Cascadia Fallen: The Complete Trilogy, page 53
Nick picked himself up and left his pack on the ground, sprinting. His heart started pounding. He had close to 250 meters to sprint to get to that structure. As he approached, he slowed to a muzzle-controlling combat walk that allowed him to keep his muzzle up for an instant shot. He approached the back door of the mansion from a very wide angle, slowly peering into the building as sharply as he could to the far side. He then walked a slow semi-circle about six to eight feet out, around the door, keeping his eyes inside the entire time. Finally, he tried to push in the door. Locked!
He proceeded to stroll around the building as quickly as he could without exposing himself any more than he had to. From cover between two windows, he slung the large sniper rifle onto his back, suppressor up, and drew his pistol. He kept his muzzle on the front entry as he approached the door. It opened, and he entered. He began the slow, steady process of clearing a large facility without back up. As he was on the south side of the mansion, he heard an engine come to life on the far side. Shoot! As he sprinted back across the formal sunken living room, he heard a large crash come from the four-stall garage. Tires barked as the BMW made a sharp J-turn in reverse while hitting the brakes.
Nick finished sprinting out of the building and across the covered entry to see a BMW peeling out and fishtailing down the driveway. Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! The rear window shattered and the BMW swerved wildly as it veered off the property, heading north. Nick began to sprint up the driveway, changing the pistol’s magazine as he ran, and trying to get to the road before Sticky was gone forever!
Retired Master Sergeant Nick Williams came to a screeching halt when he got a few feet into the road. He slammed the pistol into its holster as he lifted the nod off his face and back above the battle helmet with his other hand. With fluid speed, as he finished those tasks, he pulled the SR-25 off his back and fell to his knees. He continued the lunge down to a prone position, falling in behind the implement of precision and death as fast as he’s ever dared. The BMW’s taillights were like rapidly shrinking beacons, waving back and forth as Sticky drove wildly away at rocket-speed.
Ka-Krow! Ka-Krow! Nick began to pour his fire into the zig-zagging car as best as he could, remaining calm as the car approached a curve in the road about 400 meters away. The tinkled of .308 brass complimented the sound of the suppressed shots and acrid gunpowder. On his seventh shot, the car’s wild waving intensified. It lost control and slammed into a tree! Nick clambered to get back up off his tired, bruised knees and began to sprint. “Arrrghhhh!” he yelled in frustration as he punched the rifle’s mag release. As the mag was clearing the well, he was already slamming a full one into it. He re-positioned the night-optic over his eye as he sprinted, trying to see any movement down the road.
He reached the car about ninety seconds later, finding it still idling up against a Douglas fir in front of a house with a private pier and boathouse. He took cover behind a tree, scanning for movement. He approached the car cautiously, peering in and not seeing any signs of blood. Figures. He looked around, seeing the boathouse. That’s where I’d go! He started trying to speed walk down the property quickly, keeping his rifle up as he went.
As he got near the rear corner of the main house, he had a decent view of the boathouse in his nods and could tell the door was forced open. In a repeat of events a few minutes earlier, he heard an engine fire up. Not again! He began to sprint.
He began to “slice the pie” again on the broken door to the boathouse. He could see the big powerboat with nobody at the helm. In the exhaustion that had accumulated, he made a mental mistake. He was right next to the door as he began his pivot to see inside. He’s right here! Can’t let him get away again!
Suddenly, a pair of hands reached through and grabbed the barrel, yanking it inside and dragging Nick with it. Sticky used leverage to pull the barrel and attached body past him and throw Nick directly into the water at the boat’s stern. Nick began to sink under the weight of all the gear and rifle. No! He could tell by the chop that he was dangerously close to the boat’s propeller. Ka-Ka-Ka-Ka-Krow! The biggest luck factor was the pitch black—Sticky didn’t have night vision. Nick exhaled all his air, sinking to evade the rifle fire.
This caused a negative buoyancy, and at eight feet down, he unslung his rifle and let it go. He stripped off his plate and magazine carrier, too, ditching it to swim under the pier directly under Sticky. He slowly surfaced and gasped for air. Sticky had already cast his lines and boarded the vessel. He gunned it and drove straight out of the boathouse. Not only had his quarry bested him, he’d lost half his gear and was watching him motor away.
Nick opted to run north to the Command Post. Of course! Vacant under my own orders! He saw that one of the sporting goods store radios was laying there and hoped for a miracle. “Michael! This is Nick! If you’re out there, I need your help!”
After an excruciating nine seconds, he heard a response. “Yes, Nick. I’m listening.”
Nick told Michael about finding his lost patrol dead and had Michael come back to the command post. He asked Michael to drive him back to the south end via car. On the quick drive down, he grilled Michael about the events of two nights earlier. “Who’d you say killed the bikers?”
“A doctor and a girl. Why? What’s that got to—”
“What do you remember about them? Any detail.”
“When Don Kemper took them off the island, we took their photos and names, just in case we ever found them sneaking back on. Will that help?”
Yes! Finally, a break. “Absolutely.”
First they checked on the dead patrol. Michael confirmed that the other man was not an island resident he’d seen at any of their meetings. Once they parked at the Sorenson’s, Nick ran down to the woods for his gear. As they started heading north again, he pointed out the house next door which the chase began. “Wait—stop. I’m in a hurry, but I need to check out this house.” Why were you in there? “This is where the chase began.”
“Oh, no!” Michael exclaimed. The man was wearing a lot of worry. “This is the Kempers’ house. They’re the ones who helped the doctor and the girl off the island.” The retired litigator was starting to feel the pressure of the mounting body count.
Nick stopped him after they got out of the car. “Why don’t you let me check first, Michael? Take a breather.”
“I-I’ll be okay. I’d rather not stay out here by myself…”
Suit yourself, but it won’t be pretty. “Alright.” Nick drew his pistol and led the way into the house. Their flashlights led them around multiple pieces of garage door that were thrown all over the driveway. There were muddy tracks in the lawn.
Nick stopped after they were in the living room. “However bad you expect it to be, it’ll be worse. Last chance.” Michael just nodded Nick to lead on.
They eventually found their way to the formal dining room. Nick smelled the large volume of blood before his flashlight beam caught Don Kemper’s body. It was twice as horrifying looking at the gore in the pitch black and flashlight shadows. Surprisingly, Michael held his food. Nick proceeded to clear the house with the assistance of his helmet and nods. Thank the stars I had my chin strap in place when he dunked me. He went upstairs, leaving Michael behind to compose himself.
When he found Mrs. Kemper and the other body, the gunshots made sense. He took this guy out so he wouldn’t slow him down. He’s even smarter than I thought. But…it truly is 1-on-1 now.
He caught Michael at the bottom of the stairs. “You don’t need to go up there. Just wait ‘til daylight,” he warned. “There’s another dead scumbag, too.”
Michael was sobbing. “What did they do to him? Why…How could he do this?”
“They had info, and he wanted it.”
“What info?” he demanded.
Nick pulled the Mariner watch out of his pocket. “He’s going after that doctor.” And that poor girl… “Look, Michael—we need to go. I need a copy of the picture and anything else you can tell me about them. They’re the only lead I have.”
Michael took his laptop out of the backseat of his car, pulling up Doc and Carmen’s photos. “Oh, yeah. He left a couple of more of these business cards, too. They were both very traumatized and ready to assist with the authorities when things return to normal.”
Nick suppressed a skeptical laugh and took one of the cards. “Anything else?”
“Just that they were trying to get to Bartlett—and for him—to his parents’ in Sequim.”
Nick climbed into the car. “I need you to take me to my boat, please.”
“Are you going to Gig Harbor?” Michael inquired.
“Yes.” Eventually. First I need to get home and re-arm. You win this round…
23
Tension You Can Cut.
Tahoma’s Hammer Plus 24 Days.
The U.S. Navy’s response to the destruction zone was highly publicized in the national media, though their actual mission priorities were not broadcast. Part of Task Force Truxtun finished up its objectives and headed back to Southern California for re-supply. The Feds intended on sending them back—not only for national security efforts, but for civilian relief, as well. The Pentagon even highlighted the Air Force air drops—it wasn’t until hackers leaked the info that the U.S. populace learned those air drops were never supposed to happen.
What was tightly controlled, however, were the other operations. The Department of Defense was highly aware of the growing tension between Russia and China and why. A submarine that was specially outfitted with the most secure and secret spy capabilities in the entire U.S. Military limped into Pearl Harbor with battle damage, and another one was flying a Jolly Rogers flag, using crossed torpedoes instead of bones. The first submarine was normally homeported with the ballistic missile boats at the submarine base in Washington State, not the attack fleet in Pearl, San Diego, or Guam. The Navy sent her to Pearl for two reasons—the facilities at Bogdon were in the largest bug-out in American Military history, and they knew the sailors that lived off base would go “UA”—Unauthorized Absence—rendering the boat inoperable.
On top of the ocean, Battle Groups on deployment were being extended, and others that had recently returned from missions were being told to stand down their leave and training cycles. In other words, “be ready to deploy.” The Pentagon was shuffling ground forces from the East Coast to Southern California, Hawaii, and Okinawa. Food and supplies were being re-routed. The President issued an Emergency Executive Order, declaring that companies that produced ammunition and MREs could only sell to the U.S. Government for the next 180 days. As these actions were noticed, the American citizens added it to their frustration and reasons to organize not so peaceful protests. The war-drums were starting to be heard by governments and civilians alike.
The clippity-clop of horse hooves on broken asphalt announced their presence to the northwest fighting position. It was just past noon. The wayward cowboys had rescued their lost sheep—three tired men were finally home. Home, Phil mused. We passed my house back there, but this is my home…He was going to have to eat some crow. He wanted to give Lonnie a little more cooling time, but the lack of a Jeep was noticed by everyone immediately. By the time the three horses walked into the lower gate and down to the rifle line, half the range’s population was walking over to them.
They got off the horses on the side road. Phil stopped and hugged Payton. “Your building is looking sharp!” he said to her as he waved at Tony.
“Don’t even! Where’s the Jeep? What happened?”
“Hi, Grandpa!” yelled Savannah as she and the rest of the school-aged kids came running up to see the fuss.
“Peaches!” Phil said enthusiastically. He picked her up and held her for a bit, looking back at Payton. “Later, Olive. Right now, I need to find the board and Josh and have a chat.”
She gave him a skeptical look. “You’re holding out on me. I can always tell when you’re trying to hide something.”
“Just like your mother…I know, honey. We’ll talk later. I promise.” He set his granddaughter down.
The crowd was murmuring. Maya and her mother walked over from the bay that had the chickens and took custody of their horses. “Any issues?” Pam asked Lonnie.
“Not with the horses,” Lonnie said in his usual straight-shooting fashion.
As the commotion started to die, Phil went around and assembled the range’s officers, Josh, Eli, Lonnie, and a few key family leaders. They all crammed themselves into the office.
Most were still quite talkative. “You going to regale us with the tales of adventures in Bartlett?” the always happy Don joked.
“Not exactly,” Phil said with a serious look. He scanned the room, waiting for the last of the banter to die down. He was leaning against the counter, pretty much in the middle of the room. He saw that Lonnie was still wearing the pissed-off look and noticed that Josh had been conspicuously silent. “I owe everyone here an apology. Lonnie, I’d like to start with you.”
Lonnie looked out the window for a second. It was not in his nature to keep silent about something that was pissing him off. He looked back at Phil and nodded.
“I figured out why you won’t talk to me,” Phil said.
Lonnie didn’t believe him. “Why’s that?” he challenged. He figured Phil’s apology was coming from the place of a bruised ego.
“Because you rolled the dice, trusting me and my leadership…my judgement. And right after you move your family here, I get you involved in a battle and then make you come rescue my dumb butt.”
“The retribution fight I got no problem with,” Lonnie acknowledged, still annoyed.
Several guffaws shot up around the room. “What are you talking about, Phil?” Alice Huddleston asked.
He looked at her directly. “I let my ego get the best of me.” He scanned the room again. “Josh tried to talk me into taking help, and I thought I didn’t need it.” Silence. He took a good breath and blew a bit out. “You know—I’m ‘Phil Walker’, like that’s supposed to mean something. I should’ve been dead for the last eighteen or so hours. These two saved me,” he said openly, pointing at Eli and Lonnie. “Well, them and Crane. Lonnie…Eli…I’m sorry I put you two in that position. I hope my sincerity will convince you that I’ve learned a big lesson about myself.” He saw a weight lift off both men’s shoulders.
For the next thirty minutes, Phil told every detail he could remember about the whole trip, finishing with a warning. “I think it is a matter of time. Very soon, the National Guard and Sheriff will be out here to arrest me.”
“Speaking of that, we got something to tell you, too,” Josh said, finally breaking his silence. He brought Phil up to speed on the authorities’ first visit and the actions they’d been taking since.
“Do you think Charlie was favoring us by not inspecting every square inch?” Phil asked.
“Maybe,” Josh admitted. “I was pretty pissed, so I might have missed some non-verbal cue.”
“Either way,” Eli chimed in, pushing off the merchandise rack he’d been leaning on. “We need to figure out the next steps. This ain’t no game of chess. I say hunker down.” He leaned back against the rack to indicate he was done.
“What’s that mean, exactly?” club officer Joe Santillan asked. “Like—resist?” He looked around. “Are we actually talking about fighting the National Guard?”
“Whether there’s a fight or not is up to them,” Phil said. “But next time they come out—and they will—they’re taking every gun we have. They may even try to tell us we have to move to their camp…for our ‘own protection’. I agree with Eli. We need a plan, and everyone has to be on board with it.” He went silent for a few seconds, but when nobody spoke, he added one last thought. “We need to let the rest of the Slaughter Peninsula Posse know what’s happening, too.”
“Look at the log entry!” Sandy yelled at Sheriff Raymond and Major Matsumoto. “While you were supposed to be arresting him!” –she pointed at the Sheriff— “you were letting him traipse around this supposedly secure facility!” she finished by pointing at the major. They were in the meeting room surrounded by a couple of dozen other people.
“We had a communication lapse, Director. Those things are only going to get worse as we both continue to suffer from AWOLs,” the sheriff said rationally, looking at Adam. “Perhaps if you had gotten some more people and equipment from Camp Crandell, like you promised…” This caused an eruption that everyone who witnessed it would later refer to as “Volcano, Part Deux.”
“What…the…hell did you just say to me, you old miserable son of a dog?” the Godfather screamed. She started up from her seat at the head of the conference table and marched down that side of the table. “Why—you two-bit, cereal-box tin-star, poor-excuse of a politician! Me and my folks are still here doing our jobs!” The fake-southern twang was long gone. It was replaced by flying spittle. “Don’t you daaaarrre blame your shortages on me! You neither, Major Screw-up!” she said, stabbing at the air in Adam’s direction. “A Grand Canyon mule train has less asses than your two staffs!”
Some of the rest of the Unified Command started to interrupt due to her demeanor, but she walked right over them. “Gross incompetence! That’s all I’ve seen from you two and your whiny departments.” She pointed at the mayors, commissioners, and police and fire chiefs, as she made points about all of them. “Bartlett’s had riots on the Navy base fence for days on end! Firemen! Hmph! Those lazy boys ain’t done nothing but eat MREs for the last three weeks!”
Wham! The table shook and people jumped as the sheriff pulled his collapsible baton off his duty belt and slammed its handle down. “That is enough!” he yelled after standing up. “Sit down and shut up!”
