The Resolution (4 page)

“What if only one soldier comes out to check on it? If we took him out, the rest would hunker down and wait for backup.”

“True. What are you thinking?” asked Jason.

“Steal a Humvee.”

“Huh?” Jason asked in a curious tone.

“If these guys are lower-level soldiers… uh, I mean peacekeepers, out on patrol, they’d have their asses handed to them if they went back without a Humvee. How would they explain that? No, I think they wouldn’t want to deal with that. I’m thinking they’d go after it in a panic.”

“And just how do you propose doing that?”

“Piece of cake,” Evan said with a sneaky grin, his face illuminated by the moonlit night.

Chapter Six: Deprivation

Unable to sleep with thoughts and fears for Peggy, Zack, and their families back home, Nate lay on the floor of the former break room-turned-confinement quarters, staring at the ceiling. He wondered what time it was. With no windows and no watch, he could only guess it was the middle of the night. Ed had been asleep for several hours, snoring loudly, which made Nate feel good, knowing his friend was getting some much-needed rest. The next morning would undoubtedly bring a long and trying day.

As Nate closed his eyes, resolved to catch at least a nap, a loud banging sound against the door startled both him and Ed. The men sat up, dazed and confused as to what had just happened. They stared at the door, awaiting the unknown… but nothing. Nate could hear his heart pounding in his chest, as the silence was deafening. His and Ed’s excited breathing were the only sounds audible over his beating heart.

“What the hell was that?” asked Ed.

“I don’t know. It sounded like something smacked up against the door.”

“Probably just some jerk Blue Helmet screwing with us.”

“Yep,” replied Nate quietly.

After several minutes of silence, Ed lay back down on the floor and said, “Screw those bastards. I’m going back to sleep.”

“Good luck,” replied Nate. “What time do you think it is? I’m getting hungry.”

“Hell if I know. I was asleep for a bit; it’s got to be late. I hear ya, though. I’m starved.”

“I wonder what’s for breakfast?” asked Nate jokingly.

“Stress Benedict with a side of hard time... I would imagine.”

“Mmmm, my favorite.”

“But seriously, I’m far from that point yet, but at least there are lots of cockroaches in here to live on for a while… if it comes to that,” Ed said, pointing to Nate’s arm.

“Damn it!” Nate shouted, knocking a roach to the floor. “I freaking hate those disgusting little bastards.”

“Me, too. I think I’ll sleep with my fingers in my ears to keep them from laying eggs in my brain.”

“Damn it, Ed! Why did you have to go and say a thing like that? Now I’m gonna be paranoid.”

“It’s good to be paranoid in this world, my friend. Fear and paranoia can be valuable tools when managed.” Ed put his arms behind his head and closed his eyes. “Not that I’m not enjoying the company, but I’m gonna try to get some sleep.”

“Cool, I’ll stand the first roach watch,” Nate said, creeped out by the thought of sleeping on the floor in a room with a pest problem.

~~~~

Giving way to his roach phobia, Nate’s heavy eyelids began to close after what felt like several hours of paranoid insect vigilance. As soon as he gave in to the relaxation of the onset of sleep, loud music startled him awake. “What the…?” he said, immediately sitting back up and looking around.

“Is that classical music?” asked Ed, again confused and cloudy-headed from his rude awakening.

“It sounds like Russian folk music or something like that. I can just picture some guy in a furry hat with his arms crossed jumping around doing that funny dance.”

“Oh, those bastards. I swear they are just trying to get under our skin.”

“Well, I’d rather be tortured with music instead of getting beat with a rubber hose, or worse.”

“Ha. Yeah, good point,” replied Ed with a chuckle. “This must be some new UN-approved torture technique since they disapprove of good ol’ water-boarding and stuff.”

“Screw these guys, I’m going back to sleep,” Ed said, talking loudly over the music. “Good night, John Boy.”

“Good night, Paw,” replied Nate.

“Paw? Hell, I’m not old enough to be your Paw.”

“Sorry, man; that show pre-dates me. That’s all I’ve got.”

“You didn’t watch it on re-runs?”

“Nope, I was probably watching the cartoon channel about the time that show finally faded away.”

“Damn Generation Z’s, or whatever they call you. You guys missed out on all the good stuff. When I was a kid, we had quality cartoons, where a big rooster would beat the crap out of a dog with a two by four, or a coyote would get an anvil dropped on his head. You guys got a talking sponge or whatever that damn thing is.”

“We must have been in here longer than we thought,” replied Nate.

“Why?”

“Because we’re being held prisoner by an occupying foreign military force, and we’re arguing over old TV shows and who had the better cartoons growing up.”

“Good point. Then again, maybe we actually got killed in the ambush, and this is just limbo. And for the record, it’s not an argument. My generation wins hands down.”

Nate chuckled. “If this is limbo, it appears the UN are the ones staffing hell, and they are waiting for permission to escort us there.”

With a mutual laugh, the conversation faded away as both Ed and Nate attempted to ignore the loud music to get some sleep.

~~~~

Running through a field, trying to escape, attack dogs were gaining on Nate as he attempted to keep up with Ed. “Come on, Nate! Run! They’re gaining on you!” Ed shouted as he pulled away from Nate, who was having a hard time running at full speed with his prosthetic leg.

“Just go! Get out of here!” yelled Nate as one of the attack dogs lunged forward, pulling off Nate’s prosthesis, causing him to crash to the ground as several vicious dogs piled on top of him, tearing his orange jumpsuit from his body and… “Help me!” Nate screamed aloud, sitting up, realizing that he was still in the old break room.

“Relax. Relax. You were just dreaming,” Ed said, trying to calm him.

It was then that Nate realized there was a real dog barking and clawing at the break room door. Ed looked at him. “I guess they realized the loud music wasn’t working. That dog has been at it for about ten minutes.”

“Holy crap, that was a messed-up dream,” Nate said, catching his breath.

“What was it about?”

“I’ll explain later. What’s with the dog?”

“I don’t know. You’d think there was a steak tied to the door, or something, the way that thing has been going at it. It scared the crap out of me at first, but I figured they would have turned it loose on us by now if they were going to.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?” asked Nate.

“Ah, hell, you were finally getting some sleep. Besides, if they did let it in here on us, I figured you’d rather die in your sleep, anyway.”

“Ha, ha,” replied Nate.

Ed and Nate sat in silence for the next ten minutes, staring at the door, wondering if the dog would be let inside any minute. Rational thought told them it was just a psychological game, but these weren’t rational times. Eventually, it sounded like a handler led the dog away down the hallway.

“What’s next?” asked Nate, frustrated by the strangeness and uncertainty of the situation.

“I don’t know, but I’m starting to just want to take the rubber hose beating and just get it over with.”

Listening intently for what seemed like an hour, Ed and Nate waited for the next game their captors might decide to play with them. However, there was only absolute silence. The silence they thought would be welcome was maddening, as their minds raced through all of the possibilities of what their next day or even their next moment may bring.

“I wish we could at least turn the damn lights off,” grumbled Ed.

“You know, this seems like pretty steady electricity, and I don’t hear any generators, either,” added Nate.

“If this is Atlanta—and a major staging area—I imagine they have probably restored the basic utilities for their own use.”

“You know, it’s funny…”

“What?”

“All this time, wishing we could have good and steady electricity, now that we have it, we just want to turn it off,” said Nate with a chuckle as he laid his head back on his hands and closed his eyes.

“I just hope those bastards come back soon.”

“Why?” Nate opened his eyes and turned to Ed with a confused look.

“Because I’ve gotta see a man about a horse,” replied Ed.

“You’ve gotta what?”

“I’ve got business to take care of.”

Still confused, Nate said, “Huh?”

“For God’s sake, man! I’ve got to take a dump, and we don’t have a restroom.”

“Oh… Yeah, please don’t do that in here.”

“Trust me, I’ll try.”

Chapter Seven: Unavoidable Conflict

Crawling through the overgrown grass, Jason had to stop occasionally and peek his head up to get a view of his progress, as well as check the house for signs of activity.
Only twenty more yards to go,
he thought as he pressed on through the wet grass.

Keeping his eye on the front and east side of the house in order to provide cover for Jason if trouble were to arise, Evan found himself wishing he had a red-dot sight or a scope with an illuminated reticle. The black iron sights on the AK-74 were lacking for nighttime engagements beyond CQB (close quarters battle) distances.

Finally reaching the Humvee, while still lying in the grass on his stomach with his neck stretched back and his head up, Jason read the stenciled UN logo on the door and thought,
United, my ass. Unwelcome Nazis is more like it.

The Humvee was parked at an angle to the house, helping to conceal his view as he got up on his knees, opened the door, and slipped inside. Leaning his rifle on the passenger front seat with the stock on the floor, he scanned the vehicle for things that he may find useful in dealing with its owners once they heard him drive away. His search rewarded him with a zip-up, olive-drab canvas bag containing at least ten AK-74 magazines loaded with steel-cased 5.45x39mm ammo. He tossed it on the passenger seat next to his rifle for easy access when his time for retreat arrived.

Continuing to search the rear cargo area, he found a Russian RG-6 grenade launcher, along with a case of 40mm grenades.
Jackpot!
he thought as a smile came across his face.

“Now, back to business,” he whispered, attempting to prepare himself for the shit that was guaranteed to hit the fan. Jason was familiar with the M998A1 configuration of the Humvee from his Army days. Quickly re-familiarizing himself with the controls, he rotated the rotary ignition switch to the RUN position, waited for the wait-to-start lamp to extinguish, and then held the switch in the start position while the diesel engine quickly shook itself to life. Releasing the switch back to the run position, he released the parking brake, threw it in gear, and tore out of the front yard like a madman before any weapons could be trained on him at such a close range.

Evan watched as two soldiers immediately ran out onto the front porch and began to yell inside the house, as if shouting orders.

Jason drove onto Fugate Road, jerked the wheel hard to the right, and sped away in Evan’s direction. Wanting to disable the vehicle, Jason then yanked the steering wheel to the left; the Humvee exited the pavement and crashed hard into the railroad tracks. The sharp impact nearly bounced Jason out of his seat as he continued toward the river, where he dropped off a three-foot high ledge, hi-centering the vehicle as its front tires dangled in the water.

Shaken by the impact of his body slamming into the steering wheel, Jason quickly regained his composure, grabbed his rifle, the canvas bag, and the RG-6, and then headed out the driver’s side door. As he leaped out of the vehicle, his foot slipped off of the ledge, raking his shin against the sharp and jagged rocks of the riverbank.

“Damn it,” he mumbled from the pain. Gathering his cumbersome load, he ran thirty yards over the uneven terrain beyond the truck and hunkered down behind a mound of rocks and brush. Unzipping the canvas bag to get his newfound extra magazines within an easy reach, he flipped his AK’s selector switch to the center position for fully automatic fire. Leaning the rifle against the rocks, he then removed the RG-6 launcher from its case, loaded six rounds into the cylinder, rotated it shut, and set it next to himself on the rocks.

Now all he could do was wait. Leaving the Humvee running to create a distraction and to cover the noise of his own movements, Jason could hear his heart pounding out of his chest over the noisy idle of the GM 6.5L diesel engine.

Evan watched as two other soldiers exited the farmhouse and joined their comrades. Now totaling four soldiers, they ran for the remaining Humvee. One of the men shouted orders to the others in what sounded like Russian, then they split up—two on foot and two inside the remaining Humvee.

Tracking the soldiers with the barrel of his rifle, Evan watched as the Humvee crept down the road toward Jason, one man on foot on each side of the vehicle. From his hidden position in the tree line, Evan cautiously awaited the proper time to initiate the fight, unaware if other threats remained in the house, which was moving into his six o’clock position as he turned to visually follow the immediate threat.

Reaching the crashed Humvee, the man in the passenger seat motioned for one of the soldiers on foot to move ahead and check it out. The soldier cautiously approached the noisily running vehicle; the last thing he saw was a flash of light further down the rocky river bank. The shot ended his life before he even heard the crack of the round’s report.

Witnessing Jason’s opening shot, Evan opened fire on the Humvee as it sped away in reverse, leaving the remaining foot soldier exposed as Jason’s fully automatic barrage of sixty-grain, high-speed 5.45mm projectiles riddled his body with holes, dropping him to the ground.

Evan continued his barrage of fire on the Humvee as Jason picked up the grenade launcher and lobbed a 40mm grenade toward the retreating Humvee. Coming up short, the round exploded three feet in front of the vehicle.

Evan was certain he had killed the soldier giving the orders in the passenger’s seat, yet maintained his fire to keep the vehicle on the defensive and to maintain the two-pronged attack that had caught them off-guard.

Jason fired another round, this time adjusting his trajectory and scoring a direct hit on the hood of the vehicle, sending aluminum sheet metal and fragments into the windshield of the Humvee. Jason fired another grenade as the driver, battered and bloodied, opened the door and fell onto the ground. The second grenade went directly inside, destroying any chances of survival for the remaining occupant.

Feeling a searing pain rip through his side, followed by small impacts off to his left, Evan rolled onto his back and returned fire toward the house. A fifth soldier was standing on the front porch, sending bullets randomly into the tree line where Evan remained concealed.
Shit, shit, shit,
Evan said to himself as he felt warm, wet blood run down his side. Still concealed from the shooter, Evan focused his eyes on his front sight as best he could with the available moonlight. He aimed a little low and fired a short fully automatic burst of four rounds at his attacker. As the recoil made his barrel rise, several of the rounds whizzed by the soldier; however, two of them were planted firmly into his torso, dropping him to the porch and taking him out of the fight.

As he focused on the house, Evan heard Jason shout, “Clear!”

Evan responded, feeling a sharp pain in his side as he shouted, “Covered!” He didn’t want to relay to Jason that the scene was “clear,” just in case another shooter remained inside.

Advancing toward the tree line, Jason arrived at Evan’s position and said, “Report.”

“A fifth man was in the house; he’s down. He sprayed the tree line with random suppressing fire and hit me.”

“Holy shit, where?” Jason asked.

“My left side. I felt around. I think it went straight. No organs. Just muscle and tissue. My love handles will never be the same.”

“Hell, you’ll be lucky if someday you can live life lazily enough to get your love handles back. So what’s with the house?”

“Other than him, I haven’t seen any activity. We’ll have to clear it and check on the woman. By the way, how the hell did you take out the Humvee like that? What did you use?”

“I found a gear bag full of prepared ’74 mags, as well as a cool six-shot RG-6 grenade launcher. I’ll get the house. You stay here and keep still in case that wound is worse than you think. You’ll just be a liability hurting and bleeding all over the place. I’ll come back and get you and we’ll check you out and dress the wound. Just cover me the best you can from here.”

“Roger that,” Evan said, wincing with pain as he held pressure on his side with his left hand.

Jason slipped through the tree line and carefully worked his way to the house. He kept his rifle at the ready and the safety/selector lever on semi-auto, as he didn’t want to let any rounds fly without complete accountability for each, knowing that innocent people could still be alive inside. He crept around the back of the house, up against the siding, slicing the pie as he went. Reaching the back of the house, he scanned the windows, which were just above his head due to the house’s tall block foundation. Seeing no apparent threats, he stepped onto the porch and took a knee by the back door, staying clear of any windows and the door itself. He then yelled inside, “This is the Blue Ridge Militia. The house is surrounded. Your comrades have been captured; make yourself known and exit the house, unarmed, with your hands above your head, and you will be spared. Resist and you will die.”

After a moment of silence, Jason heard a woman’s voice mutter, “Please… Please don’t hurt us.”

“No one is gonna hurt you, ma’am. Are there any more UN soldiers in the house?”

She sniffled and replied, “No, they all ran out when their truck drove away.”

“Do you know how many there were total?”

“Five, I think. I don’t know. I have no idea what just happened. They killed him. They killed my husband—they killed her father,” the woman said as she broke down into tears.

It was then that Jason heard the muffled sobs of a crying child. “Ma’am, we got them all. They can’t hurt you now. I’m coming in, but only to double-check your house and make sure it’s safe.”

“Okay,” she said with a strained voice.

Jason slowly stood up and peeked into the house. Seeing no threats, he stepped inside with his rifle safely pointed at the floor, but ready in case he needed it. Stepping into the living room, where a fire in the fireplace was lit, he saw the woman. The young mother, in her late twenties or early thirties, held her preschool-aged daughter tight. The young, terrified girl cried silently, with the only sound being her short, interrupted breaths as she nearly hyperventilated. The mother’s shirt had been torn open, her bra mostly exposed and her face red and swollen—clearly from abuse.

He continued through the small, two-bedroom house, clearing each room as he went. Once he was satisfied that the threat was gone, he returned to the living room. “Is that your husband?” he asked, pointing at the back of the house.

She wiped the sniffle from her nose and nodded. “Yes.” Once again, her eyes welled up with tears.

“This place isn’t safe right now. They may have friends on their way to help. Do you have somewhere nearby that we can take you? A safe place, with family, maybe?”

“My father’s place is only a mile from here,” she said, beginning to stand.

“Can we get there without using the main road?”

“Yes; well, not by car, but we can cut across the mountain,” she said, pointing at the mountain ridge behind her property. “We have a trail through the woods we use to get there. It’s quicker than driving around and no one can see us back there. It’s an old log home near the top of a hill all to itself. We have an ATV in the barn that we usually use to get over there.”

“Good. Get some things for your daughter and yourself. I’ll get your ATV and my friend. Are the keys in it?”

“The electric start hasn’t worked for years. My husband bypassed the key and just uses the pull starter on the side of the motor. It’s kind of a piece of junk, but it works for us. After you get it running, you have to rub the loose wire that’s taped to the handlebars against the metal to ground out the ignition to kill the motor. That, or shut the gas off, but it’s harder to get started back the next time if you do that.”

Jason stood there looking blank for a moment, caught off guard by the level of detail in her explanation.

She then asked, “Your friend? You mean there is only one other militia member with you?”

“We’re not really militia. We’ve got some newly acquired friends there now, though. My friend and I live in the hills just past Del Rio. We’re trying to get home while avoiding the new international presence in the area… not so successfully, I might add.”

“Are you…” she paused after starting to ask a question.

“Are we what?”

“Are you The Guardians?”

Pausing briefly, he said, “That’s just an urban legend. I’ll be right back. Get your stuff. We’ve got to get moving.”