The Jared Chronicles | Book 4 | The Devil's Bastion, page 9
part #4 of The Jared Chronicles Series
The remainder of the ride, Josh mulled over the recon plan, assessing it for any weaknesses. Prior to departing the base, he’d briefed all the soldiers in both trucks and tried his best to impart on them how utterly dangerous John Buckley was. He purposefully held the briefing while standing in the blood-soaked bed of the Ford truck, for effect. He hoped the serious looks he got meant they understood, but he couldn’t be certain.
A man could nod and say he had a handle on things, but when bullets started flying or a man found himself outplayed in battle and wounded because of it, those were the times men showed their true mettle. Prancing around on a square range, dressed in camo and sporting a pretty black rifle, was something anyone could do. Staying in the fight with bullet fragments rattling around in one of your lungs tended to help the cream rise to the top while the rest sank to the bottom.
The morning after Jared and John’s return, Jared found Barry hunched over a small bowl in the kitchen. “Yo, dude, where were you last night?”
Barry looked up from the bowl he was stirring. “Barn, I stay out there now. Carlos, me, and the kid.”
“Rip says you were tinkering with some electronics.”
Barry shrugged. “Just trying to get a soldering iron I can work with, get some things back on line.”
“Is it working?” Jared pressed.
“The work or the iron?”
“Any of it,” Jared said, feeling as though he were pulling teeth.
“Yes, and yes. The soldering iron is a pain in the ass and really needs two people to make it worth the effort. I haven’t got a laptop or anything going, but I have repaired some basic boards, nothing complicated though.”
Jared stared at Barry’s bowl for a second, then had a thought. “Could you repair a set of walkie-talkies?”
Barry heaved a big sigh, splaying his hands out. “I don’t know, man. Depends on how complicated the motherboard is, how bad the damage is, stuff like that. The simpler a component is, the easier it is to work with.”
Jared slowly rocked his head back and forth in thought. He’d have to take this up with John and get his take on the value of having a couple of working communication devices. There were too many things they needed to do before Carnegie got a foothold in the area, and Jared was beginning to feel like time was gaining speed, making their every action a binding contract for their very future.
Jared thought about eating, but decided to find John. He grabbed his rifle and made his way out the front door, scanning the property before walking toward the barn. The sound of the Thackers’ tractor caught Jared’s ear as it rounded the far side of the barn. Quinten drove, while John clung to the side of the piece of machinery. Jared saw John tap Quinten and point his way. Quinten steered the tractor up next to Jared and killed the noisy engine.
John dropped to the ground and waved Quinten on. “I’ll catch up in a few,” he hollered as Quinten tipped his hat in genuine country style, started the old tractor, and rolled off, heading toward the west side of the property.
John fished a piece of paper from his pocket, offering it to Jared. “We are building a fire base right here at the ranch. Trenches will be dug today. It’s all on the paper,” John announced with a grin.
Jared slowly opened the paper and saw a hand-drawn sketch of the Thackers’ property complete with the additions of trenches and other fighting holes.
John snatched the paper from Jared’s hands, spun it so the little map was directionally oriented, and handed it back. “The entire thing is designed to be able to fall back fighting while in the cover of the trenches.” John pointed at a point on the map. “If we are about to be overrun, we continue to fall back. The house will appear to be our last stand, but that motherfucker can be burned down, so the house is a Trojan horse.”
Jared studied the map and saw what John was going on about. As long as Quinten’s tractor didn’t break down, this plan might offer them all a slim chance. “What’s the Trojan horse?” Jared asked, not fully comprehending John’s plan after they would fall back to the ranch house.
Again, John jabbed a dirty finger at an area on the back side of the Thackers’ house. “They have a basement. We are going to dig out this area and break through to the basement wall. We dig a hole here, cover it with wood planks, and cover those with dirt. Once they think we’re all trapped in the house, I’m sure they’ll burn it, shoot it, basically destroy the place, thinking we’re inside. That’s when we’ll counterattack,” John concluded as if the counterattack’s success was a forgone conclusion.
“That’s it?” Jared exclaimed skeptically. “We’re just gonna pop out of a hole and kill ’em all—that’s your plan?” Jared pushed.
John’s face darkened. “If it even gets to that point. I mean, we may drive ’em off before we have to fall back to the house, so the plan all depends on how well we do in the beginning.”
Jared analyzed the paper again, lifting his eyes to drink in the relating terrain surrounding the ranch.
“You got a better idea?” John asked impatiently.
Jared made a mental count of the men and women they had at their disposal, frowned, then dropped his hands to his sides. “What’s the deal with the cattle? How many and who is going to move them?”
“Probably like we agreed last night, Calvin and the Thacker kid.”
Jared adjusted his head, ten able-bodied adults and two kids, who wouldn’t be involved in the fighting, as far as Jared was concerned. “Why don’t you and Rip stay out of the fight? I will run things in the trenches with the rest of the people. We can use the kids to—just not to fight.”
“I will be in the trenches, Jared. What the hell? You not get enough sleep, fall out of bed and hit your head—I’m in the trenches.”
Jared shook his head emphatically, holding out the paper so both men could see its information. “No, you can’t be. You’re going to be out here.” Jared pointed to the west of the ranch. “With that SEAL’s sniper rifle you took.” Jared shifted his attention to the surrounding landscape, sweeping his hand to the north. “They will come from that direction; it’s the shortest distance from cover. They’ll only be in the flat openness of the pastures for, like…” Jared stared at the distance between the tree line and the ranch, trying to put it into yards or feet or some measurement his mind would understand.
“Five hundred yards,” John murmured, finishing Jared’s sentence, which sparked an idea in John’s tactical mind that had previously remained clouded by a sense he needed to stand elbow to elbow with his friends during this battle. John could be ferocious in a fight, but smart might be the better choice this time around.
“How far can that grenade thing Rip has go?” Jared asked, ignorant of any nomenclature, including what range the weapon was effective to.
John wagged his head. “Rip stays with you all. His M203 only has about a four-hundred-yard range, so placing him away from the ranch will take him out of play.”
Jared tugged at his beard thoughtfully. “The kids—the kids can be decoys,” he said slowly.
Oh boy, I gotta hear this, thought John.
Jared released his beard, transitioning to biting the inside of his lip. “I need you to help push this, Shannon is going to push back, and I have no idea how Carlos will feel about it.”
John stared placidly at Jared, waiting to hear what the younger man planned on having the kids do in the middle of an all-out firefight with the local warlord and his militia.
“I want to have them use sticks and hats to draw fire away from us, farther down the trenches—give those soldiers more things to shoot at other than us.”
John couldn’t hold it back and burst out laughing. “Shannon’s gonna throat punch you when she hears this plan.” More laughter as John, now doubled over, tried to speak. “Please—I’m begging you,” he choked out between wheezes. “Please make sure I’m there when you lay this shit on her,” John finally was able to blurt out.
Jared’s scowling look stopped John’s laughter, well, most of it. “I need your help here, John. I know she won’t like it, but the alternative is a lot worse.”
John’s face remained glowing with humor, but his tone took on a seriousness. “I know, and I will back your play on this. I just don’t get a lot of chances to see funny shit anymore, and, well, this is a great opportunity.”
Jared snorted, bringing the paper back up and returning his attention to it.
John clapped Jared on the shoulder. “You’ve made some great suggestions, man. I think I have a way of making your idea even better though.”
Chapter 9
After Jared and John hashed out Jared’s additions to John’s original plan, they found and briefed Rip on the changes. Rip was carrying an armful of spray-paint cans, which he later used to mark the trenches so Quinten could use the tractor to excavate them. John and Rip made sure Quinten pulled the dirt out of the trenches and deposited it on the enemy’s side, adding height to every foot of trench he dug. Small-arms fire would not penetrate the three-to-four-foot mounds of dirt piled up on the ground outside the trenches, but a rocket would. They all hoped Carnegie didn’t bring rockets to the party.
Barry and Carlos helped shovel dirt out of the bottom of the trenches, taking turns with Jared, John and Rip. Quinten was a skillful operator, which helped speed along the construction of their fighting positions. By the end of the first day, they’d completed two twenty-five-yard-long trenches across the north side of the property. Both John and Rip agreed an attack would likely come from this area because it allowed the enemy the most cover during their approach.
John’s opinion was both sides would know a great deal about the other side before any shots were fired. The battle would be decided by a subtle nuance, a tiny detail one side marginalized while the other side wielded it like a mighty sword. This was the way of war; it hadn’t changed since the first group of men marched on another group. No matter how many sophisticated weapons scientists placed on the battlefield, this part of war remained unaltered.
As the men secured for the day, John glanced across the fields, wondering if enemy eyes were already peering through expensive optics, reporting their every move. He couldn’t worry about the things he held no control over, but still they tugged at the back of his mind, causing a dark cloud to hang over him. John knew they needed to get these trenches dug so they could get to running patrols. Once they had men in the hills, John would have a better grasp on what he and his friends were going up against. Until that time, John would dig, he relented regretfully.
At dinner that evening, they ate fresh spinach that Margie pulled from her garden. Supplementing the greens was some venison Rip had shot the day Jared and John returned. Overall, it was a good meal if not a little gamey. Jared still hadn’t found his palette all that much in agreement with the gamey taste of most of the deer he’d eaten to date, but it was nourishment, and he was usually so damned hungry, he ate, drank water, and didn’t give it much thought.
Quinten finished and laid his fork on his plate. “Tomorrow, I think we can finish off those trenches and then bring them together in a single trench back to the house. Day after that, I’ll dig out the Alamo,” he finished without creating the levity he’d been looking for.
No one responded other than a couple of nods and a grunt or two. John was thinking about the sniper factor Jared had brought up and how he could best employ the rifle in the upcoming fight. The ranch sat five hundred yards from the hills to the north, the hills he suspected Carnegie would attack from. The closest hills to the south were nearly a half mile away. This posed a critical problem for John. The combined distances were pushing the limits of the SEAL sniper rifle.
John always had a work-around, and in this case, he’d decided to use the tractor to dig a hole deep enough to hide Cody’s quad in. The south side of the hole would be gently sloped, enabling John to drive the quad in and out of the hole. The north end of the hole would also slope up in a manner John could use it to fire to the north from a prone position.
If he took accurate fire from hostiles, John planned on jumping on the quad and riding to the next hole he’d have Quinten dig. John estimated he would need four or five of these little hide spots to be truly effective in the battle. If the attack came in daylight, John would water down the front of his shooting position in hopes of getting as many shots off as possible without being discovered. Dry dirt tended to billow up in a gritty plume of dust when a high-powered rifle was fired from the prone position, making it easy for opposing forces to pinpoint a sniper’s FFP, or final firing position.
John would not be wearing a ghillie suit and covering himself in vegetation like most people imagined snipers. No, this operation was not one of slow methodical movement, coalescing in a single precision shot to a high-value target’s head. This would be a fluid fast-moving mission, one John based on thinning the enemy’s numbers as a whole. John’s goal was to reduce the enemy, not harass or demoralize them by killing a key leader. The only exception to this would be heavier weapons. If John could eliminate Carnegie’s machine gunners along with any other crew-served weapons, Jared and the rest of the group would have a much easier go of things in the trenches.
Stephani’s hand on his arm broke John’s train of thought. “You okay?” she asked tenderly. Her tone was a stark departure from her normally stoic and self-confident persona, causing John to gulp as he stared up at her, a ghost of a smile tugging at the edges of his lips when he realized she seemed genuinely concerned.
“Ah, I’m fine. Just thinking about what’s coming,” John answered, hoping, but knowing his answer would not suffice.
Everyone else at the table was finishing up and for the most part paid John and Stephani little to no attention. When it came to Jared and Shannon, or John and Stephani, people tended to look the other way when they came together, whispering or seemingly engaged in semiprivate matters. With everyone living on top of one another, real privacy was mostly nonexistent, so people tended to turn away or act as though they weren’t aware out of respect for each couple’s inability to isolate during those private moments.
This evening was no different as members of the group finished, got up, and cleared their dishes from the table. Stephani gave John a sly tilt of her head toward the front door before turning and striding gracefully across the room.
Having observed the entire episode, Shannon got to her feet, grabbing John’s dishes, signaling to him that he had better follow the former lawyer. Not wanting the wrath of two women, John pulled himself to his feet and snatched up his rifle on his way out the front door. Stephani was waiting on the gravel driveway below the porch, staring back as John exited the house.
“What’s up?” John preempted.
“Nope, you don’t get to do that.”
John slowed as he dropped heavily off each step until he stood level with Stephani. He thought briefly about continuing his charade, but frankly, he was too tired. “I’m not sure this is going to turn out like we want it to,” John murmured.
Stephani’s mouth tightened into an anxious slit across her pretty face. “Why don’t we just leave, then? Take Essie, Jared and Shannon and just leave. Quinten can stay and die if he wants. We don’t have to.”
Wearing the shadow of a lopsided grimace, John cast a glance back at the house. “Honestly, I don’t think Jared would leave these people. That means Essie and Shannon stay. You and I can’t just pack up and leave. We can’t be the only ones; I can’t do that. Jared and I have been through too much for me to leave him to die.”
Stephani stepped into John, grabbing his arms with her small hands. “I fought like hell in my old job, but I also knew when it was time to negotiate or settle cases in order to survive to fight another day. This is one of those times, I can feel it. You said it yourself, things aren’t going to go good for us here,” Stephani urged, her face clouded with concern.
John looked down into possibly the most earnest face he’d ever seen. He moved his arms so he could hold both of Stephani’s hands. John could see the beginnings of jeweled droplets forming on her eyelashes. Fear and frustration coupled with uncertainty was proving too much for the normally strong Stephani. John took both thumbs and gently wiped Stephani’s eyes before pulling her into his embrace.
“We stay, we fight, and we survive,” John whispered in her ear. “I promise you when this is over, I will be standing, waiting for you.”
Stephani’s body convulsed softly with a sob as her arms wrapped around John’s neck with some ferocity. They remained locked as one for some time, John allowing Stephani to compose herself while drying her face on his shirt. When Stephani finally pulled back, her face still glistening with the fresh wetness of her emotions, John leaned down and planted a kiss directly on her mouth.
For the briefest of moments, he was quite sure she would recoil, but he didn’t care. This time next month, one or both of them might not even be alive. With time winding down faster with each passing day, John felt a sense of urgency in his life. Not a desperate feeling driving him to rash actions, but more a need to tie up loose ends. Stephani was definitely a loose end in John’s world. They’d shared a moment in a small house along the San Joaquin River several months before, but hadn’t followed it up due to privacy and the ridiculous workload everyone toiled under.
Stephani hadn’t expected John to kiss her, which caused a split second of paralysis on her part. As she felt John stiffen at her lack of participation, she gave herself to him. Rising on her tiptoes and tilting her head a touch, she relaxed her face, allowing their mouths to meld into one. Stephani moaned softly as a very unfamiliar wave of euphoria spread throughout her body like a crimson drop of food coloring plunged into a clear glass of water. Her hands tightened on his shirt as her back flexed into a slight arch, drawing John closer.
