Hard Rain Falling (Walking in the Rain Book 3) (8 page)

CHAPTER NINE

Fortunately, it was my friends and they had brought some backup. I recognized the paint scheme on one of the three Hummers as coming from the ANG, which was slightly different than what the Oklahoma Guard used. Same color, but slightly different spray job; if that makes sense.

I did not recognize the two lead vehicles though, a pair of tracked and armored beasts which resembled slightly scaled down versions of the Bradleys I’d worked on earlier in the week. I later found out these were M113s, also called APCs; a type of vehicle I’d heard my father mention but never seen. They looked formidable, but I wondered if they could survive a hit from the same type of missile that took out Halloran’s Humvee.

The two monster tracks took up overwatch positions on either end of the highway and the three Humvees pulled up close to where the Jenkins and I were standing. I saw the rear door of one Humvee fly open and there was Amy. She ran like a scalded cat and enveloped me in a crushing embrace. Before her head disappeared under my chin, I could tell she’d been crying. Even with her tan, the underlying pale skin always looked blotchy when she cried.

“I take it this is your fiancée, Jenkins said dispassionately, and I gave a nod as I ran my hands over Amy’s back, trying to soothe the terrified young woman. In the background, I noticed others exiting the vehicles. Some I recognized, like the Thompson sisters, and others were new.

“I wanted to stay,” Amy croaked; her voice thick from the tears. “I tried to get out but somebody”—she looked over, giving Lori a hard glance—“wouldn’t let go. She’s really strong for being so small.”

Bending down, I gave Amy a kiss on her damp cheek and whispered in her ear.

“Don’t be mad at her. She probably saved your life. Maybe mine, too. I know you wanted to help, but Towson did the right thing getting you guys away. I owe him for that.”

Amy seemed to relax at my words. She was game, and I knew she would have fought, but the idea of her ending up like poor Private Grady made me rethink our whole plan. She might not have been completely safe at the Keller farm, but she would have been safer. Something to be said for that.

As we talked softly, I noticed Lori looking around nervously. Then her eyes fell on the blanket draped form lying in the middle of the road. I’d wanted to move all the bodies, but especially Jay’s. Staff Sergeant Jenkins prevailed over me to leave them where they fell.

Lori walked over, still hesitant about her reception from Amy.

“What about Jay?”

Her soft words cut me and I felt Amy stiffen in my arms. So Lori
had
noticed those tentative looks after all.

I looked over and tried to clear my throat of some obstruction.

“He… didn’t make it, Lori.”

The confirmation made the older girl’s face crumple. Like me, she’d just met the young man but he had a way of making an impression. Apparently more so with Lori.

“Can I see him?”

I nodded somberly and Amy detached herself from my waist to go over and give the shorter girl a hug. Summer stood looking lost as her sister was being comforted so I reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder.

“How are you, little ‘un?” I asked, trying to be sensitive and using Lori’s nickname for her younger sister; who, while four years younger than Lori, already stood about the same height.

“Okay, I guess.” She said looking around and spotting the other bodies. “You killed them, didn’t you?”

“Maybe the other soldiers did it,” I countered.

“No, this was you. Amy said the first thing you do after killing somebody is strip off their weapons,” Summer said, pointing, her nose wrinkling at the idea of desecrating the dead.

“That’s right. Keeps everything where I can see it. Yeah, I did kill those three, but I also got a prisoner. I could have killed him and didn’t.”

I saw one of newcomers eavesdropping but decided I didn’t care. He wore lieutenant’s bars, but something about him told me he was also something more. It was probably his age since he was in his mid-thirties at least; so, way old for the rank. Probably a mustang; a former enlisted who was sent to officer school or, more rarely, directly commissioned. My dad told me about those. He’d been offered OCS school in the Marines, but he told me liked being a sergeant.

“Was it hard? Not killing them; I know you do that real good. I meant, hard not to kill the prisoner after what happened here.” Summer spoke so softly I wondered if any of the others could even hear her question. From the shock on the lieutenant’s face, I guess he still had good ears.

“That’s ‘real well’ young lady. And yes, it was hard. I wanted to kill him for what happened, but that wouldn’t bring Sergeant Halloran or Jay back.”

Summer nodded her understanding. After our talk before, about killing, she’d been a little more reserved around me, but not scared; more like she was studying me. Maybe wondering if I was going to snap at some time and start shooting sleepers—probably shouldn’t have shared that particular story with her. Thirteen was such an impressionable age. I had to laugh at myself when the thought hit me and I got some strange looks all around.

“Sorry,” I said by way of apology, “This shit is not funny, but I just realized some of my stories might end up scarring young Summer here for life. I need to learn to edit myself better or she is going to be therapy for years.”

That actually got a few gruff chuckles, and I turned to see the lieutenant still waiting.

“Help you, Sir?”

“You would be Luke, no last name, I take it?”

“My ID card says Luke Landon. That’ll do. What can I do for you, Sir? I take it those are your monster trucks.”

The lieutenant nodded, and then jerked his head for me to follow. Reluctantly, I released my hold on Summer’s shoulder and went to match the older officer as he walked quickly up to the Suburban. Leaning inside, the lieutenant glanced around the interior of the roomy SUV and then stepped back.

“Luke, my name is Lieutenant Greg Germann. I’m with 1st Battalion, 179
th
Infantry, out of Edmonds. Do you know what’s going on here?”

I looked around and thought about his question. I got the idea he was asking about more than just this ambush today.

“I’m not sure, Lt. Germann. We just got here today, and up until one second before Private Grady’s head exploded, I thought things were if not good here then at least no worse than elsewhere.”

“Granted. Did you recognize the launchers used to kill the Humvee?”

“No, Sir. I am strictly a civilian contractor, Sir. Before the lights went out I was a student and my military knowledge was limited to playing paintball with my father.”

The lieutenant regarded me carefully for a moment. Then he asked to see my ID and the letter from Colonel Hotchkins. Damn, Jenkins got him briefed up in a hurry. I produced the requested paperwork and noticed Germann didn’t even bother taking the colonel’s letter out of the bag.

“Alright, here’s a little background while my men strip that SUV of everything of interest to our investigation. You can have it after that. We are on a tight time schedule in more ways than one. Why do you want the truck anyway, if you have a Humvee already on loan?”

“I like to have options, Lt. Germann. The Humvee is a great but it’s just a loaner. That Suburban is also a diesel and has a better suspension, higher speed on the top end, and more hauling capacity than the Humvee. I think it’s armored up like a Hummer too. I’m also going to need those bullet resistant vests and personal weapons, if you please.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I am at your mercy, Lt. Germann. But you strike me as the merciful type. Plus, you guys don’t need the small arms, but we could sure use them. Starting a small business is often hard without sufficient startup capital… I learned that in my economics class. So if I am going to make a go of it as a security contractor, I need the tools. And please, you were about to tell me more about the situation we’ve wandered into?”

“Sergeant Halloran and Private Sanchez died in the Humvee when it was struck by a Javelin anti-tank missile. The Javelin is state-of-the-art, Luke. It has infrared homing, lock-on before launch, and is self-guided. With a range beyond 2,000 meters, it is a fire and forget tank killer. We don’t have them. The Guard, I mean. Strictly controlled and in use by the U.S. Army and a few close allies. You don’t just find these laying around in some local armory. There has to be something bigger in play.”

“Ah, now it becomes clear,” I said with a sigh. “Camp Gruber.”

“That is what I personally suspect. And I’ll bet you once we get those two laptops in the front seat of the Suburban opened up, their screensaver will have the DHS logo.”

Department of Homeland Security; just the kind of folks I wanted to avoid. Germann seemed like a smart operator, and a man who got things done.

“No bet, Sir.”

“How did you manage to get the drop on them, Luke?”

I gave him the 30 second rundown, ending with my own conclusion.

“They got sloppy. In a hurry it seemed. Nobody was minding the store, so I took the shot.”

“Well, we need to get the hell out of here quick as well. Let’s go see what my technicians are finding.”

Actually, they found quite a bit. Two more reloads for the Javelin in the rear cargo area, which would be going with the lieutenant, as well as multiple radios and communications equipment that looked capable of calling the International Space Station. Including the most current military issue SINCGARS radio preloaded with all the codes necessary to keep up with the frequency hopping mode.

The young technician, a specialist, recited these and other facts about the radio system like the lieutenant had about the Javelin a few minutes earlier. I wondered if there was going to be a test. Then he mentioned that the Suburban had two GPS trackers he’d found so far, and that he thought there might be one more hidden under the hood.

“Still want the SUV, Luke?” the lieutenant said in a slightly mocking tone. Despite the grim nature of the mission, he seemed to enjoy making me squirm a bit. I sort of liked that about the man.

We were nearly done and getting the last of my booty packed into the rear cargo compartment of the SUV. We decided to ride together in the Suburban while Specialist Markum and another man would take our Humvee, now loaded with the Bradley components, on the short hop to McAlester. The footlocker was shifted as well and anchored in place by two cases of ammunition; one contained .45 ACP and the other held 5.56x45, stacked on either side.

All four men were equipped with M4 carbines, fresh off the Colt factory floor with ACOG sights, and the UMP45s were close range personal defense weapons, according to Lt. Germann. I just called them submachine guns and left it at that. We got four of each, as well as four .45 ACP Gold Combat II Kimber pistols. I was impressed and sickened. Wow, that was my parents’ tax dollars at work. Those pistols alone ran over two grand each.

As our two small convoys prepared to move out, Lt. Germann waved me over for one more little nugget. I wondered why he was so quick to release all of these cool new weapons for us. I would have been happy just to pick up the spare ammunition, but the man barely blinked. Maybe he figured we would need them soon enough.

“We need to watch for drones. Hate to catch a Hellfire in the teeth. If the opposition really is from Camp Gruber, they have the capacity. We really need air defense systems, but not going to happen for a while. We have some Strykers configured for air defense, but the software is fried.”

“Why here, Lieutenant? And why now?”

The lieutenant shocked the heck out of me by sharing what appeared to be his unvarnished opinion.  I still didn’t know a lot about officers, but he seemed refreshingly frank with me.

“Maybe because we are finally starting to pull our collective heads out of our proverbial asses and started working the problem. I don’t know what the feds have planned, if anything, but striking this way makes sense… sort of. I think they don’t want us, the States, getting our acts together anytime soon. And I need to get word back East to your Colonel Hotchkins, on the q.t., to warn them to watch out for similar attacks. Hell, Camp Gruber is a lot closer to Fort Chaffee than it is to us.”

That thought made my stomach hurt.

“Shit, Lieutenant, you missed your calling. You should have been a motivational speaker.”

“Get out of here, kid. Go buy a Justin Bieber album or something.”

“I think they are called discs, Sir. Except none of the players run anymore; and I threw my iPod away almost four months ago.”

“If we can ever get electric up and running, something tells me vinyl will make a comeback.”

I sighed theatrically. Something about this junior officer’s sense of humor reminded me of my father’s bantering ways. That made me realize just how much I was missing home and my family.

“Shit, Lieutenant. I think you may have just ruined the apocalypse for me. Old people music.”

I was weird. I knew it. Here we were laughing and joking and an hour ago three men we all knew were killed not far from this spot. Germann had three body bags going home with them. Grady, Halloran, and Sanchez. Well, what there was left of the other two. They used some heavy duty fire extinguishers to get to the shriveled forms, but I didn’t go look.