“Let me guess, you taught English lit,” George said drily.
Conrad bowed his head. “Hence my assumption of this nom de guerre,” he told George. “Always loved teaching Heart of Darkness. Never thought I’d actually be living it.”
Ed returned fifteen minutes later, poking his head out of the hole. His eyes were wide, and his face was flushed. “Somebody go grab Renny and Jason.” A huge smile split his face. “You’re not going to believe this.”
PART III
HAVE A PLAN TO KILL EVERYONE YOU MEET
It (violence) solves almost everything. It’s why we arm the police, and it’s why we still have wars.
The only true war crime is losing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The tunnel led to the basement of the sports complex across the street. The men of Theodore weren’t surprised there was a basketball court, indoor hockey rink, or swimming pool in the large complex of buildings; they were surprised by the light, the crowd of people, and the unexpected plenty in the sizable basement. There were crates of canned food nearby, cases of water and power bars, fresh batteries, even new boots, socks and underwear. A dozen battery-powered LED lanterns kept the space bright.
The man who identified himself as Uncle Charlie was in his late forties, with a compact build and a balding head, his graying hair trimmed to stubble. He wore a plaid shirt over khaki cargo pants. He shook hands all around, then regarded the men of Theodore.
“I appreciate that you’re early, but it complicates things,” he told them, flashing a quick smile. “Well, not complicates, exactly, but we need to wait to see who else shows up. How many bodies we have will directly impact the plan, and the mission.”
“So what’s the mission?” Mark asked.
Charlie shook his head. “I don’t want to go into details yet. Let’s just say it’s high risk, for very high reward.”
“High risk is just walking around outside,” Weasel told him.
“Yeah, you’re not wrong. I thought the stories I heard about the city were exaggerated. This is as bad as I’ve seen it anywhere.”
“Where’d you come in from?” Quentin asked him.
Charlie gave him a flat stare. “Somewhere else.” Then he relented. “Look, I know you’re probably tired. We’ve got food and water and more. Get a good night’s sleep, and tomorrow, after everyone else shows up, we’ll have a briefing. Trust me, it’ll be worth your wait.” He reached down to a nearby stack of boxes and tossed one to Mark. “Brought these as well. Thought they might be appreciated.”
Mark looked down at the container in his hands, then up at Uncle Charlie, then back down. It was an unopened box of unscented baby wipes. “How many can I use?”
“As many as you want,” Charlie told him. “We brought a couple cases, so there’s a box for everyone. And we’ve got packages of new socks over there too, if you need them.”
Mark looked around at the squad. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I’m going to go have a religious experience,” he announced, and left with the baby wipes.
“We haven’t had showers in forever,” George said with a laugh.
“I’m aware,” Uncle Charlie said pointedly, but without any malice.
The five men and one woman who seemed to be Uncle Charlie’s staff all looked competent. They also looked bathed and well fed, and wore clean clothes. Ed thought he and his squad looked like heavily-armed homeless people next to them. They were all still carrying their rifles.
“Everybody, get something to eat and drink,” Ed told his crew. “And clean up, too, as best you can, we smell like that sewer pipe.”
“Using the sewers to travel?” Charlie inquired, as the squad wandered off. Ed and George remained in place. On a table behind him was a small crank-operated radio softly playing music, which meant it had to be tuned to the local state-run station, as there were no other stations broadcasting.
“When we can. Which isn’t very often. Only a certain percentage of the pipes are big enough to fit through, and the Army blocked most of them off years ago.”
“How many are you expecting?” George asked.
“Irregulars? Well, I staggered the dates. You’re with the second group. Another six squads. Well, five with Franklin gone.” They’d given him that news.
“How many are operating in the city?” Ed didn’t really expect an answer, and didn’t get one.
“I called in everyone, so I guess you’ll see. Get some rest, you look like you’ve earned it. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Ed glanced at George, then back. “We’ll get our people squared away and cleaned up, then give you two bodies to share the watch.”
“My people can handle that.”
Ed glanced at George again, letting him know to take the lead, and George smiled at Uncle Charlie. There was no warmth in it. “Sorry, but just because your men knew the code words and you say you’re Uncle Charlie doesn’t mean shit. We don’t know you or your fucking people, and if you hadn’t taken a sip out of that water bottle I pulled at random out of that case and handed to you we wouldn’t be drinking or eating anything you’ve brought, either. We’re all assuming this is a potential ambush or Tab intelligence false flag op and are wondering when the shooting’s going to start. Until it doesn’t. So we’re going to stay hot, and our people will assist with perimeter security.” Then he recited one of his favorite quotes, words he lived by. “Be polite, be professional, but have a plan to kill everyone you meet.”
Uncle Charlie paused briefly before responding. “Roger that. We’re happy for the help.” Then he smiled, and it was warm and genuine. “Glad you made it. You’ll be glad too.” Then he moved off.
The men of Theodore slept in shifts, but nothing of note happened until just after dawn, when the next squad came crabwalking through the tunnel.
They emerged slowly, blinking in the bright LED light, looking around uncertainly. Four men and two women. “Barker! That you? You growing that ‘fro out so you look taller?” they all heard, and turned. Weasel was sitting on top of some horizontal six-inch pipes that fed the cold boiler, his MP5 across his knees and a Power Bar in his hand. He’d barely stopped eating since they’d arrived.
A squat black man long overdue for a haircut squinted in his direction. “That you, Gopher?”
Weasel snorted and jumped down from the pipes as Barker stepped closer. “You with a new squad?” Weasel asked him, looking over the short man’s shoulder. He didn’t recognize any of Barker’s squadmates. One of them was a short, skinny redhead who looked like she wanted to kill everyone.
Barker glanced behind him, and when he turned back around his expression was dark. “No, I’m just the only one left from Kermit. Walked into an ambush last year, lost five people, and after that two more said fuck it, they’d had enough. Rizzo was in a safehouse last fall and apparently got ratted out. They got rocketed by two Kestrels, killed everybody in the squad but two people, and they were injured and out of the fight for a few months. I wrapped them into Kermit and recruited a few new faces over the winter. And then we fucking lose two to a sniper on the way in. This better be fucking worth it.” He paused. “It worth it?”
Weasel shrugged, noticing the dried bloodstains on Barker’s sleeves. “Remains to be seen. But there’s water and food and enough baby wipes to make even you smell tolerable.” He nodded past the new arrivals. “Go check in with Chuckles over there, and I’ll talk to you later.” He smiled at the murderous redhead. “How you doin’?”