He got an affirmative from both Jay and Bridger. Roger groaned and lowered his rifle. He wouldn’t chance one of the running bodies being them.
Camp Deric, South of Dallas, TX
STEVE POPPED THE top on the pillbox again and worked the M249 out of the hatch. He scanned the area and saw someone in civilian clothes working their way towards the rear of the bunker. “Not today, sweetpea.”
He swung the SAW around and opened fire. He felt the satisfying kick of the weapon and watched the pink mist that sprayed from the would-be attacker. He continued to scan the area and could just make out men in black along the edge of the woods. He watched as one shouldered a rifle and point in his general direction.
Steve dropped the SAW and fell back into the pillbox as a round ricocheted off of the metal hatch. “That’s NOT how you show appreciation for me dropping a haji!”
A second round rang from the hatch cover and Steve worked his way toward the ladder. “I think they spotted my 20!” He gripped the ladder and slid to the floor below. “We got a group of government knuckle draggers along the northwest tree line. I didn’t see anything else before they so rudely invited me to leave the pillbox.”
Gregg nodded and slid to another computer. “We have a warm body along the edge of the bunker and a half dozen more in the trees.” He turned to Steve and smiled. “Should we send another Little Joe to scatter them?”
Steve shook his head. “I doubt Jim’s noodle could think straight long enough to prep one. Roger said he’s in pretty rough shape.”
Gregg nodded and chewed at his lower lip. He worked the keyboard and finally found Bridger. “Bridger, we have a warm body on the western side of the bunker. It might behoove us to have a hostage before their reinforcements arrive.”
“On it.” Gregg watched Bridger’s heat signature weave through the woods and begin to flank the remnants of the government tactical team. “I need a 20 on the hostage.”
“Fifteen yards ahead and at your eleven o’clock.” Gregg watched as the two heat signatures became one then one larger heat signature slipped back into the woods. “Is he conscious?”
“Not any more,” Bridger grunted as he carried the body along the edge of the trees and near the front of the bunker. “Am I clear?”
Gregg did a quick scan and noted that all of the heat signatures left in the front were making a hasty retreat. “Affirmative, but I wouldn’t waste any time.” He nodded to Steve and Deric who ran to the front and pulled the door open just as Bridger appeared.
Bobby dropped the man unceremoniously on the floor then pulled the ghili suit off and tossed it aside. “I think he shit himself when I appeared beside him.” Bridger wrinkled his nose. “Smelled like it anyway.”
“Great.” Deric dragged the body to a chair and sat him in it. He turned his head away, his face in a grimace. “I think you’re right.” Steve tossed him a set of cuffs and Deric worked the chain around the steel slat along the back.
He pointed at Steve. “You get to bind his legs.”
Steve groaned then pulled a roll of paracord from the counter. “I’m not going to forget this.”
Bridger appeared beside Gregg. “Where’s Jay?”
Gregg pointed to the screen. “I think he’s taking a nap here.”
Bobby scanned the screen then keyed his throat mic. “Jay, you’re clear. You should beat feet back to the bunker while they regroup.”
Jay sounded a little too happy as he replied. “Negative. I’m playing whack-a-haji.”
Gregg nodded and pointed to the screen where the fleeing men along the southern front would suddenly drop as Jay picked them off.
Bridger groaned. “Keep your head down. The fedgov is still alive and kicking.”
Gregg quickly added, “Their numbers are drastically reduced but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before they call in for support. We have one of theirs, though.”
34
DARREN CHESTERFIELD SNAPPED awake as Deric waved the smelling salts under his nose. “Rise and shine, buttercup.”
Darren leaned his face as far from the ammonia based salt as he could. “Where am I?”
“Sitting in your own fecal matter,” Steve stated. “I don’t know what you’ve been eating, but dude, that shit can’t be healthy.”
“Enough.” Deric stepped in front of Chesterfield and snapped his fingers. “You coherent enough to answer a few questions?”
Darren snorted a laugh. “I’m not telling you terrorists anything.”
Steve flipped open the wallet in his hand. “According to this, you work for the Agency.” He stared at Chesterfield who groaned when he realized he had screwed the pooch. Protocol required they leave all identifying documentation before entering the field. Lack of sleep can make you forget the basics.
“So what? A lot of people work for them.”
“Not ‘them,’” Gregg added. “You. You work for the Agency.” He spun his computer screen around. “You’re a mid-level paper pusher. What the hell are you doing in the field?”
Darren clamped his mouth shut and glared at the trio defiantly. Steve smiled and turned to Deric. “Grab the channel locks. I bet I can make him talk.”
Deric nodded. “Want the blowtorch, too?”
Steve shrugged. “Why not. A little barbecued asshole would be a nice treat to send back to his bosses.”
Darren continued to glare at them. “My bosses don’t even know I’m out here.” He broke his stare and looked away. “In all honesty, I don’t think they’d care what you did to me.”
“I guess we’ll find out.” Steve reached out and took the pliers from Deric. He snapped them open and shut a few times in front of Chesterfield. “I reckon after we pull off all of the dangly bits and chicken fry the rest, you’ll be begging us to ask you questions.” He reached for a hand and pried a finger from his closed fist. “This is going to hurt. A lot. So, you
