Every man stands with shocked expressions. See, most people expect the banter to continue and the one with the wittiest line wins. They think the war of words is the actual battle. They watch way too much TV. Or did. This is the last thing they expect or want. The realization that I am not kidding around, or that banter and talk will even be a part of this, dawns brightly upon them. They expected something like they were engaged in with the family to ensue. Nope, not going to happen. You cannot fuck around with mentalities like these. Especially when they are confused as to which choice they should make. You make it very clear what the right choice is and do it right from the start.
“Lynn, bring your team out into the open but ready to open up,” I speak into the radio.
Black Team emerges from the tree line, lining up along the parking lot on the other side. Spaced apart but ready to deliver immense amounts of firepower should they need. The men notice the movement to one side of them and see Red Team positioned behind the cars with their weapons trained on them on the other. Most drop their weapons before being told to. They outnumber us by a fair margin but also know the odds of them living long enough to make that count, should it come down to a fight, are slim. They know when to say when. Hmmm, must be going around, I think. An assortment of guns falls to the ground in a continuous clatter lasting a few seconds.
“Move over there slowly,” I say pointing to a spot in the parking lot to my right with the barrel of my carbine. “In the middle and sit down with your hands on your head. Move in any way we don’t like and you’ll not appreciate the result.”
“Lynn, move up and cover them,” I say as the group of men shamble over and sit down on the warming pavement. I direct Red Team to set up a small perimeter, shoulder my weapon and move over to the woman with my hands open.
“It’s okay, ma’am, you won’t be hurt,” I call out towards her.
She is still holding the revolver out in front of her but she has lowered it down at an angle. I can sense she feels conflicted; feeling both saved, or at least hoping so, and unsure if she should relax. The young boy is still clutching her waist with his eyes now darting from her and to the man, his dad apparently, lying on the walkway.
“Lynn, can you come over here?” I ask into the radio holding my position.
“Can you talk with her? I think she may still be in a little shock and need a woman to assure her she is safe,” I say to her once she arrives.
Lynn shoulders her rifle and walks over to her, hands spread in a reassuring manner. The woman does not raise her gun up but she does not lower it either. A little sense of relief flows from her to see a woman and she lets Lynn approach, the boy sliding around behind his mom as Lynn draws near. Lynn comes to a stop in front of her and slowly puts her hand out to the pistol in the woman’s hand, pushing it gently down to the side. I cannot hear exactly what the conversation is but I can tell there is one by the woman’s mouth moving. She abruptly erupts into tears and, dropping the gun on the ground, throws her arms out and gives Lynn a hug, enfolding her and sobbing on her shoulder. Lynn puts her arms around the grief and shock-stricken woman.
After a few moments, the woman recovers and draws back. Unwrapping her son’s arms from around her, she bends down to say something to him. Standing after she has a word with her son, she walks over to where her husband lies on the ground, the pooled blood around him drying in the warming air. She crouches down and I observe her remove the wedding band from his hand and deliver a kiss with her fingers to his cheek. Standing once again, she gathers her son and walks with Lynn back towards me, the woman stopping a few feet away as if uncertain of her position or safety.
“She says they were trying to find food and water when they were waylaid by these guys,” Lynn says with a measure of disgust nodding towards the group of men sitting on the pavement, bunched together with Black Team forming a semi-circle around them. “They shot her husband when they became cornered here and he tried to defend them.”
“That’s kind of what I thought,” I reply. I wave the woman over and she approaches in a hesitant manner, automatically sweeping her son behind her in a protective manner as she nears.
Dark circles around her brown eyes tells of the horror and sleeplessness she must have faced over the past few days; as does the grime and dirt spotting her face. Her diminutive stature belies the look of determination in her eyes she had just a few moments before as she stood off the group of men looking to harm her and possibly her son.
“I’m very sorry for your loss ma’am. You’re safe with us and be assured no harm will come to you or your boy,” I say.
A look of relief passes through her eyes on hearing my words and eyeing the armed men around her; her body language showing a measure of the tension inside releasing.
“Do you know of or heard of anyone else alive?” I ask.
Looking back at me, she shakes her head “no” evidently not trusting to talk at this time.
“You and your son are welcome to come with us. But just so you know, we’re not staying here. We have an aircraft and are heading to the Northwest. It’s your choice but I would feel very remiss leaving you here,” I tell her.
She looks to Lynn as if looking for an answer. She appears to be somewhere in her twenties and at a loss as to what to do. Lynn looks back at her and nods her head; both in reassurance and that she should indeed come along with us.
“Okay, sir, thank you,” she says in a shy voice after a moment’s pause and glances over at her late husband lying in the sun.
“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of him and give him decent honors,” I say but with a feeling that our time line is slipping away. More time spent here is less time we’ll have today down south. “What’s your name miss?”
“Kathy,” she responds.
“And what’s your name young man?” I ask directing my question at the boy anxiously clutching his mom but peering out around her waist.
“Robert,” he answers.
“Well, I have a son named Robert as well. He’s back at the airfield waiting for us,” I say with a smile. He smiles timidly back.
“What do you think we should do with them?” I say turning my attention back to Lynn and nodding at the captive men.
“Shoot ‘em,” she says with passion and anger in her voice. I would have expected that answer from Lynn. She experienced a similar horrific incident in her past. As a matter of fact, I would expect that answer from any woman having had to face such ugliness. That kind of anger just does not dissipate. I give her the sideways look of ‘really!?’
“Okay, just the left testicle,” she adds after seeing my look and knowing inside the both of us that we cannot outright shoot anyone we’ve captured.
Well, I would make an exception for the night runners but, although anyone may think differently, it is awfully hard to actually coldly shoot anyone unarmed that you have captured. I do feel a sickness inside that makes me want to, for a moment, take her up on her suggestion.
“We’ll see,” I say stepping over, with Lynn walking just behind my right shoulder, to the men whose future manhood is in serious question.
“Anything to say for yourselves?” I ask the group with disgust, gazing at each of them. Each of their eyes turns downward as my eyes focus on them. Yeah, you should feel ashamed.
“We didn’t mean anything,” one of them finally says although his eyes remain glued to the gray pavement in front of him. “We weren’t going to hurt them.”
“Explain why she was trembling in fear with a handgun then! Explain how her husband is laying on the ground over there! Go ahead, tell this young lad why his dad isn’t going to be there for him! Didn’t mean anything my ass!” I say quietly yet with emphasis and hear Kathy begin sobbing quietly behind me. Sometimes I just don’t think about what I’m saying, I think regretting those words were said within her hearing.