James Tarr - Dogsoldiers

“Got something, maybe,” he said softly, trying not to jostle the image in his scope. “Couple hundred yards down, south side of the street. You want to get the spotting scope over here?”

“On it.”

Keeley moved around the desks and planted the spotting scope between his partner’s splayed legs and oriented it over his head and paralleling the long rifle barrel made even longer by the suppressor. The end of the suppressor was five feet back from the opening in the bricks. “Two hundred… okay, I see them,” he said as he got the spotting scope in focus. He quick-glanced down at the notebook in his hand. “Far side of that service drive lazed at two-forty, so they’re two-fifty or a hair more. You need me to laze it?” He got back on the spotting scope, but was ready to grab the laser rangefinder if necessary.

“Nah. Maybe if it was twelve fifty.”

Through the thirty times magnification of the spotting scope Keeley could see the two men clearly. Both were dark-skinned, one thicker, one rail skinny, both wearing baggy clothes that hung off them. And they were in a very heated argument, pulling back and forth on the shopping cart. The two men were too distant for their shouting to be heard. “They’re not Tangos,” Keeley said, stating the obvious. He could see the lettering on the side of the tan brick building behind them, just visible above wildly overgrown bushes. It was a branch of the city’s public library… or had been.

The tug of war with the shopping cart ended. The skinner of the two men reached into the cart and withdrew something wrapped in a rag. He looked around, then unwrapped the object and showed it to the other man. It appeared they were engaged in a business transaction.

“Confirm,” Hulce said softly, eye to the scope, which was still at ten power magnification.

Keeley was bent over the spotting scope. “Gun,” he said simply, confirming identification of the object. A revolver, actually, they were close enough for him to see that much detail.

There was a pause, less than one second, and then the rifle shoved the sniper back several inches. Even with the suppressor the gunshot sounded like a gunshot, it was simply quieter. Through the spotting scope Keeley saw the armed man’s head disintegrate in a chunky crimson spray, and he dropped lifelessly to the sidewalk. The other man froze for a second, then took off running. Unfortunately for him, he began running directly away from the sniper team. Hulce worked the bolt, and settled the reticle high on the running man’s back, held his breath, and squeezed the trigger.

“Down,” Keeley said flatly, to the sound of Hulce working the bolt again. “Good hit.” Keeley sighed, then said, shaking his head, “That’s just…”

“Hey, fuck those guys,” Hulce said quietly, back on the scope and scanning the street once again. “They’re playing the game, they know the rules.”

“I was going to say it was a waste of a good bullet,” his partner told him. “Two bullets. That shitty little revolver probably doesn’t even work, and those two dudes didn’t look like they had two spare brain cells to rub together.” Their rules of engagement were simple. They were weapons free to engage anyone with a firearm or wearing body armor, as both were expressly prohibited under martial law, and had been for years. Their commander had been very clear about their mission. It was time to bring some order back to this lawless shithole of a city, some fear back into the hearts of the shitty little civilians playing soldier.

“Play stupid games, win stupid prizes,” Hulce murmured, cheek against his rifle’s stock. “Only the police and military can have guns. Should have guns. You can’t get that through your head, you deserve whatever happens to you. Let’s see if anyone tries to pick it up. It’ll be like hunting over bait.”

Keeley entered the time and distance of the two kills and then went back to scanning with the binoculars.

They worked their way steadily west through the neighborhood, moving as quickly as they could remain quiet… which was not quick at all. Jumping fences, even low, waist-high chainlink ones, was easy for kids at play but not so much when you were men burdened with body armor and rifles trying to not make a sound or be seen, pausing for minutes at a time at every noise, hunkering down into waist-high grass and wildly overgrown bushes and ornamental trees that had once been landscaping for the trim houses. Twice they heard barking nearby but never saw the dogs. The houses were small one-story edifices, brick with siding, most of them with covered car ports instead of garages, which was unusual for the area.

Ed had paused in shade at the back corner of a small house, peering between it and its neighbor at the street to the north, drinking from his canteen, when he noticed movement nearby. His eyes darted over to see an old man standing in the shadowed dining room of the house, staring at Ed and past him at the gear-laden soldiers creeping silently through his and the adjacent backyard. The man was short and thick, but not fat—it was all knobby bone, including a big brown head dotted with just a few gray hairs. He and Ed stared at each other for a few seconds, then the man gave him a slight nod and a thumbs up. Then he gestured at Ed and walked closer to the window between them, which was open.

“You gentlemen look like you might want to rest your feet for a few minutes.” He nodded past Ed. “I appreciate that you didn’t trample my garden.”

Ed glanced over his shoulder. “Looks like you’ve put a lot of work into it.” He pointed at the adjoining backyards of the two houses to the south, which were nothing but rows of plants from fence to fence. “Those yours too?”

The man nodded. “Most everybody else in the hood has skipped out, but I’m too damn old to pick up and move. Besides, gardening relaxes me.” He gave a brief smile. “’Nother hot one. I don’t have the water to spare, but I just picked a mother of a watermelon out of the garden this morning, was just about to cut it up. Care to join me?”

Ed glanced up at the sky and did a little figuring in his head. They were not quite a mile southwest and fifty minutes removed from the crash site. He smiled at the shrunken man. “That’s mighty neighborly of you. I’m Ed.”

“Russell.” He pointed down at the floor beside him, and there was a dog that Ed hadn’t even noticed. It was small but thick, with white fluffy fur and a short tail going back and forth so vigorously its rear feet were dancing on the floor. It appeared as old as its owner. “And this is Willis.”

Ed raised his hand and signaled the men to him. The rest of the squad had paused when they heard Ed talking softly to a resident, and headed his way silently when he waved his hand.

Ed and the rest of the men in Theodore—heck, every dogsoldier in the city—did their best to tread softly and treat nicely anyone brave or crazy enough to still be living in the area. There was always a chance a local would contact government forces and rat a team out for the standard reward, but grisly ARF reprisals against civilians actively collaborating with the military were a very real thing, and everyone knew it, so usually residents pretended not to see anything if they didn’t want to pick a side. Truth was, most people who had picked a side were already in the fight.

The remaining locals generally had very little love lost for the Army. It was the Army which put up roadblocks and enforced martial law. The Army which went through neighborhoods, kicking in doors, looking for guns and other contraband. And the Army which had shut off water and power to the entire city in hopes of driving away the Irregulars. Of course, they denied it was intentional, claimed the water and electrical infrastructure had been irrevocably damaged from the fighting, but nobody believed the official story on that. Besides, both the water and power had been off for years, with no sign anyone was trying to “repair the damage”… and yet, somehow, the Blue Zone, which included the Army headquarters, had never lost power, and still had running water. It was hard to feel sympathy for a government that lied to you and was doing its best to drive you from your home. The suburbs still had power and water, but it was nothing anyone could depend on.