Surviving The Black (Book 4): Betrayal From Within

by Finley, Zack

  "Afghanistan or Iraq?" I asked.

  "Assghanistan. Two tours," Bill responded.

  "We are just passing through," I said. "No interest in causing the locals any trouble."

  "So, you say. We heard about your purple splash. Are you boys from Mecklin County? Aren't you a bit out of your territory?"

  "As I said, just passing through. While we'd rather parley a truce for our passage, it doesn't have to be friendly."

  Bill looked around at the team, shifting the crushed cars before responding. "Yeah, I can see that. Mind if I call HQ? I can probably help with a truce."

  "Okay, let them know we are a bit skittish. Any aggressive moves will be put down, hard." I emphasized the last word, to dramatize the point.

  "I get that too. The best option for us is to get you through our territory without delay. Neither of us needs to waste ammo for no gain. Don't know what you boys are up to, but it doesn't take a genius to know you aren't targeting us." Bill looked hard at the Humvee turrets. "At least not this trip."

  "I'm going to lower my left hand and use my radio," Bill said. He looked relieved when I nodded. With exaggerated slowness, he unclipped the radio from his holster and raised it to his mouth. "Bill to Sheriff, come in."

  "Go for Sheriff."

  "We have a well-armed convoy stopped at the Crooked Creek bridge on Taylor Place Road. They want to parley a clean passage through to TN-52 west," Bill radioed.

  "They what?" We could hear the response clearly.

  "Cletus, this group is well-armed and not to be messed with. The commander says they are a might skittish and will respond to aggression with overwhelming force," Bill radioed.

  We heard, "Let me get the sheriff."

  "Roger, that," Bill radioed.

  "It may take a few minutes," Bill said, resting the radio on his chest.

  "No problem," I assured him.

  The second half of our convoy arrived while we waited. I heard the guys moving the perimeter out, searching for Bill's backup. We didn't know if he had one, but no reason to take any chances. Everyone was also monitoring for new arrivals, just in case. I monitored but didn't intercede as the new arrivals strengthened the perimeter, while the team on the roadblock expanded their efforts.

  I really wanted room for the Humvees to get through before Bill's reinforcements arrived.

  "Go for Sheriff," Bill's radio crackled.

  "Sheriff, this group prefers to parley. They are well-armed and say they are passing through. They have purple splashes on their rigs, but nothing about where they are from," Bill radioed.

  "Tell them to go around."

  "Negative, they intend to go through," Bill replied. "I recommend a parley."

  "On my way."

  "He will be here in a few," Bill said to me. "Have you boys heard anything from either the state or federal government?"

  "Not since the lights went out," I said. "How about you?"

  "Seems we are on our own, for now," Bill said. "You guys sure look well-equipped."

  A shout from the roadblock caught my eye, as the crushed car scraped and screeched across the pavement. The Humvees jerked forward, keeping the momentum going. The gap between the hunk of steel and the guardrail grew wide enough for a Humvee to slip by, with one set of wheels in a ditch but still enough.

  I didn't like being in the low ground and sent the Hummers ahead to the brow of the next hill to await the sheriff. I hoped this wasn't a mistake, but these people were at our border. And, they knew about our purple markings. Opening a dialogue with them beat the alternative. That they retained some element of civilization boded well for the area. Of course, I could be wrong, and this sheriff might be a ruthless despot, but discovering that was also worthwhile.

  "Bill," I said. He looked at me, apparently startled I was talking with him. We both watched the Humvees scrape through the gap in the roadblock, through the ditch and onto the pavement. Without either getting stuck or rolling over. I called that a win.

  "Who is the sheriff, these days?" I asked.

  "It is still Sheriff Johnson. He has been sheriff for over 10 years, undersheriff for ages before that," Bill said.

  "How is the county coping with the crash?" I asked.

  "Okay," Bill said. "Same as everybody, I guess."

  "Humvee One to Boss, truck full of people stopped on road when they spotted us." I heard in my ear.

  "Bill, your people have arrived. I need for you to convince them that if we wanted your resources, we would have infiltrated at night and removed all threats, before showing up. While I try to avoid killing those just defending their homes, none of my team will hesitate to crush any threat to our force. That means once bullets fly, we won't limit ourselves to playing defense. If necessary, we will destroy any armed group in this county that we deem a potential threat.

  "I completely understand your sheriff's need to block roads and limit access. We would go around if we could, for our own safety. If we were ruthless, we would have killed most of you from ambush last night. We might have missed a few shooters, but it would have dissolved any organized resistance. That would have weakened this region, something I really don't want to do. My proposition is this, let us through without shooting at us, and we will not shoot at you. When we come back this way in a week or so, let us return without opposition. Any questions?" I asked.

  "Are you keeping me as a hostage?" Bill asked, holding himself rigid.

  "No. Call them on the radio and tell them you are walking to their lines. I'll keep your radio, and we will parley once you reach them," I said. Bill relaxed, almost imperceptibly. I might not have noticed if I wasn't studying him for tells. He was well disciplined and gave little away.

  "Bill to Sheriff, I'm walking toward your truck. It will take me a few minutes to get into sight. They are keeping my radio for the parley. Please confirm," Bill radioed.

  "We are waiting. Confirm you are leaving radio with the roadblock group."

  "No option on the radio. See you in a few." Bill handed me the radio and followed his escort around the roadblock, and they began walking up the highway. The two men exchanged a few words, and his escort took cover in the ditch alongside the road. Bill never stopped; his hands held above his head. It didn't take long for him to adopt a purposeful stride reminiscent of the parade ground.

  "Mike to Boss, we have two more Tangoes in custody."

  "Boss to Mike, separate them from their radios, and bring them here undercover."

  "Mike to Boss, only one has a radio. We've taken their weapons and ammo. Spoils of war?"

  "Maybe, depends on the negotiations. Separate them. Maybe one is easier than the other."

  "Roger. One is bleeding a little, might need a medic."

  "Medic to Boss, I'm on my way."

  "Mike to Boss, radio is squawking for a Tony."

  "Boss to Mike, we need to know if they are planning something else. Monitor the different channels and keep me apprised."

  "Roger," Mike radioed.

  I was relieved they found the other two people, None of us thought Bill was alone. My scouts believed they lived in the house next to the bridge. It had been an educated guess that paid off.

  "Boss to Zeke, see what you can learn from the two new prisoners. No need to let anyone know we have them."

  "Roger."

  Work on the roadblock continued. Joel had disconnected one of the semi-tractors and had it pushing. The group was getting faster at jacking up and skidding the car lump, too. The driveway at the end of the guardrail helped a lot with the angle of the push. I estimated we'd have a suitable breach for the semis and their tandem trailers to get through before Bill met up with the sheriff.

  "Sniper to Boss."

  "Go for Boss," I radioed.

  "Targets detected. Eight shooters carrying M-16s and pistols in the sheriff's pickup. I've targeted the man-in-charge. All wearing the same uniform, man-in-charge is older, so is probably the sheriff. A lot of talking. One of the guys is constantly talking on t
he radio."

  "Sniper, observe, but shoot only in defense."

  "Roger."

  "Scouts, are you in position around the sheriff's posse?" I radioed.

  Four squelches confirmed.

  "Boss to Convoy, prepare to mount up," I radioed. "Those on foot, move up to the Humvees. Keep your heads down. We don't want the sheriff's posse to see you. Once the road is clear, move the vehicles up. Scout Team Two, gather ninjas, and prepare to move ahead on my signal."

  "Scout One to Boss."

  "Go for Boss."

  "A trailing group has blocked the highway with a pickup truck at a secondary creek. Blocking force of eight. The cross street, Alf Threet Road, is an alternate route but may also be blocked."

  "Boss to Sniper, can you see the new roadblock?"

  "Negative, I'm blocked by a stand of trees."

  "Scout One to Boss."

  "Go for Boss."

  "There is a dirt path behind the bridge guardhouse. If they can get to a field, they can skirt around both forces and get on their six."

  "Boss to Scout Team Two, did you copy?"

  "Roger, we are moving now. Scout Team Two, out."

  "Boss to Eric."

  "Go for Eric."

  "Take a team of four through the field on the north side of TN-296. Keep your heads down and cover the forces at the new roadblock from the north."

  "Eric copies."

  I started jogging uphill to Humvee One. It sounded like things were going to get interesting.

  "Mike for Boss."

  "Go for Boss."

  "The sheriff is talking to a second roadblock. It is running late and is setting up on Threet and Powerline."

  "Boss copies." I needed to look at the map.

  "Boss to Mike."

  "Go for Mike."

  "Find out where the TN-52 west roadblock is from our prisoners."

  The squelch was enough to indicate he heard.

  Bus pulled through the roadblock when I was halfway to the Humvees. I looked back. Two guys were cranking like hell to raise the legs on Joel's trailer. The bumper on his semi had seen better days, but no other signs of its victory over the barricade. One of the guys crawled up the ladder to the shooting position on the trailer, and the other jumped into the passenger side of the truck. Neither was fully in place before Joel started his rig through the opening. One pickup lingered as tail-end, Charlie. The second pickup remained parked at the bridge guardhouse for the interrogation crew.

  "Bill to Jeremy," squawked over my handheld.

  "Hi, Bill. I'm ready to parley," I answered.

  "This is Sheriff Johnson, who am I talking to."

  "My name is Jeremy, and I'm hoping we can pass through your fine town without blood being shed."

  "I see those Humvees, are you with the Army or National Guard?"

  "No. Just private. Well-armed but private."

  "Bill says you are ex-military."

  "As far as I can tell, there aren't many active-duty military left."

  "Do you know how bad the crash was?" It was like the sheriff couldn't help asking.

  "Global, as best we can tell," I answered. "We are all in the same boat. Nobody is coming to the rescue."

  The pause lasted at least five minutes. We weren't idle. Sniper confirmed the man Bill handed the radio to was his prime target. The groups moving to the second roadblock were still moving. Nothing new from the interrogators, and all our forces were now on this side of Crooked Creek. The ball was in Sheriff Johnson's court.

  "What do you boys need in Fentress County?"

  "Just passing through, sheriff. All we want is to drive through."

  "You could have done that without making contact. So, what is the deal?"

  "Moving roadblocks takes time, and we expect to return through here. If your roadblocks weren't manned, then we would have gone through without contact. Since they are, we need to remove the threat, hopefully by parley."

  "If you are from Mecklin County, do you know why Sheriff Lewis hasn't answered over the radio?"

  "Sheriff Lewis was murdered by one of his deputies. There is no sheriff's office left in Mecklin County." It was a calculated risk to reveal this much, but I wanted this to end peacefully. And he probably had a Mecklin Defender flier telling him about our purple color theme.

  "Then what are these Mecklin Defenders?"

  Johnson definitely had a flier. "Your neighbors," I radioed. "That is one reason we prefer to avoid killing anyone on this or any future trip."

  "I'd like to avoid that, as well. Too many good people are going to die before this calamity is done. I'd appreciate it if you'd release my other two men before we go much further."

  "We would be happy to, if you send the men on the next roadblock and the one on Alf Threet Road on their way. Having them show up made my guys a little nervous. I prefer to avoid accidents between groups of young people with weapons. I've been to too many funerals lately."

  "Mike to Boss."

  "Go for Boss," I radioed.

  "The sheriff ordered his two roadblocks back to the barn. The Threet bunch acknowledged immediately, but the one down the road from you is arguing."

  "Keep me posted. Go ahead and send Tony and his buddy up here. Boss out."

  "Scout Team Two to Boss, we are in position."

  "Boss copies. Eric, how soon for you?"

  "Eric to Boss, five minutes, max."

  "Boss copies. Confirm when in position."

  The two deputies trudged up the hill toward me, their hands tied behind them. One had a newly stitched gash on his forehead. Tom hadn't wasted any butterfly bandages on him.

  It looked at first like they were holding hands until I spotted the parachute cord tying their touching hands together. One of my people crept through the cover provided by the ditch, holding his end of the parachute cord. My guys didn't want these two to escape.

  They weren't with us long enough to get any real intel. As the captives hiked up the hill, Mike's team piled into the pickup. They would travel in front of the bus for this stretch.

  We prepared to race through the pending roadblock. The Humvees would shove the pickup out of the way. Either the turrets or our rifles would deal with the shooters. Not the preferred option, but Sheriff Johnson was either duplicitous or was having some trouble in the ranks.

  "Sheriff, would you like us to kill your mutineers?" I radioed; the moment Eric signaled they were in place. "Letting that type of insubordination go will bite you badly later."

  "No need, give me a few minutes to deal with it." Three men peeled off from the sheriff's party and trotted toward the roadblock.

  "If those on the roadblock shoot at your other men, we will intervene," I radioed. "I suggest those not supporting the mutineers lie down on the ground with their hands on their heads."

  That caused everyone, but the sheriff and Bill, to sprint toward the roadblock. I watched the unfolding drama through a pair of binoculars that Allie handed me. We tucked the two prisoners behind the second Humvee to keep them from getting shot by a stray bullet.

  Those at the roadblock wanted to talk a lot more than they wanted to shoot their buddies. One group cuffed the ringleader and rolled him into the bed of the pickup truck. Two others were cuffed and dragged up to see the sheriff. Within 10 minutes of the scrum starting, the pickup drove up to join the sheriff.

  "Scout Team Two is shifting to cover sheriff's roost."

  I turned to the man holding the prisoners, "let them loose."

  The two prisoners seemed happier about not to be holding hands than about being released. Neither wanted within three feet of the other. They kept their hands in the air, whether to keep the sheriff's men or mine from shooting them wasn't clear. I suspected it wasn't clear to them either.

  "Sheriff Johnson to Jeremy."

  "Go for Jeremy."

  "Bill tells me you have coffee, why don't I come over for a cup, and we can parley?"

  "Sure, I'll put the kettle on."

  I asked
the man on the turret to remain behind, and I got into the backseat of Humvee One. "Drive forward about 20 feet," I told my driver. Allie was riding shotgun. We waited for the sheriff to join us. I intended to offer the sheriff a seat in back with me. That Allie and my driver would cover him with pistols was a minor detail. This placed the other Hummer in charge of monitoring for external threats, I could be in the turret with the machine gun ready to rumble in seconds. The hardest part was finding a second semi-clean cup for the coffee.