Tonight we sent a message to Omega.
The hunted have become the hunters.
Chapter Eleven
Coming back to camp is like returning home from deployment. Granted, our deployment only lasted a few hours, but you get the point. The Young family and Isabel are waiting for us, along with other members of the militia who stayed behind to guard the camp. The rush of adrenaline is still simmering in my blood, keeping my senses sharp. It should wear off soon.
When our truck pulls into camp, a pickup screeches up beside us. Alexander kills the engine on his pickup and storms out of his vehicle, slamming the door behind him. He stalks around the front of our truck and confronts Chris. I scramble out of the car and run around the pickup bed just as Chris steps out of the vehicle.
“Why did you do that?” Alexander demands. “I had the situation under control!”
The other pickups are pulling into camp. The militiamen are high on victory, laughing and grinning. A sudden hush falls over the crowd as they notice the confrontation going down between Chris and Alexander.
“You had a situation,” Chris replies calmly, “but you didn’t have it under control.”
“What was all that crap about ‘the best soldier can improvise?’” Alexander hisses, getting in Chris’s face. “I improvised, Young, and you screwed it up.”
“You were making a mistake.” Chris crosses his arms. “Go see to your men. We’ll discuss this later when we debrief.”
Little Isabel pokes her face out of the crowd and runs towards me, wrapping her arms around my waist in a hug. I kiss the top of her head, holding my breath.
“I won’t forget this,” Alexander warns, rolling his shoulders back.
“Good. Don’t.” Chris closes the pickup door. “And one more thing.”
Alexander raises his eyebrows.
“Don’t question my orders in combat again,” Chris says quietly. “You’re dismissed.”
It’s not insulting. Just a reminder of who’s in charge.
Alexander stalks away, the vein in the center of his forehead bulging, his face a dark shade of red. Almost purple. The entire militia has their eyes on Alexander as he shoves his way through the crowd, swearing under his breath. Yet he doesn’t continue to argue with Chris, and that alone is the deciding factor in this mini-mutiny moment. Chris calmly unfolds his arms and takes a look around the camp. People disperse, whispering under their breath. I meet Chris’s gaze.
“You handled that well,” I comment, forcing a smile.
He nods.
Mrs. Young pushes her way through the crowd, reaching for Chris. It’s one of those rare moments when her long gray hair is hanging loose to her shoulders, framing her petite face.
“Chris,” she says, embracing her son. “You’re safe. Thank God.”
Chris doesn’t reply. He just hugs her back and closes his eyes.
“I’m glad you’re safe, too, Cassie,” Mrs. Young adds, pulling me into a hug.
“And I’m sad I had stay behind and guard this stupid campsite,” Jeff sighs from the corner of the tent. “Did I miss all the action?”
“Oh, sure. Nothing like death and blood to put some pep in your step,” I reply.
He rolls his eyes. Whatever. He’ll see what it’s like soon enough.
“What was Alexander upset about?” I ask, crossing my arms. “I mean, I could be wrong here, but he wasn’t exactly stoked about our victory.”
The militiamen are unloading the commandeered trucks. Everything from water bottles to boxes of canned goods have been confiscated from the labor camp — plus, we’ve got nearly fifty hungry new recruits if the liberated prisoners decide to join us and fight.
“Alexander has a different style than I do,” Chris says, taking a seat on a camping chair. He pulls his hair loose from his ponytail, letting his long hair frame his face. “It’s not entirely his fault — I was trained the same way, but the difference between us is that I’m looking at our group as a rescue unit rather than a kill squad.”
“I have no idea what you mean by any of that,” I state, squeezing next to him on the chair. “Explain, please?”
Chris sighs.
“In the military, they train you to defend your brothers and kill your enemies,” he answers, keeping an eye on the pickups. “They train you in such a way that you’ve already mentally accepted the fact that there will be casualties on your side. Losses are accepted and acknowledged ahead of time. That’s the price of war.”
Sophia worms her way through the crowd, walking towards us. She gives me a nod to let me know she made it back to camp safely, and wanders off into the crowd, giving us our privacy.
“As a SEAL, I was trained to kill,” he replies. “We specialize in counterterrorism, special reconnaissance, guerilla warfare, even. But we go into that situation knowing that somebody in our group may die — even though we’re doing everything we can to prevent that.” He pulls my hair away from my face, examining the bruise on my forehead. “What happened to your forehead?”
I touch my temple, feeling soreness there.
“Oh. I’m fine. Go on.”
“You need to be checked out by the medic.” He stands up, keeping a firm grip around my arm. “Come on.”
He starts leading me through the camp.
“You’d make a stellar nurse.”
“Thanks.”
“So what’s the deal with Alexander, then?”
“I had to change my mindset when I started training this militia,” Chris explains. “I had to realize that we’ve got extremely limited numbers in comparison to Omega, and losing any personnel could be devastating. Everybody from old women to little boys is contributing to this war effort, and we can’t afford to have anybody killed.
“As a rescue unit, we don’t go in solely to kill — although that comes with the mission. This is a war. But we’re there to liberate prisoners, take supplies and create chaos. We want to keep everybody on our side alive. That means no blunt maneuvers or strategies that start with the basis of acceptable losses. There are no acceptable losses. I want everybody out alive.”
We find the medic’s tent, and there’s a crowd of militiamen gathered around. The people with the most serious wounds have first priority. It could be a while before I’m seen. Chris and I hang back from the tent.
“Alexander’s style is upfront and exactly how we’d do it in the military,” Chris sighs. “There’s nothing wrong with his execution. He’s a good soldier. He just doesn’t have the right mindset. He can’t sacrifice our men like that. It was unnecessary. The goal is to leave with minimal losses. Alexander’s just going to have to wrap his head around that.”
“So long story short, Alexander’s just more reckless than you are,” I remark.
Chris chuckles.
“No. He sees us as a professional army,” he says. “And we’re not… yet.”
“We will be. I thought we did pretty good tonight.”
“We did. There’s a lot of room for improvement.” He looks me over. “You did well. I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks.” I twirl my hair around my finger. “So what’s next for us?”
Chris cocks an eyebrow.
“Ready for another mission already?”
“Not right this second… but yeah. I know what it’s like to be imprisoned, and I’d like to liberate some more POWs. Create some chaos. You know. The basics.” I stand on my tiptoes and kiss his cheek. “Thanks for looking out for me.”
He hooks his arm around my waist.
“My pleasure.”
The rest of the night is spent waiting to be checked out by the combat medics, which are actually a couple of EMTs who were liberated from Kamaneva’s labor camp. By the time I stumble back to my tent with the Young family, the adrenaline has finally worn off and I’m exhausted. I fall asleep on my camping mattress with my clothes on. Later, I’m briefly aware of Chris lying next to me, pulling me into his warmth.