Holding Their Own: The Salt War (22 page)

Pausing for a moment to scoot his chair over and grab a handful of beans, the old rancher then continued. “On most occasions, I ignored it after taking over for my dad. While there were years when a few less losses would have made a big difference to our operation and profitability, I also knew those folks over there were dirt poor. If they culled out some meat once or twice a year, it wasn’t the end of the world for us. I didn’t like it, sometimes calling the sheriff, other times walking over myself and warning them to leave my livestock alone. It didn’t do much good, and jurisdictional boundaries prevented law enforcement from eradicating the problem.”

Hunter chose that moment to fuss, one of his toys slightly out of reach. He was soon content, thanks to his mother’s longer limb.

After kissing her son’s forehead, Terri said, “So this war y’all are fighting has deep roots. Most do, I suppose.”

Culpepper frowned, “Yes, yes I suppose it does. But things didn’t seem to get out of control until about four months after the civilized world vanished. That’s when the rustling got really, really serious. Sometimes four or five head per week.”

“I assume you went to the village and confronted them?” Terri replied.

“We tried. You have to understand that there’s not just one village. There is an entire conglomeration of hamlets, outlying ranches and farms. Everybody denied knowing anything about rustlers.”

Terri mulled over the statement, choosing her next words carefully. “But you were sure.”

“We caught three of them red-handed,” Culpepper remembered. “They had two of our branded steers roped and in tow. We backed them into a small box canyon and they came out shooting. I lost my first two men that day. But we killed all of them.”

“And you knew they were from the villages?”

“No, not at first. We took the bodies across the river and rode up into the square, asking if anyone could identify the men we had killed. The wailing wives and mothers confirmed our beliefs. I lost another two riders getting out of there after they opened fire on us.”

Culpepper grimaced, the memories flooding back. “That night, my riders wanted blood. One of the dead men had three brothers working our spread, another of the casualties was survived by a father and uncle. There was still hard liquor in several of the hands’ lockers, and before I knew it, there was a large mob of angry, drunken cowboys demanding revenge. When I forbade it, they up and quit on me, taking off in a full gallop, brandishing whiskey bottles and Winchester rifles.”

“Did they ever come back?”

“No, never laid eyes on ’em again. But I heard later that they did horrible things to some Tejano women… some
things
I would never have sanctioned.”

Terri shook her head, the story familiar and not uncommon. It was easy to see how the situation had spiraled out of control. “So I have to ask, is this mendable? Can there be peace between the two sides? Are you like Israel and Egypt, where a treaty and lasting peace can be negotiated, or like Israel and Palestine where so much bad water has passed under the bridge there’s no hope? Are both sides so entrenched in their hatred that neither will be able to see a better way? Are the Tejanos leader and you wise enough to walk the path to armistice if it presents itself?”

The old rancher’s head snapped up at the analogy, a flash of anger flickering in his eyes. A harsh reprimand formed in his throat, but then he stopped himself.

The young woman sitting across the basket of beans wasn’t afraid of him. She stared back, firm in resolve, confident in her place. True, she didn’t work for the ranch, wasn’t in his employ. But there was more to it than that.

It took Culpepper a moment to put his finger on his guest’s attitude.
She’s playing poker with me
, he finally realized.
And she knows she has the winning hand. Be careful with this one, you old fool. She’ll turn you inside out and laugh while your guts spill out on the ground.
    

Some men would have been angry. Some would have dismissed Terri’s posture as nothing more than a bluff. Despite the fact that she was sitting on
his
back porch, snapping
his
beans, and being an uninvited guest in
his
house, Mr. Culpepper realized he respected the woman sitting across from him. There was an authority there… a level of self-assurance he rarely encountered from man, woman, or beast.

Why?
He asked himself.
What gives some folks that rod of steel in their cores?

The rancher’s thoughts then returned to the instant the woman had first learned her husband was a prisoner of the Tejanos. Her angry, blurted words came back into his mind. “I need to get to Alpha,” she had said. “I need to get there right fucking now. I will have 10,000 men with battle tanks and Apache helicopters hit that village in less than two hours.”
An
interesting reaction from a woman stranded alone in the desert
.

“I don’t know the answer to your question, young lady. I do know this; there’s more to you than meets the eye. I think you’re holding back on me.”

Terri didn’t want to go there, still regretting her previous outburst. She instantly flipped on the innocent charm, fluttering a smile and dismissing her host’s observations. “Why, Mr. Culpepper, would you hold it against a proper lady if she kept a few aces up her sleeve? Think about my current predicament – I’m alone with a small child in tow… without the benefit of my husband or other resources. I am completely at the mercy of strangers, depending wholly on the benevolence of men I’ve never known. Wouldn’t you hold a few things close to the vest if you were in my shoes?”

“Yes, ma’am… I suppose I would. But like most things on this earth, it’s what I don’t know that concerns me the most.”

“I’m no threat to you, Mr. Culpepper. Hunter and I are peaceable folks,” she said, bending to pick up her son and rest him on her knee. “I only want to find my husband and get back home.”

“I wish I could make that come true, ma’am. But for the time being, that’s a problem I can’t solve.”

“My experience has been there’s always an answer, sir. It will come…. I have to keep the faith…. It will come.” 

The announcement of a town-wide feast surprised Victor. Turning his booth over to a subordinate, he immediately headed for the doctor’s home upon hearing the news.

When the loud knock had sounded at his door, Dr. Hanes had nearly suffered a coronary. He’d been working tirelessly on his potion of venomous potato juice, the evidence of his crime spread all over the kitchen.

Victor’s face peering through the front door glass, rather than the mugs of the chief or his goons, had brought immediate relief.

“Why are you out of breath?” asked the merchant as he was shown in.

“You scared the shit out of me,” replied the physician. “I could feel the noose tightening around my neck.”

Cory appeared around the corner, a large butcher knife still in his hand. After seeing Victor’s glance at the weapon, the co-conspirator flushed with embarrassment and lowered the blade. “Sorry,” he explained, “I’m not going to be taken alive.”

For some reason, Cory’s statement brought home the seriousness of their activities. All three stood silently with their thoughts. It was the doctor who spoke first, “So did you come over here to help us press potatoes, or just to make it easier for Stan and his thugs to gather all of us up in one place?”

“Neither,” responded Victor, shaking himself out of morbid thoughts of capture. “Mr. Gospel, savior of our town and benevolent leader of all that surrounds him, has declared a feast will occur tomorrow afternoon right on the courthouse square. It occurred to me that your concoction might spice up the festivities.”

Grunting at his friend’s choice of words, Dr. Hanes nodded. “That’s excellent luck. I would think debuting my little witch’s brew there would be a whole lot easier than breaking into the school and poisoning Stan’s henchmen. Still…”

“Why not do both?” Cory interrupted.

“Because I can’t be sure of how much each person will consume,” replied the doctor. “If we spray our potion on the chicken, and some fool eats three times the normal serving, then our potion could kill. On the other hand, we need to make sure enough people get good and sick, or Stan won’t be concerned enough to tip his hand.”

“We need to make sure Stan is one of the victims,” added Victor, the bitterness bleeding through in his voice. “That’s the only way to be sure that asshole will break out the goodies and expose his greed and deception.”

“I still say we do both,” Cory said. “My friends are scouting the school. If anyone can get inside and apply the poison, it will be them.”

The doctor considered Cory’s logic, looking at the beaker of greenish liquid they had extracted. “I think our friend is right, Victor. We have to do both. If Stan’s men don’t get sick, he’ll just blame the illness on food poisoning. If people who never visited the banquet show the same symptoms, then he’ll have to know it is something more serious.”

“When will you be ready?”

“We have another half bushel to process, and then we have to separate the concentrated toxin. We’ll be finished in a few more hours.”

Grim handed Kevin back his sniper rifle, blinking his eyes after peering for so long through the high-powered scope resting atop the weapon.

They were 800 meters from the school that now acted as Mr. Gospel’s headquarters, hiding in the dense brush, and trying to determine a way inside.

“That’s one nasty setup,” Grim commented to his younger companion. “Even at night, it’s very risky.”

“There has to be a way,” Kevin responded, returning the rifle to his shoulder to scan the distant structure. “It’s just a school, not a military base or prison.”

“Oh, if we could take out a couple of the guards, it would be cake to get inside. But this op calls for accessing the interior without leaving any trace of the visit. That building has unobstructed fields of observation for hundreds of yards, well-placed sentries on the rooftop, and random patrols. It’s a tough nut to crack.”

Kevin didn’t comment, his comrade’s tone indicating he needed time to think. He continued studying the complex, looking for any weakness or access point.

While he watched, three women appeared at the makeshift gate someone had erected, one of the female visitors carrying a mop bucket, another toting a broom. There was a brief conversation with the guards manning the checkpoint, and then the cleaning crew was allowed to pass.

“I have an idea,” Kevin teased. “Can you dress up like a wash woman?”

“What?” Grim asked, recoiling from the young man and his suggestion.

Handing the rifle back, Kevin said, “I just saw three women get past the guards. They had cleaning supplies. You can see them just strolling into the complex.”

Grim was silent for a long period, watching the women enter the building and disappear from sight. “Brilliant,” he finally responded. “Absolutely brilliant.”

“So you’re going to dress up like a woman? I’ve got to see that. Can I use the solar charger to power up my phone? I want to take pictures to show Bishop and my dad.”

A light chuckle came from Grim’s throat. “No, I’m not becoming a cross dresser. I don’t have the legs for it. But it does give me another idea. Come on, we’ve got some work to do.”

An hour later, the two Alliance men were on the opposite side of the school, perched on the second floor of an abandoned home.

“Do you see it?” Grim asked, waiting for Kevin to focus the rifle’s big optic. “Twenty meters away from the double doors, just to the right of those bushes.”

“Yeah! Yes, I see it.”

“Can you hit it? From here?” The older man asked anxiously.

“Sure can,” Kevin responded, checking the range. “But I’m not sure how much damage I can do. This is a .308, not a 50 caliber with armor piercing shells.”

“It’s a pump, for Heaven’s sake. It can’t be armored.”

The sniper studied the target, trying to analyze the machine’s operation. “Are you sure that’s the water pump?”

“Positive,” replied Grim. “My uncle was an industrial plumber by trade, and I used to help him before I went into the Army. If you look a little to the left, there’s a gas generator hooked up to the pump. They will run the unit for about an hour a day to fill that big tank on the roof. Gravity provides the water pressure for the school. A lot of rural, commercial buildings are configured the same way.”

Kevin scanned the setup, slowly moving to the roofline of the three-story school. Just as Grim said, he could spot a hefty storage tank, complete with silver piping running in and out.

“Why don’t I just shoot the tank at the bottom,” he asked. “The water will leak out, and they’ll have to call a repairman.”

“It would be too obvious that the tank had been hit with a pretty, round bullet. It would put them on high alert. The pumps, on the other hand, do occasionally rupture on their own. I thought we’d have a better chance of pulling off that deception.”

“I know!” Kevin brightened. “How about I shoot the pipe? Wouldn’t a pipe give way if it was old and corroded?”

Grim rubbed his chin, “Yes, it might. Especially one that was exposed to the elements outside. Can you hit that small of a target from here?”

Kevin pulled a laser range finder from his vest, steadying his hands on the window frame. “It’s 910 meters, but the wind is calm. Might take me two, maybe three shots.”

“Are you able to do it with the CAN on your rifle?”

“Yeah… the cancelation device doesn’t affect the ballistics. What I can’t do is use the sub-sonic rounds. They won’t reach that far.”

“So what will the guards around the building be able to hear? Will they know it’s a bullet?”

Holding up a finger to signal he needed a bit of time, Kevin began digging around in his pack. The first thing he extracted was a notebook and pencil, second came a calculator.

Grim watched as the team’s best shot ran through a series of calculations, punching the buttons of the solar-powered calculator and scratching the results on a blank sheet of paper.

Next, the number cruncher made another pass through the pack, finally producing a plastic box of cartridges labeled “200 gr.” Opening the lid, Kevin sighed in disappointment. “I’ve only got three left.”

“You only have three rounds left? Period? Total?” Grim questioned, his tone indicating he was about to go ballistic himself.

“No, no. I have plenty of regular ammo left for my weapon. But these are extra heavy bullets. I rarely use them, but they would work for this target because they slow down quickly while in flight.”

The expression on the older man’s face indicated he didn’t understand.

“The speed of sound is 1,127 feet per second. My bullet has to be going slower than that before it reaches the school, or the guys on the ground will hear a sonic boom, the crack of the round passing through the air faster than sound.”

“So you need heavier bullets because they slow down?”

“Yes.”

“And you only have three?”

“Yes, sir.”

Grim paced back and forth, trying to contemplate the risks versus reward. They had to create a need for the men inside the school-compound to contact an outside service, and it had to be something unusual. He was sure the cleaning crew and other regular visitors were well known by the guards. But a plumber surely wasn’t an everyday guest. Besides, after working with his uncle, he was sure he could talk the talk and walk the walk.

The risks were many. Kevin could miss. Three shots might not be enough to bust the pipe. The guards could realize someone was shooting at them. A patrol could hear the sniper rifle and pin them down in the house or chase them away.

Any of those options would cause the men running the facility to lock it up tight – water or no.

But they had to do something… and quickly. Nick couldn’t last forever out there, and the men in Cartersville had their side of the plan ready to go. “Bishop once told me that a half-assed plan today is better than a perfect plan tomorrow. Do it, Kevin.”

The kid nodded, setting the three heavy shells to the side, then working on a proper brace and shooting position for his shots. Grim rotated between scanning their surroundings and watching his teammate prepare. While few men could stand against the ex-contractor inside of 200 meters, he had never been able to develop long distance shooting skills. He just didn’t possess the patience and special mindset required, but was fascinated by those who did.

The house they occupied was full of random junk, cobwebs and all kinds of post-occupational debris. After scanning the scraps of cloth, furniture, and crumbling plaster that littered the floor, Kevin lifted a dilapidated, old dresser to a position just inside the window.

Using his pack as a seat, the kid steadied his rifle’s bipod on the dresser and then set about making himself as comfortable as possible. “This is at the edge of my effective range,” Kevin noted as he worked on the setup. “When I talked dad into letting me join Bishop’s team, I never thought I’d have to shoot much further than 1,000 yards.”

Grim glanced through the glassless window at the distant school. He shook his head at the seemingly impossible distance. “You’re doing great, Kevin. You’ve bailed our asses out I don’t know how many times. Do your best – that’s all anyone can ever do.”

Watching as the kid returned to rummage in his pack, Grim was surprised when the shooter pulled out a pair of rolled-up socks. “Do your feet itch?”

Kevin laughed, acting like he appreciated the joke. After he’d settled down, he looked at Grim soberly and said, “Thanks for that. That’s something Bishop would do to help my nerves. I really appreciate it.”

Grim wanted to tell the kid he wasn’t joking, but decided against it. “Just trying to do my best to help.”

After taking his perch, Kevin picked up the socks and inserted them between the rifle butt and his shoulder. “At extreme range,” he whispered, almost as if repeating past instructions, “you want the least amount of human body on the weapon as possible. The shooter’s heartbeat, pulsing through the rifle’s stock, could throw the shot off. Try to brace the weapon to the point where there’s nothing more than your finger on the trigger.”

It seemed to Grim that it took hours for Kevin to prep for the shot. He watched impatiently as the kid adjusted, braced, shimmed with cardboard, and at one point put the weapon down while he placed a thin piece of cloth under one edge of the dresser.

Finally, Kevin looked up and announced, “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Grim hustled to the back of the house, scanning all around for any sign of humanity that might be sneaking up on their hide. He observed no one. He quickly double-checked all around, still identifying no threat in the vicinity. “Send it,” he said calmly.

It was another minute before the rifle barked. With the noise cancelation device screwed onto the end of the barrel, the report was much calmer than Grim expected – more like someone hitting the bottom of a soup pan with a wooden spoon.

With only his finger on the trigger, the heavy rifle jumped considerably. Kevin was ready, quickly realigning the weapon’s position so he could view the impact of his bullet.

It took almost three seconds before Kevin looked up from the optic and admitted, “Shit. I missed.”

Again assuming the role of leadership, Grim tried to respond smoothly. “That’s okay. That was just the sighting round. You’ve got two more opportunities.”

The process of setting up the rifle went by quickly this time, Kevin having all of the components he needed at hand. “Ready,” he stated calmly.

“Send it,” Grim responded, not feeling a need to check the perimeter.

The spoon hit the saucepan, and then Kevin was rearranging to see the results.

Grim would have sworn it took the bullet an hour to reach the target, but the wait was worth it. “I hit it!” Keven reported with a smile, his face never leaving the scope.

But then he frowned, looking up at Grim with a questioning expression. “I know I hit the pipe,” he stated coldly, “but it didn’t bust. There’s no water leaking out.”

It was Grim’s turn to cause a delay, pacing back and forth while he considered their options. “Are the guards reacting in any way?”

It took another few minutes before Kevin reported absolute calm around the school.

“Try the third shot,” Grim stated.

The rifle fired the third and final heavy bullet, both men waiting anxiously for the result. Kevin pulled back from the optic, grinning widely. “It’s like a thunderstorm has hit the school,” he said with joy. “Here, take a look.”

Grim didn’t need to be asked twice, trading places with the kid and putting his eye up to the scope. What he saw made him whistle.

A steady stream of water was spraying in a considerable arch across the school’s flat, tarpaper roof. Hundreds of gallons were pouring out of the massive tank, indicating a significant rupture of the pipe. “They ain’t going to patch that leak with duct tape,” Grim said, obviously pleased.

The celebration was short lived. “Come on, we’ve got to get in touch with Cory and let him know what we’re doing.”

A few moments later, the duo was exiting the home, hustling for the edge of town.

It was the smell that led the security team to the bodies. With the continued shuffling of assignments, no one had noticed three of their own were missing… until now.