Seeds of the Bitter Harvest. John Sheppard

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СКАЧАТЬ No official ship’s log would contain a record of the team having ever been aboard.

      Jeremy did take time to ensure he and his men hydrated and ate an energy bar. His mind drifted to the conversation he had with his wife the night before. When he called her, he had not been able to tell Sandy that he was preparing for a mission. She asked little about him and her voice sounded hollow, distant. It wasn’t like she didn’t say the right things; just that her conversation seemed mechanical, void of life.

      Trent had insisted that his family leave the country as the Enemy continued to advance. They had left in April with Sandy’s parents and were safely in Europe. There had been a trickle of citizens leaving the country since the start of the war; the Enemy’s progress at the beginning of the year turned the trickle into a torrent. A majority of the wealthy and middleclass had left by the time the airport was seized leaving only the poor who didn’t have the money to escape, dedicated civil servants, the military, and those of different social classes who refused to believe that defeat was possible.

      His children, Anna and Kurt, had added to Jeremy’s sense of foreboding when he talked to them last night. Unlike Sandy, they were exuberant to talk to their daddy. It had been months since Jeremy had been able to get a call out; and it was obvious that they missed him so.

      When Jeremy had asked how they were doing, Kurt mentioned “Uncle Frank”. There was no Uncle Frank on Sandy’s side of the family. When Jeremy pressed a little more, the kids said he was with them a lot, and took them somewhere almost every weekend.

      Before he could find out more, Sandy was on the phone. Her voice was tense, she explained that Frank was an expat too, and was just helping out. She ended the phone call abruptly saying she wasn’t feeling well. Jeremy had this pit in his stomach since the call, and it wasn’t going away.

      “Major”, one of the men called him back to the here-and-now; “Orders, Sir?”Jeremy had his men slip on their night vision goggles; he didn’t want them walking into an enemy patrol in the dark. Besides, the improved vision allowed them to make up some time they had lost at sea. He also knew he couldn’t afford any more lapses in concentration. They were now in Enemy territory, a slip-up could not only cost the mission, but each of the team members their lives.

      They would ditch the goggles, like their wetsuits, once they rendezvoused with the underground. It would be hard to explain the goggles, if they encountered an enemy patrol later on.

      Their movement down the coast had gone smoothly when they reached a clearing about one hundred yards from the village. Trent motioned to his men to halt. They stopped in unison, and quietly hit the ground. He stared into the darkness, waiting for the signal that it was safe to travel the distance between the woods, and the village.

      There it was. Three quick flashes, a pause, then, three more flashes coming from the window of the first house, on the outskirts of the village. Jeremy returned the signal. It was followed by two long flashes. All was clear. With a quick hand motion from him, the team sprinted across the clearing.

      The side door of the house opened, when they were a few feet from the door. They had entered directly into the kitchen. It was a larger country style kitchen, with a good size oval wooden table and six chairs around it. Maps were strewn around the table. The windows were covered with wooden planks, and cardboard, to prevent light from the oil lamps from shining through during the darkness of night.

      Four men, Jeremy assumed to be members of the resistance, stood around the room, weapons at their sides. These were not the typical freedom fighters of the cinema - lean, rugged, young men, with a couple of days of unshaven stubble adding to the manliness. These guys did need a shave, but they were unkempt, middle aged, balding, who could stand to lose a little weight.

      One of the men stepped forward, and extended his hand. He was the shortest of the group, maybe 5’ 5’’, tanned, with a rim of white hair. Round, wire-rimmed glasses rested on a thick nose, attached to a round full face.”Welcome, I’m Owl”.

      Jeremy wanted to laugh out loud. The man looked like an owl, maybe he had been a professor before the occupation. Really, we’re supposed to trust our lives to these guys? They don’t look like they could protect us from an invasion of fire ants, and ‘owl’ come on, it sounds like the name from a ‘B’ movie.

      Maybe it was Jeremy’s facial expression, or raised eyebrows that gave him away; but the man gave him a bone-breaking hand shake and said:

      “Yes, Owl; its best you don’t know our real names. If you’re captured and tortured, you can’t lead the Enemy back to us, or our families.”

      Now, Jeremy felt a bit sheepish. These guys weren’t a part of some weekend adventure. It was real. They were fighting for the future of their country. They were taking every risk he was, and maybe more. He at least, could return to the relative safety of his base, they lived with this every day.

      Owl introduced the rest of his team. There was ‘Raven’, a dark skinned man, with a large protruding nose, and dark, beady eyes, a smile seemed to be permanently attached to his face; indeed like a bird with his prey in sight. ‘Carrot’, flaming red-orange hair exploded from the head of this man, including a full beard. Jeremy couldn’t help but wonder if he glowed in the dark.

      The one name that took him by surprise was ‘Hangman’. ‘Hangman’ was a rather frail, timid looking man. His eyes were constantly darting about the room; as if he were afraid his shadow would jump-up and scare him. Owl explained ‘Hangman’ was proficient at making the hangman’s noose. They had captured a five man enemy patrol. ‘Hangman’ did just that to two of the patrol, without warning, and the rest freely gave the resistance all the information they needed. Jeremy could feel chills running up and down his spine.

      The resistance fighters suggested that his team rest in the bedrooms until night fall. They argued that to travel to their next position in daylight was dangerous. The resistance had lookouts deployed well into the woods, and could give plenty of warning about any enemy patrols in the area.

      Exhaustion was written all over the faces of Jeremy’s team. He knew a brief rest would give them the boost they needed to carry on, but a full six-eight hours of sleep certainly wouldn’t hurt. The order was given, and Owl’s team led Jeremy’s to some bedrooms in the back of the house.

      “Major, you need your rest too, but first, come walk with me,” Owl entreated.”Your men are safe, and the village has been under our control for the last couple of weeks”.

      Jeremy wearily nodded his head in agreement, and followed Owl outside. The sun was just now coming up, and most of the fishing village could be clearly seen. A collection of maybe fifty or so, mostly whitewashed frame homes, a store or two, a couple of warehouses and some docks. Everywhere was evidence of people who left in a hurry. Abandoned vehicles, some with household goods crammed in the trunks, and passenger compartments. Stacks of clothing and furniture waited on the porches of homes for their owners to return and pick them up.

      With the exception of a few overturned wooden dinghies on the beach, there were no boats of any kind to be seen. The docks looked as if they had been picked clean.

      Sensing Jeremy’s thoughts Owl spoke up; “The fishermen loaded their families and some of those from the surrounding area on their boats and headed to safe harbors elsewhere. The Enemy never entered the village; they got within just a few miles of here, and then made an abrupt turn towards the west and the airport, which is about fifteen miles away.

      “We’ll hike there tonight, and hook you up with others who can help you with your recon mission around the Capital. What do your men know?”

      “Not СКАЧАТЬ