The Reaper: No Mercy Read online

  There! Four men stood grouped around a blazing fifty-five-gallon drum, warming their hands. Several empty bottle of liquor lay on the ground near their position, and they were laughing at something one of them said while another was changing CDs on the portable player which rested on a crate near them. Perfect! thought Hewitt as he cupped his hand behind his body to signal close up support. Immediately Redding and Bloom closed on his position, their suppressed M4s held ready. The magazines were color-coded blue, which normally meant practice rounds, but in this case it meant they carried the lower charge, sub-sonic 5.56 rounds needed for this type of mission.

  Quickly, the fingers on his right hand slapped each man as he pointed out specific targets for them. There was no need for speech. No clink of equipment, as everything was taped to eliminate sound. Hewitt would service the first two targets himself, but only at the right moment. It was important to execute an operation at the perfect moment. Two of these men before them had their fingers on the triggers of their weapons and that was not a good thing, and personally irritated Hewitt as being unsafe weapons practice. They needed that moment when all before them either set their weapons down, or simply removed their fingers from the trigger. Death spasms had a way of causing muscle contractions, and Blue Team could not afford for unsuppressed shots to be heard.

  Wait! One of the guards set down his gun, then rummaged in a sack nearby. A full bottle of liquor was brought forth, and the man held it upward in triumph. The other Tango, or combatant, reached for it also, only to be denied its contents by his joking brethren. Wait for it, wait! Then the second man slung his rifle across his shoulder, reached for the bottle with both hands and approached the other who was stepping backwards, a stupid grin on his face. Beside them the third man finally loaded a new CD and music blasted forth.

  Instantly, the suppressed M4 in Hewitt's hands rose as he sighted in on the first of his targets. Breath out. The trigger pulled, and three rounds were on their way as he automatically sighted in on the second target. Beside him, Redding and Bloom fired almost simultaneously, and three targets dropped to the ground. The fourth looked over in surprise from his position near the entrance to the catacombs. However, it was already too late, as the double punch Hewitt delivered sent this douche bag to hell.

  All four Tangos were on the ground, and as Hewitt ran forward he didn't bother checking pulses. He always knew where his rounds hit. Wait, one of the marauders was still breathing!

  Hewitt smiled down at the wounded figure before rotating his gun down and pressed the trigger again. No prisoners at the catacombs, the order had been, and one with which he heartily agreed. These were all taken care of, and he secured the entrance, gazing downward into its murky depths, his M4 up and ready. Behind him, his men were dragging the bodies into the brush before setting up defensive positions.

  Quickly he descended as he looked for targets. The lower room was poorly illuminated, and he saw huddled forms crouched against the walls, far away from the staircase leading down.

  "Who are you?" One of the pitiful forms had raised her head, asking a simple question. He smiled tightly as he continued scanning. No Tango would ever get the drop on him, he vowed.

  He responded, "the Calvary." He clicked his microphone twice, and immediately Russell and Kline trotted down the stairs and opened up the large packs they carried. They would set up a temporary triage station for incoming wounded. They were very good at their jobs.

  "What? Rescue?" the plaintive words of the woman addressed at Hewitt only strengthened his resolve to see them all safe. It was obvious she was inured to her captivity, and Hewitt felt sympathy for her, but right now the others were ready to move in and he needed to let them know the captives were secured.

  "Wait and see." And then he was running up the steps. Before him, the hidden forms of his men could be seen covering the entrance from anyone approaching. They’ll hold this location with a firm hand, he thought, as he keyed his microphone.

  "Blue reports mission objective attained. Holding position, and able to accept incoming!"

  "Copy that. Phase two beginning," came the voice of the Reaper, and instantly Hewitt took up a position within the entrance to provide covering fire on anyone approaching.

  *****

  Chapter 20

  "How soon until you're done?" Ringo demanded. He was currently overseeing the construction of the four semi tractors they were converting into armored vehicles to take on those the soldiers had. Those fucking soldiers will not interfere again, for they won’t be alive to do so, he thought as he pulled Kelsey closer.

  "Later this morning, Ringo," one of the men responded while the others continued welding sheets of plate steel to the framework of the rigs. Ringo shielded his eyes against the bright flashes of light, then shrugged as he turned away. When his guys were finished he would take every man, except for a few to guard the slaves, and attack those soldier assholes. The cannon fodder would go first ... which reminded him. Where in the hell did Tony go with that girl? He'd had his men do a half-assed search for him, but they had been unable to find him. Ringo figured that bastard was probably half a state away by now if he’d killed the girl.

  Right now, Ringo was drunk, and up later than usual. Fuck, it was cold, he thought again as he dug one hand down the front of Kelsey’s coat to fondle her. His cold hand made her jerk, but otherwise she remained stoic and indifferent to his advances. He kept her close so his hand wouldn't lose the warmth as he dragged them towards the seminary where his rooms awaited. Ringo had to admit he could see the appeal Tony had with these younger girls. Soon he would have to off her, as already she was turning apathetic like the others he'd taken. At first they'd scream and cry, which was a turn-on, and then they'd close up inside themselves and stop eating.

  Kelsey suddenly stumbled, causing Ringo's hand to leave the warmth of her body, and as his hand rose to cuff her to the ground, he heard gunfire. A lot of gunfire, and coming from the northern fence line. Kelsey forgotten, Ringo ran to the seminary while shouting to his men that they were under attack. Fucking soldier boys, he would show them!

  *****

  Rodriguez had never worked faster in his life. He and his men had linked the .50 and 7.62 belts together to fill several ammo cans for each M-ATV, as Newaygo had sent a shitload of ammunition and Rodriguez wanted everything perfect. More than that! He wanted no hiccups to the operational plan the Reaper had laid out. He was finally getting a chance at payback for the days of inactivity while watching the marauders exploit and kill others, and he wasn't going to fuck this up.

  "Fox Six, move out Fox Element," he commanded over his helmet microphone. Immediately, he felt the vehicle he was sitting in lurch forward as the driver drove them out of the bay before turning west and accelerating. They would head along this vector at least two miles before circling to the north. Then, just north of the cemetery, they would sweep south slowly, closing the gap to their ultimate position.

  As they moved into position thirty minutes later, he played with the CROW's screen, disregarding the control stick gunner’s toggle for now. The toggle looked exactly like a gaming joystick. He would use the controls built into the CROW's display to control the .50 caliber gun above his head. When it was payback time, he would grab that joystick and light up the motherfuckers. He was so looking forward to this, but right now he couldn't trust himself to handle the one control that would rain death, at the touch of a button, upon the bastards who had been terrorizing this town for weeks. He contented himself with the screen, though his eyes constantly shifted to the stick.

  *****

  The Reaper settled down on the warehouse roof just north of the cemetery. He was three stories up, his rifle before him resting on a small sandbag, as light snow fell from the dark sky. His eyes had already adjusted to the lack of illumination surrounding him, and as he looked out over the target area he saw that much of it was brightly lit from bonfires and floodlights. Obviously they had at least one generator running. He listened as the team
s reported in, and responded appropriately while simultaneously laying out the tools of death.

  "Blue reports mission objective attained. Holding position, and able to accept incoming!"

  "Copy that. Phase two beginning," the Reaper responded as the feed came live over his tactical net. He peered through the scope and saw the arrayed figures of Assault Team One, or Red Team, crouched against the north side of the brick fence. Shifting to his right, he zoomed in on the idling engines of Fox Element’s four M-ATVs stretched out along Highway 24, then keyed his microphone again.

  "Fox Element, Paris Six. Are you ready?"

  Instantly Rodriguez's voice responded. "Fox in position. Ready to echelon with supporting fire." This told the Reaper that the M-ATVs were ready to fire, and that all four of the M-ATVs had already pointed their weapons within the cemetery.

  "Copy that, Fox, hold one. Whiskey Element, your status!"

  "Whiskey in holding pattern in secure formation. Waiting on the fireworks to start and listening to the bitching of the security detail!" responded Shue, who was letting the Reaper know that they were ready but also that the group assigned for security wanted in on the marauders and not against the zombies that would be moving in shortly. A small smile curved his lips as the Reaper keyed his microphone again.

  "Assault Two, are you in position and ready?" Jason called out to Master Sergeant Olsen to verify they were ready.

  "Ready, sir. Assault Two in place and ready, willing, and able to fuck them up when they drive past." The Reaper grinned at the words. Not because it was vulgar, but because of the excitement he heard in Olsen's voice. He continued. "Red Six. Are you a go?"

  "We are a go, Paris Six. In position and getting bored, over." There was a pause in there and the Reaper grinned again. Sokowski was gung ho and wanted to do this. Every element needed to be in place though, and he fast-forwarded to the present, bringing his rifle around to sight on figures near the seminary. Sighting in on one in particularly, he murmured ...

  "Execute!" The command was live, as the Reaper fired! But the Reaper was not the only one, as the night suddenly exploded as the assault forces and their support elements opened up.

  *****

  "Execute!" The command came through loud and clear. Sokowski had said he was bored, which was not usually a Special Forces adjective, but since he and his team, minus one, had been in position for over an hour, it was appropriate. The Reaper had detached Olsen to lead Assault Force Two which would ambush the fleeing vehicles with AT4s. Now Falls had taken Olsen's place in heavy weapons and he, together with Copp, would operate the M4s equipped with M203 grenade launchers.

  "Active and switching to Red Team channel!" Sokowski whispered as his hand rose to adjust the frequency he was transmitting on.

  "Red Team. Up and at them. Time to earn our pay. Copp and Falls, shed some light." Behind him, the soft thump of the grenade launchers could be heard, while overhead faint arcs travelled well forward of their position only to explode into brilliant light that floated slowly towards the ground.

  Hitting the far side, he waited those few seconds it took for his team to join him and then all crept forward in a low combat walk. Many of these assholes were about to meet their maker, and Sokowski chuckled to himself while peering through the Aimpoint sight in search of his first target. To his right, the M-ATVs opened up and then all hell broke loose. He grinned as he started firing on the first two enemies to appear. Talk about a target-rich environment, he thought, as the Tangos dropped to the ground either wounded or dead, though Sokowski wasn't paying attention to them anymore. He was already sighting in on the next group as his team kicked ass without taking names.

  *****

  "Execute!" And then Rodriguez was firing while shouting into Fox command channel.

  "Fox, execute!"

  The .50 caliber M2 above his head was loud within the confines of the M-ATV, but he ignored it. The crosshairs on the CROW's screen before him showed several enemy vehicles within their sights. He had grabbed the joystick and, after depressing the red button with his thumb to activate the laser rangefinder, he aimed at the first. Then flipping the red safety toggle on the front of the joystick upward, he depressed the trigger.

  The .50 chewed through the first three trucks within seconds, and he was already re-aiming the M2 onto a new target. Men! Running with weapons pointed towards his position. How interesting, he thought as he depressed the trigger again, slowly sweeping the area, bodies falling like bowling pins, some with missing limbs. Technically, using the .50 caliber on enemy combatants was against the Geneva Convention, but this was the apocalypse and besides, Rodriguez so loved the .50.

  He caressed the toggle again, watching as a burst intersected the gun-toting body of one of the marauders, causing it to crumple to the ground, the over-powered rounds continuing on to hit the side of one of the buildings in the back. “Gotta watch that in case of friendlies,” he murmured to himself as he sighted in on the next target, and with a lover’s caress stroked the toggle again.

  *****

  "It's started!" The woman had just run into the outer ward of what Rossi referred to as the Industrial Hospital. He and Nancy were scrubbed, and wearing the blue latex of surgeons. After reviewing Nancy’s work, he had no concerns with her doing a great job. She'd be fine. It was the nurses-in-training he was skeptical about, but even that was OK as he knew how to raise his voice at the right moment to get them to focus on the job at hand and remember their brief training. Now he turned to Nancy.

  "Expect incoming, Dr. Kerrigan." Rossi had started calling her by that honorific these last fifteen minutes. The forty-five minutes before that he had spent with Heidi, who desperately needed his help. She had fallen asleep as together he and Nancy had held her frail form. A small sedative he quickly administered ensured she would sleep the rest of the night undisturbed, and without dreams. Rossi needed to spend some quality time with that tiny girl, but not right now. Right now it was about to get as busy as it had ever gotten in the past for him.

  "Are you sure you don't want me to assist you, Doctor?" Kerrigan asked him.

  "Positive. There will be more wounded than either of us will be able to handle in a short while. You're good, Nancy, and it's my privilege to be working beside you." Rossi knew they would soon be overwhelmed with casualties, for this was not his first stint as a wartime doctor. He had participated as a volunteer surgeon in several military actions the United States had engaged in, the last being Operation Desert Storm, or the Gulf War as many called it. There he had treated not only their troops but also those of allies and even enemy combatants.

  Nancy looked over at him from the makeshift operating table she stood behind and slowly responded. "Dennis warned me that you might be abusive and mean, but I haven't experienced that. Where is that doctor I've been hearing about, the one that everyone loves to hate?"

  Rossi laughed out loud for the first time in months."That man is not here tonight, Nancy. I'm not even sure he'll be back. For the first time in ages, certainly years, I feel truly needed," and he smiled at her before directing their new staff into place. He glanced over at the entrance where the double plastic barrier against contamination lay in place, but even as he did so, he saw the smile on Nancy's face.

  "Stay at your table, Doctor. They'll be arriving soon, and every second will count."

  "Yes, sir."

  *****

  Chapter 21

  The Reaper fired again, taking another of the marauders through the center of the shoulder blades just as the minion of Satan tried to duck behind one of the buildings. Not fast enough by far, Jason thought as he shifted aim, preparing to fire again. Through the headset he wore, radio chatter was coming fast, and while monitoring the talk, the Reaper did not feel the need to respond. Everyone knew their assignments, and the execution, so far, was going flawlessly.

  There, one of the devil's get was backing towards a vehicle. In his arms, he gripped two half-naked women, causing the Reaper to frown; he moved
the scope sight over their faces to settle on the man’s desperate face. Jason's finger tightened slowly and the face disappeared in an explosion of blood as the round passed between the two females, missing both by inches. Screaming as the dead man's hands released them, both ran in opposite directions, away from the buildings and towards eventual freedom. In one fluid motion, the Reaper was already sighting in on the next.

  *****

  As gunfire and explosions sounded in the near distance, Dale pulled his rig forward and angled it across the road blocking Hwy 405 to the north of the cemeteries main entrance. Two other rigs behind his own did the same, effectively blocking any vehicle from going north. Charges had already been planted in the big trucks to disable them and Dale held the detonator for he was ex military and had worked with demolitions before, though a civilian now.

  Quickly he sprinted from the stopped vehicle and ensuring the other two drivers were with him he pulled the remote detonator from it's plastic baggie. A quick thumb press, after flipping the safety cap up and in moments all three semi-tractor trailers were burning brightly. Then all three turned to the waiting Humvee, jumped in, and got the fuck out of there.

  *****

  Sokowski crouched as his eye stayed glued to the M68 Aimpoint red-dot sighting mechanism attached to the upper receiver of his M4. Incoming rounds were hitting the ground near his feet and passing overhead as he fast-walked in crouched form toward his targets. The possibility of being hit occurred to him, but he ignored those thoughts as he continued to fire; as each magazine emptied, he exchanged it with a fresh one within seconds.