William Dietz - Resistance - The Gathering Storm

Two of the soldiers ran over to the tank, while the rest followed Hale toward the point where one of the enemy’s automatic mortars was dropping shell after shell into the crater below. Gouts of mixed mud and snow rose into the air as explosions marched across the pit and the defenseless prisoners ran every which way, searching for a place to hide.

“Shut that weapon down!” Hale ordered. “Then turn it around. If the stinks counterattack, we’ll use it against them.”

It took the better part of five minutes to kill the Hybrids who were guarding the emplacement and take possession of the mortar. Once that was done, Hale left a team of three men to redeploy the weapon while he turned his attention to what was happening elsewhere. And there were lots of things to worry about, something Blake had warned him about earlier.

“You’re used to leading small groups,” the older officer had cautioned. “This mission will be different. It’ll have a lot of moving parts—not the least of which will be Mr. Dentweiler. The trick is to avoid being pulled down into the tactical stuff, and keep your eye on the big picture.”

That prediction was already proving true. The rest of the strike force was on the ground by then, and a number of brisk firefights had begun as various squads began to tackle the objectives they had been given. But rather than try to micromanage those conflicts, Hale knew it was his responsibility to focus on the main objective, as two of the group’s All-Purpose Vehicles came roaring up to stop a few feet away.

The first Lynx was assigned to Hale, and the second was reserved for Dentweiler and Burl, both of whom wore Ranger uniforms minus insignia, and carried pistols.

Hale had argued against bringing the civilians along, but without success, or much sympathy from his commanding officer.

“You want tanks?” Blake had inquired rhetorically. “Well, you got ′em… Along with the guy who wrote you the blank check. Enjoy.”

“Come on!” Dentweiler shouted as he stood upright in the Lynx. “Let’s get down into that pit and find Walker!”

Burl, who was seated in the rear next to the machine gunner, looked worried. Hale wondered what the man was thinking. Here he was, returning to his own personal hell only days after escaping it.

Hale lifted a hand by way of an acknowledgment as he climbed in next to the driver. He was armed with a HE .44 Magnum and a Bellock Automatic. Both weapons had been chosen for close-in work if it came to that.

“Okay,” Hale said to the driver, “take us past those buildings and down into the pit.”

The engine roared, wheels spun, and slush flew sideways as the Lynx took off, closely followed by the second unit. Hale barely had time to look at the yawning crater off to the left and marvel at how large it was before a couple of Howlers came bounding out of cover and the .50 caliber machine gun began to chug.

Both Chimera were knocked off their feet, and the vehicle bumped over one of them, forcing Hale to hang on for dear life as the four-by-four skidded sideways and a dozen Hybrids poured out of the buildings ahead. They opened fire with Bullseyes, and as the gunner brought the .50 to bear, Hale triggered the Bellock. The combination proved deadly as half a dozen stinks went down.

The driver straightened the vehicle out, just in time for the second Lynx to hose the Chimera down as it followed along behind. Then the battle was over as both vehicles followed the circular road downward. They were about halfway to the bottom when the gunner shouted, “Drones at ten o’clock!” and began to fire.

Hale looked up to see that a swarm of the flying machines had been dispatched to intercept the incoming vehicles. So he fired the Bellock, and had the satisfaction of seeing one of the drones vanish with a loud bang . An instant later the gunner scored two kills of his own. “Yee-haw!” the Sentinel shouted as he smoked a third machine. “Eat lead, assholes!”

Then they were past the drones, leaving the second Lynx to fire on the surviving machines, as they made one last circle of the pit and came to a smooth stop next to the half-frozen lake. Within a matter of seconds a flood of raggedy prisoners surged out of their various hiding places, all yelling excitedly as some tried to jump aboard the vehicles.

That was when Burl stood up and shouted at the crowd: “Back off!” Burl got nearly instant obedience as members of the Fair and Square Squad recognized their leader and hurried to provide him with backup. Hale was suddenly grateful for the civilian’s presence as he gave orders for the prisoners to form a column of twos and prepare to march up out of the pit as fast as they could.

Meanwhile, having exited the second Lynx, Dentweiler was shouldering his way through the crowd while holding up an 8 X10 glossy of Henry Walker for everyone to see. “Have you seen this man?” Dentweiler demanded loudly. “If so, where is he?”

There were lots of garbled replies as Burl left the organizing task to the members of the Fair and Square Squad and hurried over to the spot where the Walkers liked to eat their meals. The carefully wrapped recorder and the recordings had been hidden there, in a crevice between two large rocks.

But they were gone.

Burl was disappointed, and started scanning the crowd for Walker, when one of his buddies hurried over. “Harley, you crazy sonofabitch! You made it! And you came back… Never mind that serving of glop you owe me. We’re square.”

Burl grinned. “Good. I was going to mention it if you hadn’t.” Then he resumed his search, and said, “Where’s Walker? I don’t see him anywhere.”

“They took him,” the man announced sadly. “Yesterday morning, along with twenty-three others. He’d been here a long time, Harley, you know that, and the poor bastard’s luck ran out.”

“Damn it,” Burl said disgustedly. “Twenty-four hours. The difference between life and death. Do me a favor would you? Help the squad get everybody ready to go. I’ve got to speak with Lieutenant Hale.”

The Sentinel was standing next to his Lynx, listening to the latest in a series of sit reps from the noncoms up on the rim, when Burl materialized out of the crowd.

“Thanks for the help,” Hale said, as he eyed the area around him. “What’s up?”

“It’s Walker,” Burl replied soberly. “I know what happened to him.”

Hale’s eyes came around to meet Burl’s.

“Yeah? Where is he?”

“He’s almost certainly dead,” Burl answered. “But we need to find his body. He was carrying audio recordings of President Grace laying plans to open negotiations with the stinks. Can you believe that shit? I didn’t, until he let me listen to some of them. That’s why Henry and his wife were headed for Chicago… They were going to give the tapes to the Freedom First people, except the Chimera grabbed them the same day the bastards got me.”

It took a moment for Hale to absorb the full gravity of what he’d been told. But once he had a chance to think about it, everything fell into place. Walker’s decision to quit his job, the desperate attempt to reach Chicago, and Dentweiler’s overriding desire to locate the ex-Secretary of War. That, coupled with Susan’s parting words, helped Hale make up his mind. “So you think the recordings would be on Walker’s body?”

Burl looked relieved. “Yes. They aren’t where he normally kept them—so I feel certain he took them.”

“Up to the Processing Center?”

“Yeah,” Burl answered. “We didn’t know what it was… but yes.”

“Okay,” Hale said thoughtfully. “I’ll see what I can do. But keep it to yourself. Understood?”

Burl looked grateful as Dentweiler arrived. “Yes,” he said. “Understood.”