The Jared Chronicles | Book 4 | The Devil's Bastion, page 28
part #4 of The Jared Chronicles Series
The next hour was agonizing as Margie cleaned and prepared the fish like a pro—other than taking far too much time, in Jared’s opinion. Using one of the campsite barbeques, John built a fire intended for cooking the fish. There was a lot of meat by today’s standards, but Jared wished they’d caught one or two more before heading back to camp.
When breakfast was finally served, it was eaten in silence as every member of the group enjoyed fresh fish for the first time in nearly a year. The flakey white meat seemed to melt in Jared’s mouth as he shoveled the fish in bite after bite. Other than salt and a little pepper, the fish tasted as natural as anything Jared had ever eaten. He’d eaten sea bass in the past, but couldn’t recall a thing about how the dish had been prepared. Conversely, Jared could not remember having tried freshwater bass.
The gamey taste of the limited deer meat they’d been able to kill and eat wasn’t Jared’s favorite, but this newfound sustenance in the way of fish was top flight. The term bones picked clean applied one hundred percent to what Jared and his friends did to the three reservoir bass. Other than the guts, heads, and bones, the group devoured the three fish entirely. As usual, no one ate their fill, but the addition of the fresh catch dulled the hunger pangs that always lingered after a meal.
The morning John and Jared caught the bass, Josh set out with twelve soldiers, heading toward Del Valle Reservoir. There wasn’t enough room in and on the Humvee, so their movement was limited to the foot speed of those on the ground. Everyone traded positions, including Josh, as the thirteen men made their way along the winding country road. When the small detachment of soldiers left Mines Road, veering to the right onto Del Valle Road, the going got tougher as the road steepened, gaining elevation with every mile. It was late afternoon when Josh ordered the Humvee halted next to a gate on the west side of the road.
Josh stepped out of the Humvee, doing a full turn, scanning his surroundings for any sign of Buckley and his motley group. “Keep a sharp eye out up there,” Josh muttered to the soldier in the turret.
After ensuring he wasn’t about to be set upon, Josh hauled out a map, spreading the navigational aid on the hood of the Humvee. After studying the map for a few minutes, Josh realized they were nearly halfway to the reservoir entrance and slightly to the east. He wasn’t about to drive straight down to the reservoir and run the risk of being ambushed, so the gate seemed a suitable option. Based on what Josh was seeing on his map, he could walk due west and would intersect the reservoir somewhere near its middle.
“Okay, people,” Josh called out. “We’re leaving pavement and using that dirt road to get us closer to the water. Once we’ve established a secure base of operations, we can start searching for these people.”
No one responded, most being too tired after the long walk up through the hills. Josh folded the map and stuffed it back in a cargo pocket before climbing back in the Humvee and directing the driver to drive through the three strands of barbed wire to the right of the green metal gate. As the large vehicle pummeled the fence, there were a few murmurs from the soldiers, but then everyone quieted down as the walking began all over again.
The group didn’t have more than an hour of slow patrol-type movement in front of them before the reservoir came into view far below their position. The vehicle was halted once again while Josh spent a full thirty minutes using his binoculars to explore the shoreline and any campgrounds in view. Josh wasn’t sure due to the distance, but he thought maybe there were several small boats clustered at the far southern end of the reservoir.
Josh wasn’t at all knowledgeable regarding the wind patterns in the area, but the way the boats seemed to be clustered at one end of the massive body of water, he guessed they’d somehow become unsecured and were blown across the reservoir, coming to rest against the southern shoreline. Other than the cluster of boats, everything else appeared deserted, the way Josh would have expected a regional park to look nearly a year after societally altering solar flare. Although there was an abundance of water and food in the area, Josh doubted many civilians would possess the know-how when it came to putting any of it in their bellies.
As the sun began its descent behind the hills on the far side of the reservoir, Josh and his twelve soldiers stopped at a bend in the dirt road. Josh liked the spot since one side of the road dropped for the most part straight down and would prove quite difficult to assault up into his position. The other side of the road consisted of a steep embankment that rose above them another couple of hundred feet. Josh assigned three soldiers to the military crest of the embankment in order to hold and control the only area he deemed advantageous to an attacking force.
Josh assigned two more soldiers to man the road to their front and rear. Now he had the Humvee’s position defended and could focus on getting to the real work. All thirteen men carried radios although none of them were turned on currently. Recently, the life of the radio batteries had decreased, and with this decrease, Josh had for the most part gone away from using the communications gear, saving it for times like these when everything was riding on mission success.
Josh detailed their communications strategy, which consisted of turning the devices on every hour on the hour and reporting any information that needed to be passed on. If for some reason things went loud, like shots being fired, all radios were to be activated. Josh planned on using his soldiers as spotters, who would remain on top of the hills, watching the reservoir using binoculars. If anything were spotted moving or otherwise, they would vector Josh into position using map coordinates.
This was Josh’s answer to the lack of an aerial surveillance platform. The more Josh thought about the reservoir, the surer he became Buckley had no other place to go in the area. Josh had burned Buckley’s original house to the ground the previous year, leaving Buckley with no other place he was familiar with. Josh was careful not to think John needed to be familiar with something in order to exploit it to his benefit. John Buckley came from a special group of men who for the most part could live in the desert using only a stick and a stone to survive.
Yes, John Buckley was somewhere close, thought Josh, taking a deep breath, then controlling his breathing so as not to work himself into a mini swivet over the possibility of putting a bullet in his former teammate’s head. If Josh were absolutely honest with himself, which he rarely was, he’d be forced to admit he wanted Buckley dead more so he could take a break than anything else at this point. Josh knew even Carnegie was growing tired of this hunt, but the colonel wasn’t out in the field taking fire, being wounded, and pushing his body within close proximity of its limits like Josh was.
His hip continued to bother him, as did the wound he’d received in his buttocks several months prior, not to mention the litany of old injuries governed by cold, fatigue, and overuse that seemed hell-bent on reminding him of every mistake he’d ever made as a young operator. Josh would soon have to face the fact that he was not in his twenties any longer and would need to slow his pace at some point, or he wouldn’t live to see his forties.
Josh walked his perimeter, checking to see that the soldiers were properly situated in their defensive positions. The three soldiers stationed above the Humvee were still digging into their positions when Josh stopped by. It was hard work, and Josh had done it enough to know the rigors of completing a fighting hole oftentimes seemed to outweigh the benefits of fighting from the end product—that is, until bullets were snapping dangerously close to one’s head.
Josh gave the men some encouraging words and moved on to confirm his base camp was secured as well as it could be with his limited resources. Finishing up, Josh headed back to the Humvee, where he intended on eating and catching several hours’ sleep before heading out under the cover of darkness. Unhampered by the slower-moving soldiers, Josh guessed he could reach the reservoir in less than two hours considering the distance, terrain, and the need for slow cautious movement.
After Josh ate, but before he bedded down, he pulled out a large hardcase from the rear of the Humvee. On the ground, Josh opened the case, revealing the long rifle he’d used to kill the SEAL only a few short months before. Josh slid the rifle down between the frame of his backpack and the main compartment, making sure the rifle fit nicely into the scabbard, barrel down, butt rising slightly higher than Josh’s head.
The long rifle would only be brought to bear when Josh located his quarry and moved on Buckley. Until then, Josh would carry the long rifle on his back and his H&K 416 in his hands. Josh completed arranging his equipment, so all he had to do when he woke later was pull on his pack and go. Three times, Josh went through a mental checklist of items he needed and the condition they would best serve him in.
Satisfied at last, Josh pulled out a sleeping bag and slid it under the Humvee, where he crawled into the bedding and worked on falling asleep. His mind was still spinning, going over all the mission details, searching for a flaw in his plan, a piece of minutia he’d left out, something he hadn’t considered, but there was nothing that came to his tired mind. He’d set in motion the duties of the soldiers and had only to follow his own protocols to reap the rewards of his preparations.
A soft voice was the next thing Josh heard, the soldier bent and, on his knees, quietly calling Josh out of his sleep. When Josh groaned, the soldier disappeared. There was something said for being feared. In Josh’s old unit this wake-up call would have come in the form of a kick in the boots or lower leg ensued by a rough get the fuck up, shit dick by whichever teammate was going off watch. Josh never minded it and had returned the favor to the next in line, but now if one of these weekend soldiers kicked him in the boots to wake him, Josh might have killed the offender.
After a quick comms check, Josh was off, walking west for a hundred yards before dropping off the side of the road to move cross-country. Roads were where military men died in ambushes, and Josh had no intention of being one of those sorry bastards. He moved carefully for an hour before stopping and turning his radio on. It was two minutes before 0200 hours, and although Josh held no hope of receiving any information during this time due to the lack of visibility, he kept up the comm protocols.
As Josh suspected, none of the soldiers offered any new information before everyone signed off until the next check-in. If any of the soldiers missed a check-in, the others at the Humvee were immediately to check on their position and react from there. If Josh missed a check-in, no one was to do anything until he’d missed three consecutive comm checks. At that time the soldiers were to begin a search of the countryside. Josh figured if he were shot, the soldiers would hear it, but if he were to fall and injure himself, they wouldn’t know of his misfortune.
A short time after the radio checks were complete, Josh spotted the shimmering skin of the reservoir in the far distance, the moon marking the water’s reflective surface with its dull light. Although the semidarkness caused a small degree of spatial disorientation, Josh was fairly positive he was close to the campgrounds that bordered the east side of the reservoir, based on his recollection from his map. To this point, Josh had moved without the aid of his NVG, but now he withdrew them from his pack and flipped the set on. Once the goggles were on, Josh used one eye to search his immediate surroundings.
By using his left eye, Josh retained his night vision in his shooting eye. If he’d enjoyed the luxury of extra batteries and the life of the goggles wasn’t an issue, Josh would have donned the NVG and worn them until the sun came up. Josh was no stranger to fighting under the tubes based on his previous life in the Special Missions Unit. Josh would have welcomed using the goggles full time coupled with the infrared laser attached to his rifle. Together they made for an extremely effective targeting system under limited light conditions.
Tonight, however, Josh settled for treating the goggles like his radio, a delicate dying frill from his past life, an amenity he’d soon be weaned from. At least the rifle and its scope wouldn’t die on him, thought Josh. That was something he could take into the future for years to come. Satisfied he was the only apex predator within five hundred yards of his position, Josh stowed the goggles and withdrew his binoculars.
Using the moon’s light, Josh studied as much of the shoreline as he could see. Most of the shoreline was shrouded in darkness under the light-blocking branches of the trees growing along the reservoir’s shore. Thirty minutes later, Josh felt cold and stiff, deciding to move again if for no other reason than to get his blood flowing and warm his aching extremities.
Josh moved south along a ridgeline for an hour, stopping only to flip the radio on every hour. Although Josh couldn’t see the road leading through the east side of the park, he could sense there was something below his position. At close to 0500 hours, Josh reached the entrance to the regional park and spotted the guardhouse. It wasn’t yet light outside, but Josh was able to make out the guardhouse’s outline in the darkness. He’d stay clear of this little humanity magnet for the time being, not wanting to be discovered by someone keeping tabs on the place.
Josh retraced his steps a couple of hundred yards before changing direction and heading west, down the slope toward the reservoir. Josh didn’t know where John was, but was betting if he could get himself into a position to observe the waterline by morning, he would find Buckley’s group. People historically needed water to start their days, even before the solar flare altered most everything else. Reaching a ditch next to the road that ran perpendicular to the reservoir and accessed all the campsites, Josh stopped for another NVG inspection of the landscape.
Neither the NVG nor his binoculars unearthed any signs of life, allowing Josh an unfettered stroll to the water’s edge, where he knelt and dropped his pack. Keeping an ever-watching eye all about himself, Josh pulled out a water-purification system and filled both his water bladder and the single water bottle he carried. Once Josh’s water procurement was consummated, he moved back onto the hill to his east.
Josh wasn’t uncomfortable in the water by any stretch, but were he forced to escape and evade into the reservoir, he knew he’d be compelled to lose some of the gear he was carrying, and he couldn’t do that. If he’d thought of it, which he hadn’t, maybe he could have dropped a plastic bag into the body of his pack, filled it, and then sealed the top, making his pack a floatation device. Even then, being caught in the open and having to enter the water was not his first choice.
Josh was confident he could fight from the water and do quite well against most civilians he ran across, but John would pose a threat level that would place Josh at such a disadvantage, he didn’t feel he could overcome it. Running into the water, trying to swim out as far away from a hazard as possible while getting his NVG out and on his head would be a true test of Josh’s resolve. If he got the goggles on and put a couple of hundred yards between himself and the shore, he could use the pack as a sort of shooting bench. The infrared laser and goggles would then enter the equation, as Josh could engage an enemy in complete darkness from the water while doing the backstroke.
All very cool, but also far too many moving parts for Josh’s liking. No, he would slink about on dry land as much as possible; plus the reservoir was probably freezing cold this early in spring. Josh crept through a campsite, crossed the paved road, and entered the ditch, where he sank low, scanning and listening for signs he was being stalked or maneuvered on. When the quiet night air produced no other sounds other than the soft lapping of the reservoir waves and the occasional clank of what was probably a boat hull against a dock somewhere off in the distance to the north, Josh rose and advanced to the north in the direction of the dull thudding sounds.
Before the sun rose, Josh completed a recon of the entire eastern shore and all the amenities associated with this portion of the regional park. Like John before him, Josh found the pontoon boats would not turn over. That was where the similarities in their visits to the marina ended. Josh found the little shop completely looted of anything useful to a fishing expedition. Josh had no way of telling who’d cleaned out the little bait and tackle shop and for the most part didn’t give it much thought until he heard the faint sound of an engine out on the lake.
Josh froze inside the bait shop as the engine’s sound drifted across the glassy water’s surface. Slowly, Josh moved out of the shop and to the north, where he made his way across the self-launch ramp and past all the fifty-thousand-dollar bass boats abandoned near it. Josh climbed through a fence, making his way to slightly higher ground, where he stopped, shimmied out of his pack, and pasted the binoculars to his face.
It was that time of every morning where it’s no longer dark, but not light either. Josh was using a very high-end set of optics complete with a range finder built into the unit. Josh could hear the engine now, as whoever was operating it across the reservoir was content idling out into the open waters of the large reservoir. Josh still hadn’t picked up a visual on the mystery boater, so he took a moment to evaluate his tactical standing in his present spot. As long as he wasn’t set upon from three sides simultaneously, Josh felt pretty happy with his escape options.
Five minutes later, Josh caught sight of two men far off in the distance, riding slowly across the reservoir in a small outboard aluminum boat. Try as Josh might, he wasn’t able to get a range reading on the two in the boat. Either it remained too dark, or the water’s surface was disrupting his range finder, so Josh directed the optics to the far shoreline the boat seemed to have come from. Two thousand eight hundred yards—too far for a shot in the best of conditions.
Josh almost got to his feet and headed south in an effort to get closer and possibly identify the people in the boat. If it were John, Josh would take the shot, call the Humvee down, and hold a position until Carnegie could send more troops for a proper assault on wherever these people were bivouacked, but Josh stopped himself. Take it nice and slow, he told himself, pulling the binoculars back to his eyes.
