by Luis Samways
“So this news you speak of, how does it concern me?” asked the Commander.
“It’s the rebels, sir. They have evaded capture,” Steven said as he lit a cigarette in fear of the Commander’s reaction.
An unaffected look of placidity spread over Klaus’s face. He had expected such news. Why else would Steven, a spy employed personally by Klaus, arrange to meet in such unsanctioned premises as a bar?
“Wasn’t it obvious that they would get away? There are plenty of them, and only a few of us.”
“That’s not all, sir,” said Steven.
“What, then? Did Jerry and Jonas die? Have they been captured?” asked the Commander, now donning a much more obvious expression of impatience on his face.
“That’s the thing, sir. Jonas is dead. Jerry is AWOL. We have it on good authority that Jerry is now working with the rebels…for real this time.”
“WHAT? What do you mean? Jerry has gone rebel?” Klaus’s face had gone red with anger; his hand had reached for his cheap drink and downed it in one before Steven could even finish what he was saying.
“That’s not all, sir. He refused to give the Jew to us. He is now in possession of the real last Jew, and he killed a few of our men to secure him,” said Steven.
“How many are dead?”
“Fifteen, sir.”
Klaus slammed his drink down on the table and stood up.
“For fuck’s sake. This is all I need. A member of the Reich is working with the rebels. Do you know what sort of information Jerry has been exposed to? That man holds some of the most classified information of this administration. We need to locate him and terminate him. We need to do it fast, and we need to do it silently. If the Section 8 council hears about this, you and I could be done for!” said Klaus as he pointed his finger at Steven.
“So what are we going to do?” asked Steven.
“We’ll figure something out. Don’t you worry about that.”
Both men walked out of the bar and went their separate ways. Klaus got his cell phone out and called somebody. The phone rang a few times. Someone answered.
“Hey, you owe me a favor. I need help tracking somebody. Yeah…. That would be great. A scent? What do you mean? I may have some clothes of his…. Yeah, his apartment would be a good bet. Are you sure about this?.... Mountain lions? Okay…your call.”
Klaus hung up, smiling to himself.
“Fucking mountain lions,” he chuckled.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Somewhere on the Mountainside, New-Germania
“We’re fucked, then, good and fucked,” I said as I sat slumped against the mound of dirt in the trench that I’d found myself in.
Next to me, Jerry was humming a tune that I wasn’t too familiar with. I thought it was stupid, really, humming a tune when we were in so much danger. I mean, how were we supposed to survive this thing if Jerry was having a sing-song?
“Da da da,” he continued to hum.
“So you’re just going to sit there in the pitch dark, singing, when we have a squad of rebels after our asses?” I asked, feeling a little impatient and a little in danger.
“Show tunes help me think,” Jerry muttered as he stared into space.
The darkness had crept in, and all we could see was each other’s eye whites in the blackness. The dirt in the trench was brown in the daylight and near black in the current darkness of the early night sky. The trees above us whistled and swayed slightly. I could hear the breeze strike the bark and rattle the leaves as time seemed to tick away slowly.
In the meantime, I could hear the rebels advancing on our position. They were making slow progress at best, but it was progress, and I feared they were making a lot more than us two, because we had been stationary now for what seemed like hours.
“When do we make our move, then?” I asked.
“As soon as one of these bastards comes over the hill and falls into the trench,” he said.
“But what if they don’t fall in? What if they spot us?”
“Then we pull them in, disarm them, and take the rest out,” Jerry said, lowering his voice as he tried to whisper.
A few minutes passed and nothing happened. The wind was picking up a little, and then we heard some footsteps. They were crunching up the hill just over our trench. We were seated in the hole in the ground, expecting the worst. Jerry had already clocked on to the sound long before I needed to alert him of the danger approaching. I decided to stick my head above the trench line for a better look, much to the disapproval of Jerry, who yanked at my collar before I could get a better look.
“What the hell are you playing at, man? Are you trying to get us killed?” he said in as much of a whisper as he could manage, considering how pissed off he was.
“I thought I’d check out the surroundings, see how many were approaching us,” I said.
“Well…did you see anything?” he asked.
“No, you pulled me back, remember?”
“Okay, cool it. Have a peek. Don’t expose yourself too much, Abel, or we could give our position away,” he said.
I nodded. It was useless, really, considering the fact that he probably couldn’t see me properly.
I slowly moved forward and braced my sweaty palms against the coarse dirt wall that stood between me and whoever was approaching the incline. I took a deep breath in and exhaled.
“Come on already, Jesus,” Jerry hissed from behind me.
I decided to do it. I bolted my head up and took a look. I saw someone standing above the trench. Their silhouette glowed in the otherwise dark surroundings. The beam from the flashlight that the shadowy figure was carrying hit my eyes, and I squinted in pain. I could see the shadow immediately tilt his head in my direction. Before I could do anything, the shadow grabbed at his gun and pointed it at my head.
I froze. My heart pounded in my ear.
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM.
And then I head a muffled gunshot. The shadow fell forward and landed hard a mere inch away from my face. The flashlight landed next to my head and illuminated the once shadowy face of the man now on the ground. Blood trickled out of a neat little hole just above the man’s eye. I restrained myself from screaming. That, and Jerry had grabbed me and yanked me back down.
“You see anyone else approaching the incline? Any more flashlights?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Abel, you gonna answer me?” he asked.
“No, just that guy. I think he’s dead,” I said, trying to catch my breath, which felt like it was competing with my now rapid pulse.
“Yep, the guy’s dead. Shot him in the eye. I found a discarded plastic soda bottle in the trench. We must be near a town or some sort of tip. I used it to muffle the gunshot. I was working on the silencer for an hour,” said Jerry.
I smiled.
“That could come in handy.” I laughed.
Jerry sprang to his feet and made it over to where I had been standing seconds ago. He hoisted himself a tad higher, and grabbed the dead man he had just shot. Both Jerry and the corpse fell into the trench with an audible thud. The man had two weapons on him: a handgun, which was what he’d been pointing at me earlier, and some sort of long-range rifle. Jerry chuckled as he went through the dead rebel’s possessions. He then got back up and scrambled back up the trench wall, and grabbed the flashlight, which was still lit. He clunked it a few times against his open palm and then switched it off.
“Quite a find here, I think,” he said with an almost gleeful tone.
“What have we found, exactly?” I asked.
“We have a long-range rifle with a scope on it. A 32X optical scope with infrared heat-seeking optics.”
“Is that a good thing?” I asked.
Jerry patted me on the shoulder playfully.
“It’s the best thing, my boy. We’ll be picking these guys off from atop this hill, and we will have the advantage. Boom, headshot,” said Jerry.
I smiled, but felt as if Jerry was missing somet
hing that I had picked up on.
“But if that guy had a sniper rifle with heat seekers on his scope, who’s to say the rebels haven’t got a few snipers set up and waiting to find us?” I asked.
“Nothing, but I’ll be damned if they shoot at me first.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Very Top of the Mountainside, New-Germania
The man with the briefcase walked into the farmyard. He had just been dropped off by the convoy that intercepted the rebels a few hours ago. He was given the briefcase by some high-ranking officer. They had flown the briefcase in from Section 8. Something important must be in it, or they wouldn’t waste fuel flying it in.
He didn’t open the briefcase; he wouldn’t dare do such a thing. It was the Reich’s property, and if the man grew curious, he could be sure that his curiosity would most likely end up killing him. He himself was a high-ranking military grunt. He commanded the platoon tasked with today’s mission. It was his duty to make sure the mission succeeded, even if its success was overdue. That was why he offered himself up for delivering the mission-important briefcase he held in his firm grip.
Another man spotted the officer with the briefcase from afar. He waved him forward. He was a scruffy-looking man. He looked like a farmer, one who woke at the crack of dawn and didn’t stop till midnight. The type of man who had tree trunks for arms and wore lumberjack-style clothing. He was a beast of a man, and the man with the briefcase immediately felt uneasy around him.
“You got the gear?” the lumberjack type asked as the man approached him.
“Yeah, what’s in the case?” the man asked, succumbing to his curiosity.
“Clothes. You’ll see why in a second. Follow me,” the big farmer said.
Both men walked together side by side, not saying much, not making eye contact. A few minutes went by, and then they finally reached the barn, which the farmer opened the big door to. His large, bulky arms effortlessly ripped the door open. The sliding metal supports creaked loudly in their ears.
“What do you need clothes for? Are there no shops in the county?” the army man asked.
“Questions are not welcome in these parts. You’ll see in a minute. I already told ya, didn’t I?” the lumberjack huffed.
Both men walked into the barn, and the army man immediately felt threatened.
“What the fuck?” he said as he saw the beasts roaring in the cages. Their teeth gnashed at him as they growled.
“What the hell are these things?” he asked, nearly stumbling on his breathing.
The farmer grabbed the case off the man. “Lions. Sniffer lions, to be precise. We’ve trained these cougars to track prey. They are faster than dogs, and more vicious. We have these clothes in the briefcase for the lions to sniff. They will be able to make out the direction of the fugitive from the scent on the clothes.”
“So these are the fugitive’s clothes in the case?” the army man asked.
“Yeah. The fugitive went AWOL not too far from here. Lucky, really, because now we can use these bad boys. The mountain lions don’t like transport, so all I have to do is let them loose and they’ll find the sucker. They have GPS on their collars, so I won’t be too far from them on my ATV.”
The army man stood there in utter silence.
“What if they kill the fugitive?” the army guy asked.
“That’s not a problem if they are fed beforehand. They will just maul the fugitive — he won’t be eaten alive.”
“Have they been fed?” the army guy asked.
“They will be,” said the farmer.
The farmer immediately punched the army guy in the face, knocking him out. He grabbed him by the arms and dragged him toward one of the cages. He banged his fist on the cage, scaring one of the lions inside it.
“Back off, ya, ya, ya,” he said.
The lion obeyed its master and backed off, sitting upright like a trained dog. The farmer opened the cage and threw the man in. The lion didn’t move. It waited for the farmer to leave and shut the barn door. As the farmer did so, he could hear the cougar go in for its meal. The farmer closed the door to the sounds of breaking bones and spilled blood.
He reached for his cell and pulled it out. He dialed some numbers.
“Hello, we have the case. I’m afraid your messenger didn’t make it. I needed food for the beast before I let it out on its search…. Okay, no problem. The lion should be off its leash in half an hour.”
The farmer hung up the cell and got back to attending his crops for the time being.
Chapter Twenty-Four
On a Train, in Germany
Cindy held Mary-Lou’s hand tightly. She feared the worst as the police searched the carriage she was in. They were going through everyone’s luggage — everyone but hers. That made her even more nervous. She felt like a bag of nerves on the train. It was as if everyone could see the sweat forming above her brow. She was under the impression everyone could make her out for what she was…for what she did.
The officer at the front who seemed to be in charge was just finishing up with the last person on the carriage. He had a look of disappointment on his face; it was as if he was defeated.
“All right. Pack it up — we’re leaving,” he said to another officer, who looked just as disappointed.
The leader blew on his whistle and motioned to his colleague. The man came running down the aisle and nodded at the officer.
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience this has caused, but we suspected a fugitive from the law was on this train. Some man from the south — he robbed a few elderly people. We apologize once again, and hope you have a wonderful journey.”
With that the police left the train, and the doors shut behind them. Cindy felt a huge sigh of relief as the train started to pick up speed. She looked over at her groggy little girl, who was restlessly awakening.
She looked at her daughter and smiled.
“Are we there yet, Mommy?” she murmured.
“Not yet, honey. We should be there soon,” Cindy said.
The train continued on its journey.
Cindy was unaware of the man behind her, staring a hole through her seat and holding a gun in his inside jacket pocket.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Somewhere Below the Mountainside, New-Germania
Danni Mendez was searching the tree lines with her binoculars. She was trying to find someone. The same someone everyone else was trying to find.
She winced in pain a little.
Her face was still hurting after being knocked out by Jerry. She hadn’t seen the punch coming, but she’d felt it.
She continued to look through the fish-eye sights of the binoculars, scanning the horizon for any sign of movement. It was useless, really, seeing how it was nighttime and she couldn’t see a damn thing. Now that Jerry had gone AWOL and killed Sammy, she was the one left in charge. There were other much stronger, more experienced men in the rebel unit who could probably do a better job, but for some reason, the rebels had always looked at her as the second-in-command. So there she was, being second-in-command.
“Sorry to bother you, Danni, but we haven’t picked up a radio check from Wayne in a while. We did the roundup, and he was the only one who didn’t answer his roll call,” a voice from behind her said.
She let the binoculars slip out of her grip and hang around her neck. She turned around and smiled at the man standing before her.
“What was Wayne packing?” she asked.
The man looked afraid to say anything. It was as if his tongue wouldn’t move under the pressure of such a question.
Danni found it strange.
She immediately realized something was wrong.
“Don’t tell me he was carrying the sniper rifle?” she said in a mild panic.
“I’m afraid so, Danni,” the man confessed as he looked at the ground beneath his feet.
“Shit,” she said.
She gave a firm shake of her head at the man and dashed over to the Jeep, wher
e a few men were sitting down, looking at maps.
They were busy scouting the area. They were assigned to RECON, and they were the only men, aside from Wayne, who had RECON gear.
“Guys, did Wayne take the thermal sniper rifle with him?” Danni asked as she reached the Jeep, trying to sustain her escaping breath.
“Yeah. He insisted. He said it would make sense for him to take it up the ridge and do some scouting,” one of the men said.
The other man just appeared confused as he looked Danni up and down.
“Why?” he asked.
She didn’t say anything for a while. All three of them remained silent for a long moment, until the silence was broken by a crack in the wind.
“Get down!” Danni screamed as the man next to her took a bullet to the neck, spraying the other RECON man with a face full of blood.
***
“You took the shot?” I asked as Jerry snapped the bolt on the left side of the rifle, popping out a spent shell as a small sliver of smoke bellowed from the barrel.
“Shit,” he said, popping in another magazine.
“Fucking bullets are half baked or something. Should have known, fucking rebels with their subpar ammunition.”
“Did you hit anybody?” I asked .
“Yeah. I got a guy in the neck. I nearly hit a woman. I think it was Danni, actually,” he said.
I immediately felt anger in my core. I leaped forward and tackled Jerry to the floor. He was propped against the mound with the rifle placed on the dirt before I took him off his feet. The sheer impact of my tackle made him shoot another bullet in reflex before I managed to disarm him. I grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and pulled his face closer to mine.
“Now, listen here, you fucking Yank. Don’t you go killing any more of those rebels. You were one of them before all this happened, and now you’re taking shots at them? Are you fucking crazy? We could work something out. We could work with them. We can’t run from everyone, Jerry. We just won’t survive,” I said.