawled free and into the ditch, having barely managed to grab the Symbex pack that had been tossed back toward me during the missile strike and the accompanying rolls. I could hear Chris screaming as he was engulfed in flames, unable to escape.

  “Tamara!” I shouted as I slung the pack over my shoulder, looking around frantically, seeing that her door had been open during the rollover. I scurried up the hill, finding her lying in the road where she had been ejected from the vehicle before it went over the bank.

  Kneeling beside her, I shouted over the ringing in my ears fro
m both the gunshots and the explosion. “Tamara! Are you okay?”

  Seeing no response, I checked her pulse and felt the rise of her chest as she breathed. “Come on, girl! Hang in there!” I said as I heard the rotor beat of a helicopter rapidly approaching.

  With no time to evaluate her injuries before they arrived, I took the chance and picked her up, draping her over my shoulder and began making my way toward the woods.

  Seeing my Sig 556 laying on the side of the road from where I had tossed it out, I hooked my foot through the sling, and lifted it up to where I could get my other hand on it, and quickly made my way for the cover of the trees ahead.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I’m not sure how long I walked with Tamara over my shoulder that night. As a matter of fact, I wasn’t even sure of where we were, or how far Chris had driven before the encounter with the drone. My mind was in full-on survival mode. I had to get both of us away from the ODF that had likely arrived with the helicopter.

  I hoped the fire disguised the fact that we weren’t in the vehicle with Chris and Bill as it burned. I knew they would eventually investigate the scene thoroughly and would discover our absence, at which time, they would be on the hunt once again.

  The best I could initially tell without stopping to look at my map was that we were somewhere near Dalton, Georgia, as we had been traveling on southbound I-75 prior to the incident.

  Exhausted, I dropped to my knees and placed Tamara gently on the ground next to me and felt thankful that the sun was coming up to my left, which verified that I had indeed been traveling south in the darkness of the night. It would have been easy to get off track navigating the rough terrain in my haste, and I was glad that I had somehow stayed the course.

  I quickly checked her over for signs of injury. Her pulse was steady, though her breathing was shallow. I was no medical expert, however, so I really didn’t know how to interpret that, other than to know she was still with me.