“No, I’m good, thanks. I’ve had enough fun for one day. If someone’s up there, they’re on their own. Let’s mount up and get out of here,” I answer.
The radio comes to life. “Sir, Henderson here. We have company. There’s movement in the tree line. I count twelve so far.”
“I have them on thermal,” a soldier from inside the Stryker reports. “I have sixteen in sight.”
“Damn. I must have missed a couple,” Henderson states.
“What are they doing?” I ask.
“They’re taking positions behind trees and fallen logs just inside the tree line. They appear to be mostly armed with hunting rifles,” Henderson answers.
“Looks like the fun isn’t over yet,” Greg says.
“Fuck it. I’m done. Let’s pull out,” I respond.
“Sir. Someone is emerging from the trees onto the path,” Henderson calls.
“What are they doing?”
“Just standing there, sir.”
I step from around the Stryker and bring my binoculars up. There’s a kid, wearing a woodland camo top and pants, standing at the entrance to the trail holding a scoped deer rifle at his side. A red bandana is wrapped around his head and dark streaks line his cheeks like war paint.
Some are wearing camo while others are in a motley array of clothing. All have bandanas tied around their heads.
“What do you want to do, Jack?” Greg asks.
“Fuck it. Let’s see what they want,” I answer.
“Are you actually going out there?”
“I guess so. From what I can see, they’re all kids,” I reply.
“Kids with guns. Don’t forget that.”
“Not to worry, there isn’t a chance I’ll forget that.”
I’ve seen enough child soldiers to last me a lifetime. They’re more dangerous than adult soldiers in a lot of ways. Their reasoning process is different. Once they taste the power they hold over others by way of a gun, they tend to use that reasoning process in most of their interactions. Of course, that’s what they are used for. They’re easily brainwashed and an easy source of loyal troops for warlords. Where regular soldiers may have a cognitive ability and a sense of morality, child soldiers are generally fiercely loyal no matter what and have little sense of moral thinking about what they are doing.
That may not be what’s going on here but, if there isn’t any adult supervision around, and I’m assuming there isn’t from the looks of things, then they may have stepped down that path. The skulls and dolls make a little more sense now.
Setting the binoculars down, I secure my M-4 to my back, and walk toward the kid standing on the path. I have my Beretta handy if I need it. If they were going to fire on us, then the kid wouldn’t have stepped out. This is for show. I keep an eye on the kids in the tree line. They are, to a soul, watching me as I approach. I know Henderson and the Stryker are keeping a close eye on them as well and will call if they see something untoward happening.
I approach to within a few feet. The kid is trying to maintain a fierce face, but I can tell he’s nervous. I know this because of his eyes and the fact that he keeps shifting his weight from foot to foot. He may not be used to dealing with a heavily-armed adult. His eyes keep traveling to the assorted knives strapped to my vest and legs, the grenades peeking out of their pouches, and to the barrel poking above my shoulder. I don’t really have my friendly face on either. I’ll have to look into changing that someday.
Taking a deep breath through his nostrils, he looks up at me. He realizes he has to show authority in front of the others or he’s out. Those are the rules. I’ll see where this goes.
“This is Golddigger territory and you’re intruding,” he says as his opening line. This is a play that has to be acted out.
“Listen, son, we are just here to—” I start to say.
“I’m not your son. We don’t want you here,” he interrupts loudly.
I see how this is going to be played out. If he gets us to go away with his fierceness, then his place in the group grows. Or perhaps this is how he deals with everything now. However, being interrupted by a kid, teen or not, grates on me.
“I see the first thing to go is manners. And yes, you’ve made that abundantly clear…son,” I reply.
I see the anger infuse his eyes, his scowl deepens. He’s still nervous and really doesn’t know what to make of someone not being afraid of him because he has a gun. Truth be told, I’m a little nervous standing out here as well, but I don’t dare show it. After all, anything can happen and he may not be posturing.
“I don’t think you understand. With a wave of my hand, I could have you shot,” he states.
“Hmmm…well…that would be a pretty big mistake.”
“Oh yeah. How so?” he asks, defiantly.
“Because of them,” I answer, pointing at the teams behind me.
“Ha, I know how many you have and we outnumber you.”
“Perhaps so, but you might want to take a closer look. Those are highly trained soldiers with automatic weapons. And that,” I say, pointing, “is a Stryker armored vehicle with an automatic .50 caliber turret. You’re just a bunch of kids with hunting rifles. What chance do you think you would have?”
He looks around me to the soldiers poised in firing positions. I notice a change cross his face as he thinks of the ramifications of actually taking us on. He pulls back and puts on his game face again.
“About having me shot…I wake up each and every day with the concept that it’s a good day to die. How about you? Did you wake up this morning with that same thought? I hope so, because if you do one foolish thing, then that’s what’s going to happen. You will have observed your last sunrise,” I state.
His face goes through a variety of contortions. This obviously wasn’t going the way he wanted or was used to. I would ask after their parents, but I don’t think I really want the answer to that. I’m pretty sure they aren’t around anymore for whatever reason — although I have my suspicions — or they would have made an appearance by now.
“We aren’t just a bunch of kids. We’ve made it this far and will continue to survive. We don’t need or want anyone else…especially adults. You’re lucky I’m letting you leave peacefully. That’s if you leave now.”
Now, I don’t remember saying anything about leaving, but I will. If there was any thought of asking them to come with us, it’s gone. It would take a lot of deprogramming and I’m no expert at that. They would be unruly and refute any adult authority. However, there is a heart-mind thing going on inside. The heart says bring them and they’ll adapt over time, but my mind says there’s no way I’d want them in the compound. They could change over time if surrounded by adults but…
I don’t get the thought finished before he continues. “You’d better hurry before I change my mind.”
I take a step forward, noticing his eyes go wide with fright. I glower down on him. “I don’t take kindly to being threatened. You obviously have no idea what would happen if you tried anything. You may get a shot off, but this place would be torn apart and it would be over in about twenty seconds with dust settling on your bodies before you could chamber another shell. We’ll leave, but you might want to watch who you threaten in the future. You’re lucky you’ve caught me on a good day.”
With that, I turn and begin walking back toward the Stryker. There’s a part of me that feels bad for just leaving them here, but I don’t really see how they’d come short of kidnapping them. And they wouldn’t take too kindly to that. No, unfortunately, it’s best just to leave them.
There’s so much more I wanted to ask, like how they are dealing with the night runner threat, parents, others in the area, that sort of thing, but now I’m just tired. I’m sure the answers wouldn’t be to my liking anyway. I have a feeling I know what skulls are lying down in that pit, but I don’t want to know for sure. Right now, I just want to climb out of this dark fairy tale and move on.
“Mount up. We’re leaving,” I say upon reaching the Stryker.
“Are they coming with us?” Robert asks.
“No.”
