James Tarr - Dogsoldiers

“Why do you even bother?” Weasel said with a frown, staring at the TV. “You know it’s all lies and bullshit and fake news.”

“If you pay attention to not just what they say but what they don’t,” Curly told him, “especially when you know what’s really going on, you can learn a few things about what they’re really thinking and really worried about.”

On the ground floor, above their heads, Ed knew there were numerous floor- and gun safes filled with various items including guns. Ed had only been up on the second floor once. There were private quarters up there, maybe Curly’s, as well as two belt-fed machineguns set up to cover every approach to the building. Those guns were invisible behind the tinted window glass and reportedly always manned, and they’d walked right under them, through their kill zone, to enter the market. Ed knew Curly wasn’t dumb enough to think those guns would hold off a serious assault by Army troops. More likely they’d be used to buy time to escape.

Moving to a large steel door behind him, Curly produced a big key ring and opened the hefty padlock. It was just one of several storerooms in the building, but the only one Ed had been inside.

“Look around, see if you see anything you like, and maybe we can make a deal.”

Ed paused outside the small storeroom and looked around at the barricaded basement windows, then lifted his head to stare at the ceiling. He made a face, and turned to Curly. “We never talk about security, but all these boards and bars and welds that keep people out are going to do a good job of keeping you in, if you’re in here when the Army finds the other end of that tunnel,” he told the man pointedly.

At first Curly wasn’t sure what angle Ed was trying to work, then he realized, seeing the earnest look on the man’s face, that he was actually concerned for his safety. Curly pursed his lips, then a corner of his mouth ticked up slightly. He nodded at the trap door through which they’d entered, now closed and bolted. “You think there’s only one way in and out of here short of jumpin’ out the windows? That’d be dumb. I strike you as dumb?”

“I told you this was a bad idea, boss.” Harris popped the gum in his mouth and glanced at the leader of Flash. The two men were looking out a second-floor window, above a barbershop that hadn’t been open for business in roughly fifteen years. There was no glass in any of the frames, and they stood well back from the jagged openings.

Bill Condon, aka BabyThor, or just Thor for short (never just Baby), lowered the binoculars and glanced at his second in command. “You’re popping gum and saying ‘I told you so’? You’re allowed one, or the other, not both.” Harris, and the rest of the squad standing behind them, could tell from his tone he was serious.

“Sorry. But, well, shit.”

“Yeah.” Thor lifted the binos again and looked north on Springwells. Beneath them was his magnificent golden beard, which rested on his broad chest. It was just starting to show a little gray, as was the mane of hair on his head. The other part of his nickname had to do with his height, just five foot seven.

Four hundred feet ahead of them Springwells ran into Vernor Highway in a T intersection. The intersection in all three directions was obstructed by disabled vehicles, and Thor could see at least four men wearing gang colors manning the roadblock. He immediately spotted one AK leaning against one of the cars, and knew there would be a lot more. Parked on a sidewalk nearby was a big Harley. He moved a few feet closer to the windows and looked left and right. All the side streets he could see had been blocked to vehicular traffic with burned out car wrecks, overturned dumpsters, curbside mail boxes, and other assorted urban detritus. Anyone moving through the neighborhood was funneled directly to the roadblock.

“This area’s totally run by gangs,” Fast Eddie said behind them. “I’m pretty sure this turf right here is run by the Springwells Saints. Biker gang. I heard they’re affiliated with La Eme .”

“The Mexican Mafia?” Thor asked.

“Yeah. I know they spotted us walking in, I’m actually surprised nobody’s rolled on us.”

“We’ve all got fucking rifles,” Harris pointed out. “They can see we’re doggies, I bet they’re hoping we just go away and do our thing, so they can keep on doing their thing.”

“Raping, robbing, and terrorizing the locals,” Thor said with a frown.

“Well, yeah.” But Harris knew what that tone meant. They all did. He sighed. Loudly.

“We’ve got somewhere to be tomorrow,” Splatter reminded his squad leader. “And we’ve still got, what, five miles to go? Uncle Charlie—”

“Uncle Charlie may or may not have a thing going on tomorrow for us. Sounded big, but who the fuck knows? We might get there and find nothing. Or it could just be a water drop, remember last year when he directed us to that cache of water bottles and Gatorade mix? Not that I couldn’t use some fresh water about now, much less some electrolytes, but asshole criminals,” he nodded in the direction of the roadblock, “are just as bad as the Tabs.”

Thor studied the church on the other side of the side street ironically named Senator. Divinity Ev Lutheran Churchhe could just read on the stone set into the bricks beside the front door. There was a date also but it had been defaced. Maybe 1917? Brick and stone, solidly built. The doors and windows were boarded up and looked like they had been for decades. Gang signs had been painted all over the exterior of the church. “What is that, three stories?” He peered out the other windows. “That’s about the tallest thing around. I bet we could get a good view of that roadblock from the top of that tower.”

He turned around. “Eddie, Max, Chaco, you guys stay here. The rest of you, come with me, and we’ll see what we see from that church. I decide to take a shot, you guys staying here, you watch our backs and take out any inbound assholes. I’m not worried, and you shouldn’t be either. These fuckers might be professional shitheads, but I bet none of them can shoot worth shit, and it doesn’t look like they’re wearing armor either.”

Thor and three of his men exited the rear of the building into the alley. They walked across Senator to the rear of the church, where there was a narrow boarded-up door, covered with graffiti. It didn’t take them much effort to get inside.

With all the windows covered by plywood they had to turn on their flashlights to see. There were signs and sounds of rodents all around them, scurrying for cover. It took them ten minutes of poking around before they discovered the only place on the north side of the church from which they could see anything was a narrow vertical vent in the attic.

“I want one of you guys at the back door, and somebody else pry some wood off a window so you can see west,” he told his men. “If the other guys start shooting, I want you to be able to see what they’re shooting at.”

Thor slowly and as quietly as possible pried the old wooden slats out of the attic vent, eventually opening a rectangle six inches wide by sixteen tall. He set his backpack down and went prone behind it. The pack made a good rest for his rifle.

His Bravo Company Recce-16 was topped with a Trijicon 1-8X AccuPower rifle scope. There was a SureFire SOCOM suppressor attached to his muzzle which he’d liberated after a firefight several years earlier. He cranked the magnification on his scope all the way up, settled behind the rifle, and studied the roadblock. The tip of his suppressor was a foot back from the narrow opening, but still he had a more than wide-enough view to see all of the intersection. From his new perch he could see even more of it than he’d been able to from above the barbershop. Harris was squatting directly behind him, peering through the 10X binos.