Seek and Destroy

CHAPTER 2

FORT HOOD, TEXAS

The air should have been eighty-five degrees instead of sixty-five. But that’s how things were now that less sunlight reached the surface of the planet. Still, the cooler air would make for a comfortable run. Not a long one, just 3.15 miles around an oval-shaped course located just off Sadowski Road.

The run was a daily ritual… something Victoria Macintyre did each morning before taking a shower and reporting to work at Fort Hood’s Special Forces Command.

As Victoria ran, she heard the rhythmic slap, slap, slap of feet coming up from behind her and pulled over to let the fast mover by. Except that he didn’t pass, and when she turned to look, Victoria saw that General Bo Macintyre was running next to her. Her father had a high forehead, arched eyebrows, and intense eyes. His typical “I don’t give a shit” grin was firmly in place. “I knew I could find you here… You’re way too predictable. That could get you killed.”

“Would that bother you?”

“Of course it would,” he answered. “Good officers are hard to find.”

And that, Victoria knew, was as mushy as any conversation with her father was going to get. That was fine with her. They knew what they knew, and there was no need to discuss it constantly. Would Robin agree? No, she liked the gushy stuff.

Bo began to pull ahead, just as he always did, trying to finish first. Victoria knew that her sister Robin would allow him to beat her, and Bo would resent it. He wanted to win fair and square or not at all. So Victoria increased her pace, blew past him, and left her father in the dust. She was sitting on a bench when he finished the run. He plopped down beside her. “I’m getting old.”

Victoria nodded. “And cantankerous.”

“I’ve always been cantankerous.”

“True… I can’t argue with that.”

Bo smiled. “I have orders for you.” Victoria reported to a colonel, who reported to Bo and was careful to stay out of the way.

“Okay, what’s up?”

“There’s a warlord in Wyoming. His name is Robert Howard. He was a Green Beret before the meteor strikes. Then he went over the hill—and took two of his buddies with him. Now he calls himself the warlord of warlords, and he controls a large chunk of north-central Wyoming. More than that,” Bo added, “Howard claims to be the reincarnated spirit of Subutai.”

Victoria frowned. “Genghis Khan’s chief strategist.”

“Exactly,” Bo said approvingly. “As Subutai, Howard claims to be the spiritual nexus around whom other members of Khan’s horde are supposed to organize prior to fighting a war for world dominance. That’s when the Khan will return to rule them. It’s total bullshit, needless to say, but an idiot is born every minute.”

Victoria eyed him. “Okay, and we care because?”

“We care because Howard is, and could continue to be, a destabilizing force. For example, Howard sent suicide bombers to kill Sloan a week ago and damned near succeeded.”

Victoria nodded. “According to the Intel summary, Sloan killed two people himself.”

“The man has balls,” Bo admitted. “And he’s a bigger problem than Lemaire thought he’d be.”

“Okay, I get it,” Victoria replied. “Howard is a good thing. For the moment at least.”

“Correct,” her father confirmed. “So the general staff wants you to go up there, give Howard a present, and make nice. The more resources he sucks away from General Hern’s army, the better. Hern is a grinder… Once he takes a yard of ground, he tends to hold it… And we need a way to weaken him.”

“Kind of like the Canadian attack on Maine.”

“Exactly like the Canadian attack on Maine.”

“I’ll get on it.”

“Written orders are waiting in your office.”

“Thanks.”

“There’s one other thing, Victoria… Something you need to know. The Union wasn’t paying much attention to Howard, but they are now, and that includes assembling a battalion to go after him.”

Victoria shrugged. “That’s predictable.”

“Yes, it is,” her father replied. “But there’s something more. We have an agent in that battalion… And, according to him, your sister has orders to join the unit.”

Victoria knew that Robin was fighting for the Union and that they had been within miles of each other in Murfreesboro. She frowned. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because even though Robin was too lazy to attend the academy, and went to OCS, she’s had more than her share of success as a cavalry officer. Robin was the one they sent to rescue Sloan from the fuck-up in Richton… And she pulled it off. She’s dangerous, Victoria… Don’t underestimate her.”

Victoria felt a swirl of conflicting emotions. This was the first time she’d heard her father express approval of her sister since the day Robin graduated from high school, and it didn’t sit well. She was Bo’s favorite and wanted it to stay that way. “Don’t worry, sir,” Victoria said, as she switched to being a major again. “If I run into Robin, I will take her very seriously indeed.”

CASPER, WYOMING

The Osprey V-22 banked as it passed over Casper, Wyoming. The aircraft didn’t have windows, but the rear hatch was open, which allowed Mac to catch glimpses of the ground. What had been a small city to begin with was even smaller after the cholera epidemic had decimated the population two months earlier.

The pain and misery associated with that wasn’t visible from the air, however… And as the VTOL continued to make a wide, sweeping turn—Mac had the impression of orderly streets, bare-limbed trees, and occasional patches of dirty snow. Then she got a glimpse of what must be Fort Carney. The makeshift military base was adjacent to a fire-ravaged housing development south of town. An array of antennas marked the center of the fort and were located next to what looked like a mound of dirt but probably marked the location of an underground command center.

That was surrounded by a ring of prefab buildings, some of which were vehicle shelters. A spiderweb-like network of roads and trenches led out to the vehicle-mounted surface-to-air missile launchers that would protect the base from unmanned drones, low-flying fixed-wing aircraft, and helicopters. And all of it was protected by a forty-foot-long wall of shipping containers.

They were made of steel, and the tops of the rectangular boxes had been removed so that they could be filled with tons of dirt. Mac knew that such containers were approximately eight feet wide. That meant the wall could withstand just about anything fired directly at it. And with machine-gun emplacements on top of the barrier and mortar pits behind it, Fort Carney would be a tough nut to crack. “Check your seat belts,” a voice said over the intercom, “we’re thirty from dirt.”

The engines tilted up, and what had been a plane became a helicopter. The Osprey landed hard, and the rotors were responsible for a momentary dust storm. Mac was content to let the engines spool down before releasing the harness and getting to her feet. “Don’t worry about your bags, ma’am,” the crew chief told her. “We’ll send them over to the BOQ.”

Mac thanked him, took her M4 carbine, and made her way down the ramp. A lieutenant was waiting to greet her. He was wearing a black Stetson like those worn by cavalrymen in the 1800s. It was covered with a fine patina of dust and decorated with crossed sabers and a gold cord. Being a cavalry officer, Mac knew that such hats weren’t authorized. But some unit commanders would tolerate them for the sake of morale, and it appeared that Lieutenant Colonel Crowley was one of them.

The lieutenant came to attention and saluted. “Good morning, ma’am. Lieutenant Bobby Perkins at your service… I’m one of your platoon leaders and the acting company commander. Welcome to Fort Carney.”

Mac returned the salute. “Thank you, Lieutenant… My name is Robin Macintyre. But I suppose you knew that. Where do I report?”

“The colonel would like to meet with you, ma’am… Please follow me.”

The officers fell into step as they left the landing pad and made their way toward the mound located in the middle of the compound. Had Perkins been hoping for a bump to captain? And the slot as Bravo Company’s CO? If so, Mac couldn’t see any sign of it on his face. “I see our personnel are wearing Stetsons,” Mac observed, as a private crossed their path. “Is this a special day?”

“No, ma’am,” Perkins replied. “We wear them every day.”

That was strange but in keeping with what Granger had told her about Lieutenant Colonel Crowley. And there was something else as well. “Tell me about your shoulder patch,” Mac said. “The one with Uncle Sam on it.”

Perkins glanced at her. “The battalion consists of people like me. All of us are from the South, but we oppose the New Order and came north to fight for our country. That’s why we were authorized to wear the patch. The government doesn’t trust us, though. So they dropped us into a single battalion and sent it here.”

Perkins’s voice had been flat up until then. But some bitterness was starting to come through. “Wyoming is a long way from the New Mason-Dixon Line,” he added. “So if we run, they’ll have plenty of time in which to track us down.”

When Mac stopped, Perkins had to do likewise. Their eyes met. “Is that why they sent for me? Because they don’t trust you?”

Perkins looked away. “I’m sorry, ma’am… I was out of line. Please accept my apologies.”

“Answer the question, Lieutenant.”

Perkins looked at her. His eyes were green. “Yes, ma’am. As things stand now, none of the Southern volunteers are allowed to command a company. Even if they had that level of responsibility prior to the meteor strikes.”

“I see,” Mac replied. “Thanks for the briefing.”

“Bravo Company, which is to say your company, is ready for anything, Captain. You can depend on us.”

“I will,” Mac promised him. “What kind of vehicles do we have?”

“Strykers, ma’am. Three for each platoon. Plus a couple of Humvees, a fueler, and a wrecker.”

Mac nodded. “Good. After I meet with the colonel, I’d like to make the rounds. Nothing formal… Just a ‘Hi, there.’”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be ready.”

A sergeant saluted the officers as they neared the mound, and they responded in kind. As they got closer, Mac was surprised to see that two soldiers were guarding the entrance. “You’ll need to show ID,” Perkins said as he produced a card.

“Why? We’re inside the wall.”

“Suicide bombers,” Perkins replied. “Crazy people who believe that Robert Howard is the reincarnated spirit of Genghis Khan’s XO. And, since they believe in reincarnation, they aren’t afraid to die. One of them managed to roll under a six-by-six, cling to the frame, and infiltrate the base a couple of weeks ago. She was two hundred feet from the command post when her vest exploded prematurely.”

“Okay, then,” Mac said as she proffered her card. “Suicide bombers, check.”

Once inside, Perkins led Mac down a ramp into the spacious room below. The lighting was dim, live drone feeds could be seen on flat-panel displays, and the atmosphere conveyed a sense of hushed efficiency.

Perkins led Mac around the circular “war pit” to a side room. It was separated from the pit by a curtain that consisted of long leather strips. A wooden block was attached to the wall under a plaque that read, LIEUTENANT COLONEL WESLEY CROWLEY.

Perkins rapped his knuckles on the block, and Mac heard a voice say, “Enter.”

Perkins stepped inside first, came to attention, and announced himself. Then it was Mac’s turn. “Captain Robin Macintyre, reporting for duty, sir.”

Crowley was seated behind a wood table. His neck-length blond hair was way out of compliance with regs and parted in the middle. And, while the army didn’t allow mustaches or goatees, Crowley had one of each.

And the eccentricities didn’t stop there. Rather than camos, Crowley was dressed in a buckskin shirt with chest fringe and colorful beadwork. The overall look reminded Mac of General Custer. Was that intentional? And if so, why? Especially given the way Custer’s career came to an end. Two pearl-handled Colt .45 semiauto pistols were revealed when Crowley stood. “Welcome to Fort Carney, Captain… We’re lucky to have an officer like you… If you’ll excuse us, Lieutenant, the captain and I have some things to discuss.”

Perkins came to attention, saluted, and did an about-face. The leather strips made a swishing sound as he left.

“Please,” Crowley said, “have a seat. So you were serving under my classmate, Major Frank Granger. Is he still a brown-nosing, by-the-book asshat?”

Mac couldn’t remember hearing a superior officer refer to a peer that way before and wasn’t sure how to respond. Was Crowley joking? Or was he serious? There was no way to be sure. “Major Granger is my CO, sir… And he sends his regards.”

Crowley chuckled. “Well played, Macintyre… Well played. Enough happy horseshit. Let’s get down to brass tacks. The powers that be gave me this command for three reasons: To get rid of me, to get rid of me, and to get rid of me.

“But I’m going to surprise the spineless bastards by tracking Sergeant Robert Howard down, removing his balls, and hanging them over my door.”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“And that,” Crowley continued, “will be in spite of the Confederate traitors they sent me. Rebs! Can you believe it? Fighting for the North. But not you, Captain… You’re from Idaho. I checked.”

Mac didn’t know what to say, except, “Sir, yes, sir.”

“Sleep with a gun,” Crowley advised. “That’s what I do. Who knows? The whole lot of them might go over the hill. But not before we nail Howard! I’ll give you two days to settle in. Then we’re going to launch Operation Hydra.”

“Hydra, sir?”

“Yes. Howard refers to himself as the warlord of warlords. And it’s true. No less than five lesser warlords have sworn allegiance to him. His logo is a serpent with six heads. I plan to sever them one by one. Perkins has the operational stuff. Study it and be ready to roll.”

Mac knew a dismissal when she heard one and stood. “Is there anything else, sir?”

“Yes. My other company commanders are a bit green… So I’m going to name you as XO. Perkins will bring you up to speed.”

Serving as second-in-command to a nutcase was the last thing Mac wanted to do. But there was only one answer she could give, and that was, “Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.” The meeting was over.

FORT KNOX, KENTUCKY

Rather than helicopter into the American base, Canada’s ambassador was forced to land in Louisville, where a limo was waiting to pick him up. Because in the wake of Canada’s attack on Maine, the two countries were theoretically at war… even if none had been declared. And Fort Knox’s commanding officer wasn’t about to let hostile aircraft enter his airspace.

So with a police escort ahead of and behind his car, the ambassador was forced to endure a long ride. And the route had been chosen with care. It took him onto a freeway that was half-clogged with military traffic before taking him to Fort Knox, where even more military might was on display.

Finally, the ambassador was delivered to the front of an enormous tent. Sloan no longer lived there. But the tent had become a symbol of his presidency, and he continued to use it for ceremonial purposes. Secretary of State Henderson was waiting out front to greet the ambassador and escort him inside.

First, the two men had to pass through the gauntlet of reporters that Besom had allowed to witness the arrival. They peppered the diplomats with questions. “Mr. Secretary! Is the United States going to surrender to Canada?”

“Mr. Ambassador! Is it true that Canada has entered into an alliance with the Confederacy?”

“Mr. Secretary! Is the United States planning to invade Canada?”

Henderson waved to them before following Ambassador McGowan into the tent’s chilly interior. An aide led them back to Sloan’s office. The fact that it was equipped with campaign-style furniture and was reminiscent of a Civil War general’s field quarters was no accident. There were some modern amenities as well, including electric lights and the bank of flat-panel TVs mounted on a roll-around rack.

Sloan had met McGowan before, but as Secretary of Energy and under more pleasant circumstances. Now, as they shook hands, the mood was anything but cordial. “Mr. President.”

“Mr. Ambassador… Please have a seat. Would you care for some refreshments?”

A space heater was purring in a corner, but McGowan could still see his breath. “Yes, a cup of tea would be nice.”

“Good,” Sloan replied. “One will be along shortly. So, let’s speak frankly… Your government sent soldiers into our sovereign territory, where they killed a number of our troops and civilians. I’m prepared to accept an immediate apology and your promise to withdraw your forces by noon tomorrow.”

McGowan opened his mouth to speak but closed it as the tea arrived. Once both men had been served, the conversation resumed. “I will convey your offer to my government,” McGowan said stiffly. “But it’s my duty to inform you that an apology and withdrawal are extremely unlikely. Some of our leading legal scholars have called the Webster-Ashburton Treaty’s legality into question and, until that matter is resolved, the troops must remain.”

Henderson cleared his throat. “The treaty that Ambassador McGowan refers to brought the Pork and Beans War of 1838 to an end. No shots were fired.”

“As I said,” McGowan said, “it is our wish to renegotiate what was, and is, a lopsided treaty. The territory presently occupied by our troops is rightfully a part of Canada. We suggest a cooling-off period of sixty days with discussions to follow. Or, if you prefer, the United States can simply cede the area in question to Canada.”

It was all grade-A horseshit. The Canadians were trying to aid the Confederacy by opening negotiations that would drag on and on. In the meantime, Sloan would have to park a regiment of troops in Maine to prevent any further incursions and placate thousands of irate voters.

Sloan sighed and took a sip of coffee. “Okay, Mr. Ambassador… Have it your way. Please direct your attention to the television monitors. If you examine the programming closely, you’ll find that all of the feeds are coming in from Canada. And, all of them are coming to us via satellites launched by other countries. That’s because you have no space program to speak of. It’s been a thrifty policy but one that’s going to cost you since we’re about to destroy the satellite that carries the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. Secretary Henderson? Give the order.”

Henderson was seated next to McGowan. He spoke into a cell phone. “This is Secretary Henderson. Kill it.”

The Canadian Broadcasting Corporation channel snapped to black. “That’s impossible,” McGowan said contemptuously. “You’re trying to trick me.”

“Nope,” Sloan replied. “CBC is off the air… The SRC network will go down an hour from now—and the CTV network will go dark an hour after that. Though the Confederates took control of our country’s GPS satellites early on, they didn’t get everything, and that includes the killer satellites that were developed to wage war on China and Russia.

“So, unless you apologize and withdraw, we will not only kill all of the satellites that you rely on, we’ll cut your transatlantic and transpacific telephone cables, too.”

McGowan’s cell phone was in his coat pocket. It began to chime. “Uh-oh,” Sloan said. “I think someone in Ottawa is watching CBC.”

McGowan looked up at the CBC monitor. It wasn’t black anymore. A shot of a wind-whipped American flag filled the screen. And when Sloan aimed his remote at the TV, and pressed the MUTE button, the sound came on. McGowan’s face turned a deathly shade of white as the strains of “America the Beautiful” were heard. “Secretary Henderson will see you out,” Sloan said. “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass.”

CASPER, WYOMING

The steel gates rumbled as they parted to let Alpha Company leave Fort Carney. A Humvee led the way, with the Stars and Stripes flying and Lieutenant Colonel Crowley riding shotgun. The name BETTY SUE had been stenciled onto both sides of the vehicle. But most of the enlisted soldiers called it the “BM,” or bullet magnet, because any fool could tell that it was a staff car. And nine times out of ten, the person assigned to drive it had done something to get on the sergeant major’s shit list. Nine Strykers followed. Each carried a squad of infantry.

Mac and her company departed next. Bravo Company was almost identical to Alpha Company although Mac preferred to ride in a Stryker rather than a Humvee.

That left the men and women of Charlie Company and Crowley’s headquarters company to hold the fort, and that was important. Because if the fort were undermanned, Howard might very well attack.

The plan called for Crowley to take Alpha Company west, then north, to the tiny town of Arminto. It had originally been home to a handful of people. Then a band of convicts led by a brute named Cory Burns broke out of the state pen in Rawlins. They were in the process of laying waste to the surrounding area when a combined force of Shoshone and Arapahos drove them out. The gang arrived in Arminto shortly thereafter, with a convoy of tractor-trailer rigs, a wild assortment of RVs, and a dozen rat rods.

In less than a week, Arminto was transformed from ghost town to a miniature sin city, complete with a whorehouse, a busy saloon, and a store where their loot could be purchased at bargain prices. Sometimes by the very people from whom it had been stolen.

Of course, that was small-time to a man like Howard, who sent a message to Burns. It was written on a piece of paper that had been nailed to a man’s forehead. “This could be you. Join the horde or die. Yours truly, Robert Howard.”

Burns hurried to accept the invitation and had been paying a 10 percent “tithe” to Howard ever since. And that’s why Crowley was going to level Arminto.

In the meantime, Mac was being sent north and east to show the flag and keep Howard off balance, which was fine with Mac. The trip would give her a chance to get the lay of the land and assess what her company was capable of. Mac felt the wind buffet her face as she led them onto 87 eastbound. She was standing in the Stryker’s forward air-guard hatch with her feet planted on the bench seat below. Her jacket was zipped, and she was wearing three layers of clothing. Unfortunately, the cold air still managed to find its way in and make her shiver.

The land on both sides of the highway was flat and arid, which made it perfect for cavalry. That gave Mac an idea… Rather than wait for the 59 north turnoff and follow the highway north as planned, she threw Perkins a curve. “This is Bravo-Six. Bravo-Five is going to take us to the town of Wright by traveling cross-country. One-one will fall back, and three-one will take point. Over.”

If Perkins was surprised or concerned about his ability to follow Mac’s orders, there was no trace of it in his voice. “This is Five. Roger that… Moving up. Over.”

So far so good, Mac thought to herself, as one-one pulled out of the column and let the rest of the trucks pass. Her impressions had been positive so far. The Southerners had been regular army or reservists prior to the war and were technically proficient. They were also polite and almost unfailingly cheerful.

But those characteristics weren’t enough to conceal the dissatisfaction that was eroding the unit’s morale. In spite of all they had sacrificed to fight for the North, the Union Army didn’t trust them. That rankled.

With three-one in the lead and one-one in the nine slot, Perkins led the company off the north side of the highway. Mac listened approvingly as her XO ordered their UAV pilot to launch the company’s RQ-11 Raven. The drone was equipped with color cameras and an infrared night-vision camera. Under prewar conditions, the tiny aircraft could use GPS waypoint navigation. But the rebs controlled the GPS system, so Staff Sergeant Maureen “Mo” Henry would have to “fly” the Raven while bouncing around in a Humvee.

Still, thanks to the UAV, Perkins would be able to eyeball what lay ahead. Because even though the terrain was mostly flat—there were plenty of dips, riverbeds, and gullies in which the enemy could be hiding. What followed was an often jarring ride as the trucks waddled over boulders, lurched up out of ravines, and sprayed loose gravel at the vehicles behind them. Mac felt sorry for the soldiers down in the cargo bay and hoped they were strapped in.

It was interesting to watch Perkins solve problems. His first decision was to increase the intervals that separated the vics so each Stryker had more room in which to maneuver. But as the space between the trucks increased, the column started to lose cohesion. That raised the possibility that attackers could cut the company in two.

Perkins solved that problem by creating two columns traveling side by side. That meant they could still support each other and laager up if that became necessary. Mac approved. Perkins knew his shit. A female voice came through her headset. “Bravo-Twelve to Bravo-Five. I see a flat area up ahead. It looks like an airstrip. Over.”

Mac consulted her map and couldn’t see any indication of an airfield. She spoke into her mike. “This is Six… Let’s pull up. Keep your heads on a swivel. Over.”

Mac heard a series of double clicks as she dropped down into the cargo bay. The air was thick with the stench of vomit. “Private Ray barfed into his brain bucket,” Sergeant Fisk explained. “Can we drop the ramp and air the bay out?”

“Absolutely,” Mac responded. “But let’s stay ready to roll.”

Fisk nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Mac turned to look at the forward-mounted drone monitor. The Raven was circling an area so flat, and so clear of obstructions, that it didn’t look natural. In fact, as Mac looked more closely, she saw the mounds of debris that bordered both sides of the runway. “This is Six,” she said. “I’m taking Bravo-One-One and his squad forward to take a look. Five will assume command. This would be a good time for a bio break. Over.”

As Mac turned toward the ramp, she heard Perkins issue an order that half of the trucks were to be manned at all times. Her confidence in him continued to grow.

Fisk and his squad were waiting outside the vehicle. “The flat is about a mile away, Sergeant. I’ll take the point. Let’s move.”

Mac chose to jog and, since she wasn’t wearing a pack, it felt good. When Mac glanced over her shoulder, she saw that the rest of the squad was behind her, with Fisk in the ten slot. That meant both halves of the squad would have leadership if it was cut in two.

The route took them across some hardpan, down into a snowy riverbed, and up a gravelly slope. As they neared the top, the terrain began to flatten out. That was when Mac raised a hand, and the squad came to a halt. “I don’t know who created this,” she told the soldiers. “Or why they did so. So don’t leave any more tracks than you have to. Fort up while I take a look.”

Fisk didn’t like that, judging from the expression on his face. He wanted to send the entire squad. But that couldn’t be helped. The flat area didn’t look right… And if the bad guys were up to something, then why let them know that people were onto them?

Mac sat on a rock in order to remove her boots. Then she went forward without them. The ground was cold, too cold for socks, and there were lots of little rocks.

But as Mac looked back, she could see that the strategy was working. There were no footprints. Not so in the middle of the flat area. Mac could see that a plane had landed during a thaw and left tracks that were frozen in place. But why? The makeshift landing strip wasn’t adjacent to a ranch, much less a town, so what was its purpose?

But, Mac thought, maybe that’s the point. Maybe somebody put it out in the boonies, so it wouldn’t attract attention. Mac looked up, and because she knew it was there, could see the drone. “Six to Bravo-Twelve. Can you see a trail, or a road that leads away from the airstrip?”

“That’s affirmative,” Henry replied. “A dirt track leads to the northwest.”

Mac thought about what that could mean. If the trail continued in that direction, it might connect with a highway. And the highway could take passengers or cargoes north to the area controlled by Howard. Of course, it could take them south, too. The secret strip was interesting either way. She turned and made her way back. Her feet were getting numb, and she hurried to pull her boots on. “Sergeant Henry.”

UAV pilot Mo Henry was standing nearby. She had red hair, green eyes, and freckles. “Ma’am?”

“Did you bring some trail cams with you? The ones we can leave behind?”

Henry nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Two of them.”

“Find a place to hide them. Let’s see who uses this strip… Sergeant Fisk, assign someone to give Henry a hand.”

The motion-activated cameras were similar to those used by hunters and scientists to snap pictures of elusive animals, except that they could upload data to a drone, and that’s why the UAV pilot was in charge of them.

After backtracking, the company resumed its trip to Wright, Wyoming. It was located on the edge of what Howard considered to be his fiefdom. And that’s why the town had been attacked on numerous occasions. But the people who lived there were tough—and had been able to keep “Howard’s Horde” at bay thus far.

As the Strykers continued cross-country, Mac took the opportunity to put each platoon leader and each platoon sergeant in command for a while, so that all of them could gain more experience. That resulted in a couple of screwups, but nothing serious. And rather than jump in, Mac made it a point to let people extract themselves from whatever trouble they were in.

The plan was to stay the night in Wright and return to Fort Carney the next day. But as the light started to fade, and Mac saw columns of smoke in the distance, she felt something cold trickle into her bloodstream. She was about to contact Henry when the UAV pilot spoke. “Bravo-Twelve to Six… The Raven is over Wright, and at least a dozen buildings are on fire. It looks like the town was overrun. Over.”

Mac knew she shouldn’t feel guilty but did. Had she pushed the company north, rather than going sideways, maybe things would have been different. “Can you see troops? Are they in control?”

“No,” Henry replied. “The smoke makes it hard to see, but it looks like they pulled out. Over.”

“This is Six,” Mac said. “One-one will take point. Stay sharp… We might be rolling into a trap. Over.”

There was no trap. That was evident when Bravo Company arrived on the outskirts of Wright twenty minutes later. An effort had been made to protect the center of the city by using the one thing the locals had plenty of, and that was rock. Countless tons of the stuff had been used to create the eight-foot-high barrier that circled the town. The only thing that could break through was a huge bulldozer. And in order to do so, the operator would have to cross a kill zone under fire from marksmen concealed behind the rocks. So how had the horde been able to succeed?

Mac dropped to the ground, ordered Perkins to secure the area, and led a squad of soldiers up to the rock wall. A blast-scorched truck had been left there. A ramp had been attached to the rear end of the vehicle. One end touched the ground, and the other was aimed at the compound beyond. Why?

Mac was thinking about that as she scrambled up over a pile of boulders to the top of the wall. The sun was about to set, but fires lit the city.

As Mac led the squad down onto the ground, a man emerged from the smoke-drifted gloom. His hair was white, his eyes stared out of caves, and a bloody arm hung useless at his side. “Now you come,” he said, as if correcting a child. “Late… Too late.”

“I’m sorry,” Mac replied. “We didn’t know. What happened?”

“We pulled back inside the wall when the horde came. But they were ready for that. They had trucks with ramps attached to them. Once the trucks were in position, motorcycle riders raced up the ramps and jumped over the wall! Each bike carried a rider… And each rider had a machine pistol. They rode every which way, killing and killing. Oh, we nailed some of them,” the man said grimly. “We sure as hell did… But not nearly enough. So they captured the town. And that’s when the real horror began.”

Mac felt a sense of foreboding. “What do you mean?”

“They herded everyone together, sorted them out, and shot every male they could find. Little boys included.”

“But why?” Mac wanted to know.

“To eliminate any possibility of revenge,” the man said, as tears ran down his cheeks. “I ran and hid in the church steeple… So I saw it happen. After dividing the females into two groups, young and old, they… they…” The man couldn’t bring himself to say it, but there was no need to. Mac knew that the older women had been executed.

Mac had never been exposed to an atrocity on such a scale. But she could imagine it—and fought to maintain her composure. “And the younger ones?”

“They were taken away,” the man said, “to be sold and used. They have my granddaughter, Sissy,” the man added. “I should have killed her… I thought about it, and I pointed the rifle, but I couldn’t pull the trigger. Find them, Captain… Find them and kill them.”

Mac was trying to formulate some sort of response when the man moved. “He has a gun!” Sergeant Gray shouted, but her warning came too late.

Mac was just starting to react when the gore-covered pistol came up under the man’s chin. His eyes were locked with hers as he pulled the trigger. Mac heard a bang and saw the light vanish from the man’s eyes. Then, as all strength left his knees, he crumpled to the ground.

It happened so quickly that the soldiers were caught flat-footed. Sergeant Gray was the first to speak. “The poor bastard… May he rest in peace.”

There isn’t going to be any peace, Mac thought to herself. Not until we find Robert Howard and kill him. And we need to do it quickly… For the women. For Sissy. There was a harsh quality to her voice. “Sergeant Gray.”

“Ma’am?”

“There has to be a gate. Find it. I’ll send for the second platoon’s ESV. We have lots of bodies to bury.”

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am.”

As it turned out, there were two gates. Both blocked by sliding steel doors, and both open. After entering through the one that faced west, the company’s Stryker M1132 Engineer Squad Vehicle or ESV went to work. It had a bulldozer blade mounted up front, and even though it had been designed to clear mines, the vic could be used to scoop out a mass grave. And when a soldier from the third platoon showed up driving a CAT, the task went that much faster.

Meanwhile, Mac put a squad to work photographing bodies, identifying them when that was possible, and “taking scalps.” A process that involved removing a small section of scalp from unidentified bodies that could be subjected to DNA testing later on. It was a grisly, heartbreaking business, and Mac told Perkins to rotate the “collection” teams every half hour.

Finally, as the sky began to lighten in the east, the job was done. During the hours of darkness, 253 bodies had been laid out side by side and covered over.

As far as the soldiers could make out, none of the dead had been members of the horde. That in spite of the fact that Howard’s “warriors” had suffered casualties. How could that be?

Mac knew the answer, or believed she did. Howard had been a Green Beret. That meant he was familiar with the injunction, “Leave no man behind.” Obviously, it was an injunction that had been imposed on the horde. It was more than a gang… It was an army.

They had no chaplain. But, according to Perkins, Corporal Forbes was the next best thing since he’d been studying to be a priest when the seminary he was going to kicked him out. And as the sun speared the town with rays of golden sunshine, Forbes removed his Stetson. He had a deep and resonant voice.

The company was exhausted. But by taking Highway 387 to I-25, they could reach the fort in a matter of hours. And that beat the hell out of staying in the burned-out town.

Besides… the faster they returned to Casper, the faster the battalion could go after Howard, rescue the women and girls from Wright, and stop the slaughter. Or so it seemed to Mac.

It was always dangerous to travel down a highway because that’s where the threat of IEDs and ambushes was highest. This, plus the fact that Mac’s soldiers were tired, was a recipe for disaster. So Mac spent the return trip on the radio pestering her troops with reminders, alerts, and friendly insults.

Fortunately, nothing happened. And as the company approached Fort Carney, Mac saw something new next to the main gate. It was a gore-drenched pole with a head on it. Warlord Cory Burns? Yes. It appeared that Colonel Crowley was back. And his attack on Arminto had been successful.

Would the general staff approve of a colonel who took heads? And put them on display? Hell no. But Mac knew that Crowley didn’t care. He was sending a message to Robert Howard. And the message was, “Fuck you, asshole. You’re next.”

Good, Mac thought to herself. Crazy Crowley is coming off a victory. That should put him in the mood to rescue those prisoners. She was wrong.