Midnight Skills

by William Allen

  “Well, fuck,” Eddie replied, letting his arms close around the smaller form.

  CHAPTER 47

  Luke hunkered down behind the plastic shipping container and watched for movement out of the corner of his eye. With the night nearly exhausted, he had the bulky, four-tube NVGs tilted up on his forehead, and the mount dug into his flesh in a way that telegraphed a headache in his not-too-distant future. For the moment, though, Luke was willing to depend on the Mark One eyeball, as even the best light amplification gear tended to cut off peripheral vision. The enemy was coming, and Luke knew his squad needed to see them first. They had to hold here. The steady roar of the howitzers behind Luke’s position made that very clear. He thought about the events of the last few hours, and wished he’d gotten more sleep.

  After the shockwave passed over their position, Luke and his squad had taken a moment to absorb what had happened, and each one found themselves peeking out the side door to take in the spectacle of the massive fireball on the horizon.

  “That really was a nuke?” Beatty asked, his voice colored with equal parts awe and dread.

  “I think so,” Silcott replied in a shaky voice. “Never thought I’d live to see the day.”

  “I guess the bad guys are through screwing around,” Eddie said. “They got one and figured out how to make it operational.” He paused. “Think they killed everybody back on the line?”

  “Nah,” Drew replied with a confidence born of necessity. He needed to believe there was something to go back to at the end of the day. Luke could hear the desire in the man’s voice, but he remained quiet as he sat with the papers in his lap.

  He’d been examining them for a good fifteen minutes, figuring out how to use the MOPP gear from the ludicrously crude instructional booklets included in the packages. Finally convinced he at least had the basics, Luke called his squad over close, so he wouldn’t have to shout.

  “Everybody get a full set,” he ordered, pausing while the men formed a chain to hand down seven additional packages from the back of one of the trucks.

  “According to the instructions,” Luke continued, “you are supposed to be able to put these on by yourself. However, we are going to do it in pairs, and get this shit right the first time.”

  “Will this really protect us from the fallout?” Cameron asked, and he fought to keep a waver out of his voice. This was the first thing the young soldier managed to say, since the fireball lit the night sky.

  “Yeah, it’ll work,” Luke assured him, and the others. “These suits were designed to be used in just this type of situation, which was why I thought we needed to call in the warning. I don’t know what happened, but I’m sure the LT is going to need us, and the rest of these suits, back at the base. So, let’s get suited up and make ready to move.”

  As pep talks went, Luke wasn’t that impressed with his delivery, but the words got his people in motion. He checked his watch and saw the time. Only five minutes after eleven, or 2305 in military time, he noted, and wondered at the slow passage of time. By midnight, the squad had their suits on and sealed, and the wheels were rolling through the snow and ice-coated road.

  The roving patrol met them ten miles from the secondary marshaling point, and even Luke found himself impressed with the firepower represented by the two M113s and an armored HUMVEE sporting a mounted TOW missile. Luke idly wondered if the missile actually worked and decided not to ask. From the subdued flash on their old Woodland-style camo uniforms, Luke knew these were troops from the Oklahoma contingent.

  Despite radioing in ahead of time, the security team from the armored personnel carriers made Luke and his squad dismount from the trucks, and four of the soldiers thoroughly searched the two trucks while the staff sergeant in charge took Luke aside for a brief conference. “Sergeant Messner?”

  Luke nodded, and the other man offered his name. Brinkman. No first name.

  Without headset radios, Luke quickly found he needed to crack the seal of the protective mask around his face in order to speak with the other soldier. Not ideal, but there was little to cheer about given the current circumstances.

  Brinkman, as expected, got straight to the point.

  “Where’d you get the CBRN suits, Sergeant?”

  “Hit a Commie convoy yesterday up north. All three cargo trucks were packed with this gear. We salvaged what we could, took the two trucks still running, and called in the tip to our captain.”

  “That kind of call over the radio might have triggered the attack.” The accusation wasn’t a question, but Luke treated it like one anyway.

  He explained the improvised code used, stressing that nothing in the message could have clued in any listeners, unless they knew personal details of the two men speaking. The staff sergeant allowed this was a pretty clever trick, after all.

  “How bad?” Luke finally asked the question that had been burning in his gut, since he’d first seen the flash on the wall of their temporary shelter.

  Brinkman shrugged, then muttered. Luke could barely make out the words.

  “Word is, we lost the perimeter all along the road through Carl Junction,” the older man murmured. “Your warning must have done some good, though, since Colonel Forshe ordered our reserve units to disperse and get under cover. I don’t think anybody knows the extent of the damage, or the losses. Not yet.”

  Luke nodded, and glanced over at his small command.

  “We need those suits for our men as well,” the staff sergeant concluded. “I don’t have any kind of dosimeter, but that was a ground burst, and less than fifteen miles away.”

  “You must have been in the Guard or Regular Army before the pulse,” Luke deduced, and the other sergeant gave a nod. “Any idea of the size, or the yield?”

  “Small, as these things go,” Brinkman replied. “I haven’t received official word or squat, but looks like it might have been either a partial misfire or some kind of suitcase nuke.”

  “How you figure?”

  “I think, ’cause we ain’t all dead,” Brinkman deadpanned.

  “What’s your headcount?” Luke asked, and Brinkman told him twenty, including the drivers.

  “Corporal Silcott, please remove twenty sets of gear for the staff sergeant and his men,” Luke directed. Brinkman nodded his appreciation, and Second Squad was back underway before the Okies had a chance to open the first plastic bag.

  Once back in the motor pool, Luke heard the steady sound of artillery before he saw the flashes that split the air. Directing his driver to park the trucks as close as he could to their lieutenant’s command post, Luke then detailed Silcott, Castillo, Cameron, and Drew to watch the trucks while he took the other fire team with him, and he double-timed it to track down Lieutenant Fisher.

  Luke found Lieutenant Fisher in a huddle with Master Sergeant Knolls and two other squad leaders Luke knew only in passing, and the grim set of every man’s face told the seventeen-year-old all he needed to know. These men were shaken and still in shock, but resolute. The Commies might still win this, but not without one hell of a fight.

  “Welcome back, Messner,” the lieutenant growled, and Luke felt the eyes swivel in his direction.

  “Good to be back, sir,” Luke replied. “Where you want us?”

  “You still got more of those suits?” Fisher inquired, and with Luke’s slight nod, the lieutenant quickly detailed Master Sergeant Knowles to accompany the rest of the fireteam back, to see about unloading and distributing their cargo. Fisher held Luke back, his eyes like lasers while he peered at his young subordinate.

  “They’ve been hammering the lines since the balloon went up,” Fisher stated plainly. “We’ve held, but several platoons of what we think are regulars, forced their way through the mess on our left flank. Those Missouri Guard units got caught in the blast, and we got more holes than my socks.”

  Gesturing to the heavily-annotated map laid out on the table, Fisher sketched an arc around a small field, slightly deeper behind the current lines and approxim
ately a half mile to the west.

  “The Commies, as you might guess, have pulled out all the stops to support this assault. We’ve been breaking up their human wave attacks using our artillery,” Fisher explained with a scowl.”We expect these units they’ve slipped through to start hitting us there, as well as at any command and control junctions they can locate. Captain Jefferson was just on the horn looking for reinforcements, and you’ve just been volunteered to link up with Sergeant Klutas providing security for this battery. Questions?”

  Luke studied the map for a moment and looked back at his commander.

  “No, sir.”

  “Then get to it, young man.”

  ***

  A hiss in his ear made Luke look up, ignoring the recent memories as Corporal Silcott drew his attention back to the present. The long wait for the expected attack allowed Luke to distribute headset radios he’d managed to loot from dead enemies amongst his squad, and now, Silcott was passing on word of suspected Commie movement.

  “Winstead reports two scouts closing at about five hundred meters dead ahead, Sergeant. She says, movement behind looks like thirty more, another two hundred meters behind that.”

  “Copy, Dwayne.”

  Switching over to the unit push, Luke replied.

  “Get ready, Second Squad. Private Winstead, you get the ball rolling. Take out the scouts before they reach the barrels. Maybe we can spook them.”

  There was a low chuckle on the squad net that Luke didn’t need to think about to recognize. It was Eddie, and he sounded eager to get this party started. By ‘spook’ them, Luke meant to drive the rest of the platoon into sheltering behind those oil barrels. The ones Eddie and Luke spent nearly half an hour rigging with the Claymore mines they hadn’t needed at the original ambush site.

  Boom. Boom. Abbie switched back to her smaller rifle, but Luke knew both scouts were just as dead, even if their bodies hadn’t exploded all over the countryside. They only had a limited supply of the .338 Lapua, after all.

  Kill them all, Luke thought bitterly, and that’s just what they did.

  CHAPTER 48

  “My man,” called a familiar voice, drawing Luke out of a restless slumber. Rolling over in his sleeping bag, right hand buried under the blanket, fingers wrapped around the butt of his XD, the young man looked up to see an old friend kneeling by the flap to his tent. Forcing a smile onto his face, Luke sat up and clasped hands with the older gentleman dressed in the same woodland camo uniform he himself now wore, except cleaner and not as patched.

  “Jeez, Scott, when did you get in?” Luke managed to ask, taking a second to check his watch while he stretched the kinks out in his back. Other than removing his white overcoat and boots, Luke remained dressed in the same clothes he’d worn for the last few days. Surprised to see he’d managed to knock out eight hours of even troubled sleep, Luke finished sitting up and took a few seconds to regard Scott Keller in the wan winter morning light.

  Luke’s platoon, now made up of five reconstituted squads of Texas National Guard troops, occupied an old barn adjacent to a burned-out farmhouse on the outskirts of Joplin. This was the rear area, where squads could catch a little shuteye when not manning the perimeter. Everyone stayed sleep-deprived, and none more than Second Squad.

  The week following the Committee’s nuclear attack passed in a blur of human wave assaults and one particularly terrifying armored thrust, using repaired M60 tanks that left the surviving brigade nearly bereft of AT4 rockets. Second Squad, for their part, ended up fending off two more attacks on the battery over a hellish three-day period.

  In the three weeks since beating off that last attack, Luke and his squad found themselves outside the wire more often than not, and with new orders. The pace kept them worn and sleep-deprived, so the opportunity for a guarded rest seemed like a gift from the heavens.

  In the dark winter nights, the men erected their two and four-man tents inside the wooden structure, for added protection from the bone-searing cold. Luke, after being promoted to sergeant and command of his own squad, earned a solo slot in one of the two-man tents, but he’d been too tired to take advantage.

  “I’ve been out and back a few times, but mainly I’m based back home, still teaching our scout teams. Then, I got word of this crazy young Texan, a real hellion, playing havoc with the Commie’s officer corps, and I knew it had to be you,” Scott said, and he looked around the large open ground of the hay barn, taking in the spartan accommodations and the general poor appearance of the soldiers and their gear. They looked ragged in their patched uniforms and beards, and Scott could see the drawn, prominent cheekbones and gaunt bodies wrapped in layers of blankets. Under that initial impression, Scott noticed all the soldiers carried their weapons with them, even going to the latrine. He also sensed the awareness of every man in the barn as they clocked this outsider in their midst.

  Luke nodded solemnly, seemingly not noticing the teasing tone in Scott’s words.

  “After they killed my mom and a bunch of my friends back home, that made this personal, you know?”

  “Oh shit, Luke,” Scott nearly shouted, biting his tongue to keep his volume down. “I didn’t know. And the rest of your family? And the young ladies who went with you?” he asked, almost dreading what he might find out.

  “So far, between raiders and these Homeland slugs, I’ve lost my mom, my only uncle, and my grandfather,” Luke admitted, his voice harsh as he ground out the words. Luke sounded old, older than his sixteen years. Probably seventeen by now, Scott deduced, but his voice and tone sounded like that of a man Scott’s own age, worn down by the trials God only heaped on those he was testing.

  “And Amy?” Scott asked, his own voice heavy with concern. Even if the boy wouldn’t admit it to himself, Scott could see the connection the two teens shared when they’d stayed at the farm for such a short amount of time.

  “She’s still alive, last I heard,” Luke confirmed. “Trying to keep my father and my little sister going, and not heading up here to pick up a rifle.”

  After a long pause, Scott sighed heavily.

  “So, that’s why you’re here. A blood vendetta against the Committee.”

  “Yeah. I was just fooling myself that Chambers and his goons might leave us alone, especially after we wiped out a whole company of his best enforcers,” Luke explained with a low sigh. “That kind, don’t never forget a slight. Unfortunately for them, neither do I. So, I hunt their officers at night, and leave the survivors with some souvenirs. Eventually they’ll run out of men, and I’ll be able to go home again.”

  Luke looked off, as if listening to something in the distance. Scott realized it was the faint pop, pop, pop of gunshots. Judging the direction and the volume of fire, Luke relaxed a hair.

  “You’ve made rank, I see,” Scott nodded at the subdued rank insignia on Luke’s collar. The three stripes of a sergeant, coveted by younger enlisted men during Scott’s time in the Marine Corps, didn’t seem to make much difference to the teenager, who gave one of his characteristic shrugs before replying.

  “The LT wanted somebody to take over scouting duties, and the sergeant he had running Second Squad was better at handling gear than men. I’m not really qualified, but who is? My dad gave me some additional training once I got back, and the guys we brought in are willing to listen when I speak up.”

  “I’d imagine so,” Scott observed. “Your LT have your squad out exclusively doing scout work?”

  “That, and straight up H-K missions,” Luke replied with a grin that made Scott want to take a step back.

  “HK?”

  “Hunter-Killer,” Luke replied. “Lieutenant Fisher is a big fan of the Terminator movies, but I think he was rooting for the wrong side,” Luke explained, finally making an effort at humor.

  “That is a bit of a departure from the earlier containment efforts,” Scott said, trying to remember he was an officer now.

  “Getting nuked seems to have lit a fire under our command element,” Luk
e pointed out drily.

  “How’d your squad make out when Chambers planted his mushroom?”

  “Planted his mushroom?” Luke repeated, rolling the term over in his head. “We weathered the attack fine. I had my squad held up in a warehouse complex to the east of the city. About twelve hours before the bomb went off, we hit a convoy of trucks hauling MOPP gear. Passed the warning along to our captain and he raised the alert status.”

  “That was your doing?” Scott exclaimed, putting the pieces together.

  “Luck of the draw,” Luke replied with a shrug. “I remembered my father bitching about having to recertify in the full loadout in the Georgia heat, so I recognized what they were hauling. I heard scuttlebutt that a sniper took out the truck driver short of our lines, and that caused a premature detonation. Now, that guy deserves a medal, even if it’s posthumous. Didn’t help those guys over in Carl Junction but saved the rest of the brigade.”

  Scott tipped his head. He knew you couldn’t detonate a nuke with a bullet, but if whatever zealot Chambers and his goons had babysitting the device, knew he wasn’t going to be able to deliver it to the defensive works lining the airport approach, he’d probably flipped the switch. Close usually counts in nuclear weapons, after all.

  “So, you’re getting to use your skills out there?”

  “Lately, we’ve set up and ambushed their scouts, then ideally backtracked them to their parent unit and taken out their leadership.”

  “And that works?”

  “Sometimes,” Luke allowed grimly. “And then sometimes, the bear gets a bite and we lose someone. So far, we’ve run that trick three, four times, and the highest rank we’ve bagged was a Regular Army colonel. Fucking turncoat,” Luke added, looking like he needed to spit, before continuing.

  “Trouble is, the other side is getting better too. Lost one of my best guys to one of those snipers, coming home from that mission,” Luke growled, still feeling the loss of Corporal Beatty. He’d barely spoken the whole time Luke had known him, but the teen felt the loss like a dry socket. Or a missing limb.