The Reckoning - 02 (58 page)

             
I probably should have waited, but I just couldn’t contain it any longer. Shouldering my M-4, I sighted in and put one silenced round through his forehead. He pitched forward over the edge of the fence and into the bushes below. He never uttered a sound. McDonald turned to look at me and gave me a brief nod. Then he covered the distance to the fence and checked the body.

             
The rest of us joined him in the deeper darkness at the base of the fence. The thug that I had shot didn’t look familiar, other than the usual trappings of the
Freemen.
In the darkness, I could only make out the vaguest of details. I didn’t want to risk being seen or ruining my night vision by using my tactical light to get a better look. It was good enough that he was dead.

             
We quickly scavenged his equipment and ammunition. Since the big attack on our gate, we had seriously diminished our supply of ammo. We needed to resupply, in a bad way. It would be much easier to raid for supplies once the
Freemen
were gone. Hopefully, that would be taken care of tonight.

             
We boosted Corporal Jackson and Sergeant McDonald up onto the fence. McDonald took a defensive position to provide cover, while Jackson pulled the rest of us up. Once we made it, I took a quick look around. Inside the perimeter, it was fairly well lit. There were fires going near the tents and both of the houses blazed with light. I could see people moving around inside the perimeter, but only a few guards on the walls.

             
The walls were about ten feet high and made mostly of earth and wood. There was a walkway around the inside of the wall. It was about three feet lower than the outside top of the wall and about three feet wide. Fence guards could walk all the way around the compound and only have to climb down at the gate.

             
From where we stood, I could see the gate on the far side of the compound. Parked just inside it were numerous vehicles. Most of them were the patchwork jobs that Sanders had labeled “jingle trucks.” There were other vehicles as well, but nothing that compared to our Humvees and Hemmitts. Once we found the old man, we’d extract the same way we came and leave in our own vehicles.

             
I took a moment to remove the map from my cargo pocket. Then I got out my compass. There was enough light from the compound that I could see by as I worked. It didn’t take long before I worked out the coordinates for the camp. My map reading skills might be a bit rusty, but I was about as certain as I could be that they were correct. Without a GPS to double check my work, I was going to have to call it close enough.

             
Once we slipped down inside the compound, we kept to the darkness. We stayed clear of the people inside, as much as possible. Only once did we have to go to ground when a wandering drunk staggered too close to us. He stopped within ten yards of us to relieve his bladder. It was the last thing he’d do in this world.

             
Southard slipped up behind him with a drawn knife. He cupped his hand over the man’s mouth and pulled his head to the left. Then he drove the knife into the base of his skull and twisted. Immediately, the body went limp in his hands. Wiping the knife on his victim, Southard tossed the body into the bushes. He landed with a splash in a puddle of his own urine.

             
I didn’t see any buildings or anything that looked like it might be used to house captives. Nothing looked secure enough to use as a holding facility. I figured that most of their captives died in the fighting pit. The thought of them forcing that old man into the pit about made me lose my cool. He wasn’t a threat to anybody, much less a challenge for anyone in the ring.

             
As we approached the barn where I’d been held, I had sudden flashbacks of the pain I’d endured there. Spec-4 put her hand on my arm and looked at me.

             
“Are you ok?” she whispered.

             
“I’m fine,” I assured her.

             
She didn’t look convinced, but didn’t argue the point. I forced myself to ignore it and continue on. As we approached the door to the barn, I heard the all too familiar sound of a whip rending flesh. This time, there was no horrifying scream to accompany it. I slipped up to the door and peeked around the corner. What I saw sent waves of rage through me and pushed me to the point of exploding.

             
There, hanging in the wheel of torture that had been mine for so long, was the old man. His body was limp and lifeless. Just for good measure, the thug that held the whip sliced another savage blow across the old man’s withered frame. Only the force of the blow caused him to move.

             
“The old bastard must have passed out,” muttered one of the men.

             
“You’d better not have killed him,” snapped a second one. “If the Boss finds out you killed him, you’ll be taking his place.”

             
“He ain’t dead,” snarled the one with the whip. “He just passed out.”

             
The one who had spoken first walked over to the old man and checked his pulse. Then he stepped back and shook his head, chuckling.

             
“Looks like you’re gonna be taking the old bastard’s place,” he said, suppressing a laugh. “He’s dead.”

             
“No!” I bellowed, leaping into the room.

             
I had completely forgotten the assault rifle in my hands. I stepped up to the first one and drove my fist into his face with jaw crushing force. He went over backwards, firing his weapon into the air as he fell. The sound of the gunshots in the quiet of the night might as well have been explosions. Everyone in camp would have heard it.

             
Spec-4 leapt into the room and shot the second one before he had a chance to raise his weapon. Corporal Jackson shot the third one as he ran for the other door. I straddled the one I’d hit and proceeded to punch him in the face, over and over again. I couldn’t tell you how many times I hit him before I was yanked off of him by the First Sergeant. I could see that my fists were covered in blood and what was left of the man’s face was unrecognizable.

             
“Get it together, Grant!” snapped the First Sergeant. “We’ve got to get the hell out of here. The entire camp is on alert.”

             
“Not before I check the old man,” I replied.

             
“Make it fast!” he shouted, shoving me towards the old man.

             
I stumbled, but went to him. His frail old body had been severely beaten. The old scars on his body told the story of many such abuses at the hands of the
Freemen.
I confirmed that he was dead. I had to know for sure. I cut him down as tenderly as I could and lay him on the ground beside the fire pit. Gently I covered him with a piece of cloth that was draped over a board. It wasn’t much, but it was the best I could do for him.

             
“Grant, we’ve got to go, now!” called the First Sergeant.

             
Grabbing one of the lanterns from a hook on the wall, I smashed it in the pile of hay near the old man. It was as close to a Viking funeral as I could give him, under the circumstances. I hoped that it was good enough. I knew that he deserved far better than that. As the fire engulfed the hay and began licking up the wall, I muttered a quick prayer that his soul find its way into the halls of Valhalla.

             
Recovering, I headed back to the group. They were already exchanging fire with several of the
Freemen
. I could hear voices all around camp, sounding the alarm. We didn’t have long before we’d be surrounded. The danger that we were in must have snapped me out of the haze I was in, because suddenly I was moving.

             
“Alright people,” I bellowed, “let’s get the hell out of here. Jackson, McDonald, you two cover us as we break for the fence. Once we’re there, we’ll cover you while you catch up.”

             
Without any argument, they took up positions beside the door to the barn. Instantly, they opened fire on movement in the darkness. The rest of us sprinted for the fence. I paused occasionally to fire at movement. Seconds later, we reached the fence and turned to provide cover for the two Rangers.

             
The time for stealth was long gone, so I drew a grenade out of my pack and threw it at a group of
Freemen
that were attempting to flank us. The explosion tore through the group and I could hear the screams of the wounded in the darkness. As Jackson and McDonald made their way towards us, Spec-4 threw a grenade of her own. It landed next to a tent and shredded it. The occupants of the tent didn’t fare any better.

             
Jackson and McDonald had almost made it to us when Jackson went down under multiple hits. McDonald turned and went back for him. The rest of us opened fire on the crowd that had gotten Jackson. Spec-4 and Southard opened up with their M-203’s and launched grenades into two different buildings. The small house that Spec-4 hit shuddered under the force of the explosion and fire could be seen erupting in one room. It must have kicked over a lantern. Southard’s shot hit a small shed. The only thing I could figure is that they used the shed to store fuel, because it exploded in a massive fireball that rolled skyward and rained down liquid fire on the area all around it.

             
The camp was devolving into chaos. Since we were using suppressed weapons, most of the
Freemen
had no idea where the attackers were at. They began firing out into the darkness in almost every direction. I could hear the sound of the Boss’ voice calling out orders, but most of them either couldn’t hear him or were ignoring him. They continued to fire in random directions, despite the fact that they weren’t coming under fire.

             
McDonald dragged Jackson to the fence. He’d been hit in both legs, but the interceptor had kept him from the worst of it. He was bleeding heavily, but it didn’t look to be arterial. McDonald pulled out his Direct Action Response Kit
[28]
and went to work on the wounds. Quickly, he applied pressure bandages to the wounds, staunching the worst of the bleeding.

             
“We’ve got to move!” bellowed the First Sergeant.

             
“Get them over the fence!” I called, changing magazines.

             
Spec-4 and Southard climbed the fence and helped to pull Jackson up on top. Once he was up, McDonald went after him. First Sergeant Gregory and I continued to provide cover fire as they went over the fence. As soon as they were clear, I motioned for the First Sergeant to go. Without hesitation, he was up and on top of the fence. Then he covered me while I climbed.

             
I felt a series of hits across my rucksack and the back of my armor. They hurt, but I could tell that they hadn’t gotten through. Once I was up, I continued on and leapt off the other side. I rolled as I hit the ground and turned to cover the First Sergeant. I could see him silhouetted against the light of the camp as he started to come over. Then I heard him grunt as gunshots struck him from behind. He pitched over the edge and just barely avoided landing on his head. I moved to check him as he tried to sit up.

             
Above us, I could hear the
Freemen
attempting to climb the fence. Then I heard something I’d been dreading, the sound of the Boss’ voice up close. He was organizing his men for a counter attack. I only hoped that he’d have no idea just how many of us there were. If he knew that there were only a few of us, he’d throw everything he had at us. We already had two wounded and couldn’t afford a sustained firefight.

             
I pulled the First Sergeant to a sitting position and checked him over. He didn’t seem to be bleeding anywhere on the head or torso.

             
“Where are you hit?” I asked him, shaking him slightly.

             
“Armor stopped the worst of it,” he replied. “I took a couple hits to the legs. I can’t walk.”             

             
“Then we’ll carry you,” I replied.

             
Southard and McDonald were already shouldering Jackson. Spec-4 and I grabbed the First Sergeant by the arms and yanked him to his feet. Then we slung one of his arms over each of us and headed down the trail. I yanked a grenade free from my pack, pulled the pin and casually tossed it over the fence.

             
“What the fuck was that?” called one of the
Freemen
.

             
“Grenade!” bellowed the Boss.

             
I heard and felt the
CRUMP
of the grenade detonation, followed by screams of the wounded. I couldn’t help but smile, knowing that I’d done extensive damage to several of them. Beyond the fence, I could see the glow from the fire that was spreading through the burning buildings. Ahead of us in the darkness, I could see Southard and McDonald carrying Jackson. I was about to call out to them when gunfire erupted from the top of the wall.