Page 34 of Four Calling Birds

“Alright, kids,” Mack said, clapping his hands together. “What are the three elements of a successful ambush?”

Goose lightly pressed on the bandage on my back, taping it on the sides to hold it in place before he gingerly helped me roll down my shirt.

“Surprise” Taz said, letting go of Mack’s forearm, where she'd been holding him back. His protectiveness made me warm and tingly, like heat was blossoming in my chest.

“Coordinated Fires,” said Veder, from Mack’s other side.

“Control,” said Griffith. No surprise that he’d choose control of all things to shout to the class. But Mack’s team were a predictable bunch. Even a wildfire has its patterns.

“So, since we have what they want…” Goose said, still examining the chip in his hand, no bigger than the kind you might find on a credit card. “We can lead them anywhere we want.”

20. Down by the River

Mack

ThankGodIknewmy property well. I had walked it, endlessly. Especially last year when deer had stomped through my vegetable plots, eating my food. Sure, I had chosen to come out here and become farmer Mack. But the truth was, I was never much of a rural guy. There wasn’t a lot of time to plant things when you moved every few years with the Army. So I hadn’t anticipated what opportunistic little shits deer could be.

That first year, I ended up with a lot of venison. I learned how to dress and butcher the damn animals, and I ended up with enough jerky that I could have lasted a few more winters without slaughtering another living creature.

But that Bruce… Bruce the Buck.

Helookedlike a Bruce. He had that smug little face and twitchy little nose. He had me crawling up and down the Catskills, as I stalked him over every square meter of my four hundred acres of land.

I should probably thank the fucker. Because of him, I knew there was a river - really, more of a creek - with a high ridge on one side, where the water carved a vertical gorge. That was where we waited. Lotte, Veder and myself on the high ground. Griff, Taz and Goose were at the bend, and we made an L-shaped formation in the wood line with interlocking sectors of fire.

At the bend in the river was that chip, hidden in the back end of a roadkill rabbit, stashed in a little arm-sized hole made by some burrowing critter that had since relocated.

The first trip of my property’s ground censors happened a little bit after the sky turned from blue, to a dull gray. In a few minutes, the sun’s power would diminish, leaving us with nothing but the inky, black night. A thick, slender cloud threatened to block out the moon and throw us into darkness. Which was fine. In the black was where we all did our best fucking work.

“Ca-caw!” Goose was at the far end. He made the high-pitched falcon-like call. But the particular bird he was mimicking wasn’t indigenous to this part of New York. In fact, it wasn’t really indigenous anywhere outside of Training Command, where young Soldiers clawed for positions on the Order of Merit List, competing for the best slots, and screwing over their comrades in the process. The Blue Falcon. An affectionate term for a Buddy Fucker.

Goose was using the call to let us know that he had seen the first of the hostiles. We didn’t have radios, because… why the fuck would I? I was retired. Crypto radios weren’t exactly something I could pick up at the local hardware store. Any civilian radios would make too much noise, they’d just give us away.

We needed instinct, and teamwork to get us through. The first, we all had. The latter was so uncertain, that it gave me a distinct pucker factor. I hadn’t been with my team in almost two years, and they weren’t the cohesive unit they had been. We were all separated in body and mind by the chasms we placed between us.

“Ca-caw!” I could hear the distinct sound of Griffith’s voice, meaning that he had seen the enemy with his naked eye. He had eyes as sharp as a fucking razor.

The cloud drifted onward, blocking half the moon, the glow of silver fading to a dull blue before we were thrust in total blackness. There was a slight reflection of starlight on the river, but not enough to see much by.

This is the moment that separates prey from predator. The wait. The way you hold your nerves in those quiet, uncertain moments, when the forest makes noises that make your heart leap to your throat. Are you able to stay still, hidden in the brush when you hear the gentle footfall of the enemy approaching? Can you stay perfectly frozen, and keep your breaths silent, as they walk before you.

Can you hold your nerve when the break in the clouds allowed just enough light for you to see moving figures heading right for the chip, where we laid our trap?

I counted twelve, just as the intel report had said. So maybe Brett wasn’t completely useless after all.He was still an asshole though.

None of us moved. I barely blinked as the sound of their steps on the dried, fallen leaves, and on the softened, muddy ground crackled in our ears. I swear, my breath as loud as if it was on a blow horn, but I knew that was my paranoia.

I let my finger lightly graze the trigger well. It was my own little ritual. Just something to do, to keep the nerves from taking over, even if I tasted the metallic hint of adrenalin on my tongue.

Then I caressed the trigger without firing. I lightly pulled the M4 into my shoulder, just nestling it, readying to brace the familiar shock of the backfire. These were miniscule changes, not expressed outward, but could be felt inward. Like the change of balance when one was doing yoga. Simplythinkingabout something made it so.

The mind was always half the battle.

I waited for Taz to do her magic. But she would wait until the absolute last moment so that her little toys could be at their most effective.

The twelve enemy combatants were separated - trained, but notastrained as the military. Soldiers would always travel at least eight meters apart on terrain, which was the blast radius of a grenade. They’d also be traveling in a formation, but these guys seemed to just walk in a roughly straightenoughline. It’d be happy hunting for us. At least I thought so, until two pulled away from the pack. Moving straight towards the bend.

Shit.It looked like there were at least two professionals in the bunch. They had seen the terrain and smelled a trap. But why were they willing to sacrifice the other ten of them? Fucking strange. Stranger still, when they circled around my second team - Taz, Griff and Goose. If I didn’t know better, I’d say they were heading right for Taz, who was at the far end…

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