Уильям Дитц - Into the Guns

“Rather than do battle with them, I plan to minimize casualties by pinning both groups down. Then, once they’re under control, we’ll take everything that isn’t nailed down! And if some of these folks want to join, then so much the better, so long as it’s a number we can handle without compromising security.”

Mac’s eyes scanned the faces in front of her. “In order take full advantage of what we find, I’ll ask our civilians to pitch in as loaders and drivers. The children will be left in the care of two adults, with five soldiers to protect them. That’s the plan in a nutshell. Are there any questions, suggestions, or comments?”

There were, but none of them were deal breakers, and after making the necessary adjustments, Mac dismissed the group. There was a lot of work to do before the attack element could depart at 0300, and only four hours to do it in. But, thanks to the processes already in place, they managed to finish on time. The Strykers led the way.

It was snowing heavily by then, which Mac saw as a plus since the white stuff would serve to limit visibility and muffle the sound of the convoy’s engines. Because Kho had traveled through the area earlier, she was able to direct the convoy along back roads to the well-fortified main gate. “There’s a good point of entry west of here,” she told Mac.

And that prediction was borne out. The women were standing in hatches aboard the ESV truck as Kho ordered the driver to stop. “Look to the right,” she told him. “See the fence? Can you break through it?”

“Can a bear shit in the woods?” Lamm replied. “Hang on… We’re going in.”

After backing away a bit, Lamm put his foot to the floor. The dozer blade was raised, and Mac felt nothing more than a slight hesitation as steel sliced through the wire mesh. The vic bucked wildly as it passed over a mound of earth and plowed ahead. At that point, they were inside the base, and not a shot had been fired.

Vickers was riding in the three truck and helped to guide them through a maze of low-lying buildings, vehicle parks, and other obstacles. And it was only a matter of minutes before they arrived at the building where his group was holed up. Mac saw snow-filled craters out front, empty fighting positions, and a façade that was pockmarked with bullet holes. It wasn’t long before automatic weapons began to chatter, and bullets hit the vics.

That was Vickers’s cue to address the defenders over his Stryker’s PA system. “Hey, shitheads, this is Vick… Stop shooting! We aren’t firing on you, but we can… I hooked up with a company-sized force that includes three Strykers and plenty of heavy weapons. You can remain where you are, or you can come out. It’s up to you. And, if you want to join this unit, the CO is looking for some good people. But if you continue to fire, we’ll grease you. You have five seconds to stop.”

There were more shots, but not many, and it wasn’t long before a dozen soldiers came out with their hands over their heads. A squad was sent forward to search and secure them while Mac, Vickers, and two Strykers departed for building two. It belonged to the people who’d been loyal to the XO—and they saw Vickers as a traitor and an enemy combatant.

So Mac spoke to the cowboys over the PA, ordered them to hold their fire, and to remain where they were. It didn’t work as first. But they stopped firing once the Strykers opened up on them.

Despite the fact that she could use more troops, Mac knew it would be dangerous to try to integrate potentially unstable soldiers into the unit, because of how much trouble they could cause. Plus, even if the cowboys were able to get along with the Marauders, it seemed unlikely that they’d manage to make peace with the ex-Indians. So the Strykers remained on station while the rest of the Marauders went to work.

As the snow stopped, and the sickly-looking sun rose in the east, it soon became apparent that the amount of material available to the Marauders was beyond Mac’s wildest dreams. Weapons, ammo, food, fuel, clothing, and much-needed medical supplies were all sitting on pallets waiting to be taken. That was good. But there was more! The haul included four Strykers, two M35 trucks, and half a dozen other vehicles. Not to mention some additional UAVs for Esco.

But wonderful though the wealth of supplies was, they presented a problem as well. That stemmed from the need to distribute critical materials throughout the convoy lest all of a particular item be lost when or if a vehicle was destroyed. Ammo was an excellent example of that. Fortunately, Sergeant Smith was up to the job and was using a laptop to track everything. Still, it took time to bar-code and load the incoming material, which meant that the Marauders would have to stay in Camp Navajo for a couple of days.

Mac made use of the time by setting up a panel of people to interview the ex-Indians. The committee included her, Dr. Hoskins, and Corporal Cassidy. Their job was to determine if the volunteers would be a good fit or not. In the end, nine of the volunteers were accepted—while the rest were placed in temporary detention. “You’ll be freed when we leave,” Mac assured them. “And at that point, you can do whatever you choose.”

By dawn of the third day, the children and their caretakers had been reunited with the rest of the unit, all of the new vehicles had been integrated into the column, and the supplies had been properly allocated. The convoy was longer now—and would be more difficult to protect. But it was also stronger… And better able to defend itself from most criminal gangs.

Mac felt good about that as she stood in the forward air-guard hatch on the lead Stryker and looked back at the convoy. Mac’s Marauders had everything they needed now except for one thing, and that was a home.

THE NEW MASON-DIXON LINE

It was just after five in the morning when the rain stopped and a cold fog appeared. It hovered just above the ground and shivered as a breeze nudged it. The patriots froze as Sam McKinney raised a fist. It had been three days and four hundred miles since they’d departed the relative safety of the Ouachita National Forest. The group had traveled by car at first. And now, as they neared the Mason-Dixon line, they were on foot.

Sloan saw McKinney push his hand down and knew that was his cue to take a knee. He heard voices as the ground fog rose to envelop him—and his right hand went to the pistol that was holstered under his left arm. A man laughed as dimly seen figures passed off to the right. Sloan counted six of them. “You’ve got to be kidding,” a voice said. “What did you say?”

The patrol was gone before Sloan could learn the answer. He allowed himself to exhale and saw his breath fog the air. Sloan wanted to stand but knew that would be a mistake. McKinney was an ex-Ranger and a harsh taskmaster. He had a sharp tongue and spared no one. “Your other right, Mr. President,” McKinney liked to say, along with “Keep your butt below the skyline, Howell,” and “What the hell’s wrong with you, Allston? My grandmother can shoot better than that.” But painful though the process was, Sloan felt grateful. Like the others, he had no military training and understood the need to learn.

When McKinney stood, that meant the rest of them could as well. And as Sloan looked back over his shoulder, he could see Howell, Allston, and Jenkins in that order. The latter was an ex–deputy sheriff and McKinney’s star pupil.