Phoenix continued staring at the small, wiry man. He appeared nervous and uncomfortable. Phoenix backed a step away. “Uncle, It’s obvious Tippy Cup knows more than he is saying, but apparently doesn’t want to be the bearer of, what he thinks, is bad news. Would you mind, being that I’m kinda pressed for time… would you mind letting Tippy know that he can safely speak what he knows, if you would, please?”
The tension in the air rose. Quickly, Larry stopped yelling orders into the radio, moving closer to the conversation. “What’s going on? Tippy, say what you gotta say. You hear me? You got a free pass right now. Isn’t that right, Phoenix?”
“Correct. There appears to be a slight window for that.”
Tippy Cup pushed the straggly blonde hair from his brown eyes, assessing his predicament. A calm confidence surrounded him, despite the blood seeping from his neck and the bustling chaos all around. At thirty-two, he was known as a fast-rising star tracker, near Luke in ability, and he’d made a name for himself in the slippery way he fought. Last year, his tactical strategy and overall presence during the annual Cleveland combat games came to the attention of both Larry and Phoenix. Pressing the bloody scarf harder to his neck, he decided he had little to lose after coming so close to death less than a half hour before.
“I think we’re dealing with an elite force and a top-notch leader.”
“Starkes?”
“No, sir. She and her team were probably pretty good, but this team right here comes across as more combat-seasoned, at least on the ground. Highly tactical.”
“In what way?” asked Larry.
“That’s a shitload of C4 just to blow a hole in a road and not kill but a few men. Better planning coulda caught up ten, maybe twenty times that amount.”
“So? They screwed up then—”
“No. That’s just it. That hole there’s meant to slow us down and string us out.”
“Hmm….”
“Plus…” Tippy Cup hesitated.
“Go on,” said Larry Reed, interested.
Phoenix stepped directly in front of Tippy Cup. “Your opinion’s got some weight, Tippy Cup, based on your military record and experience… don’t lose that being a fuckin’ hesitant pussy right now.”
“Yes, sir! It’s probably the same team that took those long shots down into the city, waiting until… well, waiting until we were sittin’ ducks on the bridges. Some fine shootin. And, it’s probably, likely anyhow, to be the same sniper guy and the same crew that fucked up our assault on the Hall of Fame. The same ones we tracked into the mill.”
“I see. You think the sniper’s waiting up ahead?”
“No sir, not yet. He’s probably running with the main force way behind the back cover team.”
“And why’s that?”
“This leader knows we have a large force comin’ their way. He saw it downtown. They took stock and made some nice shots at us and know we’re pissed. They probably figured out by now that we tracked them from Cleveland, or at least the mill now that they’ve seen us comin’.”
“So?”
“So, those shots on the bridge pretty much served the same purpose as the C4 did here.”
“To slow us down…” said Larry.
“Correct, sir.”
“You didn’t answer my question, Tippy. Why won’t the sniper be up ahead?”
“Oh, sorry sir, I thought I did. What I meant was he’s traveling with the main team ’cause he’s too valuable to be serving as the first line of defense near the rear guard.”
“If what you say is true, when will we meet up with him?”
“Umm, when the leader of this team wants us to, or we’re lucky and overrun them.”
“Your thoughts on that?”
“We’ll not overrun them tonight and not tomorrow. Probably not the next day either.”
“Why not?”
“Because they know where they’re going, probably know the terrain, have set up good rear defenses, are trying to string us out, are engaging the men up there now with their rear guard and will set up trap after trap unless we can gather our forces up ahead over the next few days and come at them full force.”
“Is that all?”
“Then, your men can take them at will. Patience will win the day.”
“Larry?”
“Yeah?”
“Give Tippy Cup a field promotion to brigade commander.”
“Sir? Yes, sir.”
“I want him by your side for the duration of this little excursion of ours.”
“Um, yes, sir.”
“I want you to listen to his advice and consider it at all times. Am I clear?”
“Understood.”
“Tippy?”
“Sir!”
“Keep talkin’ your nonsense. Maybe sometimes, I might even listen.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Take care of this clusterfuck, Uncle.”
“Got it.”
Larry Reed and Tippy Cup left Phoenix, moving toward the smoking hole. Phoenix lit a cigar and studied the bright stars coming up in the sky.
CHAPTER 9.15-Pinned Down
“Team Black? Do you copy?”
“Go Team Green, this is Black. Over.”
“We’re taking fire. Spence took a hit to his vest. He says there’s a whole slew of men, but they’re not the problem. Over.”
“What’s the problem, Green? Over.”
“There’s fifteen men, sir, three sets of five, trying to hem us in and doing a pretty good job. Over.”
“Fade back, Green. Over.”
“They’re good, Black. There’s a team sitting out about seventy clicks and there’s a second team that nearly got us pinned. We can’t exit and fade. Can’t lock onto ’em. We can trace their movements only, but can’t get a full bead. Over.”
“Green, state your position for Team Blue. Team Blue, do you copy? Over.”
“Team Blue here. Over.”
“Blue, this is Team Green. We’re holed up on the southern edge of a convenience store on the corner of Brownsville and East Willock. Over.”
“Yeah, Green, Team Blue knows where you are. We can be there in a few minutes. Over.”
“Green and Blue, this is Black. Team Blue, go reinforce Team Green as best you can and call if you need additional reinforcements. I want constant radio contact. Is that clear? Over.”
“Copy that, Black. Team Blue out.”
“Team Green, notify Black of Team Blue’s arrival. Over.”
“Copy that, Black. Team Green out.”
Marty and BB made preparations quickly and left at a fast jog that would get them in position in a few minutes.
“Like old times, Surf Boy,” said BB as he checked his pockets again to confirm a third magazine.
“Yeah—like taking candy from a baby.”
“Let’s knock ’em outta their diapers.”
“Copy that, BB.”
It was ground they had already covered in the opposite direction. This time they were faster, slowing only when they approached Team Green’s position. “Green, this is Blue,” whispered Marty into his radio. “We’re in your neighborhood and setting up shop. Over.”
“Copy that. Hurry up, Blue—the bad guys are about to ring the doorbell. Over.”
“Twenty seconds, Green. Out.”
Though they hadn’t talked about it, Marty and BB headed for the same spot, one that both had recognized as a perfect sniper’s nest on their first trip. It was a partially repaired retaining wall, half old and half new. Construction of the wall had ceased, presumably when the manpower had succumbed to the effects of the Cuckoo Flu. The old section of the wall was made from loose stone and though it continued to stand, it bulged as if expelling its last breath. The new wall, made from concrete block, was sturdy and would likely last a long time—its unfinished status creating a natural staircase to the top of the wall. Team Blue used it now, scrambling quickly to the top and laying prone behind a pallet of unused block.