by Robert Brumm
Hendricks stood motionless, staring at Hank and saying nothing. Only the sound of the fans keeping the servers cool on the far wall filled the room. “Corporal Swanson,” he finally said. He continued to stare at Hank.
“Sir?”
“Do you have a round chambered in your weapon?”
Swanson glanced at his partner before looking down at his gun, still pointed at the escapees. “Yes, Sir.”
“What about the safety, Corporal? Is the safety engaged or disengaged?”
“Safety’s off, LT.”
“Hand me your weapon, Corporal.” Hendricks held out his right hand but never looked away from Hank.
“Sir?”
“Hand me your weapon. Now.”
The confused corporal lowered his gun and handed it to Hendricks. Without hesitation, Hendricks pointed the gun at Hank’s face. Hank swallowed and took a step back. Hendricks turned his aim to Seamus and pulled the trigger. The bullet entered Seamus’s neck, showering Hank with a fine mist of blood as he watched his friend collapse to the floor. Hank stood in shock, unable to move as Seamus let out a few wet coughs and fell still.
All eyes in the room were on Seamus, except for Sanderson. He watched the lieutenant. He saw the brief look of terror flash across Hendricks’s face after he pulled the trigger. Surprised by the violent effects of his action. That second of regret quickly dissolved into other emotions. Excitement and blood lust. If Sanderson had to guess, he would say that was probably the first time Hendricks had killed a man and it seemed to agree with him.
“No!” Hank dropped to his knees and placed his hand on his friend’s chest.
“Dammit, Reed,” Hendricks boomed. “Thanks to you, I had to kill one of my best workers.” He pointed the gun at Hank again. “You can spend the next five seconds of your miserable life knowing it was your fault he’s dead.”
Sanderson’s heart raced. He thought of the conversation with Victor Young. He thought of the young mother and her daughter, the terror in their eyes. The tears. He thought of Mark Phillips. The sad look of relief on his face the second before he stepped off the roof of his apartment building to his death. Mostly he thought of Sara. He wondered how he’d be able to get into bed with her that night knowing he stood by and watched her father get gunned down and did nothing to stop it.
Hendricks pointed the gun at Hank and pulled the hammer back.
“Lieutenant,” Sanderson said. “That’s enough.”
Hendricks slowly looked away from his target and raised his eyebrows at him. “Excuse me?”
“I said, that’s enough. You already killed a retiree in cold blood and I’ll be damned if you do it a second time.”
Hendricks lowered the gun and turned to him. “Last time I checked, I was the commanding officer of this facility. And as CO, it’s left to my discretion to administer punishment as I see fit. This man,” he pointed his gun at Hank, “attempted to escape. Under the very specific guidelines of the Federal Department of Retirement, punishment includes up to, and including, death.” Hendricks took a step towards Sanderson. “So what’s the problem, Brother?”
Sanderson looked at the two soldiers covering Hank. They both glared at him, the outsider in the black suit who dared to question their commander. It was obvious they didn’t have a problem with what was about to happen. “No problem, Lieutenant. Just thought it might be a bad idea to do it in here. Blood on the equipment, and all.”
Hendricks sneered at him before turning his back and pointed his weapon at Hank again. Sanderson dove forward, simultaneously driving the heel of his left palm in Hendricks’s kidney while striking his right arm. The lieutenant pulled the trigger but only hit the wall behind Hank.
Before the two soldiers could react, Sanderson had their commanding officer on the floor with Hendricks’s neck under his knee and his gun in his hand, pointing at the private who was still armed. “Drop it!”
Hendricks gurgled something from the floor. Sanderson drove his knee down harder and pulled the lieutenant’s arm up farther causing him to scream in pain. The soldiers held their ground and the private didn’t lower his gun.
“If we start shooting, I guarantee at least one of you is dead before I go down,” Sanderson said. “Drop your weapon and we all walk out of here breathing.”
The younger private glanced at Corporal Swanson. Swanson nodded and raised his hands.
“Good.” Sanderson watched as the soldier slowly placed his Beretta on the floor. “Hank, pick up the gun.”
Hank still knelt next to Seamus’s lifeless body with a stunned look on his face.
“Hank!”
Hank finally scrambled to his feet and picked up the gun. Sanderson got off Hendricks and dragged him to his feet. “Get over there with your men.”
“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Hendricks rubbed the back of his neck. “Did you lose your goddamn mind?”
“You.” Sanderson pointed at the private and then the door on the far wall. “What’s in there?”
“Nothing. Just a storage room.”
“Do you have any idea how much shit you’re in?” Hendricks seethed. “You think you can just walk out of here?”
Sanderson nodded toward the door. “Let’s go. Get in there.”
“And for what?” Hendricks pointed at Hank. “For this washed up old bastard?”
“Lieutenant, one more word and I’ll blow your fucking head off. Get. In. Now.”
Hendricks glared at him before finally nodding to his men. Corporal Swanson opened the closet door and the three men went inside. Sanderson slammed the door closed and grabbed Hank by the shirtsleeve. He lifted Hank’s arm so his gun pointed at the door. “We don’t have much time.” He raised his voice loud enough for the soldiers to hear. “If that opens as much as a crack, I want you to empty your whole mag into it. Got it?”
“John, what…”
“Later! We need to get the hell out of here.” Sanderson tipped over a tall metal shelving unit to the floor and dragged it over in front of the store room door. Hendricks and his men would have to push the door out to escape, and with the bookshelf wedged in between the wall and door, they’d only be able to open it six inches.
“That should hold ‘em for a while,” Sanderson gasped. “Come on, let’s go.”
Hank turned and froze as he faced Seamus. A large pool of blood had collected on the tile floor beneath his head and his mouth hung open. His glassy eyes stared at Hank.
“Hank.” John spoke his name more softly this time.
He turned to his son-in-law, still trying to wrap his head around the sudden and violent death of his friend. Trying to comprehend his world that had turned completely upside down in a single afternoon. But mostly he wondered what exactly his daughter’s husband was doing here. And why he didn’t seem the least bit surprised to see Hank in the first place.
“We need to go.” Sanderson gently pushed him from behind to the door on the other side of the room. They ran down a short hallway, up a flight of stairs, and daylight hit Hank’s face as John shoved the door open. Just like that, he was outside, overwhelmed by the vast sky above him for the first time in months. They stood on a narrow strip of blacktop between the olive colored brick building and the dense forest beyond.
“There.” Sanderson pointed to a truck parked nearby and ran for it. He pointed his gun at the confused looking soldier standing by the bed of the truck holding a tablet. Sanderson ordered him to put his hands over his head and brought the butt of the gun down on the soldier’s head when he complied. Hank helped Sanderson drag the unconscious soldier into the woods and jumped into the truck.
Sanderson slid behind the wheel and gunned it, heading straight for one of the locked gates surrounding the installation. The large vehicle easily smashed through and Sanderson forced himself to ease up and slow down to gain control. “Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered to himself. “What did I just do?”
Hank looked over his shoulder. “Damn, that was almost too easy
.”
“Don’t get your hopes up yet. It’ll take another minute or two for them to figure out what happened, but it won’t be long before they’re right on our ass.” Sanderson pushed the truck to the limit on the narrow and winding roadway. “As a matter of fact, we’ll probably hit a roadblock before that. This is the only way in and out before we get to the old highway.”
“I still can’t believe you got me out of there,” Hank stammered. He grabbed the dashboard to steady himself. “How did you even know where I was? Does Peg know I’m still alive? Sara?”
“I hate to break it to you, but I didn’t come here to rescue you.” Sanderson risked a quick glance at his father-in-law. “It just sort of happened.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’ll explain it to you later if we live that long. Climb into the back and see if there’s anything useful back there. We’re gonna have to ditch this thing any minute.”
Hank slid open the rear window and crawled through the tight opening into the canvas covered bed of the truck.
“What’s back there?” Sanderson yelled.
“Ah…looks like a couple cases of rifles and ammo, I think. Some uniforms, boots, a toolbox. That’s about it.”
“Hold on.” Sanderson slammed on the brakes and pulled the truck off to the side of the road. He got out and joined Hank in the back of the truck. “Get that box open.” He pointed to a crate with M67 stenciled on the side. “Shove as many grenades in your pockets as they’ll hold.”
Sanderson opened the toolbox but found nothing useful. “Grab a pair of boots, too. I have an idea that’ll buy us some time.” Hank was right about the rifles. He grabbed a brand new M4 carbine, a couple thirty round magazines, and a box of 5.56mm NATO. If only he had more time and three more arms, he’d take it all. They would need it.
He picked up one of the boots and tossed it at Hank. “Pull the laces out of that.” Sanderson took one of the grenades and carefully wedged it between the locked steering wheel and the soft foam of the dashboard.
“Here.” Hank handed him the laces. “What are you doing?”
Sanderson tied one end of the string to the safety pin and got out of the truck. “Little booby trap that’ll hopefully buy us a few minutes.” He closed the door, leaned in through the open window, and tied the other end to the door handle. “One of ‘em is bound to open the truck for a closer look. When they do, all they’ll find is a few ounces of Comp B and a whole lot of shrapnel.”
“Jesus. Is that really necessary?”
Sanderson turned to Hank and shoved the box of ammo into his chest. “Hey, remember how that psycho dropped your buddy back there like a bag of dirt? We’re in the shit now and the guys coming after us aren’t going to be shooting spitballs. Got it?”
Both men turned their heads as the noise of approaching vehicles grew louder. “Let’s go.” Hank and John slipped off the road and into the woods as fast as they could run.
Chapter 17
Hank jumped when he heard the grenade go off. It seemed way too close. He’d sworn they’d run farther from the road than that. He turned around and looked at John, crouching beside a tree thirty feet away. His son-in-law gave him what he thought was supposed to be a quick and reassuring nod, but it didn’t make Hank feel much better. John raised his rifle and pointed in the direction where they’d come from.
Shouting in the distance. A cry of pain and confusion.
Hank took a deep breath and relaxed his grip on the grenade he’d been clutching in his right hand. He was holding it so tight his forearm was starting to cramp up. Panic seized him as he suddenly forgot John’s instructions. Completely forgot the quick plan he’d hatched as John positioned him by a fallen tree and had him spread the grenades out on the forest floor beside him. He stared at the small explosive in his hand and again tried to control his rapid breathing. Pull the pin, John had said. The fuse won’t arm until you throw it and the safety lever is released.
Movement ahead in the trees. Hank peered just over the top of the massive tree trunk in front of him, but still felt vulnerable. He made out the silhouette of a soldier and then another behind him. Hank glanced at John again, still as a statue. He continued to crouch behind the tree and stare down the sights of his rifle.
Hank made out eight of them now. They moved at a moderate pace, rifles at the ready, slightly bent over while they scanned the forest. Hank had his eye on the man in front, the first to go down according to John’s plan. He looked young and scared, probably no older than twenty. He glanced down at the trail John had left for them – dragging his feet through the damp leaves to leave an obvious trail. Right into an ambush.
John seemed confident enough, but Hank didn’t like the odds one bit. They were close now. Hank froze, the top of his head exposed over his fallen tree hiding place. He stared at the point man, sure that if Hank moved the slightest bit he would be spotted. What in the world was John waiting for?
Hank locked eyes with the kid and they stared at each other for what felt like minutes. The soldier stopped and raised his hand to signal the others. He opened his mouth and before a word could pass his lips, his head from the eyebrows up simply disappeared as the crack from John’s rifle echoed through the woods. The young soldier on point was dead before he hit the ground.
The forest erupted in a violent symphony of gunfire as the rest of the squad opened up with their rifles and scrambled for cover. Behind Hank came the steady and methodical CACK, CACK, CACK from John’s rifle as he picked his targets.
A round hit the tree trunk just inches from Hank’s face, spraying him with dust and wood fragments. A volley of shots followed directly above him, the bullets cracking as they broke the sound barrier. He finally snapped out of it and realized he was still holding the first grenade, idle and useless in his hand. Hank pulled the pin and heaved it over the tree. He had the second grenade in his shaking hand before the first one detonated.
Hank risked a glance in John’s direction and panicked when he didn’t see him. He picked up another grenade and tossed. Explosion. Shouting. John ducked out from a different tree to Hank’s left, moving forward tree to tree, taking shots before taking cover again.
Just a couple of grenades left. Hank picked one up and pulled the pin. He got to his knees and peered over the top of the tree, ready to throw it at the first sign of movement. He heard nothing over the ringing in his ears and didn’t see anything but a handful of soldiers sprawled out in the leaves.
Hank watched as John slowly walked forward with his rifle and scanned the trees for survivors. His face was stone and Hank could’ve sworn he looked completely at ease, as if he was just taking a stroll through the woods. Who was this guy?
“Hank!” John waved him over before he crouched over one of the dead soldiers. He picked up a rifle and pulled several magazines from the kid’s ammo pouches. John handed him the M16. “Here, you better take this.”
Hank held up the grenade in his hand. “What about this?”
“What about it? Stick it back in your pocket, we need to get the hell out of here.”
“Uh, I already pulled the pin out.” Hank held the explosive out at arm’s length and looked over his shoulder, knowing the pin lay in the dirt somewhere by his tree hiding spot.
“For the love of...” John grabbed the grenade from Hank’s hand and tossed it. He shoved the M16 in Hank’s chest as it exploded thirty feet away. Hank flinched. John didn’t. “You ever do any shooting?”
Hank inspected the assault rifle in his hands. “I had a BB gun when I was a kid. That’s about it.”
“Well, I guess that’s better than nothing. Grab as many mags as you can hold. Make it quick.” Sanderson checked the pockets of another downed soldier and found a multi-tool and cigarette lighter. It was obvious the men didn’t have much time to gather any significant gear before chasing the escapees that had assaulted their commanding officer. Just weapons and ammo. A canteen of water or two would’ve been nice.
“Com
e on, Hank. We’re on the move.”
“Where are we headed?”
John started walking away from the road. “As far away as possible. Those were just glorified baby sitters back there. Probably the first time any of them saw anything close to combat. Won’t be long before we’re hunted by professionals and we need to be as far away as possible when they get here.”
Chapter 18
With no compass handy, Sanderson tried his best to figure out which way was north by the position of the sun. He remembered from maps of the area that an old highway ran east to west about ten miles north of the installation. It was a long hike through the woods with no food or water, but it was the best idea he could come up with. Without a solid landmark as a guide, they were likely to walk in circles until they were captured or died of exposure. An abandoned strip of pavement wouldn’t do them much good once they got there, but it was better than nothing and would give him plenty of time to think of their next move.
He walked with Hank following in silence for a while, trying to keep his mind from the oppressive heat and his dry mouth. Sanderson regarded Hank’s uniform with a twinge of jealousy. His soft khaki colored uniform and work shoes were a much better fit for hiking compared to Sanderson’s expensive yet useless suit. He was tempted to lose the suit coat, but his brilliant white shirt underneath would stand out in the woods like a sore thumb. He took off his tie, used it as a headband, and unbuttoned his shirt to get a little air. His black leather shoes, also terribly expensive, offered practically no traction and made his feet sweat like crazy. All in all, Sanderson couldn’t have dressed worse for a ten mile hike through the woods if he tried. On top of that, he lugged a rifle, two handguns, and as much ammo as his pockets would hold.
At last Hank broke the silence. “You said you’d explain later. How’s this for later?”
Sanderson stopped and leaned up against a tree. “What the hell. I’m in as much trouble as you are, so I might as well tell you everything.”
Hank sat down on a fallen tree and wiped his sweaty face with his shirt sleeve. “So let’s hear it.”