Avalon: The Retreat (36 page)

The terrain was tall grass, lots of sandy soil, and gravel. There was an ancient river bed carved out by the receding glaciers about twelve thousand years ago. The tall mountains towered over and surrounded them on all sides. Above the mountains, the sky was hazy and separated by patches of blue sky. Looking off into the distance they could see the firs growing wild and in profusion. Mike liked this country. They traveled easterly for another forty-five minutes and then it was time to stash the bikes. This time Roger would be with them. If they needed his expertise, there was no sense in leaving him behind. It wasn’t that far of a hike back to Avalon if the bikes were lost for whatever reason. They were all busy cutting branches to cover the motorcycles and when the job was done to their satisfaction, they headed east again. Mike checked his Mac-11 and pulled the magazine out, checked it, and re-inserted it into the housing. The others did the same.

“Better put them on safe, boys,” he winked at Sam, “I don’t want anyone shooting their own feet off.”

They walked for another forty-five minutes until they saw the smoke in the distance. Mike thought those were the same campfires he saw way back when he was heading up the mountain. It had to be campers; there is no way that many fires could be maintained without constant replenishment. The highway must be over in that direction.

They heard voices and went down to the ground in a crouch. There was a group going past on one side, about ten women and a couple of teenage girls. They were dirty, their clothes were rags, and a Slaver prodded them along with a stick. He had a sawed-off shotgun with a sling over his chest and one shoulder that hung down, pointing at the ground.

The guy whacked one of the women with the stick and she cried out. They were gathering wood for their fires. Further over to one side was another Slaver watching and apparently unaware of Mike and his men. None of this wood-gathering group knew there was anyone other than them here. Mike looked at Sam and rocked his head toward one of them, and Sam smiled. They took their knives out simultaneously.

“How many kids are they cookin’ up for dinner tonight?” One of the Slavers said to another in a loud voice.

“I hear there’s gonna be about ten of them,” came the reply, “And a few hogs and some chickens, to boot. They already prepped the kids this morning.”

“They’re cooking children to eat for supper?” Mike whispered to Sam in disbelief.

Sam frowned and put his finger up to his throat and slid it across from left to right. Mike nodded.

These guys needed to be killed.

Sam crouched and worked his way over to one Slaver, and Mike went after the other. Roger and Gregg watched and covered them. Mike went up behind the one with the stick and Sam faced the other by stepping out from in front of a bush. Sam thrust his knife and buried it in the Slaver’s throat in a classic fencing move. The man’s face took on a surprised look as he buckled at the knees.

Mike came around behind the other and one of the women screamed and gave away the surprise. But Mike quickly stepped in close and, with an elbow slam to his chin, the Slaver went down and backward. Mike leaped on the man and cut his throat savagely, nearly decapitating him. His head sort of flopped over onto his shoulder. One of the women started to run but Mike grabbed her by an arm.

“Take it easy, lady,” he urged in very loud whisper. “We aren’t gonna harm you!”

His words made her relax and the others stood there, cowering in front of the men.

“Thank God someone has come,” one of them said in disbelief.

“We’re only four,” Mike said, “But we’re here to help. With your assistance, we’ll see what we can do.”

The woman looked at Mike and had a look on her face of total defeat and she said,

“What can we do? We are a bunch of women who have had the life nearly kicked out of us, and our children were eaten by those animals over there.”

Mike took her hands in his, held them, and faced her. “We need information. You can tell us the lay of the camp, how many Slavers are there, how many guns they have, and who is the leader… that’s how you can help! I want you to know right now that you and the rest of these women are safe. We will protect you from them with our own lives.”

Her shoulders drooped and her head fell to her chest as she began to cry, and so did the others. The woman shook as the happiness of this news enveloped her, and she wept uncontrollably. Mike and the others just stood there waiting for them to get it out of their system and, after awhile, he said to all of them,

“Listen to me ladies, my name is Mike and this is Sam, that’s Gregg and this guy is called Roger. We need to know everything you can tell us about those men over there. Is anyone hungry?”

They all stepped up to him. The men offered them water, and they drank greedily from the canteens. In less than ten minutes Mike decided to contact Avalon; this was too big for only four of them. The last thing they wanted to do was to get killed or to have any of these hostages killed by wild shooting from a firefight. He stepped off to one side and took his radio out of the pocket on his pack. He turned it on and it crackled,

“Mike calling base…”

He waited.

“Mike calling Base…”

He waited again.

“This is Mike calling base…”

“Nice to hear from you, Michael; you aren’t in any trouble, are you?”

Static from the radio followed the transmission and Mike said,

“Switch to eleven, now.”

He waited, and the radio static came on and Dan said,

“Ready.”

The conversation took place between switching channels every thirty seconds with a system they had worked out a very long time ago, inserting certain key words along the way. They exchanged instructions and set everything into motion.

Roger started walking the captives back from where they came down the mountain toward the abandoned railroad bed. Mike, Sam, and Gregg moved forward toward the Slaver’s camp. They had a good idea as to the approach and were on their way to take care of business. They swung south and followed an old creek bed. It was desolate here and the walking on the gravel made then unsure of each step. Rocks would roll away from under their feet and down they would go.

After twenty minutes of walking they had covered the distance of ten football fields, a little over a half mile. It was slow going and Mike wished they were covering this distance on dirt bikes, but that’s the way it goes. They continued walking and crossed the creek bed under the highway in another hour. There was a low bridge, and they scooted under it to the other side. They looked left and could see the campfires plainly from here.

The plan was to circle the Slaver’s camp coming in from the east and working toward the west. They wanted to catch them by surprise, go in, kill several and get back out before anyone saw what was happening. If they continued doing this they might get fifty or more of them. Strike fast, hard, and silent and then melt away, come back and do it again. The psychology of this tactic would unnerve anyone suffering casualties, and when they are pissing in their pants, they can’t think.

First, they were going to take out the Slaver’s camp sentries. They screwed on the SIONICS Suppressor copies and changed the ammo. Mike directed the men; one would come straight on following the highway by following the creek; another would come from his right, and the third would cross back over the creek and come in from the left of the center man. They were going to stay within viewing distance of each other. Mike marked the time and said,

“In ten minutes from… now!”

They all moved out toward their designated positions and made note of the time. There would not be any noise, only a surgical and methodical removal of the obstacles blocking the way or sounding the alarm and turning a difficult problem into a major shootout. The first man was leaning against a rock with the piece on his shoulder hanging by the sling. He was smoking a cigarette and casually talking to another Slaver standing next to him.

Mike crept up to the guy leaning on the rock and put a bullet through the back of his neck and turned off the computer. He swung the small sub-machine gun over and did the same to the talker. He grabbed one by the collar and dragged him away into the bushes behind him, went back and got the other guy, and dragged him back and laid him next to his pal. Two down.

Gregg moved down the creek and came to a man and woman. She was talking to the guy and had her arms wrapped around his neck, their noses almost touching. He took the man out with a round to the head and just as she started to scream, he cut off her cry with a bullet between her eyes. The round sort of caved in her forehead, squeezing her eyes together in a comical look and she collapsed on top of the man. Gregg dragged first one and then the other back down into the dry creek bed and continued to move slowly forward.

Sam saw a group standing together having a BS fest, and the one who was supposed to be on watch was laughing about something. He aimed and took out the one on the left, moved slightly and the next man caught a deadly projectile in the throat. They all turned and looked his way, and then his gun jammed. Before he could draw his side arm, the other four fell into a crumpled a pile, one after the other before any of them could think.

Gregg and Mike had covered his behind! He looked over and gave them a thumbs-up. Sam worked on the round, freed the mechanism, chambered a couple of rounds, and saw the firearm was working again. He bent over and picked up the special loads and, after ejecting his mag, inserted them in it again.

Mike said, “Reload your weapons.”

“That’s eleven down and only two hundred fifty left to go.”

They all laughed, but it was really wasn’t a joke at all. The odds of them pulling this off were remote at best, but it was just like the old saying,

“How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time!”

It was time to work their way over to the northeast and come at them from that direction before someone discovered those dead guys were no longer at their posts. They swung wide toward the northeast and then moved by crawling, crouching, running, and hugging the ground again. In twenty minutes they were ready again… same positions, same plan, but different terrain. Gregg moved toward a group of three, and each went down with a subdued clapping sound. Mike moved on two more and took them out quickly; Sam approached three of them sitting on the ground under a tree and his three went down.

They spent a few minutes dragging the dead out and away from view of the camp. As he was moving one, Gregg bumped against another Slaver walking toward him, zipping up his fly. Gregg turned in a flash and cut the man’s throat. He fell to his knees, clutching his throat, and blood spurted out from between his fingers, some of it landing on his front and his face. They finished with the bodies and moved back another hundred feet behind some bushes.

“Reload,” Mike said quietly. Looking at Gregg, he smirked, “I see you got a little close to your work.”

“What’s that?” Greg asked.

Mike pointed to his face where the blood had splattered. Gregg put a hand to his face and wiped, smearing it across in a wide swath. He looked at his hand and rubbed it on his pant leg. Sam poked him in the ribs and said,

“Nice work, son.”

Gregg had a look on his face of disgust, but said nothing.

“You know what the SEALs call that, Gregg?” Mike asked.

“What?”

“Getting wet all over. You usually hold them long enough and look in their eyes until they dilate and then you know you’ve sent them to hell. While you’re holding them, it squirts all over you.”

“Nice.” Gregg said with a slight huff. “You know, Mike, I’m used to doing my work at a distance. We snipers don’t like to get dirty.”

Mike said, “Let’s work our way toward the north now and come down on them from that direction. I think if we go this way, there’s enough cover to get us over there without being seen. Once we’re done, we should go toward the north. See those trees over there by that small hill all by itself?”

They nodded.

“That’s where we’ll meet when we’re done. We’ll need to come off this adrenaline rush and we can do it there. Check your magazines; we don’t want to go into this thing without being ready. When we’re done, we should work our way back to the old railroad bed and wait for the reinforcements that Roger will bring from Avalon. A few of those who are coming will escort those women that Roger is taking back up the mountain. The rest will be coming this way; I think we should meet them and lead them back here so as not to cause any confusion.”