Gomez nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
Once a fire team had been assigned to her, Mac led the mad dash across the street to the factory building. A shot rang out as they rushed through the open door, but none of them fell. That seemed to suggest a sniper on the roof of building two. Although a person could be on top of the first structure, firing straight down.
Mac ordered the four-person team to gather around. A sergeant named Cochrane was in charge. “Here’s the deal,” Mac told them. “If we had a full platoon, we’d do this by the book. But we don’t. And there’s no way in hell that five people can clear a five-story building. So we’re going straight up the fire escape to the roof. I will lead the way, and Sergeant Dean will take care of our six. That’s important because we could pass some bad guys on the way up, and they could fill in behind us. So pay attention… This shit is for real. Do you have any questions?”
“I have a question,” one of the privates volunteered. “What is the warm liquid that’s trickling down my leg?”
That got a laugh, and Mac grinned. “Come on… Let’s get going before Kowalski fills his boots.”
A series of signs led Mac to the fire escape. She opened the steel fire door with care, peered up between sets of switchback stairs, and gave thanks for the slit-style windows. The power was off, and without the openings, it would have been impossible to see without night-vision gear.
Mac took her time as she climbed upwards. The stairway would be the perfect place for a booby trap, and sure enough, a very thin wire was stretched across the stairs just past landing two. Not being an EOD specialist, Mac didn’t bother to look for the explosives the wire was connected to. Instead, she stopped and pointed before continuing upwards.
Mac was having second thoughts about climbing up to the roof by that time. Maybe she should have called for an airstrike, maybe she should have waited for reinforcements, and maybe she was going to die. The single-shot rifle was nearly worthless for the situation she found herself in. Mac pulled her pistol and held it ready. I’ll take someone with me, she decided. I hope it’s quick.
• • •
Victoria was in a jam. The plan was to take a couple of shots from the roof of the factory building and haul ass. But moments after they had arrived, a sniper shot Clay from across the street.
Victoria assumed that the sharpshooter was part of a Union Army countersniper team. But why would such a team fire on people in civilian clothes? Since Clay had been killed before they could set up. Maybe the shooter was a guy who enjoyed shooting people. That was the problem with urban warfare… All sorts of creeps began to wiggle out of the woodwork. Not that it mattered. Someone had a rifle and knew how to use it.
The obvious solution was to leave Clay’s body and run. And that’s what Victoria was planning to do when two Strykers arrived. She knew that because Radic was monitoring the radio and could hear an officer giving orders. One of which was to secure the factory building. Things were not going well.
They had an emergency escape plan. It consisted of the climbing rope inside Clay’s backpack. But the sniper’s building was higher than theirs, which meant he could shoot down at them as they tried to retrieve the rope and do so without showing anything more than his head. And even if they managed to rappel down the opposite side of the building, the Union soldiers would be waiting below.
Worse yet was the fact that she and Radic had been forced to take cover behind the boxy structure that housed the top of the stairwell. The side opposite the door. So to go through the door, and take their chances on the stairwell, they’d have to expose themselves to the sniper.
Suddenly, Victoria heard a noise, and smoke billowed all around. A grenade! Union troops were on the roof! Well, smoke cut two ways. “Come on,” Victoria said. “It’s now or never!”
Both Victoria and Radic opened fire as they rounded a corner, and entered the smoke. But there were no shouts or screams. And when Victoria tried to pull on the doorknob, there was no give. Somebody was holding on to it from inside! “Drop your weapons,” a muffled voice demanded. “And put your hands on your heads!”
Fuck that. Victoria backed away. The sniper’s rifle was slung across her back, and the carbine was leveled at the metal fire door. The Union soldiers would come out. And when they did, she would…
• • •
The breeze that blew the smoke away came from the north. That gave the sniper the opportunity he needed. His name was Thomas Penny, and he was a Confederate deserter. He had the woman in his crosshairs. All he had to do was squeeze the trigger.
• • •
What felt like a blow from a sledgehammer hit Victoria from behind and turned her around. It wasn’t until she hit the roof that the truth dawned on her. She’d been shot! No, she thought to herself, other people get shot. Not me. Not here. Not now.
But when Victoria tried to rise, she saw the blood and knew the truth. Gunshots rang out as Union soldiers burst out onto the roof, and Radic took a bullet in his right leg. He went down hard. Victoria heard a familiar voice. “Gomez! Have you got him? Good! Well done.”
A man knelt next to her. “This one’s alive, Major… But just barely.”
That was when her sister Robin appeared. The dark gray sky served as a backdrop, and she looked just like their mother. A look of shock appeared on Robin’s face. “Victoria? Is that you ?”
Victoria coughed. Something warm dribbled down her chin. Her voice was hoarse. “I won… He hates you.”
Robin was removing a battle dressing from a pocket on her tac vest. “I know that,” she said softly. “You’re the one he loves.”
Victoria felt dizzy. It was difficult to see. “Yes, he does, because I’m a good girl.”
“You’re the one,” Robin agreed. “The only one.”
Victoria tried to speak. “Tell him… Tell him…” Then the darkness rose to envelop Victoria, and the pain disappeared.
• • •
“She’s gone,” Sergeant Dean said as he felt for a pulse. “Who was she?”
“She was a soldier,” Mac answered, as tears ran down her cheeks. “And my sister. Please make sure that they take good care of her body. I need to check on the rest of the platoon.” And with that, she left.
• • •
As the rain fell, it dug little holes in the loose earth, turned it into the consistency of brown gravy, and made puddles wherever the ground was low. The sun was little more than a yellow smear up above the clouds—and a bitter wind skittered through the trees, looking for something to kill.
The graveyard was a temporary affair. A vacant lot where Confederate soldiers were buried until the war ended, and their remains could be sent home. There were no headstones, no crosses, no Stars of David. Just three-foot-tall metal stakes bearing bar-coded stickers.
There were mourners sometimes. But not often. In most cases, the only people present were the minister who had volunteered to say a few words and a couple of gravediggers, both of whom were holding their hats.
But in this case there was a mourner. Well, not a mourner, Mac decided. But a witness. So she was standing there, listening to the minister talk, when a person appeared at her side. Atkins perhaps. With an incoming call of some sort.
But when Mac turned to look, she saw a man wearing a broad-brimmed hat and a trench coat. His hands were in his pockets, and his shoulders were hunched against the cold. Two SUVs and people in dark clothing were visible in the distance. “I’m sorry,” he said. “This must be very difficult.”
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