In what is becoming something of a pattern, and very well may develop into a full-blown habit, we of BigCountry75 Productions present the third chapter in this latest release. This time around, Naota continues on his search for truth wherever he may find it, we follow up on the adventures of Patrolman Hynen, and now a NEW feature: the exploits of Agent Griggs. Really, him? Agent Griggs? The guy who always looks tired and gets O.W. supplies from D.C.? Yes, the very same. What shenanigans could he possibly get up to? You'll just have to read and find out, won't you?
. . .
"So why'd you do it?"
"Do what? Is this about my omitting as to why we really moved?" It was night time now. Kamon and Naota were on their back porch. Kamon had started smoking again from all the stress. He had quit years ago, when Tasuku had been born, but now his nerves craved the nicotine. They'd come home to find the four state troopers removed, their remains and blood bleached and scrubbed away, the buckshot picked from the kitchen floorboards and the gouges epoxied full and refinished, and the bullet holes in the walls were plastered and painted over. The damaged stove was missing, but a note on the fridge promised a replacement would be coming in the morning. Mr. King's employees had conducted the clean-up, as the note was signed: Courtesy of All The King's Men.
"Omitting? Don't you mean lying?"
"No, I mean what I said. I told you I was taking a job in State College, and tried to put a positive spin on it. Was that low of me? Yes, but not a lie." Naota wanted to believe his father was only being serious to get on his nerves. He found it infuriating he was the only one that seemed upset. But he now knew better to let his temper get away from him, and so bit his cheek in order to continue.
"You're the second person today that's claimed they never lied."
"Tommy said you and Jeff had a long talk. He told you everything, didn't he?" Kamon took a pull and in the evening dark, the cigarette pinpoint lit up the porch.
"He did, and said you could verify everything."
"I can."
"How did you really decide to move us?"
"I didn't. Commander Amarao, you remember him, yes? He stopped by one day while you were at school. I was presented with passports, approved citizenship, an address of a new house, a signed and sealed job offer, George Carson's contact information, and an ultimatum. Either I moved us to this new life willingly, or the I.I.B. would forcibly."
"We, you, had no say in the matter?"
"Commander Amarao was professional about it, but as he said: 'We're not asking you to move.' Which was needless to say, really. After all, not once did he say please." Kamon smiled at his little joke.
"If you had no say, why the secrecy still? I don't get it."
"It wasn't to 'protect' you, or anything that dramatic." Kamon drew smoke circles as he talked. "But two main reasons. First, letting you have a shot at normalcy. Your childhood was hard enough with watching your mother's illness. Then, your brother left us. On good terms, of course, but I know how much of a hole in your heart that made. And, of course, Haruko and all that came with her arrival." Kamon was down to the filter. He tapped it out and reopened the pack; his brand was Gitanes. Somehow, the Country (In)Convenience stocked the imported the French cigarettes.
"And for the four years after Haruko left, I watched you." Kamon lit up and snapped his lighter shut with a sharp and old-practiced snap of his wrist. Clack! "There were days where you smiled, you laughed. But your soul hadn't recovered. There was too much...there, there. Too much to remind you, people that knew what had happened and would accidentally bring it up. Even your friends, as good people as they are, were reminders because all of you had lived that experience together."
"But why all the way across the ocean?"
"You know I can never do anything subtle, or in moderation. That wasn't my decision either, but one I agreed with. I gambled that pulling you out of the familiar, our industrial town of factories, and resettling in the unknown, the wilds of trees and mountains, would be at minimum a step in the right direction. To surround you with living things over 'from concentrate', unpredictable instead of rigid lines, greens, browns, reds, yellows, blues and all their hues and shades instead of 'color gray 40' might breathe fresh air into you. And, at least I tell myself this so I can sleep, it seems to have worked. Until Haruko came back, you've been the happiest I've seen in years. You looked like you'd found meaning again, and that makes whatever anger you have towards me...worth it." He stopped to take a drag, then gently held the cigarette in his teeth. Kamon reached back and undid the hair tie around his ponytail. "Haaah...that's better."
"Tension headache?"
"A terrible one. If you ever grow your hair out, don't ratchet down a ponytail like its held in place with a torsion bolt. Your brain will thank you."
"I'll try to remember that. You...mentioned a second reason?"
"So I did. Second is because, as much as you have fought it, ran from it, and deny it, you are my son. I have the pictures to prove it too, trust me; I was there."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means we are both independent minded men. We don't like others telling us what to do, how to live, how to carry ourselves, and especially what to think. We are no one's puppet, we despise being used. We go about it in completely different ways, of course. Yours is just a subtle version of my...antics. But be honest with yourself. If I had told you, straight to your face, we were moving because some government bureaucrat said so, and we were going to be under armed guard at work and at home by a secret team of unconventional warfighters...you would have pitched a major fit. Am I wrong?"
"...No..."
"You would have felt like they were putting dumb little Naota in the corner and telling him to be a good boy while the adults took care of everything. You would have hated every minute of it, hated everyone of G&R and Jeff, only seeing them as jailers. And you'd have hated me for luring you into your cell and handing them the key."
"I'm still plenty pissed off either way. That doesn't make up for being used and lied to."
"Son, you're trying to have it both ways. There was no third option. Either we told you what was going on, or we didn't."
"I didn't get a say, it's just not fair."
"Life, isn't." Kamon, not-too gently, reminded. "There will always be things that don't work out, but should have. Bad things will happen for no good reason, people will leave your life when you wished for all your heart they never would..."
"But they used me! They used me to build guns, sent me out after psychopaths; with one glued to my hip!"
"I know they did." Kamon gave him a sly glance and puffed away. "I am the one who told George it was okay."
"You...WHAT?"
"As you're still sixteen, I am the arbiter of all your legal matters; unless I release them to you. But, I think you already knew that. Anyway..." Another pull and knocked off ash. "Everything G&R and O.W. related you have done, I ultimately signed off on. Sometimes after the fact because of extenuating circumstances, but they always cleared with me."
"I...but, why, what...everything?!"
"Mmm-hmm. They explained to me they were short staffed, with Jeff's father gone, Shaufner away, and Jeff still untested with heavy responsibility. They wanted to know if we would be willing to help out, and I agreed."
"Thanks for asking first. Wait, you said 'we'. What's been your part in all of this?"
"Following the news getting out to the wider world. Any news coming out of here first goes through the Philipsburg Journal, then straight to the Nittany Post. Through me, we've been able to keep this, county war, as Jeff and Tommy call it, fairly quiet and avoided panic; and riots. And whenever there will be a speech or something newsworthy here, I come down personally to cover it. Remember that, what's the American word for it...kerfuffle, at Osceola Mills' city hall?"
"Where Mayor Andrew and Chief Strong made total jackasses of themselves? Someone had said there was a guy in the crowd making things difficult for the chief and mayor. They said he called himself...Lupin..." Naota stared as his father stretched in his chair, settled into a contented slouch, and looked quite pleased with himself. "You didn't..."
"Even assistant editors-in-chief need to do field work from time to time, to keep in touch with the real world."
"People have said Mayor Andrew wants your head on a pike!"
"I would hope so. I'd have to try much harder next time if he didn't. But getting back to your question. I gave my permission because I trusted, and still do, everyone at G&R, and more so because I trusted, and still do, you. I know you feel wronged, but you're not a helpless child. Jeff did his training well, I must say. He's transformed you. And he had an impressive canvas to work with. I had no doubts that if you got into trouble, you were smart, keen and clever enough to avoid disaster. Your self-worth is too low, too modest. It's okay to stand up and say 'I'm a bad-ass, tough as nails, pain in your ass that even giant robots, an alien with reality defying powers, and an army of corrupt cops, cannot kill!' You may not think you were, but I let you go out into the dangers of the world because I believed you were ready."
"Do you really mean that?" He'd never heard Kamon talk like this before. There was a prideful boast in his voice, a robustness of his heart and spirit. Kamon sounded like a man driven with purpose and meaning to his life; and was fully convinced he would prevail.
"I mean it as surely as my confidence of a sunrise in the morning. After the night you just survived on your own, I have no doubts of your capabilities; and neither should you."
"Wow...I, I really don't know what to say. Uh, thank you, I think is best. It's not enough, but..."
"No one ever knows what to say to such things." Kamon checked his watch. "But it is very late, and I know I'm exhausted. You have been given a banquet of thoughts to ponder, and I think it would be in your best interest to sleep on them. That, and I think you'll be in a better mood in the morning."
"I'll still be pissed."
"We'll see. And I didn't say 'perfect' mood. I said 'better'. There's a key difference there." Kamon crushed his cigarette out and both stood to head inside. "I'd be disappointed if you weren't at least a little upset. Being mad in your case means you have self-respect, and your old man's independent streak. But, if you're not too mad at me, I would like a hug?"
"Sure. I can do that." They gave each other a tight hug, and then headed inside.
"Here, take these." Kamon drew a glass of water and took two pills from a bottle on the counter. "Rita said you'll be too keyed up to sleep soundly, and these will help." Down the hatch the pills went. "Okay, rest well. See you tomorrow." Utterly spent, he collapsed on top of the covers. Then would have been a good time to organize his thoughts in a coherent manner. But the pills and exhaustion were taking him, and he was asleep within seconds of hitting the pillow.
. . .
As Naota cruised through the realm of dreamless sleep at Mach 2, Mr. Taero was beginning to worry he'd bitten off more than he could chew. The family members of miners and gas workers that had nowhere else to shelter, had arrived at Mid-State. They all showed up exactly on the pre-arranged eight o'clock hour. He had expected enough flights to take ALL of the terrified wives, sons, and daughters, and as such, lacked the capacity to make their wait any easier. Numbering about 1,000 in all, they had waited, and some still were, on the ramp outside the terminal. Mr. Taero and his two part-time staffers were doing what they could for the 500 left. At eight thirty, four C-130's and one C-123 had touched down, loaded themselves to capacity, and roared off again into the evening gloom. Now, eight hours later at four thirty in the morning, they had yet to return.
"Hey, Mister Taero?" One of his staffers was wheeling out the coffee cart.
"Yeah, Chuck?" Taero was halfway up the small control tower, scanning the horizon with his binoculars.
"This's the last of the coffee. Want Gordon to head into town to get more?"
"No...they'll be back any minute. I'll need both of you to help everyone get loaded."
"You got it, Boss." Chuck shrugged and continued with the cart. "Okay ladies! Who wants some...hey!" He was buried under the tidal wave of stressed-out females. Meanwhile, Gordon readied the fuel trucks to top off the C-130's and C-123 for their return to Fort Bragg. Mr. Taero continued to anxiously scan. Then, against the tiniest sliver of morning sky, five dots appeared.
"Hey! Gordy, Chuck! Here they come! Okay everyone, thank you all for being so patient. Your rides are here, time to go. Everyone on their feet!"
. . .
Mr. Taero wasn't the only one to have seen the formation. Miles to Mid-State's southeast, a State Patrolman happened to look up. He recognized the C-130's profile instantly against the moon and stars, then counted four of them, and an odd follower. He reported it to his Sergeant, who went straight to Captain Chojnacki.
"Sergeant, what is it?" Chojnacki returned the salute. "How is your squad?"
"Refitted and ready. Sir, there is something you need to see."
"There is? What?"
"Follow me if you would, and quickly!" Chojnacki followed the Sergeant, both trailed by Chiefs Strong and Warburg, and Sheriff Sarabyn brought up the rear. "Sirs, well, look!" Outside the station, the Sergeant pointed skyward. Beginning their descent, the five airplanes were now low and slow, and were unmistakable as military.
"That's not good." Chief Strong understated. "Were there supposed to be any major flights outta Mid-State?"
"None that I know of." Sheriff Sarabyn said and shrugs from the rest of the group said the same.
"We should send a squad or two out." Chief Warburg got the obvious out of the way.
"I'd send some of my guys, but we got the shit shot outta us in Munson." Sarabyn lamented. "And got cut to pieces trying to cross Munson's grate bridge."
"I imagine I am the only one with a squad or two actually at the ready." Chojnacki cut to the chase. "Strong, Warburg. I am appropriating one of your squads each; as backup." He added to overide the inevitable whining protests. "Sergeant!"
"Sir."
"You and your squad just volunteered to check out what those planes are doing at Mid-State. You will have five Osceola P.D. and five Philipsburg P.D. as backup."
"Yessir. Permission to take Bearcats?"
"Granted. Leave as soon as you are loaded. Report every ten minutes, on the minute, and update as soon as you arrive. Do not get suckered into a trap, this is recon work. If it even might be too big to handle, don't try for a medal or anything brave. Pull back, set up, and call us. I am trusting your judgement on what you can, and cannot, handle. Do you have any questions?"
"No sir."
"Good. Dismissed."
. . .
"Squad, let's load up!" Patrolman Hynen's Sergeant was already in his full gear and was rounding up their squad. "Bearcat Seven, briefing will be en-route!" Hynen, just on the verge of finally falling asleep, forced himself off his cot, pulled on his plate carrier, battle belt and buckled on his knee and elbow pads. He dropped his hazardous duty helmet onto his head with a PLUNK, and slung his M16A4 over his shoulder. It was almost four thirty in the morning and Hynen and his squad were supposed to be getting some rest. But with all of the State Patrol, the Sheriff's office, both city's P.D.'s and the entire contents of Geisinger Hospital crowding up and around the station, it was too busy to think; let alone sleep. All three squads were groggy as they dragged themselves into their Bearcats and pulled the armored hatches shut; but none complained.
"S'what's goin' on?" Patrolman Craft, next to Hynen, slurred through his yawn. "We're goin' to Mid-State?"
"That's right." Sergeant Randolph confirmed. "We've spotted what appear to be five military transport aircraft headed there, and because I was the one who told Chojnacki, we and the County Mounties 'hind us got volun-told to check it out. So this's just a 'go out and see what's there'. We'll go quiet, easy, and relaxed, talk to whoever's in charge, get this figured out, and come back. If it's bigger than that, we'll pull back, set up and call for the cavalry. I want your safeties on, fingers off triggers, and everyone loose. We are not looking to start anything if we can avoid it. There's been too much stupid running things lately, and y'all ain't gonna do the same if I can help it. Any questions?"
"No. We got it, Sarge."
. . .
Everything was proceeding smoothly, just not as quickly as Mr. Taero would have liked. But a fuel truck's pump can only run so fast. The first three C-130's were refueled and loaded. The fourth was loaded and almost done refueling. The C-123 was still boarding as was already at over-capacity. This was causing the hold-up. Some families had brought more than the ONE small suitcase per person allowed, and were demanding to be let on board with the extra weight.
"Listen lady..." Mr. Griggs' pilot of the C-123 was arguing with a defiant passenger over the grandmother clock clutched tightly in her arms. "Ah don' care if yer family's bin in Pennsylvania fer two hundred years, an' this clock've yern's bin in tha family fer two hundred years. Tha thang weighs fifty goddamn pounds! Either tha clock stays in Pennsylvania, or you, an' yer kids...an' tha' Got-Dammned clock, are stayin' in Pennsylvania! Take yer pick."
"What's going on?" Mr. Taero asked as the women pleaded, the pilot fumed, and Agent Griggs looked on exasperated. "Let me guess: too much weight?"
"Yah got it, Mister Taero." The pilot seemed relieved that a local agreed with him. "Maybe she'll listen to yah, since yer from 'round here. Ah can' talk no sense into her."
"Country, it's just one thing." Agent Griggs wanted to be gone ten minutes ago. He too watched the line of passengers moving at a snail's pace up the cargo ramp, and despaired. "Can't we just...?"
"NO. Ah said no, an' Ah mean NO." Country pointed to the mountain of personal effects left behind on the ramp. Chuck and two of Agent Griggs' men were hauling the items into the terminal's storage as fast as they could. "Mister Griggs, yah know Ah don't like bein' ah jackass; Ah really, really don't. But, jest look at all tha' junk! They's was told one small bag or suitcase, ONE. These planes, an' 'specially this'n' is full to tha gills already. Y'all've got seventy-nine in there, plus five've yer agents, you, me, an' all Tha King's Men, an' Horses too. It's gonna be ah miracle if Ah git off tha ground!"
"It, it's a clock. Can't we just...?" Agent Griggs, in his disdain for flying, knew nothing of airplanes.
"No, it's not ah clock. It's ah domino."
"...A what?"
"There's hardly any room fer sixty, let alone seventy-nine, AN' all've their shit. So Ah can' secure or strap down all of it. She, or one've her rugrats, is gonna drop or knock tha' thang over soon's Ah start mah roll on takeoff. They'll dive fer it an' knock someone else over, who'll knock over more into ah buncha human dominos into ah pile on tha cargo door. At this point, tha plane gits too ass-heavy to maintain lift. Then we's all gonna look really fuckin' stupid at tha bottom've this mountain when we..." Country clapped his hands together with a sharp snap. "Splatter, tha fuel tanks rupture, an' we all git bar-bah-qued. 'Least, with her damn clock, we'll know what time it is when we do."
"I'm sorry to say this ma'am. But he's right. We cannot let you take this one extra thing on board, otherwise everyone else will try to do the same." Mr. Taero felt terrible but there was no getting around it. "We will hold it for you here at the terminal. I promise personally it will be here when you...what is it?" Country and Griggs weren't listening to the conversation anymore. They were focused on something behind Taero at the gate. He turned with dread, and saw a trio of Bearcats rolling towards them. "What are...?"
"Mister Taero!" Agent Griggs barked in his Command Voice. "Finish loading everyone. Country and I will deal with this."
. . .
"Remember, we're just here to see what's going on." Sergeant Randolph was adamant on not starting a shootout. "Keep it loose, keep it cool. Let me do the talking, but keep your wits about you. Everyone green? Good. Craft, pop the hatch." They stopped just short of the ramp, the city police flanking on either side and thirty yards back to form a wedge. The State Patrolmen formed a skirmish line, while the City Police covered them, and advanced. Hynen found himself the first to the left of his sergeant. This would prove to be a fateful position.
"Can I help you officers?" A pair approached them. One, dressed in a rumpled suit that looked as tired as they felt, and the other a tall, bearded man with a wireless pilot's headset resting around his neck. Both looked utterly undeterred by the armored line of blue and black. This struck Hynen as a bad sign.
"Sergeant Randolph of the State Patrol. What's going on here?" Sergeant Randolph addressed the man in the suit. "Who are all these people? Why are there military C-130's here? And who are you?"
"Special Agent in Charge Griggs." He took a wallet from his coat and showed the credentials. "Of Section Two-Six-Two."
"Section Two-Six-Two?" Sergeant Randolph was unconvinced of this Agent Grigg's legitimacy. He handed back the wallet. "I've never heard of it."
"I'd sure hope not."
"Now, what's that supposed to mean?" Meanwhile, the second man stooped to retie a boot lace. The loose button-up shirt he was wearing flared as he bent over, revealing an undershirt and the strap of what could be an under-shoulder holster. Patrolman Craft saw it a fraction before Hynen did.
"Sergeant! The pilot's got something under his shirt."
"Easy, easy." Sergeant Randolph urged calm. "Okay you two. I don't know what's going on here, but Sir...you have to at least tell me what's under your shirt."
"Country. What're you and Griggs doing? Is there a problem?" The pilot's headset crackled loud enough for all to hear. "I think I see...are those police cars?"
"No, Colonel. No problems. If you an' yer guys are clear, go 'head an' take off. We'll be right 'hind yah." The man called Country, answered back. The four C-130's increased their power and started taxiing for takeoff; their engines beginning to roar.
"Hey, hey, hey! Wait a minute! They're not allowed to leave, not until we get this sorted." Sergeant Randolph pointed at Country. "Order those planes to halt! No one is leaving this airfield until we find out who you really are." Country responded by twisting the volume knob on his headphones until they clicked off.
"No."
"Please don't be antagonistic." Agent Griggs sighed.
"Keep quiet." Sergeant Randolph, clearly getting nervous, ordered. "And you, you need to drop the attitude. I'm getting tired of it."
"Then leave. Call dispatch an' tell 'em yah saw nothin'; it was ah false alarm. Please jest go home, it ain' worth it."
"You know I can't do that. What's under your shirt?"
"None've yer goddamn business. Mister Griggs, do we gotta take this? Let's jest go already."
"Not yet. Just behave yourself." And there they stood, between the departing planes and the police. Behind them, the first C-130 did its final checks and engine run-up. Sergeant Randolph was in a bind. The situation wasn't bad on its face, there was no gunfire or anything obviously illegal going on. But at the same time, this was not normal and he knew something was amiss. He could call for backup and wait, avoiding a fight, but by the time backup arrived, the planes would be gone. He couldn't stand by either, they needed to stop at least one plane to have someone to interrogate.
"Gentlemen, change of plans. Hearst, radio the station and tell them to send everyone. Meanwhile, we're detaining everyone and getting to the bottom of this." Sergeant Randolph announced his decision. "Arel and Darby, seize that plane. O'Brian and Craft, secure that pilot. Hyen, you're on me with this Agent Griggs."
"Country, I think Taero's done." Griggs looked over his shoulder. Taero was waving at them and flashing the thumbs-up. "Go and start the plane. I'll be along."
"Do not move!" Sergeant Randolph ordered, beginning to bring his rifle up. Hynen passed Randolph and was almost in arm's reach of Griggs. As per his orders, his rifle was not up, but at a low ready. And exhausted as he was, his reaction time was double what it normally was. Fatigue was getting to Sergeant Randolph as well, who was becoming more obviously unsettled by the second. "Secure 'em, and cuff 'em."
"Country." Agent Griggs rolled his eyes. Hynen began to reach out for Griggs' right arm. "They want to do this the Hard Way."
With those last two words, Agent Griggs gave an agreed upon order. Country, beginning to turn towards the plane, was rapidly approached by Patrolmen O'Brian and Craft. They almost had hands on him when he whirled about, drew a large revolver from his shirt, and fired. Hynen got out the 'guh' portion of 'gun' as the revolver's flash lit up the night. Patrolman Craft's head snapped violently back; blood flowing from a ragged hole blown in the left side of his neck. Spluttering with his hands clamped on his neck, Craft slouched to the concrete. A split-second follow up shot hit O'Brian. Patrolman O'Brian had raised his rifle's butt to his shoulder, putting first his trigger hand in line with the loosed bullet. It tore through his middle and pointer finger knuckles, across the back of his hand under the skin, burst free at his wrist, then shattered the ball end of his humerus bone at the shoulder; totally crippling the entire limb. Country took five yard long bounds to the C-123, firing three more shots that buzzed between Arel and Darby, bounced off the Osceola Mills' Bearcat and sent its crew scrambling for better cover. Leaving a gurgling Craft and a screaming O'Brian, Arel and Darby gave chase; struggling to keep up while loaded down with their armor and helmets.
At the same time, Hynen was having no better of a go. Agent Griggs had grabbed fast onto the barrel of his rifle, pulling down and away from Hynen. Meanwhile, his left hand hooked under the trigger guard and levered Hynen's rifle butt up into his face. The blow had him seeing stars between his eyes watering. Griggs used his right hand to finish pulling the rifle away and tossed it behind him, while getting his left hand into Hynen's armpit. He slammed his knee into Hynen's gut, doubling Hynen over and allowing him to put his entire arm through Hynen's armpit, across his back, and onto a vice-tight grip on he left shoulder's strap. Now Griggs had Hynen's right arm jacked so far up his back, if Hynen so much as sneezed, his shoulder would tear at the seams; and Griggs could lead him around at his leisure. Finally, Agent Griggs drew his pistol and fired a 10mm round square into a charging Sergeant Randolph's chest. The body armor Sergeant Randolph was wearing saved his life, but the 10mm's blow knocked his breath away and his legs from underneath him.
"That'll be just about enough!" Griggs declared, putting the now hot pistol muzzle to Hynen's temple. In his peripheral, Hynen recognized the distinctive profile of a Bren-Ten pistol. "I will be giving the orders now. You, you." He aimed his pistol at Arel and Darby, stopped once Hynen had been made hostage. "Pick them up and get them to aid. NOW!" Arel and Darby dragged Craft and O'Brian away by the straps on their plate carriers. The City Police now replaced and doubled the line, flanking a wheezing Sergeant Randolph.
"Agent, let's not, let's just...start over here..." Sergeant Randolph forced out, his chest still smarting from the 10mm. He staggered to his feet and leaned heavily on a Philipsburg cop.
"No, you're done. I'm doing the talking now." Agent Griggs was walking backwards and taking Hynen with him to the C-123. The plane's engines came to life, and a squad of Grigg's agents descended the cargo ramp. From under their suits they swung out FN P90's and covered their boss as he retreated. "Here's what's going to happen. I am going to get on this plane. This man, what's your name?" Griggs prodded him with his Bren-Ten to jog his memory.
"Hynen, Patrolman Hynen."
"Patrolman Hynen, is going to come with me to make sure you don't shoot up the plane. And then we are leaving. Then, and only then, will I return Hynen; and not a second sooner."
"We can't let you take him." A Philipsburg Sergeant said as the line followed at a tenative distance. "Let's talk this out..." BAK-THOOM! Agent Griggs put a round between the Sergeant's feet.
"This is NOT up for discussion, and that is as close enough!" He stepped up onto the cargo ramp and pulled Hynen along. His five agents closed ranks in front of the ramp, so no policeman could rush the plane. "You will get Hynen back; alive and in one piece. I promise you that! But right now, WE ARE LEAVING!" Griggs yelled over his shoulder at Country. Once the last agent had stepped aboard, the C-123 began rolling and drew up its cargo ramp as it went. Unwilling to risk shooting Hynen, the furious Troopers and Precincts let the plane taxi away uncontested. The C-123 reached the end of the runway, finished its checks, then took off. It's lights quickly faded from sight into the dark.
"God-fucking-dammit!" Losing his cool, Sergeant Randolph threw his helmet at a Bearcat. It bounced harmlessly off the windshield and clattered to the ground, and rolled towards the other vehicle. "What the fuck just happened?! Did we seriously get rolled by fuckin' Amateur Hour?!"
"Whatever happened, it's fuckin' bullshit; that's for sure." One of the Osceola Mills sergeants agreed. "Was it just me, or was everyone getting on those planes women and kids?"
"Y'know...now that you bring it up..." A Philipsburg corporal recalled. "The oldest male I saw was 'bout thirteen. It was all women and kids."
"And all the houses we hit were empty, remember?"
"Yeah! That must've been our target's families bugging out just now!"
"And all the guns, ammo, and armor those assholes had...I'll bet they got it all through this airfield. They sure's shit didn't get full-autos and body armor at the gun store."
"If half of this's true, Taero's gonna have a lot of 'xplainin' to do; before we shoot him in the fucking head." Sergeant Randolph swore. "The bastard's gotta still be here somewhere. Find him!" Officers fanned out and began searching buildings. The terminal, save for the left behind clothes and personal effects the cops gave nary a flying fuck about, was empty. Randolph ordered the search to continue and he returned to the Bearcats to convene with the other sergeants.
"It's the only thing that makes sense. They'd have to be getting supplies from somewhere, probably a benefactor or someone outta state." One of them reasoned.
"Planes flying out of private runways, or somewhere on a military base, probably never get stopped; unlike a tractor trailer. It'd be perfect for bringing in guns and ammo, and hauling people out."
"Then we need to shut this airfield down in a permanent kind of way. Whoever these guys are, they won't be able to fight for long if they can't get resupplied." Sergeant Randolph looked up and down the runways. "Unless you guys want to repeat Saturday morning again, and again...?"
"No fuckin' thank you! I agree, we need this place shut down."
"And after the shit-show we went through yesterday and just now, it'll be a pleasure." Sergeant Randolph turned to Patrolman Arel. "How much C4 did we bring with us?"
The three Bearcat's arms lockers yielded enough C4 and detonators to set fifteen charges. Thirteen on both runways, one at the base of the control tower, and one at the field's transmitter for navigation in bad weather. As the demolition team was finishing placement on the charges and was retreating to a safe distance, one of the teams searching buildings came to the last hangar. Inside, an airplane's engine started. The swing-up door popped open, knocking over a policeman unfortunate enough to have been standing too close to the door. From the hangar burst a red and white Piper Arrow, with Taero at the controls, and his assistants Chuck and Gordon leaning out the passenger door. Taero did not trouble himself by taxiing out to the runway, but used the ramp and taxiway itself as his runway. Police scattered to get out of the way as the Arrow bore down on them, Chuck and Gordon firing a Mini-14 and an AR-15 to cover their escape. A few officers returned fire as the plane passed, but it was too little, too late. They only managed put a few superficial holes in the fuselage.
"Blow the charges!" Sergeant Randolph ordered, hoping the shards of flying concrete would be enough to knock the plane down. Already Taero had begun his pull-back and the Arrow took to the sky. Clear of the blast, it was still brightly lit as thirteen craters were blown in the runway, the tower collapsed, and the transmitter vaporized.
"Ballsy motherfucker." One Osceola Mills officer remarked as Taero's plane banked right and headed towards Philipsburg. A second later and it too disappeared into the night's sky; even its lights blending with the stars. "Yah gotta give him that much."
"He'd better have a full tank of gas." Sergeant Randolph grumbled and waved for everyone to regroup at the Bearcats. "If Taero ever comes back to this county, he's a dead man. At least these loony toons won't be getting supplies through this airport anymore." He kicked a chunk of blasted concrete. "Alright, let's go the fuck home. I need to lie down." There was nothing else that could be done, about anything or Hynen. He was on his own. The medic reported that Craft was dead. His left common carotid artery had been blown in half, and he'd bled out in under two minutes. O'Brian would live, but his hand and shoulder were wrecked to where he was never going to hold a rifle or pistol ever again. Licking its wounds and leaving a smoldering, cratered airport, the task force called off the backup and bitterly limped home.
. . .
Five thousand feet above Centre County, a C-123 doubled back to drop off its unexpected passenger. The five agents stripped Hynen of his helmet, armor, elbow and knee pads, battle belt and boots. They suspected correctly his boots were steel capped. Last they took his wallet, watch, pocketknife, phone and Jeep keys, leaving him barefooted in his fatigues. On all sides he was stared at by the women and children in the cargo bay. Their looks were a mixture of fear and apprehension from the kids, and loathing from their mothers. To them, it was his fault they were in a noisy cargo plane with only a bag of possessions, instead of sleeping soundly at home with their husbands and fathers. The ferocity of their gaze made Hynen wish his captors had put one of those black bags on his head.
"Okay Patrolman, here's what's gonna happen." Agent Griggs had supervised Hynen's disarmament with his Bren-Ten trained on Hynen's forehead. "The pilot's going to put us on a a line directly over Port Matilda, and your station. We're going to hook you up with a parachute and drop you off. I ought to take you prisoner, but I promised to return you. I'm a man of my word." Finished going through his effects for any intel, Griggs stuffed Hynen's things back into his uniform's pockets. "Country! Set the auto-pilot, he's ready!"
"Do yah know..." Country climbed back from the flight deck. In his hands he had a large bag and a bundle of straps. "Wha' happened to tha last guy, who'd done an' pissed me an' mah friends off, an' found hisself in one've mah airplanes? Legs out, hands out an' up, please."
"N-no, I don't." With five P90's and a Bren-Ten on him, Hynen stood stock-still as Country strapped the parachute onto him. "What?"
"He was someone we'd made tha mistake of trustin', an' he ratted on us. But he didn' plan on gittin' caught. So we took him fer ah fly, allll tha way up to thirty thousand feet. Figgered we'd see if tha altitude'd help clear his ways of thinkin' up; maybe gittin' tha' close to Heaven, he'd have ah Come to Jesus moment."
"Did he?" Country double-checked all the buckles and tourniquet-tightened all the straps, making sure everything was in its proper place and secured so there was no chance it might accidentally slip off.
"Nah. Our gunslinger tossed him outta tha bomb bay like she was takin' out tha trash. Ah learned two thangs tha' day. One: fallin' thirty thousand feet takes two-point-seven minutes at free fall speed. Two: hittin' tha Pacific Ocean at one hundred an' twenty-two mile an' hour is the same's hittin' tha sidewalk. 'Least tha sharks ate good."
"Man, that's fuckin' brutal..." One of the agents remarked.
"He's telling you this story for a reason." Griggs nodded to one of his agents. That agent took one hand off his P90 and stood ready with that hand on the side door handle. "Because we're giving you a parachute, this time."
Golly gee whizz, you shouldn't have...whoa!" Country seized him by the straps, picked him a foot off the deck, and spun him around to face the door before putting him back down.
"Don' be mouthin' off. Ah haven't hooked yer static line in yet. We wouldn' want yah to fall out without tha' hooked up, would we?"
"This time we're letting you go, and with a 'chute." Griggs went on. "You'll be over Port Matilda, but there's nothing forcing you to return to your unit. They probably think we've shot you by now; they think you're dead."
"What're you implying?"
"It'll be ah few minutes time fer yah to drift down." Country latched the static line into a ring above the door. "We heavily suggest you do some real hard thinkin' 'bout yer life choices on tha way."
"I'll be keeping this so I'll know your face; should our paths cross once more." Griggs held up Hynen's ID card. "If you make the right choices, you'll get this back. If you make poor choices, and I catch you..." Griggs held up his Bren-Ten. "You'e a dead man. The choice is yours, and yours alone. Am I clear?"
"Yeah...yeah, you're crystal."
"Thirty seconds!" Country announced after checking his watch. The agent at the door opened it and locked it in place. Slipstream wind whistled and howled through the opening, and engine noise filled the cargo bay. "We're at Red Light! Jumpers to the door!" Two agents grasped Hynen at his wrists and walked him to the door. They placed his hands on the outside of the fuselage; outside the door. It was just barely enough to keep his balance, but a mere thought could push him out.
"Remember Patrolman!" Griggs was at his side and yelling over the noise. "Your department thinks you're dead, and you don't strike me as a bad person. Just someone who's made bad choices. Whatever..."
"Ten seconds!"
"Whatever you do, best of luck. You've been given a second chance, don't fuckin' blow it!"
"We have ah Green Light!" They were over Port Matilda. Hynen saw what looked like a car dealership around the lit-up State Patrol Station. "Now say yer three 'John Moses Browning's' an' go forth tah sin no more! Jump! Jump! Jump!" Country commanded as he put a hand Hynen's belt and shoved him forward. There was a moment of weightlessness, a sudden jerk upwards and a busy unfurling as the static line pulled his parachute open. It was an older design, with no risers or controls, so he was at the wind's mercy. It would take about five minutes for him to float down. This gave Patrolman Hynen plenty of time to contemplate Agent Griggs' words, and warning.
. . .
Taero, Chuck, and Gordon made it to the only safe place they could think of. Landing on the Carson's emergency strip with only moonlight to guide them was dangerous at best, but Taero stuck the landing. Tommy and some of Voyze's men met the Piper Arrow as it taxied over to the Boneyard. Once stopped, Taero checked his personal craft for damage as Tommy pressed him for details. Chuck and Gordon swept their spent shell casings out of the passenger seating.
"What happened?! Are you guys okay?" Tommy was more concerned for Taero than the man was for himself; who was more worried about his plane.
"Yeah, we're fine. One gray hair shy of a panic attack, but somehow okay." Satisfied the damage was only superficial, Taero realized he needed to sit down. He sat on the floor in the passenger doorway and leaned against the doors frame.
"Thank God for that."
"Uh-huh. Can't say the same for the airport though."
"Oh no. We heard a bunch of explosions, what all happened? Was there an accident with the evacuation, did everyone get away?"
"By some miracle, they all got out. But..." Taero looked back at Black Moshanon Forest, across the valley. "But Tommy! Those sons of bitches! Those heartless bastards! Do you know what they did?! Blew it up! They blew up MY airport!"
"Blew it up?"
"The cratered the runways!" Taero's voice cracked and he seemed on the verge of tears. "Blew six holes in each runway, and one in the intersection. They even blew up the tower and transmitter! Dad left it to me to take care of, it's never been as busy as when he ran it, but goddamnit, I kept it open! And now it's...and now they've just...blew it up. It was all I had; now what am I supposed to do?!"
"Focus on what did go right, and work from there. You got everyone out, including yourself, Chuck and Gordon. You're all alive and in one piece, and that's what counts. We'll get Mid-State back, not today, but I promise you we will. We can always fix craters, but we cannot replace you. But you've gotta focus on what's right here. That's what I've been doing all day since I got the call about George."
"He, he didn't pull through...did he?"
"I'm afraid not."
"Christ, I'm sorry Tommy. I guess we both lost something near and dear."
"Yes, but we can still get yours back. To do that, we'll need to switch to using this field as our primary."
"This field? Tommy..." A quick look around, even in the dark, convinced Taero he should not have made as smooth of a landing as he had. "This's a weed patch you've covered with dirt. It won't last with that C-123 landing on it; let alone anything bigger. I don't think it's even long enough for a C-130." Gordon and Chuck expressed the same doubts, backing up their boss.
"Then it seems Fate not only brought you here unharmed, but it has deemed fit to give your presence purpose."
"Y'know...maybe you're right." Tommy could see Taero's gears beginning to mesh, and his spirits began to lift. "If that's the case...I'm appropriating your bulldozer."
. . .
"How bad is it?" Sunday had finally arrived, and I was somehow alive to see it. I'd woken up to the sound of caterpillar tracks clanking in the lot at the front of the house. For a fleeting moment, I thought the State Patrol had come back for revenge and brought a tank along to do the job proper. Then I recognized the engine as one I knew well. I'd taken it apart personally; twice. It was our very own D4 dozer. Up the stairs I stumped, already tired of crutches and dragging my now useless log of a right leg. Outside, I saw Mr. Taero from Mid-State had arrived sometime during the night and brought his part-timers along. This struck me as terribly odd until Tommy filled me in. Now I asked about the broader picture, and how everyone had fared from Friday night and all day Saturday.
"Not as bad as it could have been." Tommy was determined to stay positive. None of us were feeling particularly chipper after George's passing. The viewing and wake would be on Monday, the funeral Tuesday. I wasn't looking forward to it; and can't imagine anyone else was. "Lots of good. Every plane Griggs chartered made it safely to Fort Bragg; without a single casualty or missing passenger. We were able to get the phone tree started in time so only one in ten houses were still occupied when the cops came; but they were warned in enough time to mount a defense. All seven of the companies are secure, their guys dug in and their property's so fortified they make Gibraltar look quaint. Naota and his family are all accounted for and uninjured. And no one's seen hide nor hair of Haruko since she bugged out of Voyze's."
"You're gonna infect me with that sappy optimism. I won't be my usual cynical, jaded self. What'll you do then?"
"Oh, however will we cope?"
"You're not answering my question. How bad?"
"We got a final count just before you woke up." Tommy steadied himself. "We wanted to make sure everyone who was going to make it in, had. Casualties for Friday night and Saturday are at ten percent."
"TEN percent?! Fuck me, that's three hundred guys. We got fuckin' rolled, Tom."
"Yeah, I know. One hundred sixty-seven are K.I.A., forty-three are out of action wounded, and ninety are walking wounded or banged up."
"What's the breakdown?"
"Of the dead? Distribution is proportional across the board. Welshman lost twenty-seven. Solomon thirty-eight. King twenty-two. Pike only sixteen. Dahl twenty. Voyze twenty-one. And Chartier twenty-three."
"It makes sense Pike's guys got through least scathed. Most've been through combat at least once. How're they holding up?"
"Morale is good, for now. Dinged a little when the numbers came out, of course. But we cut our teeth in our first battle, kicked the cops right in the nuts, and sent 'em packin' to Port Matilda. That's got everyone pretty amped up, so it balances out." Tommy paused to spit tobacco. I'd just finished packing my lip for a morning chew; gotta start your day right. So I spat too. "What about you?"
"How am I? I fuggin' hurt. Everything's sore, everything's creaking, groaning, cracking, and popping. My guts feel like they've been stabbed, my face aches, I shit blood last night, but y'know what's the worst of it all?"
"No?"
"My right shin itches...and I can't scratch it."
"That's gotta be torture."
"Yah might's well shoot me now and put me outta my misery."
"Unscratchable itches are good for you." Shifty sauntered over, blowing smoke from his morning cigarette. "Builds character...or something."
"Mornin' Shifty." Tommy nodded as Shifty joined our watching of Taero. He was having an animated conversation with Gordon and Chuck. Because of the idling bulldozer, we couldn't hear what was being said, but there was a lot of pointing and arm waving. Probably a few 'you dumbass' and ' you sun-uv-ah-bitch' too; ask me how I know. "How's the arm?"
"Check me out." Shifty loosed his arm from its sling, slowly bringing his forearm up to his shoulder in a bicep curl, then down until it was straight. Then he slowly lifted his entire arm until it was parallel with the ground, and holding it there, waggled his fingers. "I've got full sense of touch back, numbness is all gone. Rita says I gotta keep stretching like she showed me, otherwise the muscle will lock up. But I can't overdo it, or I'll rip the muscle."
"How much longer until you'll be able to use it fully?"
"'Bout a week. How's about you Rig? How long with the club foot?"
"A month." I wasn't happy about it. After a few weeks, I knew I'd be seeing visions of a hacksaw.
"Don't even think about cutting that cast off." Tommy's clairivoyance struck again. "Doctor Hayward said one month, so one month it shall be."
"...Fine."
"What now, Captain?" Now it was Master Sergeant, Hunter, Shaufner talking. Shifty had taken a temporary backseat. It had not been twenty four hours since George's death, and Shifty was already pressing Tommy. Before I'd fallen asleep, I'd briefly wondered how Tommy was going to react, since with George gone, he was now in complete command of everything. It had been years since he'd commanded a unit in the field, and that had been a platoon. Now he had seven Battalions, combined to make three Regiments, or in summary: a 'only Generals may apply' Brigade. How Tommy took this new paradigm, once he realized it, would make or break us.
"Well...ssnnnkkk-huack! P-thuh! With Mid-State out of action, that removes our primary F.O.B. We'll have to adjust our plans around that, and make right here the new F.O.B. But, since we've all gotten some good sleep last night and have fresh minds, our priority is going to be setting up for what's coming. I'll get ahold of..."
"What's coming?" I felt it necessary to interrupt.
"The follow-up attack; of course." Tommy walked and talked towards the shop. "Saturday morning was them banging around and making noise to see if they could flush anything out of the brush. Now that they know we're here, they'll be gearing up to put us in the ground. We need to be ready when they try."
"You're gonna make me do stuff, ain't'cha?" Josh saw us coming a mile away. Johnny and Mike were already at work readying the Scorpion for combat. The Industrial was, for the foreseeable future, our new lawn ornament. "You've got that look about you. C'mon Tommy, it's too early, my leg hurts...I'm just fuckin' with you, what' up?"
"And a good morning to you, too." Tommy wrote out a message for Josh. "Get this to the Bosses on the encrypted channel. We can't use Mid-State anymore, so they'll have to come here for meetings and planning."
"So G&R is going to be the new F.O.B.?" Josh read the message over before getting the radios set to transmit. "Why do I have the feeling this was inevitable?"
"No idea. Send that, then get with Canti and see if you can't pick up any police transmissions. They're sure to be gearing up for a follow-through, so no detail is too small!"
"You got it, Captain!"
"Awesome. Okay, Taero's already doing his thing, and we'd just be getting in his way. Shifty, you're in charge of security, as a matter of course. Get with the guys from King and set up for when the Bosses arrive. There's a chance they could attract attention coming here, or accidentally bring a fight with them. Rig, go wake up Naota; he's slept long enough. You told me he feels like he's been left out and not included in things? We'll fix that in a hurry. Everyone good? Questions, all kosher? Alright, let's make it happen."
. . .
"Please go over what happened, one more time."
"There were seven in total. A Special Agent in Charge, his five subordinates, and his pilot. At first, we only interacted with the S.A.C. and pilot. Craft noticed that the pilot had what appeared to be a firearm under his shirt, so Sergeant Randolph ordered us to detain the pilot, S.A.C., and the closest airplane. I was next to Sergeant Randolph and was to secure the S.A.C. He gave some form of coded order and the pilot drew his concealed weapon. He fired two shots, mortally wounding Craft and crippling O'Brian; then he ran for his plane while covering his own retreat. At the same time, the S.A.C. used the distraction to disarm me of my rifle, and shot Sergeant Randolph in the chest; he was saved by his armor. I was then used as a hostage and human shield so they could board their airplane and depart."
"Once on board the plane, what happened?"
"The pilot doubled back to line our course up with Port Matilda, so they could drop me off. They had a spare parachute on board. I was stripped of my equipment except for uniform. My personal effects were taken and inspected, but returned to me. They put the parachute on me and once over Port Matilda, ejected me from the plane. I landed several miles downwind of the town and walked, about a mile, to the nearest road. There I was able to flag a truck and get a ride back to town."
"Nothing else? They didn't speak with you at all?"
"They did, Sir. The pilot told a story of how he and 'some of his friends' once threw a man that had betrayed them out of a plane; thirty thousand feet above the ocean. I have no doubts he would have done something similar to me if I had given him cause to."
"And this...S.A.C. The Agent Griggs? Did he speak or interact with you at all?"
"He inspected my effects and supervised my disarmament. He also kept my ID card."
"Why would he want to keep your ID card?"
"I don't know."
"...Interesting. And...after this, they let you go?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Did they interrogate you?"
"No, Sir."
"Did you willingly or otherwise divulge any information that could be considered useful?"
"No, Sir."
"Did they say what their destination was, or did you perchance overhear it?"
"No, Sir."
"Did they say who they worked for?"
"Just the Agent Griggs. He said he was from Section Two-Six-Two."
"I see. Did you see anything illicit on board the plane?"
"No, Sir."
"Drugs?"
"No, Sir."
"Weapons?"
"No, Sir. The only weapons I saw were the ones carried by the agents and pilot on their persons."
"Medicine? Food? Radios or communication equipment? Fuels?"
"No to all, Sir."
"Just women and children?"
"Just women and children, Sir."
"And despite the possibility of interrogating you for information, or using you as a bargaining chip...this Agent Griggs just...let you go. Why?"
"Because, he said he would. He promised Sergeant Randolph that he only needed me to make sure the plane took off safely, and I would be returned alive and in one piece."
"Just like that?"
"He said he was a man of his word. That means a lot to us, Sir. A Man is only as good as his word, Sir."
"It's a matter of personal honor, something I know as well." The Man in Black stared at Hynen for an eternity. "Lastly, I would like to know how we are supposed to trust you. This, Agent Griggs, could have turned you into a spy for all we know."
"Respectfully, Sir, you can't. Anything I say could be a devious ploy, or just an outright lie; and there's no way for you to check me. I won't waste your time trying to convince you of anything. Your mind is already made up, isn't it, Sir?"
"You're a clever one, Patrolman." The Man smiled. "You will be returned to your unit on probationary status; pending your behavior and conduct in the field."
"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."
"I would forget this Agent Griggs and anything he may have told you. He is seeking to plant the Seed of Doubt in your mind. Do not let it take root. That is all, you're dismissed. Oh, and Patrolman? I will be watching you. Don't make me regret this."
"I understand, Sir."
. . .
To whomever it was that mentioned the Bren-Ten pistol last time, please stand up and take a bow. Once you had mentioned it, I couldn't get it out of my head and just HAD to put one in the story somehow. They're great pistols and it's too bad they only made a handful of them. I haven't had a chance to shoot a Bren-Ten, but have shot a Glock G40 Longslide (Sister Eda, call your office.) in 10mm and...Criminently, that's a round some serious OOmph! You do not want to mess with anyone confident enough in themselves to carry anything chambered in 10mm.
My gun fascination aside, I hope you agreed with the scene between Naota and Kamon. I think Naota's right on that point of the scale where he's smart enough to know how (relatively) little he knows; I'm by no stretch saying he's stupid. But he's knows he's not a soldier, saboteur, or detective. But where he and Kamon differ is that Naota thinks he's not capable of doing such things, and Kamon thinks, knows, he is. It would be an odd thing to hear from your Dad, wouldn't it? But you all know me, my strong suit is blowin' stuff up and gunnin' it down. More nuanced things like the conversations between Rig and Naota last chapter, and Kamon and Naota in this one are somewhere that I want to get better, so I hope it at least made sense. Please let me know good or ill.
I was reminded of the beginning mission in the first Black Ops game, where you're taking part in Operation 40 to kill Castro, and are escaping down the runway, when I wrote Taero and his assistants escape from Mid-State. It may have been a little smaller scale, a Mini-14 and AR-15 instead of an M60, and a Piper Arrow instead of C-130, and there was no Triple-A to worry about...but, basically the same difference; right? C'mon, let me just have this one thing, please?
And as is his luck, Patrolman Hynen both catches no breaks, and then catches a big one right at the end. But now with The Man in Black keeping an eye on him (Two eyes, if he can spare them) he'll really have to tread carefully.
I actually have a chunk already typed for Chapter 26, too much to add here; but not enough it can form its own chapter. If I really, REALLY apply myself this week, I might get it out this next weekend. Might. Maybe. Possibly. Wouldn't that be something? Either way, we'll see. Thank you very much for your continued readership, and please let me know how I'm doing! Thanks again!
