No Mercy

Chapter Forty

Night fell inside the lodge a good half hour before it fell outside. They’d carried the kitchen chairs upstairs into the master bedroom and draped blankets to create a lightproof nook in which they could operate their laptop without creating a beacon for the bad guys. The computer was set to continually monitor the SkysEye satellite images of their corner of the world. They’d configured the screen view in such a way that the cabin was in the middle of the frame, with outer margins calibrated to show a one-mile radius from the center point.

“We’ve got a great signal, Mother Hen,” Jonathan said into his satellite phone. “Looks like we’re all set here.”

Back in Fisherman’s Cove, Venice sat in her office scanning her three large computer panels. In the middle, she watched the same SkysEye image that Jonathan saw. On the left screen, she tracked the progress of the Brigadeville caravan as they moved ever closer to her boss’s location. True to his word, Lee Burns had not been able to provide constant video of the vehicles as they moved, but he had been able to mark them electronically by their heat signatures through the SkysEye network. As long as the engines were not stopped for more than a few minutes, and the heat signatures remained constant, their position appeared on her screen as white dots on a map. She kept the right screen available for obtaining further information.

She keyed her microphone. “Scorpion, the caravan is approaching the Wal-Mart now. Ifow that they picked up on the cell phone signal. If they do, they’ll be on you in forty minutes.”

“Roger that,” Jonathan said.

Venice watched her screen as the lead dot stopped in the parking lot of the department store, and then waited as the other seven dots converged. None of them moved.

“Okay Scorpion, they’ve stopped at the Wal-Mart.” Knowing how much Jonathan obsessed about brief radio traffic, she didn’t add her concern that they might not have picked up the clue from Stephenson’s cell phone signal. Since there was no way to tell, there was no reason to say anything.

Her true concern was that they might turn off their engines. As long as the heat signatures stayed at their nominal levels, the SkysEye passive sensors could follow their progress and transmit their map coordinates for interpretation by the computer. If the heat signature changed dramatically-particularly if it cooled-the passive sensor would lose contact, and be unable to reacquire it without re-tasking the satellites, which Lee had already told her they could not do.

Venice had long ago decided’t need the infighting. We’re to the point where you’re either on board, or you’re a liability. Just let it go.”

He sent Stephenson upstairs to monitor the computer screen and take some of the stress off his leg. Then he directed the others to gather all the furniture into a pile in the center of the room downstairs. With the walls free from obstruction, there’d be easy access to the windows, and they’d be able to maneuver quickly in the dark to secure better fields of fire. The windows themselves were all open wide to keep from having to break out glass when they came into service as gun ports. On Jonathan’s instructions, Jesse Collier had fastened all of the doors to their jambs with two-inch screws.

He gathered them all upstairs in the bedroom for one final pep talk. With the draped-blanket light lock taking up one-quarter of the tiny space, Julie and Stephenson sat together on the bed while Thomas sat on the floor at the base of the tiny window. The rest stood where they could, with Gail and Jesse tiered on the stairs. In the light of the kerosene lanterns, their faces showed variations of dread and anger. All except for Thomas, who seemed ready to avenge his days in captivity. Boxers listened from the first floor at the base of the steps.

“Okay, folks,” Jonathan began. “Our friends will be with us soon, probably within the next few hours. Listen to me. From this point on, until the shooting is over, the only way in and out of here is through the windows. It’s slower than the doors, but the inconvenience largely favors us. I’ve put the clackers for the claymores on the floor in front of the front door. They are arranged as they are arranged out in the yard. The two middle initiators are for the mines out front, and the outboard initiators power the mines on their respective sides of the building. Do not-I repeat-do not activate any of the explosives until you hear Big Guy or me say, ‘claymore, claymore, claymore.’ We’ll say it three times if we need them. Remember, these are weapons of last resort, and if you screw it up, we can be in a world of hurt. Especially me and the Big Guy.”

Stephenson scowled-a good sign that he was paying attention. “Why especially you?”

“Because we won’t be in here with you. We’ll be out there.” He tossed his head toward one of the windows.

“Oh, fine,” Julie erupted.

Thomas squirmed. “Mom.”

Jonathan looked at her patiently. “Remember the plan. If we can maneuver well and if the pieces all fall into place, this lodge will never come into play. That’s the goal. But if they send a lot of people, or if we get hit early, you need to be prepared to defend yourselves.

“Steve, I want you to stay on the second floor. The elevation improves the satellite link, and I don’t want you tearing open that leg. The rest of you will spread out downstairs. If they get past us at the ambush site, they’ll come up the main road and fan out along the tree line before making their assault across the lawn. Use the NVGs I gave you-night vision goggles. The instant you hear shooting in the distance, put them on and keep them on until this thing is over. If you see anyone approaching and you don’t recognize them, shoot, understand? Remember there are six sides to this building-you can’t forget the roof and the crawl spaceballoons?” Thomas groused.

“Hell no,” Jonathan laughed. “I don’t want anybody thinking I’m the pussy.”

Boxers called from downstairs, “Hey Scorpion, it’s time to go. I want to set up the ambush while there’s still a little light left.”

Julie’s horror deepened. “Ambush,” she repeated.

Jonathan’s radio crackled, “Scorpion, Mother Hen. They’re moving. I don’t know how many, but the one I can still see is moving, and it looks like he’s coming your way.

Boxers was right; it was time to go.

They’d stacked their tactical gear at the end of the living room farthest from the windows. Jonathan pulled Dragon Skin vests from one of the duffels and passed them out to the Hugheses. “Wear these,” he instructed. He handed a second one to Thomas and added, “Take this one to your father, and make sure he wears it. If he objects kick him in the leg.” The two that remained were originally for himself and Boxers, but that would leave Gail and Jesse without any. He picked up the remaining two and handed them to the cops from Samson.

Jesse took his, but when Gail shook her head, he hesitated. “You’re the ones who’ll be out there exposed,” she said. “You keep them.”

Jonathan shook his head. “No, thanks, I move better without it. Besides, you’re my guest.”

“I won’t do it,” Gail said. Jesse looked like he wanted to shoot her.

Jonathan wouldn’t budge. “My war, my rules,” he said. “Besides, if the time comes when you need these, you’re really going to need them.”

She hesitated.

“Please,” Jonathan insisted. He leaned in close and whispered, “I’m serious. If the bad guys break through, you two will be the only ones with your heads about you. If you go down, everybody’s got a lot worse chance of coming through alive.”

That won her over. She accepted the vest and slipped it over her head. Jesse was way ahead of her.

“Besides,” Jonathan said, “I’ve got this.” He turned his attention to his load-bearing tactical vest. Constructed of a lighter Kevlar material that provided some limited protection against small caliber handguns and shrapnel, the tactical vest would do nothing to slow down a rifle bullet. On the positive side, it was ten pounds lighter than the Dragon Skin, and made running a hell of a lot easier. Plus, it had huge storage capacity for ammo.

Boxers was delighted to see that the vests were no longer in play. He never liked the damn things anyway. If it weren’t for the standing orders from Digger, he’d never even pack one.

“Remember the night vision,” Jonathan reminded as he stuffed the pouches of his vest with as much as they would hold. “Put them on your heads now, and then turn them on when you hear the shooting. Remember what I taught you this afternoon. Julie, if you’re not going to be shooting, you’ve got to be reloading mags. Meanwhile, if things go to shit, Sheriff Bonneville here is in charge. Any questions?”

He almost laughed at the blank expressions. Yeah, there were questions. Too many to verbalize. Jonathan looked Thomas in the eye. “Beer.”

Thomas gave a nervous smile. “Balloons.”

“Don’t worry, kid, you’ve got what it takes. Just don’t give up. Whatever you do, don’t give up.”

Jonathan looked to Gail to see if she had caught that lastching, and when the sheriff responded with a nod, it was time to go. “Equipment check, Big Guy.”

This was a ritual before every engagement, no matter how large or small. They wore all black, from head to foot, including black Nomex gloves with leather palms for extra grip. Their Kevlar helmets supported their own NVGs as well as their commo gear. A transceiver ran from radios in Velcro pockets on their shoulder into their right ears. The radios could be set to voice-activated or PTT (push-to-talk) mode, and Security Solutions’ SOPs required the latter, with the microphone triggered by a button in the center of their chests. Jonathan pushed his. “Radio check, one, two, three.”

Boxers gave a thumbs-up. “I’m good.”

Jonathan looked to Gail, who realized with a start that she hadn’t yet turned her radio on. Jonathan repeated the three-count, and she nodded. “I can hear you,” she said, just to make it official.

“Mother, are you on the air?”

“I’m here, Scorpion,” she said. “Be careful.”

In sheaths mounted on their left shoulders, they each carried a K-Bar knife, and on their chests they each carried two fragmentation grenades. Around their bellies, their ammo pouches carried 400 rounds of ammunition for their M4s, 40 extra rounds for their sidearms, and 18 twelve-gauge rounds for their specially modified pistol-gripped Mossberg shotguns. They carried the M4s across their chests in combat slings, with the Mossbergs dangling by bungee slings from their armpits. The sidearms-Boxers still preferred the new Beretta standard issue over Jonathan’s Colt 1911.45-were strapped to their thighs.

Believing that it was never possible to have too many weapons in a battle, Jonathan also carried a backup snub-nose.38 in the left-hand thigh pocket of his Royal Robbins 5.11 trousers. With the checkoff lists complete, they were ready to go.

“Jesus, look at you,” Thomas said. His voice floated with admiration. “You’re ready to take on an army. Leave a couple of bad guys for us.”

Julie gasped, “Thomas Hughes!”

Jonathan smiled. This Hughes kid was not the stereotypical music major. He had fight in him. It’s a shame his mother saw that as a bad thing.

Only twenty minutes of daylight remained as they slid out the window to the porch. “One more thing,” he said, looking back inside. “Keep an eye on the computer. As soon as you see vehicles, take your places.” They nodded, but they were unfocused.

“Hey,” Jonathan said, “look at me. When this is over, we’ll have a hell of a story to tell. If you want victory, we can have it. I’ll see you all on the other side.”