The Jared Chronicles | Book 3 | Chains of Tyranny

by Tippins, Rick

  Inside, Jared rooted for the smaller-sounding weapon’s owner. He’d always been a fan of the underdog, and though he couldn’t see the action, he felt the bigger gun seemed more likely to be someone from the base. This automatically made the baritone gun an enemy in Jared’s mind. He hoped, whoever they were out there in the middle of the night, they stayed far away from him and his friends. Jared wasn’t one to bask in denial and was well aware of the fast-approaching detail of getting John out of a heavily fortified military base, but for now Jared wished to be left alone. He leaned back against a support beam and tried clearing his mind. He was tired but also amped up, knowing there was conflict so close by. He rested the back of his head against the beam and tried to take what John would have called a military nap. Sleeping without really sleeping.

  When Jared snapped to, he hadn’t the foggiest idea how long he’d dosed off for, but he was cognizant of one thing—gunfire again and much closer now. With the absence of most all manmade ambient noise, it was hard to tell exactly how far out the gunfire was coming from. The exchange was louder than the first, so Jared had to assume the conflict was moving closer to his position.

  Jared heard a scraping sound from the rear of the barn and swung the NVG around in time to see Devon crawling back through the window. Jared waited until Devon cleared the catwalk and was back in the main loft area before he hissed at the teen. Devon made his way to Jared’s side and sank to the floor. Crank was up and over in a nanosecond to check and see how his master was doing. Devon scratched the dog’s head before whispering his report to Jared.

  “I went up the river. I didn’t cross it, but there is a bunch of houses on the other side a little way up, and it sounds like whoever is fighting is in those houses,” Devon informed him quietly.

  “You see them?”

  “No, just heard the guns and some trucks racing around inside the neighborhood. I thought maybe they were chasing someone or looking for someone, ’cause I heard the guns shooting and then what sounded like more trucks driving into the same area the gunfire was coming from.”

  Jared mulled this over, but was unable to put the pieces together. It could be any of a million scenarios, none of which involved Jared and his friends, thankfully.

  Jared leaned forward and groped in the dark for Devon’s shoulder, having flipped the goggles up and finding his night vision so badly eroded he was, for all intents and purposes, blind for the time being. “Dev, confirm all the crap you heard out there was all on the other side of the river?”

  “Yeah, for sure, nothing on our side,” Devon answered softly.

  “Good,” Jared said more to himself than Devon. “Go get some sleep. I’ll hang out here. There’s no way I’m sleeping after all this,” Jared whispered.

  Devon patted Crank on the back, and the two headed off to Devon’s sleeping bag, where the dog climbed in and wormed his way to the bottom before curling into a ball and drifting into dog dreamland.

  John wasn’t sure of their exact location, but based on the streets he’d counted from the map and the loose count he was trying to keep in his head, John was confident they would reach the western border of the neighborhood soon. The steep levy that protected the homes from the river in times of flooding would become John’s best friend. The levy was an obstacle for the Humvees and cover from the soldiers’ fire.

  After Ray had skull capped the soldier in the turret over an hour earlier, John and company hadn’t heard anything more than a few faint sounds from the Humvees. John was sure Carnegie wasn’t packing up and going home though. It just wasn’t his style. After John and the SEALs had killed possibly two of his troops, the colonel would be out for blood. Carnegie would do his best to whip the green soldiers into a vengeful fury in the quest to eliminate the bastards who’d killed their friends.

  This was the difference between professional warfighters and your common line-level troops, whether it be Army, Navy or Marine Corps. John harbored no doubts the SEALs held some level of hatred for the men responsible for Dale’s and Ty’s deaths, but they would not waver from the mission of getting the rest of the team out of the area safely. Once they were sitting around a fire somewhere safer and warmer, the vengeance would flow from their mouths and not their trigger fingers—unless, that is, the SEALs were confronted again during their escape and evade exercise.

  John held the team up for a brief reorientation session between Matt, himself and the map. John felt good about moving one street to the south and then legging it out in the open to where he thought the street dead-ended in a small cul-de-sac. Matt thought the plan was a little sketchy, so the two talked it over. In the end, John backed off, and they agreed to jump fences for another block before heading over to the street that would drop them at the beginning of a bike and hiking trail that would offer them access to the river’s levy.

  John glanced warily to the east, knowing the sun was coming while longing for it to just slow its journey to light the eastern edges of the Bay Area. If John and his SEAL friends were caught out in the open come sunup, the vehicle with the .50-caliber machine gun would become a very real problem. If Carnegie could place the vehicle on high ground, the weapon’s reach was unreal. Even if John and company could evade the initial onslaught and get to a position of cover, the gun could conceivably pin them in place until Carnegie could maneuver the other two vehicles to their position. Lastly, what constituted cover from small-arms fire would not necessarily fall under the same classification when pounded by the heavy machine gun.

  The look on Matt’s sweat-slicked face told John the SEAL leader was thinking similar thoughts as they leapfrogged, heaved gear over fences, and jogged through yards filled with children’s toys. Jeez, Carnegie’s a spiteful bastard, thought John. There was no tactical reason to pursue the SEALs and himself, yet here they were being dogged by all the troops John was sure the colonel could spare and still keep the base locked down. Maybe when this was all over, Ray would lend John that .300 Win Mag, and he would slither back this way and see about removing the colonel’s head from his shoulders. Or maybe John would just go back and try finding Jared and the rest of the group he’d been snatched from. He doubted Ray would have parted with the rifle in peacetime and doubted seriously the guy would loan the weapon out considering the state of the country these days.

  At the front of one of the homes they were passing through, John got Matt’s attention, pointing south, indicating it was time to move to the street and haul ass for the levy. Matt gave a nod of affirmation, and John turned the exhausted group of men south, passing two houses, and then west again—only now they were walking right down the sidewalk. Most leaders in this situation would feel a need to tell their men to be vigilant, but John knew each of these highly trained Navy commandos were already doing just that.

  Men in highly specialized, elite combat units didn’t run around yelling gung-ho slogans of encouragement to one another. They were the silent professionals, and John had been a part of the best before the solar flare. Suffer in silence, fight in silence, be the consummate professional at all times, and if the time came for you to die, do it like a man. No crying for your mother, no Hollywood deathbed confession, just basic manly determination to never shame your chosen profession.

  In all honesty, John felt the men he’d seen die quietly on the battlefield served two purposes with their unselfish actions. The men in his former unit were quite possibly the most prideful men on the planet, and for one of them to falter in front of their mates was unspeakable. Secondly, their stoic demeanor calmed others around them, who oftentimes weren’t finished with the mission that’d just killed a close friend. It was a tough thing to lose a pal halfway through an operation, bag the poor soul up, and have to return to the fighting, inevitably wondering when your own ticket might be punched.

  These SEALs had acted professionally tonight after their brothers were gunned down, and for that John felt a pang of sympathy for every member of Matt’s team. It just plain sucked losing brothers in tra
ining or in combat, but combat was worse for John. A training death allowed the survivors to process the event since whatever they’d been doing would be shut down, and an investigation would immediately begin. Combat was different. Usually the unit was deployed, so even after they fought their way out of whatever mess resulted in a team KIA, they’d return to a base camp, sleep, and go out the very next night.

  John and the SEALs covered the two blocks, reaching the dead end, and didn’t slow as they passed straight through the open walkway access located between two of the homes. The levy loomed large to the left of the trail, and John scrambled up its steep bank. Morning was on its way, and John could feel the cold brought on somehow by the approach of daylight.

  By the time he reached the top of the levy, he felt the icy tentacles of fear slither across his body. The neighborhood seemed much darker than the top of the levy seemed. John shot a look to his watch and saw the time was 5:30 a.m. His biggest fear was slowly becoming a reality as the sun began to cast a baleful orange tint across the landscape.

  “Matt,” John hissed through the cold morning air.

  Matt was just cresting the top of the levy and hurried to John’s side. “It’s getting light quick.”

  “No shit,” John said through a wry smile. “We are going to have to swim the river again, get on the other side, and move south. The damn river is the only piece of tactical terrain we have between here and I’d say the next twenty miles. I mean, there are drainage ditches and low depressions, but if they catch us in the open with that .50, they can stand off and just pin us down.”

  “Let’s keep moving,” Matt said, wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve.

  John held out his arm as if handing the lead back to Matt. “Lead on, bro. Water is kinda your thing, isn’t it?” he finished with a smirk.

  Matt flashed him a tired smile and got to his feet. The men slid down the levy and into the freezing waters of the river. They all easily crossed, climbed the bank, and moved into an orchard on the opposite shore. The levy on the orchard side was much lower than the levy protecting the neighborhood. If someone were to gain the top of the levy on the east side or the side of the neighborhood, they would hold the high ground. Matt didn’t like this little bit of tactical trivia one single bit.

  Once every SEAL along with John was accounted for, the half-frozen group of men moved south through the orchard. Their movement sounded of sloshing wet clothing combined with the occasional muffled curse as each man tried desperately to warm himself. While they trudged forward, they stayed close to the levy in the event they were contacted and needed to use the river as an avenue of escape. By the time the SEALs were able to move a hundred yards through the orchard, the sun was casting enough light on the area to discern faint colors. The jig was up, and now if they were contacted, it would be an all-out brawl in the absence of the night’s blessed darkness to conceal their escape.

  The good thing was the team carried more than enough ammunition for Goat’s weapon, and John hoped these SEALs understood how important that gun was going to be in a fight. The rest of the men weren’t low on ammunition, but one could never have enough. John made a mental note that if they ended up in a fight, he was going to keep track of Goat in the event the man was killed. If this happened, someone would need to take his weapon and get it back into the fight.

  Neither John nor the SEALs ever heard the Humvee as it crested the far-side levy of the river; congruently the soldiers manning the Humvee hadn’t the foggiest idea they were driving anywhere near their dangerous foe. Both the occupants of the Humvee and the SEALs spotted each other at the same instant, and for the briefest of moments, no one did a thing while each side waited for the other party to dictate their next course of action. Maybe it was that everyone on both sides was dog tired and maybe a little over all the fighting, but what went through John’s mind was how the hell the vehicle got on top of the levy and why he hadn’t heard it. There must have been an access road, he surmised in a flash, dismissing the thought for fear of it interfering with the flurry of upcoming decisions he was about to make.

  John’s mind also registered the .50-caliber machine gun set on top of the Humvee and the soldier’s head that was cautiously emerging from below the turret.

  “Contact, eleven o’clock,” screamed John as he rushed forward, the only card in his hand he could play. To run would mean being either cut down or caught out in the open. Their only real choice was to use the smaller levy on their side of the river for cover and paste the Humvee and its crew with bullets. As long as the John and the SEALs hugged the levy on their side, the Humvee’s high-ground advantage was nullified.

  The SEALs reacted as one, running to the edge of the levy as Goat leveled several three-to-five-round bursts at the Humvee, causing the man in the turret to duck back inside the safety of the armored Humvee. This bought the team the time needed to safely reach the cover of the levy. Now John’s worst fear began to come true as he heard other vehicles racing to the area. If a second vehicle came at them from the west side of the river, they would be forced to take it on out in the open with nowhere to hide but the smaller levy.

  The problematic Humvee was approximately four hundred yards south of them, so shooting at it with the M4s or John’s H&K 416 was a waste of ammunition. Goat also halted any further engagement once everyone was behind cover.

  “We have to attack these guys,” John said, his face conveying the seriousness of their situation.

  Matt immediately took control, issuing several orders to the men. “Denver, take Goat and move to within two hundred yards of that damn Humvee. Radios on, boys.” Matt reached up and flipped his comms gear on, then adjusted his headset. “John, you and Rip move past the vehicle. Once you’re past it, I want you to let us know, and we will lay into it, get their heads down. Once they turtle, Rip, I want you to put an end to this. John, support him.”

  Denver and Goat took off at a sprint with John and Rip close behind. John didn’t have a radio, so he’d have to rely on Rip’s comm gear. Ninety seconds later Rip and John were in place and could hear the intermittent chatter of Goat’s machine gun coupled with the occasional roar of the .50-caliber monster mounted atop the Humvee. Rip wisely made the call, requesting Goat check his fire until Rip could steal a look at the Humvee. With Goat’s rounds striking the armored vehicle and then pinwheeling in all directions, Rip didn’t want to get hit with a piece of hot ricocheting bullet shrapnel. Rip was already poised near the top of the levy, having only to raise himself to a kneeling position and take a second to acquire the Humvee before he fired the first M203 grenade.

  The War Gods were smiling on John and Rip that cold, wet, miserable morning. The Humvee crew seemed to think they held a reach advantage, which they did until John and the SEALs moved forward, negating the soldiers’ errantly perceived dominance. The passenger had his door partially ajar, but was smart enough to remain hidden behind the vehicle’s heavy armored door. What the passenger hadn’t accounted for was being attacked from the rear.

  Rip aimed first at the turret, but then realized the weakness an open door offered him and adjusted his aim. The airborne grenade sailed through the open door and detonated on the dash inside the vehicle. The passenger was killed instantly, as was the driver. The man in the turret was severely wounded from the waist down, rendering him irrelevant for the foreseeable future as he slumped onto the back-seat area of the vehicle in a growing pool of his own blood, which poured far too freely from his legs for his liking.

  “Holy shit, Rip, great shot. You’re a fucking surgeon with that thing,” John marveled.

  “Fuck those guys. They’re the same ones who killed Dale and Ty,” Rip snarled.

  John paused for a second, then chose his words carefully. “Bro, six months ago we were all on the same side. Those guys are Americans. I get it, you lost a couple of top-flight mates, but don’t become what’s driving them.”

  Rip looked quizzically at John. “Carnegie?”

  “Y
eah, Carnegie. Don’t lose your humanity out here because someone else has, that’s all I’m saying. You’re a good dude, Rip. Stay that way.”

  John left it at that, moving forward a bit before pulling out his binoculars and studying the smoldering Humvee. Just as John was about to stow the optics, the rear door swung open and a soldier spilled out onto the dirt road that ran atop the levy. The man was unarmed and obviously not a threat, as he was covered in blood and moved like a man who’d been severely concussed.

  John sat back as Rip moved forward for a better look. John rocked his head back and clacked his teeth together before running his hands through his hair. “Fuck,” he spat. “Bro, cover me.”

  Rip spun back toward John as if there were a new threat he wasn’t aware of. “What?”

  “I’m not asking you to go. Just cover me while I go save a kid’s life.”

  John reached out and keyed Rip’s radio. “Goat, hold your fire. I’m moving to the vehicle.” John didn’t wait for a response since he wouldn’t have heard anyhow.

  Rip nodded his head while his face still showed his confusion as John slid down the bank of the levy and again returned to the freezing river water. John easily sidestroked the twenty yards to the opposite shore and crawled up the levy’s steep bank, coming up to the front of the now burning Humvee. John approached the downed soldier with his rifle up, scanning and covering the man in case he wasn’t as down and out as John originally thought.

  When John reached the man, he realized the man would not be ambulatory for a long time even if he lived. The soldier was vaguely aware of John’s presence and weakly pushed at John’s arms as John rolled the stricken man onto his back, searching for the tourniquets John knew every soldier carried after the war on terror taught some tough lessons to the first men who participated in that conflict.

  John found one on the man’s web gear and manhandled the medical device into place, pulling it tight and getting exactly what he’d expected in the way of a scream from the soldier. John left the man for a moment to search the bloody corpses of his comrades, where John found two additional tourniquets and returned to the still-screaming man. The second device went on with less difficulty since the man seemed to be losing the will to push at John.