The soldier didn’t miss a beat. He clipped a dozen cars, and one of the officers, as he plowed through the intersection. None of the cops dared to fire with all the civilians around.
“Floor it. Get on the freeway as fast as—”
A third squad car came out of nowhere and plowed its steel grill into their back right tire, just as they made a hard turn. The top-heavy SUV spun in a full circle, bounced on the high median and collapsed on its side.
The driver recovered first and kicked out the shattered remains of the front window. He dived out with his own sidearm and blasted away at the police car.
“Let’s go, sir. I’ll cover you!”
General Stewart had just unbuckled himself and prepared to join him, when the young man’s right eye exploded.
Stewart froze, fixated on the body. That was clearly an exit wound. He was now surrounded. The general slumped to a knee and closed his dead driver’s other eye.
“So this is how it ends? Well, let’s get it over with.”
Concealed in the wrecked front seat, none of the shooters could get an immediate bead on him. He had some time. Stewart burned the map and data overlays; half hoping it would spark all the gas fumes and end this nonsense. No such luck.
He’d have to do things the hard way.
Scooping up his dead comrade’s weapon, he leapt out of the car with impressive speed for a sixty-year-old man. With a pistol in each hand, he howled and poured fire on both sets of hostiles. Maybe he could take one or two traitors with him.
Instead of return fire, two metal prongs struck him in the back. Stewart dropped his weapons as 50,000 volts collapsed him to his knees. Someone kicked his spine and cuffed his hands behind his back. Stewart kept spitting, trying to get the strange copper taste out of his mouth.
Several officers crowded around and shoved him over the hood of another black suburban nearby. A man in Dockers and a polo shirt stepped out, grinning too widely.
“Good work, Chief. Four stars, that’s four million for you and your boys.”
The oldest policeman clucked his tongue. “Hold on. It wasn’t as easy as you claimed. I had to bring in more men. The price just doubled.”
Polo Shirt simply put his shades back on. “Tell you what. You escort him and me to my extraction team at the Canadian border, and we’ll make it an even ten million.”
The cops high fived each other, but the police chief wagged his finger.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
The stranger reached into his car. “Of course, of course. A deal’s a deal.” The police bigwig took the offered folder and clutched it tight.
“Full presidential pardon for any acts of treason committed over the last year and a half. For you and every officer under your command. Now, you realize that piece of paper is actually a liability if Salazar’s people come back…”
The chief wiped the sweat from his face. His hands had finally stopped shaking. “Don’t worry. Your paratroopers will have the full cooperation of all my officers. Same goes for every small town and county sheriff’s department within 100 miles. Is there anything else?”
“Oh, I’d like to ride with my new pal. We have so much to chat about.”
Stewart held his head high. “Name: John Emmanuel Briggs Stewart. Rank: Lieutenant General. Serial number: 347…”
The spook squeezed his shoulder. “My dear General, you aren’t a POW. You’re a ghost. As far as the world knows, you perished in that airstrike. You can talk to me or I’ll have your traitorous ass ‘extraordinarily renditioned’ to the Sudanese intelligence service. Let them ask the questions in their own, shall we say, persuasive fashion. We don’t have time for games, General. The president has specifically requested the grid coordinates for every known Freedom Brigade unit and any other details on those terrorists you can provide.”
Stewart set his jaw, but couldn’t hold back his surprise. “Them? Those nuts represent less than five percent of the force. You aren’t interested in my regular troops?”
The spy guffawed as he slid into the seat next to him. “No, no. Your army is trapped, starving and eating itself alive. Finishing off the rest of your military is just business. Honestly, we don’t need any more help.”
He pulled off his dark shades, his playful banter melting away. “On the other hand, to the president, this Freedom Brigade issue is personal.”
“Get that idiot off our ass!”
The rear-facing gunner resisted the urge to shoot the car. Everyone knew to stay 100 yards behind an Army patrol on the roads. If that wasn’t enough, the warning signs in English and Spanish with giant skull head symbols on the back bumper should have been clear enough.
No matter the threats, there were rules against shooting every dumbass. The gunner chucked one of the many rocks he kept in his turret for this very purpose. The terrified old man tailgating them slammed his brakes as the stone cracked his windshield. It was a miracle he recovered without skidding into the guardrails.
“All clear, just another moron.”
Ever since the rebel invasion, the few National Guardsmen still left patrolling Georgia were on a razor’s edge. Intel believed most of the terrorists had moved west to get in the middle of that slaughter fest along the Mississippi. By definition, that meant the insurgents left behind were the most intelligent of them all.
His sergeant’s voice cut over the radio. “All right, we’re exiting the freeway. I know it’s been a long night, but here’s where you need to keep your head on a swivel. Let’s recover the SKT team and get on back to the FOB.”
A few hundred yards from the exit, the six-man Small Kill Team acknowledged their pickup and prepared to extract. These small groups of Fed soldiers stalking in wait all night were a crucial counterinsurgency tool. “Presence” patrols had to go home at some point, and that’s when the insurgents would come out and play. Most often by terrorizing any civilians that dared cooperate with the Feds during the day.
That’s where the hidden SKT teams shined. Rocking a sniper team, forward artillery observer and a machine gun crew for muscle, they helped spread the terror around. It got to the point where an honest, hardworking insurgent just couldn’t plant an IED or execute a collaborator anymore without looking over their shoulder.
On the roof of their Wal-Mart observation post, a federal sniper rose and stretched for the first time all night. “Got eyes on our ride, Sergeant. ETA: 60 seconds.”
The rest of the team stretched out of their firing positions, hurriedly collecting their gear and range cards. Their NCO peeked down at the civilian shoppers below. He always hated extracting in such a public manner. “Okay. Let’s move fast and limit our exposure.”
At the exact moment the troops abandoned their over watch position and climbed inside the store, Natalie’s mother wrestled her kids out of a minivan. She only had one hour of shopping time before the Group would send someone to look for her. It was already against the rules for her to drive into town without a male chaperone. Just one of those small perks that came from being the Preacher’s pet.
A shame that Natalie couldn’t come and help with the youngins. Her mother tried not to dwell on Natalie’s “service.” As far as she could tell, the Preacher’s needs were more domestic than carnal. She shuttered, shaking off the ghosts of his hands. At least with her daughter.
Natalie’s younger brother jumped up and down, waving enthusiastically. “Hey, I didn’t know Brother David was a garbage man. I thought he was a Warrior?”