Reckoning ~ Indian Hill 2 ~ A Michael Talbot Adventure (22 page)

Chapter 28

Grid DB-427

“Peter, what are you doing? You know we have strict orders never to open that box.”

“Jack; I just wanted to have a peek. It’s killing me to play this spy shit and not have any clue what we’re spying on.”

“Just shut the thing. For all you know, the thing might be filled with plutonium.”

“You think so?” Peter asked as he slammed the door back shut, checking twice to make sure the lock was positioned in place and tight. “I don’t want my hair to fall out.”

“Don’t worry, my friend. For you, that would be an improvement.”

***

Mother Ship

“Sir, we’ve got a signal.”

Kuvlar, the interim supreme commander, walked up to his sub-commander’s station. On the inside, he was almost jumping for joy. “Damn hu-mans!”

“Sir?” the sub-commander said, looking confused.

The commander didn’t answer his query. He was too angry at himself for letting the hot-blooded emotions of the hu-man dogs sway his feelings.

“Where is it located, Sub-Commander?”

“Grid DB-427, Supreme Commander,” the sub-commander said as he turned back to his station.

“Where is it headed?”

“Impossible to tell, sir. The signal only came through for about ten-seconds, then abruptly ended.”

“Ended? That makes no difference. I want a ship dispatched immediately with a full complement of troops.”

“Right away, Supreme Commander,” the sub-commander answered before he barked some orders into his headset and turned his full attention back to the instrument panel in front of him.

Chapter 29

Indian Hill

“I know why your squad is ‘escorting’ us,” the sergeant major said with no hint of menace in his voice.

“I’m not sure of your meaning, Sergeant Major,” Sergeant Bolito said, doing his best not to look the sergeant major in the eye.

“Son, you can’t lie worth a shit. I wasn’t a hundred percent certain until I just saw your reaction.” The sergeant major grabbed the sergeant’s arm with a viselike grip. A couple of the sergeants’ men raised their weapons, bracing for a fight. With his free arm, Sergeant Bolito gestured to the men to lower their weapons. The sergeant major semi-pulled the sergeant away from his ragtag bunch of refugees.

“You know, son, you don’t have to do this.”

“Sergeant Major, I have my orders.”

“Fuck your orders!” The sergeant major hissed. The sergeant major had never raised his voice past a whisper, but to Sergeant Bolito, the words echoed in his ears as if blown from a cannon. “I can understand killing the men, but you’re going to shoot three women and two children? What kind of madman is your general? Ordering the murders of innocents!”

“Sergeant Major, don’t make me do this. Come back with us.”

“And take orders from that wet-behind-the-ears-puke who calls himself a colonel? I’d rather die here in the woods.”

“Can you make that choice for those women and children too?” the sergeant asked as he peered over the sergeant major’s shoulder at the small group who had now stopped to see what was delaying their newly appointed leader.

Pain filled the sergeant major’s eyes. “Son, I’m asking you as one warrior to another. Don’t do this. Don’t make me beg for their lives. Even if you were to just kill us soldiers, you’re still condemning the women and children. No one will take them in. Altruism flew out the door when the aliens made themselves known.”

“Sergeant Major, what chance do you have now? That snot-nosed kid we call the colonel took a heavily fortified spot from hostiles with not one casualty on either side. Does that sound like somebody who doesn’t know what he’s doing?” Doubt still clouded the sergeant major’s face. Sergeant Bolito pressed on.

“Sergeant Major, that wet-behind-the-ears kid is the smartest and most caring officer I have ever served under. I’ve seen that man, after a twenty-two-mile forced march, walk around the encampments and check on the condition of every man and woman under his command. That man has secured more resources and manpower in the last year to rival a small industrial nation. He has done more to make sure that our species survives this endeavor than our own government.”

Sergeant Bolito felt that the sergeant major’s resolve was slipping. He was making headway, and that which he feared most in combat looked like it wasn’t going to happen, at least not today. Killing in the heat of combat was one thing, but cold-blooded executions? That was quite another. He fully understood the necessity that the secret of the Indian Hill Fort must remain just that, a secret. But how much could these people actually know? If the sergeant major still refused, Sergeant Bolito thought he would probably just let the man go, despite his orders. More than likely, ironically, that would mean his own execution. At least he’d be able to die with his head held high and a clear conscience.

Somehow, the cute, little, towhead baby had gotten hold of the stick of beef jerky and, sure enough, dropped it. One of the sergeant major’s men, most likely the infant’s father, bent over to pick it up. Then the shit really broke loose.

One of Sergeant Bolito’s men, who was distracted by the conversation between the sergeant and the sergeant major, turned back to see the National Guardsman standing up with what appeared to be a firearm. The man, later on even under heavy interrogation, swore incessantly it was a pistol of some sort; and, fearing for his own safety as well as that of his comrades, opened fire.

The world slowed down for Sergeant Bolito as he watched the first bullet rip straight through the young mother’s midsection. It entered her back and exited her abdomen, spewing blood onto her shocked husband. Blood and bone flew onto his chest as he caught her collapsing body. Sergeant Bolito began to scream, “NO!” but it was too late.

The private had his weapon on the “three round burst” setting. By the time the order was issued, the third bullet had already hit home, smashing into the skull of the Guardsman. Shock and betrayal was forever etched upon his features as he fell over backwards with his wife landing on top of him. Two of the remaining Guardsman reacted quickly to the show of force.

The men grabbed the stunned private, quickly disarming him and turning the weapon on Sergeant Bolito’s men. Lance Corporal Joesy flew a foot backward as a three round burst smashed into what was left of his midsection. The resounding thuds were deafening.

Then the Guardsman turned the rifle onto the man who had killed their friend and his wife. Private Perry, eighteen years old and a virgin, feared the worst: that he was going to DIE just that way. He eventually did, but not on that day and he never did 'do the deed.' Training and discipline took over as the remainder of the squad regained their composure and riddled the two Guardsmen with bullets, before they were ever able to fire another shot.

They were shot so many times they looked like marionettes on strings the way they danced around. The final Guardsman, a fat little rotund man the sergeant thought was called ‘Bennett’, stood shaking, with his hands straight up in the air. He begged anyone who would listen not to shoot him. The smoke of the battle cleared and still nobody moved. Everybody feared that any unnecessary movement could be construed as a reason to open fire again. Finally, it was the surviving woman who moved over to the body of her fallen friend.

“You bastards!” she screamed as she attempted to roll her friend off her husband. “What have you animals done? Hasn’t this world already gone far enough? Or maybe you figured you could make it just a little shittier?!”

Sergeant Bolito was taken aback by the sheer ferocity and force that the waif of a woman possessed.

“Bennett! Get over here and help me get Sarah off David!” the woman cried. Bennett first looked over at his sergeant major, then at the four or five rifles that were leveled on him.

“Get over here! We’re already dead!” the woman said as she saw Bennett’s indecision. Bennett held out his hands, fingers pointing up, palms out, as if to say, don’t shoot. He helped the woman roll her friend over. Sergeant Bolito feared the worst. The woman had been carrying her child in a front-carrying papoose. Acid began to form in the sergeant’s throat. He didn’t think he would be able to take what he knew he would see.

The baby showed the same look of shock and surprise etched on his face. Blood and tissue covered him from head to toe. Sergeant Bolito tried to force down the bile that was creeping up his esophagus, when warm relief flooded through his body--the baby cried. Sergeant Bolito thought he might join the infant; a good cry might feel pretty good right about now. The sergeant major was shaking with rage.

“That girl was all of twenty-four years old, you stupid bastard!” the sergeant major yelled as he advanced on the retreating gunman. “I’m going to rip that stupid little pinhead right off your shoulders!” The gunman stumbled over a branch and fell over backwards. He began to scramble like an overturned turtle. The rest of the squad stood dumbfounded. No one was quite sure what to do.

The sergeant major reached down and grabbed the rifle from the man's hands. Every one tensed, and Sergeant Bolito raised his weapon, but quickly lowered it when the sergeant major tossed it aside. The sergeant major began to take out some of his anger and frustration on the private’s face. Sergeant Bolito sympathized since he felt that if he were in the sergeant major’s shoes, he would have done the same thing. The sergeant allowed it to go on until it appeared that the private was beginning to lose consciousness.

“Sergeant Major! That’s enough!” The sergeant major pressed on. “Sergeant Major! That’s quite enough!!” Sergeant Bolito yelled with a little more force. And still, the sergeant major hit the unconscious Perry. Blood began to splatter. Sergeant Bolito quickly approached the sergeant major while withdrawing his nine millimeter pistol from its holster.

Not until Sergeant Bolito pressed the cold barrel of the gun to the sergeant major’s temple, did the wind seemed to deflate from his sails. He let go of the private's collar and let his head fall back to the ground. He exhaled a heavy sigh as he stood back up and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. Blood covered his face; some his own, from his split knuckles, most was from Private Perry’s face. It would be a week or so before Perry would be able to look into a mirror without scaring himself.

“What now, Sergeant Bolito? Are you going to stand us up against a tree or should we all turn our backs to you?”

“Neither, Sergeant Major. You’re all prisoners of war now,” the sergeant said without much conviction. This encounter had completely drained him. He suddenly felt tired and weary. The woman who had been kneeling over her slain friend’s body began to rise and protest.

“Prisoners of war? What war? You cowards!” she attempted to yelled, the ferocity had been drained out of her; what remained was pure, icy anger.

“Shut up, Karen,” Bennett tried to whisper in vain. “You’re going to get us all killed.”

“Fuck you, Bennett. You’re almost as big a coward as these other men.” Bennett was taken aback by her verbal lashing. “Where were you when Sarah got shot?” Bennett didn’t know how to answer that question or whether Karen was really looking for an answer. So Bennett just stood there, mouth gaping like a landed guppy.

“Shut your trap, Bennett, or you’re likely to swallow a bug!” the woman said as she turned to face Sergeant Bolito. “And what of your Private, Sergeant? Are you going to give him a medal for his valor in combat today?” she spat.

“Ma’am, there will be a full investigation into the matter,” The sergeant answered as calmly as possible.

“An investigation? From you armed boy scouts? What are you going to investigate? The stupid kid shot my best friend and her husband over a piece of beef jerky. Was he afraid they would try to make him eat it? Is that it? He’s a vegetarian and he can’t stand the sight of meat? And what of the baby? He’s an orphan now. There’s not already enough suffering?”

“Ma’am, I understand your suffering. I do…” The sergeant interjected.

“You don’t understand, Sergeant. You and your little troop can go fuck yourselves. I’m taking this baby and I’m leaving.”

“Ma’am, I can’t let you do that.”

“What are you going to do, shoot me?”

Sergeant Bolito had nothing left; all desire for confrontation had been wiped out of him.

“You’re free to go, Ma’am. You’re wrong about one thing though.” She stopped to hear him out. “I do understand your pain. I lost my wife and kid in the first onslaught. And my parents were dragged out of their home and shot for the contents of their refrigerator. So don’t stand there and tell me I don’t know about suffering.”