John Sandford - Heat Lightning

“What’d you do in the Crotch?”

“Rifleman, mostly-though the last year I spent mostly on shore patrol.”

“Yeah? I was an MP,” Virgil said.

“Tell you what,” Raines said. “I was in Iraq One. I did a lot more fighting as an SP than I ever did in Iraq. Especially those fuckin’ squids, man. When the fleet is in, Jesus Christ, you just don’t want to be there.”

“I was in Fort Lauderdale once when a British ship came in,” Virgil said, relaxing into the time-killing chatter. “The people that came off that boat were the pinkest people I ever saw. Absolutely pink, like babies’ butts. You could see them six blocks away, they glowed in the dark. I went down to a place on the beach that night, you could hear the screaming a block away, and then the sirens started up, and when I got there, here was twenty buck-naked pink British sailors in the goddamnedest brawl… Man. They were throwing cops out of the club.”

So they bullshitted through an hour, and once every fifteen minutes or so Raines would start calling names, getting a click from each.

Raines said, “We looked you up on the Internet. Me ’n’ Knox.”

“Yeah?”

“Saw that thing about the shoot-out, that small-town deal, with the preacher and the dope. Sounded like a war,” Raines said.

“It was like a war,” Virgil said. The towel on his eyes was comfortable, but not being able to see Raines was annoying. “Close as I ever want to come.”

Raines said, “But here you are again, automatic weapons, body armor…”

“Just… coincidence,” Virgil said. “I hope.”

THE VIETNAMESE came in.

Fifteen clicks, a solid, fast rhythm, and one muttered word, “Bunch,” carrying nothing but urgency.

“It’s Bunch,” Raines said. “I don’t see shit on the monitor.” He picked up a radio and said, “That’s Bunch clicking, folks. Bunch: one click if by land, two if they’re on the water.”

Pause: two clicks.

Raines: “Bunch. One click if it’s likely some fishermen. Several clicks if it’s likely the Viets.”

Pause: several clicks.

Raines: “Click how many there are.”

Pause, then: five slow clicks.

Virgil had crawled into the hallway and closed the door against the light, pulled the armor over his head, patted the Velcro closures, pulled on the jacket, pulled on the head net and the shooting gloves. His eyes were good, already accustomed to the dark. He could hear Raines talking to Bunch.

Raines: “We got five clicks. Give us several clicks if that’s correct.”

Pause: several clicks.

Raines: “One click if they’re still outside of your position. Several clicks if they’re past your position.”

Pause: several clicks.

Raines said through the door, “Bunch says they’re inside his position, but I’ve got nothing yet. We got a bad angle to the south…”

Virgil plugged in the earbud, said, “I’m going.”

Raines said, “It could be a fake-out. A diversion.”

“I don’t think they’ve got enough people for a diversion. Tell the other guys to hold their positions until you’re sure. I’m going out to face them.”

Raines said, “Wait-wait. I got heat. I got heat, right along the bank, they’re two hundred yards out, they’re all together, they’re running right along the bank.”

“I’m going,” Virgil said. “I’ll lock the door going out. Keep your piece handy.”

HE WENT OUT the back door, moved as slowly as he could across the parking area, onto the grass, through a carpet of pine needles, along to the edge of the woods, almost to the river. When he sensed the water, he turned left, into the woods, where he ran into a tree. He couldn’t use the night-vision glasses because they’d ruin his night sight. Just have to take it slower. He moved, inches at a time, taking baby steps, one hand out in front, through the edge of the trees.

Raines spoke in his ear. “They’re landing. They’re seventy-five yards south of you-or west, or whatever it is. I’m going to pull the guys on the land side, bring them down to the cabin. If you’ve got a problem with that, click-otherwise, go on.”

Virgil moved deeper into the woods, felt the land going out from under him. A gully of some kind, a swale, running down toward the water. He moved down into it, felt the ground get soggy, then he was up the far side: couldn’t see anything.

At the top of the swale, he found another tree, a big one. The position felt good, so he stopped.

Raines: “Virgil, I’ve got you stopped. If you’re okay, give me a click.”

Virgil found the radio talk-button and clicked it.

Raines’s voice was calm, collected, steady: “I got a heat mass moving out of the boat, one still in it. Now I got two, okay, they spread out a little, I’ve got four heat masses moving up on the bank. They’re grouping again. They’re stopped. Bunch, you’re behind them. You’ll be shooting toward Virgil if you shoot past them-see if you can move further away from the river and toward the house. Looks like they’re gonna stay along the bank. One guy is still in the boat.”

Raines: “Bemidji guys, you’re right on top of each other, do you see each other? Give me a click if you do.” Click. “Okay, spread out, we want a line between the west edge of the house running down to the river… that’s good… now moving forward… Careful, you got Jarlait closing in along the bank. Jarlait, you might be moving too fast, take it easy.”

Raines kept talking them through it, the Bemidji cops and Jarlait closing on Virgil, the heat signatures by the river hardly moving at all. Raines finally said, “Okay, everybody stop. I think these guys are waiting for a little light. Bemidji guys, Virgil’s about fifty yards straight ahead of you. Virgil, the four who got out of the boat are still in a group, they’re maybe fifty yards straight ahead of you. Bunch, you’re good. Wait there, or someplace close. Looks a little lighter out there… sun’ll be up in an hour.”

THEY WAITED, nobody moving, soothed by Raines. “Everybody stay loose, stay loose…”

Virgil first imagined that the sky was growing brighter, then admitted to himself that it wasn’t: a common deer-hunting phenomenon. Then it did get brighter, slowly, and Virgil could see the tips of trees, and then the tips of branches, and then a squirrel got pissed somewhere and started chattering, and the woods began to wake up.

“They’re moving,” Raines said. “They’re coming in two plus two. Two are going further up the bank, two are coming right at you, Virgil. They’re closing, you’ll see them, if you can see them, in about a minute… Rest of you guys, don’t shoot Virgil. Bunch, the second two are as high on the bank as you are, you’re behind them, they’re moving toward the cabin… Virgil, you should see them anytime.”

Virgil sensed movement in front of him, thumbed the radio button, said as quietly as he could, “Rudy, I’m gonna yell. Your guys may move.”

“I think they heard you-they stopped,” Raines said in Virgil’s ear. “Christ, they’re not more than twenty-five yards away.”

From out in front of him, a woman’s voice said quietly, “Virgil?”

Virgil eased a little lower down the slope of the gully, thumbed the radio button so everybody could hear him, and said, “Mai-we’re looking at you on thermal imaging equipment, and on visual cameras up in the trees. We can see all of you. We’ve got you boxed, and there are a lot more of us than there are of you. Give it up or we’ll kill you.”

There was a heavy thud as something hit the far side of Virgil’s tree, and Virgil realized in an instant what it was, and flopped down the bank and covered his eyes and the grenade went with a flash and a deafening blast, and a machine gun started up the hill and Virgil thought, Rudy, and he rolled up and a burst of automatic-weapon fire seemed to explode over his head, coming from where Jarlait should have been, and he heard somebody scream and then there was a sudden silence and he could hear Raines talking: “Rudy, he’s up above you, circling around you, back up if you can, back up, you see him, you see him?”