“We weren’t followed.” Renner said, just after Sains and Roth had departed. “We were really careful about that.”
Carter nodded. “I’m sure you were, Captain,” he said. “But I take comfort in my paranoia.”
[][][]
Renner’s team had made their camp out of two cast-off railroad cars at the center of the rail yard which had long ago had the rails themselves torn up and hauled away for scrap. Dozens of such cars were scattered about the yard along with a few rusting locomotives and cargo-trucks. A few decaying wooden buildings stood; providing homes for various birds and rodents. At the compound’s center stood a twenty foot tall tower that had once been used to direct the movements of the trains that once crowded the facility.
A tall, powerfully built Afro-American sergeant from Renner’s Special Forces team lead Carter and Team Alpha into one of the cars where two teenagers where stirring a pot soup which they were cooking over and improvised, sterno-fueled stove. Several underground fighters looked up and cast curious, if skeptical, looks at the newly arrived FIRE team.
The underground fighters, like Renner’s Special Forcers operators, had a hungry, war-weary look. They had been fighting for years with only the most minimal outside support. Their weapons were a mixed array of modern tenth generation Kalashnikov rifles that were the standard weapon of WCA combat forces, to barely functional M-16 rifles that were probably left over from the NATO forces that had been stationed in Europe in the last century. Carter noted, in particular, a 1903 model Lee-Enfield bolt-action rifle that had to be at least two hundred years old. The young man who carried it handled the weapon with a confidence that told Carter that, in that man’s hands, the ancient weapon was still deadly effective. These were hard, adversity tested people. They were hungry, outnumbered, and massively outgunned, but they had no concept of defeat.
The sergeant led Carter to one corner of the rail-car and pointed to a collection of clothing and weapons. “This is the gear you asked for, Sir.”
“Thanks, Sergeant,” Carter said, pulling his pack off of his shoulders, and retrieved a shoe-box sized pouch from it. “Give this to your team medic. It’s medical supplies; mostly antibiotics and pain killers.”
“We can sure use them, Sir.” the sergeant said.
Carter nodded. “I’ve never seen a guerilla unit in the field that didn’t medical supplies,” he said.
“You packed ten pounds of extra weight on this hump?” Burgett asked. “I would have made it ten pounds of ammo.”
“We need these people’s good will,” Carter replied. “Like I told the sergeant; units like these always need medicine. This unit is really going to need them since their supporting us when we make our assault.”
“You’re still winning hearts and minds: the way of the Green Beret. You never really take that green hat off, do you, Boss?” Burgett asked.
“After what it took to earn it, I should have nailed onto my skull,” Carter said. He pointed at the clothing in the corner. It was a varied mixture of jeans, t-shirts and other common apparel suited for living and moving in rural areas. The only common factor was that all of the clothing was devoid of bright, eye-attracting colors. Every ensemble provided a light jacket of one kind or another.
Carter chose a dark blue t-shirt, black cargo pants, a black, a visored military style hat, and an indigo-blue jacket for himself. ”Everybody get into a set of civilian clothes, and stash what you’re wearing now in your packs. Keep the weapons we brought with us out of sight. We’ll use the weapons that Renner provided until we get to our target. I want us to look an underground unit if we run into any more enemy patrols.”
“It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it Boss?” Burgett asked. “Considering the bodies we left behind us.”
“Well, Gadget, I didn’t think you guys wanted to pack in a change of clothes along with extra weapons and ammo on this insertion. So I had Captain Renner have this stuff ready for us.” Carter said. “It was just bad luck we ran in to that patrol. The shit would have hit the fan, in a big way, if one of them would have managed to get away, or get a radio call off. If we run into any more patrols, I want us to look like an underground unit; at least at first glance. That way, if we do have to take on another patrol and anyone gets away, the mission won’t be totally compromised. If they see us in our regular gear, they’ll start screaming into their radios about American commandos, and we’ll be well and truly fucked.”
“Got it, Boss, Burgett as he inspected the array of weapons the underground had provided. “Good God, it’s an H&K G-3, with three-hundred rounds of armor piercing ammo!” Burgett said, hefting one of the rifles and a bandolier of loaded magazines from the corner. “They stopped making these about a hundred years ago. Can I take this home when we’re done? It’s just begging for a place in my collection.”
“We’re not here to collect antiques,” Carter said.
“You can’t blame a guy for trying,” Burgett replied, as he began to change clothing.
By the time Carter, Williams, Nagura and Burgett had finished changing, Roth and Sains made their way into the camp.
“No signs that we’re being tracked, Boss,” Sains reported.
“Good,” Carter replied. “You and Gambler get changed and then find to a place to set up an observation post; that old railroad direction tower in the yard should be good. Be alert in case any enemy patrols show up to double check this place for deserters, and watch for Bandaid and Grumble; they’ll be coming back soon. You can get some of that hot food and take it to the OP with you. I’ll send someone to relieve you in two hours.”
“Right, Boss,” Sains affirmed. He and Roth moved quickly to obey Carter’s orders. “The rest of you, get some chow and some rest,” Carter added.
The soup the underground fighters offered was almost thick enough to be called stew, and had more meat in it than Carter had expected; although Carter was sure he didn’t want to know where that meat had come from. The meat, combined with potatoes, onions and generous amounts of garlic and pepper, made the improvised concoction surprisingly appetizing. Their hosts also provided Carter and his team with hunks of course, dark colored bread. The combination was quite filling.
As Carter ate, Captain Renner approached. “I wanted to thank you for the medical supplies that you brought,” Renner said. “Weapons and ammo we can get from the enemy, but meds are hard to come by.”
“I’ve operated with irregular units myself, Captain; I know that a few CCs of penicillin can be worth a thousand rounds of ammo.” Carter replied. “Where’s our next hide sight?”
Renner unfolded a laminated map. “An abandoned school, about ten clicks outside of Brussels,” Renner replied, pointing to the location on a map.
Carter looked up from the map. “What about the abandoned farm that was in the original plan?” he asked.
“That was right in the middle of the heaviest patrol activity. As a matter of fact, the enemy sent up a command post there to coordinate the search for deserters. That meant we needed a new hide sight.”
Carter looked again at the use-worn map. “This looks like it’s close to a fairly large town?” he asked, skeptically.
“It used to be a town; it’s more of a labor camp now," Renner said, pointing at particular spot on the map again. “The WCA forced the workers for this steel mill to live there; close to their work.” Renner explained pointing to the mill's location on the map. “There are no fences or fortifications, but the people aren’t there because they want to be, and their movements are pretty well monitored.”
Carter didn’t try to hide his concern. “That will mean that there will be a fairly large garrison there.”
“That’s why we picked it,” Renner said. “With all the deserters running around the area, there are patrols everywhere looking for them. But the deserters are avoiding the places they know enemy troops are stationed like the plague. So the enemy doesn’t think he needs to patrol near the town.”
Carter frowned. “I do
n’t like it, but I suppose it can’t be helped,” he observed.
“I know,” Renner said. “But when that new bunch of conscripts got orders for the front, they started running by the dozens. The WCA tries to suppress bad news, but the public knows that we’re kicking the shit out of enemy forces in Alaska. A desertion problem like that is good for the overall war effort but, for our immediate purpose, all of all of this happening now is bad timing. They know that they have to squash this desertion problem now or they have whole regiments running like rabbits.”
“Murphy’s law applies to soldiering more than any other profession,” Carter said.
“The streets will be empty in Brussels when we have to move through the city, right?”
“Right,” Renner affirmed. “There is a curfew from seventeen hundred hours to zero six-hundred hours throughout Brussels. The civilian’s that work at WCA government facilities don’t have to be at work until zero seven-hundred."
“O.K.,” Carter said. “It will be dawn soon. We’ll stay here for the day, but I want to be on the move again as soon as it’s full dark.”
“Right,” Renner said.
At that point, McNamara and DeFontain returned. “We tore up the sight really good, Boss. We made sure that our tracks were all jumbled up so it would be hard to tell how many of us there were. We took a different route back here from the ambush sight and covered our track really well. We even put those three chopped off heads on pikes. I figured it would look like the underground was sending a message to the WCA troops.”
“Nice touch,” Carter said. “Get into some civvies, grab some chow, and get some rest. Send Bandaid and Gadget to relieve Gambler and Brains at the OP in ninety minutes.”
Carter turned back to Renner. “Captain, now that we have everyone back in camp, no one is to leave until we all do.”
“Why?” the voice of Lisa Mertens asked as she climbed into the rail car.
Carter faced her. “With all of this patrol activity, I don’t want anyone running into the enemy and getting captured, or leading a patrol back to us.”
“You don’t trust us,” Mertens said, stepping closer to Carter.
Carter glared at her in the firelight. “It’s just good operational security. We can’t afford anymore premature contact with the enemy.”
“Lisa,” Renner said. “He’s right. It’s the right thing to do.”
Mertens tuned to Renner and squared her shoulders. “You should have asked me before you gave orders concerning my people,” she said.
“And I would have,” Renner said. “Prowler’s order was to me. It was my job to coordinate with you and carry it out.”
Mertens paused; trying to think of something else to object to. Carter knew that she had to do a bit of posturing to assure that her fighters knew that they still took their orders from her and not from the new arrivals. But, in the end, she relented.
“Very well,” Mertens said, finally
“Thank you,” Carter said. “So, you bargained for the rescue of your father in exchange for your unit’s support of this operation?” he added, hoping to dispel some of the tension between himself and Mertens.
“We needed to know that you could actually strike a defended target deep in enemy territory before risking ourselves on this mission. Raiding the prison proved that you could do that and helped my father as well.”
“Two birds with one stone,” Carter said.
“Exactly,” Mertens agreed.
Carter smiled. “He has a pretty smart daughter.”
[][][]
Having seen to his team’s well being and checked the camp’s security arrangements, Carter sat against the railcar’s wall and tried to clear his mind; sleep he knew, was not an option. Paranormals required only two hours of sleep per night, and could function normally for days without sleeping at all. But, it was discovered, most paranormals still preferred to sleep for the normal six to eight hours. This, it was believed, was simply because sleeping for eight hours was what they had been accustomed to before their para-genes had been activated. Carter was grateful that he needed so little sleep. He doubted he could sleep now even if he was tried. So much was at stake with his current mission, and so much could go wrong. In fact, something already had gone wrong.
Closing his eyes, he began mentally reviewing the intelligence for the mission. Concentrating for a few seconds, he accessed those memories. One of the more useful traits imparted by an active paragene was an eidetic memory: the ability recall information, events, and images with total clarity and accuracy; no matter how long ago those things were experienced.
He reviewed the plan, and contemplated what changes to it might be necessary in light of the greater than usual patrol activity by the enemy. They had already had to change hide-sight locations. Carter could see the logic in choosing a new location that the fleeing deserters would avoid. But he knew that the work camp near the hide-site would have at least one hundred enemy troops stationed there. If they became aware of his team’s presence, his mission would fail. Team Alpha could deal with an enemy force of that size, but they could not do so without being detected.
As he ran through the various mission scenarios he heard an earnest voice. “Excuse me,” the voice said.
Carter opened his eyes to find a balding, somewhat elderly man standing in front of him. “Can I help you?” he asked as he stood up. The man was short and in his mid sixties. He wore of scratched eyeglasses that had had their left ear piece replaced with a piece what appeared to be bailing wire. He wore a pair of dark grey work pants and a dark blue polo-shirt. The butt of a large pistol stuck out of his waist band, and Carter should see the end a folding knife that was clipped the lip of his trouser pocket.
“My name father LaFerth,” the man said extending a hand. “I was wondering if it would be alright if I inquired about your team’s spiritual needs.”
“Ask them, Father,” Carter responded. “Some of them aren’t Christians, but I’m sure they would appreciate your concern.”
“And yourself?” LaFerth asked. “Are you a believer?”
Carter smiled slightly. “I suppose you could call me an agnostic.”
“Really?” Laferth said, seating himself in front of Carter.
Carter smiled and sat down again; knowing the clergyman believed that, in Carter, he had found a chance to bring a wayward sheep into the fold.
Carter nodded, “I can see how people can believe in an all powerful creator; it’s hard to believe otherwise when you look at the complexity in nature. But the idea of a God who takes a day to day interest in individuals is what I can’t believe in. I can’t see any evidence of the just and loving God of the New Testament. Now, if you’re talking about the angry, vengeful God of the Old Testament; I see a lot of evidence of that. All you have to do look around; the whole planet is a battlefield.”
“The God of the old and new testaments is the same God.” LaFerth said. “His son came to form a new covenant between God and mankind.”
“Then God’s been in a really bad mood for the last thirteen years.” Carter retorted. “I haven’t seen a whole lot of love or justice in that time; at least not on a global scale,” Carter added.
“Justice always prevails in the end,” the clergyman countered. “Perhaps God creates people like you and your team to administer his justice.”
“I’ve never seen myself as bringer of God’s justice; his wrath, maybe, but not his justice,” Carter said, chuckling.
“God’s wrath is always just,” LaFerth replied.
“There is no justice in this war, Father; it’s just a slaughter; two factions fighting over who is going to be in charge,” Carter retorted. “The WCA is evil, and I have no problem with destroying it, but destroying it isn’t about justice; it’s about survival. The United States cannot exist while the WCA does, so the WCA has to die. It’s as simple as that.”
“But, if you do not believe your government; if it’s not any better than the WCA, then why do you fight
the United States?” the father pressed. “If one government is not better than another, fighting for either one seems pointless.”
“I don’t, fight for any government,” Carter said. “A government is a creation of nation; it isn’t a nation itself. A government is formed to administer certain functions of a nation but has no value beyond performing that function,” he explained. “I fight for the individuals that make up the nations. Every person has a right to choose their own fate; to go their own way. The United States was created to foster and protect that right. Its core principles are built on individual rights and initiative, so the nation is worth fighting for even if the government isn’t.”
LaFerth’s expression told Carter to continue. “Governments, when they’re working right, help people prosper by protecting them from foreign attack, maintaining a stable currency, enforcing reasonable laws, and then leaving them the hell alone. But the WCA controls every aspect of people’s lives. In a way, it has supplanted God, since it has outlawed all religions and made people totally dependent on government. If the State sets itself up as the supreme authority, then individuals inevitably get smashed under heel.”
“And your government doesn’t smash the individual?” LaFerth asked.
“When it was at it was best it didn’t,” Carter said. “It lost its way in last part of the twentieth century. The government got bigger and bigger and individual liberties were whittled away until the people needed the government’s permission to do almost everything. That’s when the country started drift away from its core principles and the politicians sold out to the WCA. They tried to make the whole planet a huge collectivist State. When the war is over America will have to go back to being a nation where individualism is the core virtue.”
“But,” the Father said; “What about the greater good? Should not the rights of the individual be subordinated to the needs of society as a whole?” he asked.
The Fate Of Nations: F.I.R.E. Team Alpha: Book One Page 18