Fall Out

[The Stig]

Standing guard at one of the gates into the compound was not glamorous work. It was hot, dirty and boring. As the young contractor stood watch over the entrance to the forward base he took some solace that it was one of the larger ones in the Northeastern part of the county, which meant more activity at the gate. It wasn’t much consolation, however, since his desire was to fight. He had spent several years in the US Army and left barely avoiding a bad conduct discharge before joining up with a contracting firm. When all the problems erupted in the North he thought it might open the door to the action he had been looking for.

It had.

He had originally been stationed in what was once the far eastern part of the Southern District at the time. This was before the addition of more states to Donovan’s mini-empire. The contractor had taken special delight in bullying the townspeople in his area. His special brand of evil took immense joy in pushing people around, shaking them down for bribes and, his favorite pastime, humiliating men in front of their women. That game provided a special joy for him.

He and his fellow contractors held several counties hostage for a period of time. Riding roughshod over the populace, they stole, bullied and threatened their way through wine, women and song. The fun ended abruptly one night, however, when the young contractor and his partner roughed up a man. He had been checking out of a small store where his girlfriend worked as a cashier. The contractors began harassing the man, and the young contractor began his psychotic game of humiliation.

They had picked the wrong man to harass, however. He stood for none of the games and after a brief time simply turned and walked away. The contractors could not believe it. The young man reacted without thinking, a common practice, and tackled the man who dared insult him. In a freak confluence of circumstances, the shock of being slammed to the ground resulted in a heart attack and the innocent man died.

The aftermath of the event sparked mini-riots, deaths and a weeklong pitched battle between the townsfolk and the contractors. The end result was that the young contractor and his partner were whisked off to a work camp as part of Senator Donovan’s flashy response to calm the locals.

What the locals didn’t know, and never found out, was that the two contractors spent exactly two hours at the work camp. Most of that time was spent showering and eating in the chow hall. Soon the men were reassigned to a different contracting firm, ultimately leading them to the chain of outposts in the Northeastern part of the county.

As the six-wheeled truck shifted gears and accelerated away from the gate, the young contractor was enveloped in a blanket of heat, dust and exhaust that nearly choked him. The fumes caught in the back of his throat and he reflexively gagged.

“Damn I hate this place,” he yelled out to the several other men working the area with him.

“You just don’t understand its charm,” taunted back one of the other men.

The six-wheeled truck stopped at a small one-story cinderblock building seventy-five yards from the gate complex. Several men jumped down from the back of the truck and they, and the drivers, began filing into the structure.

A relative peace descended over the noisy and busy base.

That relative peace was not to last, however. An ear-shattering explosion rocked the back of the large truck, sending the rear end several meters into the air before slamming what remained of the vehicle back to the ground in a flaming heap. There would be little left of the twisted and burnt metal that would be recognizable as a six-wheeled truck by the time the flames were finally snuffed out.

Within milliseconds of the explosion the outside wall of the cinderblock building collapsed inward killing several contractors and reducing the structure to rubble. Several other buildings nearby were also damaged, as was a small jeep that was parked nearby. The force of the explosion was clearly caused by something more than a homebrewed device.

The shockwave of the explosion slammed into the men at the checkpoint gate, nearly toppling them to the ground. As is common, confusion reigned for several seconds as people tried to process why a perfectly serviceable truck would explode disrupting their hot, miserable guard duties. The guards near the gate all froze for what seemed like hours but in reality was mere seconds. That was before the senior man at the gate began barking orders and spurring his men into action.

It was already too late however.

The ground around the outpost was mostly open, grassy land. The contractors had been diligent to clear the land around the outpost and cut down trees and underbrush where needed to maintain a clear view of their surroundings. Several hundred yards from the gate, however, was a small stand of trees on a rise. While the outpost had been built around a cluster of existing buildings, for an inexplicable reason, nobody had recognized the danger of leaving that position wooded. The oversight would prove costly.

A several hundred yard shot is challenging to the uninitiated. Many factors can cause the bullet to land in a place other than where the shooter intended; shooters manipulation of the weapon, wind, gravity and even heat can all play a role in knocking a bullet off course. Amateur shooters are far worse shots than they believe they are and distance only magnifies the shortcomings. To an experienced shot, especially one trained by the military, a several hundred yard shot is comparatively easy.

Today would be no different. To the three men hidden in the wooded rise the guards scampering around the gate in the aftermath of the explosion were easy pickings. Using suppressed weapons the men were able to disguise their location long enough to make multiple clean shots before having to exfiltrate the area. While a silencer on a rifle doesn’t disguise the crack of the bullet exceeding the speed of sound, it masks the report of the rifle itself enough to make identifying where the shot originated from more difficult.

Before long three contractors at the gate lay dead or dying in addition to the several killed in the blast.

One of those three was the young contractor who so delighted in the humiliation of others and inflicted pain on so many. As he lay writhing in agony, life spilling out onto the hot dusty ground, the cosmic forces of karma conspired to exact justice for the evil he inflicted on the small town out east.

[bacpacker]

I'm liking the story.

[The Stig]

From his vantage point Hubbard could clearly see the approaches to Julie Dawson’s apartment. The details he had unearthed thus far swirled in his mind. The mystery man, the odd lunch hours, the phone calls to ClarMar farms, the strange trips to a gas station on the outskirts of town.

Lehman had made the determination that information was somehow being leaked which lead to the spike in attacks on the Troopers. Lehman wasn’t one to make snap judgments so he was probably right about critical information falling into the hands of the troublemakers. So far, Hubbard had kept his findings to himself. He preferred to present a vetted opinion in the whole as opposed to doling out bits as they became available. That kept his superiors from meddling in his business too much.

As the hours crept by Hubbard fought off the urge to doubt himself. His resolve was rewarded when a shadowy figure suddenly appeared on Dawson’s back porch. Within seconds he let himself into the apartment and disappeared.

He double-checked that his sidearm had a round chambered. He already knew that it did but he wasn’t one to leave a detail like that up in the air.

After scanning the area to make sure the person didn’t have a partner he stood and slowly started making his way towards the apartment.

****

“You scared the hell out of me,” said Julie Dawson loudly. She had been preparing for bed when a man suddenly appeared in her living room. Other than being startled she wasn’t afraid. She knew the man.

While scanning the apartment Miller spoke, “We need to talk. It’s serious and we need to talk right now.”

Grasping the situation Julie sat on the couch and nodded her ascent.

“Has Lehman been acting different lately? Done anything out of the ordinary?”

Thinking for a second Julie replied, “No, not that I’ve noticed.”

“Asked you to do anything you normally don’t do. Given you any special instructions?”

Again pausing to consider, “No. He’s emphasized the importance of information a couple of times but nothing really different than that.”

Moving around the apartment inspecting various items Miller continued to gently press. “Was the information important” he probed.

Turning her head to see him, and noting him looking into her bedroom she replied, “Some of it was, some didn’t seem to be.”

Nodding his head, “uh huh” he let the reply hang in the air for a second.

“Listen Miller, I’ve been careful. I’ve done everything you’ve told me too. I’m not stupid,” she protested.

Peering behind a bookshelf he looked up, “never said you were. How much of that information did you pass along to me?”

Again thinking for a minute she replied, “Only some. The troop movement stuff. Other things seemed so trivial I didn’t bother.”

“Have you noticed anything odd at your apartment or in your car? “

Julie replied, “Yes. Now that you mention it, there was something the other day. A couple things in my bedroom were out of place. Not by much, but just enough that it seemed odd. I wrote it off as my imagination.”

“You are in grave danger. I think Lehman’s on to you. If he knows what you’ve done there’s a good chance you are heading to one of the camps. That’s the best case scenario.”

What Julie didn’t know and didn’t realize was that Miller was toying with her. There were too many coincidences for there not to be information finding it’s way back to Lehman. Miller had been to the rodeo enough times to know that agents and informants didn’t always have pure motives and wanted to see how she’d react to news that she might be in danger.

Standing up suddenly Julie exclaimed, “But you said they’d never know. That’s….that’s…not good. What do I do?” The panic in her eyes was clear.

“I’m not sure what we can do” Miller replied casually. Almost without any concern to the ramifications to her well being.

“Listen, you’ve got to help me then. You got me into this! What are they going to do to me?” Almost out of instinct she began pacing as she mentally weighed the options.

If she had been playing double agent between Miller/Lehman she was doing a wonderful job covering her tracks. Someone who knew they weren’t in any real danger wasn’t likely to respond with immediate panic when they realized the trouble they were in. She was too much of an amateur to have developed the acting skills needed to pull off the performance if she was faking it.

From the kitchen he simply said, “Ok, sit down and we’ll figure this out”.

****

The large cargo plane gracefully swooped down over the rolling bluegrass hills and horse farms on the final approach into Lexington’s airport. Crutchfield’s men had captured it the day before and secured what they could. Most of the Presidents forces had melted away but some small bands continued to harass the forces in and around the airport.

As the plane entered its final approach sporadic small arms fire would reach out towards it. It was as if a child’s BB rifle was trying to shoot down an aircraft carrier. But the efforts were valiant.

The plane’s wheels made the distinctive chirp of rubber spinning up to 180 miles per hour in less than a second. Crutchfield’s first cargo plane landed to bolster the defenders of Lexington. More promised to follow. Instead of a traditional airlift, the plan was to send planes at sporadic times on sporadic routes to avoid whatever air cover the President might decide to offer the city. Thus, the cargo planes had to fly close to the earth on odd flight paths to avoid being swatted from the sky. Crutchfield didn’t want an armada of aircraft to present itself as a target too big to resist.

Soon ammunition, supplies and anti-tank weapons began filtering into the city. Subsequent flights promised more men than material. The supplies soon began bolstering the defenders abilities to repel an attack.

****

As the first supply plane touched down in Lexington, Glenn Hubbard ran through the details of what he had uncovered for the hundredth time. Julie Dawson, who had access to sensitive information, had been making odd trips to odd places and making odd phone calls. The man seen at her apartment may or may not be a lover but could also be a handler. Oddest of all were the calls to ClarMar farms.

He didn’t want to update Lehman since he hadn’t pieced together what it all meant but he was left with no choice. His superior had contacted him and recalled him to Shelton’s City Hall complex.

****

[The Stig]

As the contingent of Troopers patrolled through the small collection of houses they made little noise as they moved from house to house. The collection of ten homes, long sense abandoned since Lehman forced their relocation, stood empty and forlorn. Personal effects littered several yards and many doors and windows stood in broken testament to the violence of the situation.

The Troopers had made several sweeps to make sure people hadn’t snuck back into town or other people taken up residence. The work was somewhat mundane but the team of four men worked quickly to complete the task. After this they were running a patrol through several farmhouses further east.

Farmhouses were a favorite as there was usually fresh food to pillage, belongings to confiscate and, on occasion, a townsperson to harass. Pushing around seniors or fondling farmers wives was a twisted diversion from their daily routine.

“This dump is clear,” said one of the Troopers as he exited the final home. He was a bull of a man. Being over six foot in height and two hundred and fifty pounds the nickname “bull” was a natural. He was a man comfortable using his size to intimidate others.

As he cleared the doorway of the house a dull thud was heard as a small red hole, the size of a dime, suddenly appeared on his forehead. The look of shock and surprise was replaced instantly by empty death as his body crumpled to the ground. The splatter of blood and brain was clear against the doorposts.

The other three men, who had been finishing up tasks of their own, sprang into action as the clear threat to their safety was identified. They would spend the next twenty minutes going through various maneuvers designed to find the perpetrators of the attack. They moved in a well-rehearsed series of steps that had clearly been executed many times in the past.

As they determined that the attackers had either fled or were hiding they made the decision to return to their truck and exit the area. They hoisted Bull’s lifeless body between two of them and dumped him in the cargo bed. As the last man hopped into the back cab the driver turned the key to start the vehicle.

The ear splitting whoosh tore through the air milliseconds before the thunderous explosion tore the truck apart. Fire and bits of metal shot through the air as the Troopers bodies were shredded by the intense pressure of the explosion.

****

As Julie Dawson approached the City Hall complex she swallowed to force the anxiety back down into her stomach. Putting one leg in front of the other she willed herself to make the walk from the parking area towards the security checkpoint. The sun was just rising over the City Hall building but the air was already damp with heat and moisture.

Miller was a man used to making difficult choices. Choices that could affect other people’s lives. His options the previous night in Julie’s apartment were limited.

He could yank her out, install her at the farm and lose an asset that had been funneling him valuable information. Further, Lehman would likely smell a rat and do some real digging. It wouldn’t take long before Troopers were storming ClarMar farms.

He could start to pull back, slowly cut off contact, go longer between meetings. His experience was that this left agents isolated and bitter. He had a bad experience once with a bitter agent and he didn’t want to relive the experience.

His only real option was to send her back in, keep the information flowing for long as possible and hope for the best. Miller assured her that he’d never be far should she get into trouble but he knew the truth; she’d be in grave danger. Once she entered City Hall she was completely alone. If they felt it was time to pull the plug she’d be in another state before Miller knew she was missing.

Approaching the checkpoint she could feel the beads of sweat drip down her sides from her underarms. Suddenly the allure of playing secret spy had been lost and was replaced with terror. Never before in her young life was she this terrified.

“Papers please” said the guard as he leered.

Handing them to him she hoped he couldn’t feel her hands shaking.

Almost without reading them he scanned over them and then handed them back. “Go ahead” was all he muttered as he motioned her towards the building.

Stuttering for a second she took the offered documents and began the short walk to the entrance. There was no groping pat down, no scanners, no secondary check of her documents. Something was odd.

Finally the marathon ended and she found herself behind her desk. After getting situated she put her head down and tried to concentrate on her work as best she could.

****

She surprised herself when she glanced at the clock and saw that it read 10:55am. Despite her fear she had managed to get an admirable amount of work completed. Finishing up a staffing report she was shocked back into panic mode when the intercom rudely buzzed to life.

“Ms. Dawson” came the eerie voice of Lehman. “Can you come to my office please?”

Mustering all the courage she could her finger weakly pushed down the reply button. The same button she had pushed a thousand times suddenly felt as if it took gargantuan strength to press it down.

“Yes sir” was all she could say in reply.

She stood smartly and smoothed down her blouse. Taking a deep breath she began the walk towards Lehman’s office.

****

The truck maneuvered through the winding country roads on its way to one of the North Eastern outposts. The driver was delivering a load of office supplies and other administrative items to one of the bases. It was mundane work but military forces need a surprising amount of non-military items to function.

The driver approached a sweeping right hand curve and down shifted in preparation for making the turn.

Just as he entered the curve the radio crackled to life. “Roper 5, report in”.

Reaching up the driver grabbed the microphone without looking. “This is Roper 5. I’ll be at the base in one zero minutes”.

“Copy that”.

The slow sweeping curve ended in a long straightaway that led to an incline the crested several hundred yards further down the road. After negotiating the cover the driver began working his way back up through the gears.

With any luck he’d be eating lunch in the next twenty minutes.

Luck was not with the driver this day. As he shifted gears and mashed the accelerator the windshield suddenly exploded. He felt the sharp sting of pain in his chest and he momentarily took both hands from the wheel to clutch at the wound. Glancing down he saw the seeping red stain.

Before he could regain his composure and grab the wheel another searing hot bolt of pain shot through his upper chest. Grasping his throat, not unlike a slain president in the past, he attempted to gulp air but found that nothing was happening. Panic quickly overtook him as the truck veered off the side of the road. As the tires transitioned from hard pavement to sand they dug in and the truck was pulled further off the road.

In his haze of pain, blood and panic the driver yanked the wheel in a desperate attempt to regain control of the vehicle. All too often this only serves to worsen the situation and this case was no different.

As the truck finally rolled to a stop the driver slipped from the conscious world as his life drained into crumpled cab.

[bacpacker]

Another good chapter Stig. I love this story.

[The Stig]

Another good chapter Stig. I love this story.

Thank you for the kind words.

If you know anybody who was following the story at the old place feel free to invite them over. Now that the stupid move is over I should be putting up more regular updates again.

There will be some interesting developments as this one unfolds.

[The Stig]

The wind carried the smell of sun-baked pine straw through the buildings. It hung in the air and stuck to people’s clothes like the sand that seemed to coat everything. It was one of those odors that imprinted itself on ones memory and lasted a life time.

It was a smell that reminded Captain Mike DeMetrie of his youth and a happier time where summers never ended and the biggest decision to be made involved which flavor of ice cream to eat.

He rubbed his forehead and felt the moistness of his sweaty brow as he considered what was going on. Over the past several days the team of Caddy, Lowry and Reynolds was working the Northeastern portion of the county and taking the fight to the Troopers. To draw resources away from the area, and keep the enemy off-guard DeMetrie instructed the loose collation of forces under his command to run missions in the southern part of the county. It was an age-old tactic of deception and forcing the enemy to divide their attentions.

But so far the plan wasn’t going smoothly.

The men who agreed to let DeMetrie lead them were complying with his directives and focusing on the southern portion of the county. That wasn’t the problem.
The problem was that the Troopers had also shifted their attention southward. More troublesome was that change of tactics occurred nearly at the same time as DeMetrie’s.

Further concerning was that the men fighting back against the tyranny of Senator Donovan and the Troopers were taking fairly consistent losses. DeMetrie used cold battlefield calculus to account for some losses given the caliber of men and equipment in the fight. Not everybody in the resistance was a hardened combat veteran.

But these losses were starting to grow.

It was almost as if the Troopers were anticipating their moves. And doing so with uncanny accuracy.

DeMetrie wasn’t a spook. The cloak and dagger stuff was Millers concern. But he was a smart man. It didn’t take much mental energy to figure out how the Troopers prognostications were so accurate.

With the heat, sand and sudden lack of trust of his collation partners DeMetrie could have sworn he was back in the Middle East.

****

It was a valiant fight. One that would produce many heroes’s and likely be recounted at Military Academies for hundreds of years. The men fighting on behalf of President Alan, and the country known as The United States, clung to every last block, street and house in their defense of the southern side of the Ohio River crossings. Despite being nearly surrounded the men fought with a ferocity that would make the defenders of Stalingrad shudder with fear.

The collection of small cities nestled in the hills directly across the river from Cincinnati were older towns dating back to the mid 1800’s. The more contemporary suburbs were much further south. As such each block was packed with tall, stoutly constructed brick buildings. Narrow streets, in some cases cobblestone, wound their way through the intercity core on the south bank.

Efforts to use artillery to flatten the area only produced more hiding spots for the defenders. Armored vehicles were useless. Entire buildings were turned into defensive perimeters. In short, it was the perfect defensive situation and fighting distances were measured in feet.

Their defense forced Crutchfield’s forces to delay their march southwards towards Lexington and instead clear the area to their rear. Crutchfield’s forces had made the mistake of not securing their rear on a previous southern drive with disastrous consequences. He lost troops, vehicles and material he could scant afford to lose.

The defense of Cincinnati was causing the timetable for the drive towards Lexington to slip. The original plan was to resume the drive south after two days. Instead, the end of the second day was nearing and there was no indication the fight was letting up.

The order came down from Crutchfield himself to flatten the last holdouts before driving south.

It would be an edict he would regret.

Two things were conspiring against the treasonous former president. First, was the narrow corridor on the southern bank of the Ohio leading back East. During the attack across the river the eastern bridge was destroyed. Crutchfield’s commanders wisely decided to shift their movements to the already secured western bridge. However, they mistakenly overlooked closing the gap to encircle the defenders, thus trapping them against the river to their north. Instead they oddly chose to push only from the west and south.

This nearly ten mile gap between the eastern edge of Crutchfield’s forces and the river provided room for the President to filter in men and supplies to the defenders. These bolstered the fighting strength of the men and served to prolong the battle.

But it was the other unknown factor that had Crutchfield been aware he would had chosen a much different path.

The President was coldly choosing to sacrifice the men fighting in the rubble along the Ohio River to buy time. It was a calculated decision that makes men pause; as they know someone else’s son will perish because of it.

The time, bought by the precious sacrifice, was being used to mount a defense in the area of Richmond, Kentucky. This defensive line was being constructed nearly 100 miles south of the battle around Cincinnati and a scant 30 miles south of Lexington. While the defenders of Lexington built their defenses they remained unaware of the growing forces in their rear.

The President had chosen to fight.

[The Stig]

As Glen Hubbard approached Lehman’s office he had an odd feeling that something wasn’t right. He had been tasked with investigating a possible security leak and had made good progress. Yet just as he was about to both verify the leak and catch the leaks contact he was called off the case. Something wasn’t adding up. A lot of things hadn’t added up since Lehman and the Troopers took over. Caddy’s disappearance. The arrival of the Troopers. Even the death of his previous boss was odd.

Hubbard was no dummy or idealist. He understood that to enforce order sometimes unruly people needed some additional incentives to get themselves in line. He knew what the camps were for and had no romantic notions about Senator Donovan’s intentions.

The heals of his boots made a distinctive sound as he approached the hallway outside the perpetually closed door to Lehman’s office.

Taking a deep breath he knocked and waited to be summoned.

****

“So you see Hubbard, there’s no need for you to pursue this security leak further” said his direct supervisor. Lehman’s lead investigations man didn’t earn much, if any, of Hubbard’s respect.

“Sir” said Hubbard somewhat confused.

As if he were presenting the weather on TV, his boss described the reasoning. “You’ve done good work here Hubbard. This is no slight on you. But Mr. Lehman has decided to deal with this potential problem in…..a different manner.”

Trying to muster the energy to feign his acceptance Hubbard merely replied, “Yes sir. I understand”.

Looking up from the document he had been studying Lehman added, “I have another important assignment for you. You’ve earned it. Your boss will give you the briefing.” With that Lehman simply resumed scanning the document as a means to dismiss Hubbard.

Leading Hubbard to the door his boss simply said, “I’ll be in your office in ten minutes. This next assignment is far more important.”

“Yes sir” was all Hubbard could say as the door to Lehman’s office closed behind him.

****

“Hope the kid doesn’t take it too hard” was all the lead investigations man could say.

Lehman looked up from the document that had held his attention. “Who cares what he thinks? He takes orders.”

Simply nodding in agreement the lead investigations man stood before Lehman and waited for his next direction. After what seemed like an eternity Lehman finally resumed. “Well, this is certainly a lurid report. It’s a shame the gate guard wasn’t able to control his impulses with Ms. Dawson. I’m glad you were able to extract the information you needed before he decided to violate her.”
“Yes sir, most unfortunate.”

Lehman’s eyes narrowed. “Unfortunate is an understatement. I had plans to turn her against those to whom she was passing information.”

Feeling like he was somehow in trouble the lead investigations man simply replied, “Yes sir. It’s a shame his passions overruled his wisdom”.

Sitting back in his chair and pressing the tips of his fingers together Lehman replied menacingly, “I’m glad you agree. I’m sure you’ll have no problems dispatching this tawdry guard after you are done disposing of the remains of Ms. Dawson. We can’t have uncontrolled rapists in our ranks can we?”

Left no choice, Hubbard’s boss simply replied, “Yes sir”.

****

Miller knew something was wrong. Quitting time had passed several hours ago yet Julie Dawson was nowhere to be found. He was experienced enough to know this was not a good omen for his young agent.

He sat in a well-hidden vantage point where he could monitor most of the City Hall’s comings and goings. If one watches a building long enough learning the schedule of the building inhabitants is relatively easy. With this knowledge you can start to piece together who is important, who isn’t, who holds responsibility, who only thinks they do. You get a feel for the natural ebb and flow of the daily activities surrounding that building.

Because of this it was easy to spot the lead investigations man heading out in a one of the large work trucks with a gate guard. Since the lead investigations man had his own staff and support unit, it was odd to see him with a lowly gate-guarding contractor. It was especially odd since he’d never seen the two paired together previously.

From his nest atop a local building Miller was able to watch the truck progress slowly down the street towards him. By moving to different parts of the rooftop he was able to watch it for several blocks as it moved through town. Based on the street it took out of town he quickly surmised where they might be heading.

Racing down the stairs he did the mental calculations. It would be close, but with some luck he should catch them just after they arrived at the spot.

****

The lead investigations man wiped the sweat from his forehead as the truck pulled off the road into the small farm. The farm had been acquired, by force, by contractors shortly after they arrived in Shelton. Since that time it had served as a defacto dumping ground for expired ordinance, trash, broken gear and vehicle, or anything else that had outlived its usefulness.

His hand was moist and stomach tight almost to the point of nausea. He was an investigations man. He gathered intelligence. He looked at crime scenes. He checked out security breaches. That was the world in which he was comfortable. He’d never shot at anybody, let alone killed someone in cold blood. But when Lehman issued a command it wasn’t to be ignored. Otherwise, it would be him facing his doom.

As the guard drove the truck through what they called their trash field the investigations man wrapped his hand tightly around the butt of the small revolver in his pants pocket. He would have been just as comfortable using his service pistol, but felt like this approach might give him the element of surprise. He just hoped he wouldn’t miss when the time came.

”Here we are” announced the guard as they pulled into a sheltered area. “Nobody will find her here”. Sadly he was right. Between the underbrush, the broken down cars and the random junk scattered around a small patch of disturbed earth wouldn’t be noticed.

Thinking to himself the investigations man imagined that the best time to deal with the psychotic guard would be just after Ms. Dawson was placed in the grave. He could then dispose of the guard in the same hole and avoid having to dig a separate one. His mind spun as he contemplated the scenario that was unfolding.

“I’m not cut out for this,” he thought as they descended from the truck and began walking into the junk pile to find a place to start digging.

****

[The Stig]

Despite it being dusk both men were drenched in sweat as they completed the hole that would house the disloyal secretary for eternity. Their shirts soaked and hair dripping they both stumbled back to the truck.

“Damn, it’s hot out,” exclaimed the guard as they approached the truck.

As he lowered the bed of the pickup truck, the investigations man uttered a complaint of his own. It was both true and an effort to appear normal in front of the guard. The last thing he wanted to do was appear nervous.

He had barely finished his gripe before both men were startled by a deep voice. “You fellas digging a hole?” came the inquiry from seemingly out of nowhere. Spinning around both men were shocked to see the outline of a man, partially hidden in the shadow of a large pile of twisted metal and car parts.

“What the!” exclaimed the investigations man.

“Who the hell are you?” challenged the guard.

Using the weapon mounted light on his pistol Miller blinded the men. As they recoiled against the light he calmly said, “You know, I’m pretty sure you guys are out to dig a hole,” was all he said.

Taking a step towards Miller, the guard growled, “listen here….”

The sudden roar of the Glock pistol startled the investigations man. Despite flinching and reflexively covering his face, he watched the guard crumple to the ground and grasp his chest.

“You shot me!” yelled out the guard. “You fucking shot me.” Blood was already oozing through his shirt and hands as he desperately attempted to stem the flow.

Coldly, with no emotion, Miller replied, “Yep. And here’s a newsflash. I’m going to shoot you again.”

Hearing the murderous words the guard, already on his knees, looked up Miller. As he extended his arms out in a futile attempt to shield himself he attempted to yell something. Only eternity would know what was said as the roar of a second shot drowned out the epithet. The murderous raping guard collapsed to the ground in a heap.

Miller had been all around the world and dealt with all sorts of scum. It didn’t take long to piece together the terrifying final minutes of young Ms. Dawson’s life after he investigated her body as her grave was being dug. Miller was aware of this guard and his body language alone made clear his intentions towards women. Maybe he was involved in Dawson’s death. Maybe he wasn’t. But either way Miller was going to make sure somebody paid for it. Figuring the investigations man would be a more useful source of information the guard became the focus of Miller’s wrath.

Turning his attention to the investigations man Miller smiled. “I think you need to drop to your knees and turn around real slow for me”.

In fear for his life, the man nodded and complied as best he could. Suddenly it was as if all the energy had left his body.

After disarming the man of both weapons Miller began giving the speech he had given so many times before.

“Now listen. We’re going to have a little talk now and I’m not asking much. Just give me truthful answers and everything will work out for you. It’s simple really….I’ll ask questions and you answer them. But I must tell you; I’ve done this a lot of times, in a lot of places, with a lot of people. So I’ll know if you are being square with me. Just be square with me. Make sense?”

The man, trembling, nodded his affirmation.

“Good!” Miller said with a pleased tone. “All I want is the truth.”

He had found over the years that if people being interrogated felt they had no chance to survive they were much more likely to lie or leave out important details. Condemned men have nothing to lose by being uncooperative. But if they had a glimmer of hope, a chance their captor would release them, they tended to be more forthcoming.

“Alright….let’s start from the beginning then”.

****

[bacpacker]

Well crap, but I can't say I'm surprised. good chapter.