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  1. #1

    Lobo Malo - Chapter 6 - Varmint Hunting

    Jefferson Trade Center, Federal Triangle Sector
    0912 EST


    "So that's about the size of it, Kelso," Gregory said, finishing his initial report. "It'll cover the White House and the Theater, probably at least a little ways past. But the western half of the city isn't going to be under the umbrella.

    "Understood. Still good work, though. Go finish your sweep, grab Espinoza, and get the hell out of there."

    "Copy that. Gregory, out." He looked over at Ryckmen. "Good thing the door will shut thirty seconds after we leave. And since we're taking this with us," he said, holding up the CTAR which had been stashed in the vault, "I won't feel bad about it."

    Ryckmen chuckled, pleased that Gregory had secured a nice upgrade for himself. The P416 he'd been carrying around had done a good job so far, but Ryckmen had been half-afraid since setting foot in the Center that something awful would happen and leave Gregory with only the M249 and his sidearm. True, one could get by with just two weapons, but this deep in hostile territory, anything which gave them a force multiplier was to be welcomed.

    A chirp came in over their earpieces. "Incoming transmission, hostile frequency, SHD encryption and scramble." Gregory and Ryckmen looked at each other. No agent would be dumb enough or desperate enough to use a known hostile frequency in tandem with their encryption. A moment later, a semi-familiar voice came on. It was the voice of the Hyena lieutenant who'd been taking the panicked calls of her subordinates. "Is this the Division? Looking for something?" she asked.

    "Who is this? How did you contact us?" asked Kelso. Clearly, the Hyena lieutenant hadn't figured out how to place person-to-person calls.

    "A friend of yours gave me this really nice wristwatch. He was really emphatic about it." A short pained scream came from the background. "He's alive, for now. How long he stays that way depends on how quickly you and I can come to an arrangement."

    Gregory looked at Ryckmen, who shook his head, a flat and deadly light in his eyes. Adjusting his watch, Gregory made a direct connection to Espinoza's, then lifted it close to his mouth. "I don't talk to people I don't know. And my boss isn't going to make any deals without at least one of her people making sure things stay honest."

    "Call me Coyote," the Hyena said after a few moments. "What sort of deal are you willing to make?"

    "You turn our man loose, you walk out of here and don't get a bullet in the head today," said Gregory flatly. "It's a better deal than you probably deserve, but it's also the only deal I'm willing to make. And I should warn you, it's a limited time offer."

    "How long do I have to consider?"

    "Until thirty seconds after we reach the main atrium of this building. I know there is one. I've read the handy little maps on the walls."

    "And if I decline your generous offer?"

    "Then we do things the hard way, and that's going to end very badly for you. I can guarantee it. Right now, I'm the good cop in this situation. You don't want the bad cop calling the shots because, believe me, he doesn't play one damn bit. We chewed through, what, twenty of your guys in about as many minutes? Don't think we can't do the same to the rest of them at least that fast. Think it over." Gregory broke the connection, checked the chamber on the CTAR, then headed for the door.

    "You don't really think she's going to go for this, do you?" Ryckmen said quietly as the two of them cleared the door and started walking back up the stairs.

    "No, but I figure it's worth making the effort. If nothing else, however long it takes us to get to the main atrium, it might give the word time to circulate among the rank-and-file that we're willing to make a deal which lets them save their lives. Even if it's only for a day."

    "Boys, it's Kelso. I've got you tied in on a private channel. What's going on?"

    "I've impressed upon the local Hyena boss the wisdom of turning Espinoza loose," said Gregory. "I'm pretty sure she's going to try and kill us before we have the chance to actually get him back. If she's smart, the sound of her remaining guys getting shot will convince her to release him and roll on home."

    "If she's smart, she won't do any further harm to him. But we can't rely on her being smart. Unless you run into Espinoza first, kill that Hyena *****."

    "Copy that," growled Ryckmen.

    "Incoming broadcast, hostile frequency," chirped ISAC. A moment later, Coyote came on. Telltales on Gregory's watch told him it was unencrypted and in the clear. "Listen up. A couple of Division agents are making their way to the main atrium. Find these pigs and kill them. I want their buddy to hear their screams."

    "I expected to be stabbed in the back and I'm still disappointed," grumbled Gregory as they moved back into the Center's parking garage.

    "Keep an eye on that right side, Peace. I've got a clear lane here, but I don't want somebody flanking us. Way too much cover."

    The two agents resumed their grim sweep, walking through the garage and dropping targets with monomaniacal focus. By now, both of them could pick out the gaps in the improvised armor some of the Hyenas wore, and their absolute lack of battle cry or conversation seemed to unnerve the gang members. When one of them needed to reload, the other would step forward, lay down covering fire, and keep the Hyenas at bay long enough for the magazines or belts to get swapped out.

    Leaving the garage, they came into a food court, most of the signage destroyed and all but the major appliances stripped away. Gregory caught the scent of whatever drugs the Hyenas had been cooking using the industrial stovetops and felt himself grow just a little colder. The rules of the game might demand he at least give his opponents a chance to surrender honorably, to avoid throwing away their lives on futile gestures, and maybe one day they might choose that outcome. But deep down, he was beginning to believe that this mob was too nihilistic, too drug addled and blood simple, to reform. He heard Letitia Sutter's voice echoing in the back of his mind. It's a waste of otherwise useful human beings.

    As they cleared the back of the food court, Ryckmen stopped to crouch down next to one of the bodies. The Hyena had taken one of his rounds right through the forehead, the black plastic tarp cut into a hooded cloak catching most of the blood and brains. But it was the rifle which seemed to have grabbed his interest. He picked it up, examining it carefully. "Knock-off SVD," he murmured, tilting the rifle here and there. "Made in Angola, refurbished probably in Cuba. Scope's genuine Russian make. Must have had a few laying around somewhere in Havana."

    "Is this important?" asked Gregory with a faintly chilly tone.

    "Possibly. You don't see these laying around gun stores or sporting goods stores very much in this part of the country. Probably would be hard pressed to find one in a pawn shop. It's definitely surplus, though. And it's been through some real fighting, despite somebody's efforts to polish it up. There's small gouges on the forearm and the stock like it's been knocked around in the bush. This is something I would have expected to find in some half-forgotten Taliban cache somewhere in Kandahar." Ryckmen took another moment to examine the action, then knelt back down and gathered spare magazines from the corpse before slipping the sniper rifle into the loop on his backpack. "I'm not a big fan of Dragunovs personally, but I respect them, and right now I could use something with a slightly longer reach. I'll take it back to the White House and sight it in properly later. Can always hand it off to the Theater once I've found something a little more to my liking."

    Nodding, Gregory headed over to the stairs, punching a button to raise a security gate. They took a moment to do a quick ammo check, then headed up the stairs, finding themselves at the top of a grand staircase leading down into the atrium. On the opposite side stood a woman in another improvised sniper cloak, a man on his knees on the ledge of the mezzanine overlooking the atrium, a watch with a glowing orange ring on his wrist. Gregory and Ryckmen each stood behind a pillar, knowing they had found Espinoza and his captor.

    "YOU STILL WANT YOUR MAN?" bellowed Coyote. "YOU CAN HAVE HIM!" A pistol shot rang out and a red stain bloomed on Espinoza's chest. With a savage kick, Coyote sent Espinoza flying over the edge, falling three stories to land at the bottom of the atrium.

    "Agent vital signs: zero," chirped ISAC dispassionately.

    Gregory heard Kelso saying something about how Espinoza didn't have to die, Coyote radioing her crew to kill the Division pigs, and Ryckmen telling him to get ready, but all of it sounded distant and far away, unreal. All he could hear was the sound of his own blood pounding through his ears.

    To hell with them all, he thought. Let the bastards bleed.

    A guttural snarl escaped Gregory's lips as he hefted the M249, wrapping the carry strap once around his forearm, then charged down the stairs as Hyenas came down from the other side. Gunfire, insults, screams of the wounded and the dying, none of made it through the drumbeat of blood in his head. With each step, he swung the LMG into position, stroking the trigger almost lovingly as he fired, dropping Hyenas mercilessly.

    Ryckmen wasn't nearly as affected by Espinoza's execution, but he was finding himself incredibly irritated. Gregory charging in like Rambo without a jock strap might help clear the atrium, but a berserker rage wouldn't do much good once he reached the other side. "Dammit, Peace, I do not need this gratuitous insanity!" he growled to himself as he picked off Hyenas at the top of the landing leading to the mezzanine. Once it was clear, he raced down the grand stairs and across the atrium, trying to catch up with Gregory.

    Gregory hadn't stopped moving once he'd reached the top of the stairs. He'd gone out into the courtyard and stood stock still, sweeping the barrel of his weapon as he looked for targets, dropping the few who tried to charge him. A pile of empty brass lay scattered around his feet as he scanned the courtyard, his mind repeating the same mantra over and over even as he felt oddly euphoric. Now all he had to do was find Coyote and--

    A heavy weight hit him from behind, knocking him to the ground and pinning him in place. Gregory yelped more in surprise than pain, then found himself being rolled on to his side. Ryckmen's steely gaze locked on him. "Nearly got your damn fool head blown off!" he snarled. Gregory blinked at him uncomprehendingly for a moment, then shuddered as he felt himself coming down off the moment of rage.

    "Are you OK?" he asked Ryckmen shakily.

    "Just dandy. Now keep low," he said as he crabbed over to a set of shipping containers. Gregory crawled on his belly till he was behind cover, then stood up. "All right, Peace. Against my better judgment, I'm gonna ask you to do me a favor. Coyote's over there and she's gonna try to pick us off. I don't know how good she is, but she's still got some people she's using to keep the approaches covered. I need you to dig in and keep those guys occupied in case they start thinking they can pull off a daylight charge over the minefield like you just did."

    "What are you going to be doing?"

    "Something real stupid, but I'm gonna do it anyway." Ryckmen narrowed his eyes slightly. "Are you going flip out on me again? I need to know right now and I need the truth."

    "I'm good, Lowell," nodded Gregory.

    "I think you're full of crap, partner, but I'm going to hold you to it." Ryckmen slung the MDR and unlimbered the SVD as Gregory let off a short burst and moved forward behind some slightly better cover. Working his way around the other side, Ryckmen put the rifle to his shoulder, then slowly peeked around the corner of the container. Coyote was looking at Gregory, lining up a shot on him. Putting the crosshairs on her head, Ryckmen breathed in, then slowly squeezed off a round.

    The bullet went wide, striking a cargo container behind Coyote, throwing off her shot. She'd flinched badly, but Ryckmen had seen the bullet hole appear in the steel behind her. Before she could bring her rifle to bear on him, Ryckmen had already moved back. Gregory gave her something to worry about, short bursts from the M249 keeping her goons honest and pinned down. Ryckmen knew he was having to eyeball his adjustments on an unfamiliar weapon, violating every good piece of training doctrine he'd ever learned, but there was no time to indulge in the niceties. He adjusted the elevation down four clicks, the windage to the left two clicks, then gave the butt of the rifle a good firm tap with the flat of his hand before making his way back where he'd been originally.

    Coyote had Gregory's weapon in her sights. She might not kill the agent, but disarming him would be worthwhile in its own right. Over the last six months, she'd made dozens of shots like this. All she had to do was squeeze.

    Ryckmen leaned around the corner of the container, putting the crosshairs on Coyote's head, and squeezed the trigger without taking a breath. The shot rang out over Gregory, the supersonic passage of the bullet sounding oddly harmonic as it flew by. Coyote's head snapped back violently as the bullet struck just inside the left orbit of her skull and passed through, a jet of blood and gray matter bursting through the back of her improvised hood. The remaining Hyenas seemed momentarily stunned by the sudden demise of their leader, a paralysis which afforded Gregory and Ryckmen far too much time to blot them from existence.


    * * *

    The White House
    1503 EST


    "I need you guys out there," said Kelso stubbornly. "You're two of the best gunslingers I have left."

    "I'm a gunslinger. He's a nerd with a gun." Ryckmen shook his head slowly. "Kelso, I will never find the term 'nerd rage' funny ever again because of him. He needs to come off the line for a little bit. Get his head straight before he goes back out there."

    "It's been three days already."

    "And he's not ready. Look, Kelso, what happened at the Center was bad. I've seen bad, and being completely honest, it doesn't bother me nearly as much as it did when I first went out into the sandbox. It still bothers me, but I've learned how to cope. I'm pretty sure you've learned how to cope, unless you've been a fobbit your whole career. Peace hasn't yet. He's seen fighting, sure, but nothing like this. I don't think he's ever seen something like what happened to Espinoza."

    "There's nothing you guys could have done for Espinoza. I told you two that before," Kelso said in a highly exasperated tone.

    "Yeah, you know that and I know that. I'm willing to say Peace knows that, too. But knowing it and believing it are two different things. And he's not at the 'believing' stage yet." Ryckmen scratched his head slowly, frowning in thought. "Look, I'm not a shrink, but maybe we need to find something to take his mind off Espinoza for a couple days. Give him something else to think about. He's Analytics, so let's give him something to analyze."

    "What'd you have in mind?"

    "Some of the gear I'm seeing the Hyenas toting around looks like refurbished military surplus. It's fairly recent refurbishing, and it looks like something I'd see out of a government arms deal where they were trying to disguise the country of origin. Picatinny rails, threading for compensators or suppressors, all the bells and whistles we'd be expecting on our gear. Hell, that Dragunov I picked up feels like somebody adjusted the trigger to break at one pound. Do you honestly think there's a qualified armorer or gunsmith hiding among those scumbags?"

    "Maybe, but I'd be looking to buy a lottery ticket if I found one. Realistically, there's got to be a few guys they have who can take care of piddling little problems, but for full custom work and major jobs like replacing barrels or rebuilding actions, I can't see them setting aside a serious work space. True Sons would, of course, but the Hyenas? No way."

    "Which begs the question of how they're keeping supplied. Would the True Sons enter into any sort of bargain with the Hyenas?"

    Kelso snorted derisively. "Ridgeway would shoot them the instant he or his goons saw them. I know you're still pretty new to the area, so the local power dynamics aren't something you've been fully briefed on, but all three factions hate each other with a pure and burning passion. It's probably the only reason we've lasted this long. They're so busy fighting each other, the amount of energy they have left to take us on isn't enough to really hurt us. Of course," she continued, grimacing in distaste, "we're only slightly better off."

    "Right. So how are the Hyenas getting their gear? Somebody's got to be supplying them or they've got some kind of stockpile they built up over the last six months or so."

    "I can't quite buy the stockpile idea. Least not going that far back. Lowell, I don't know how much you've heard about what D.C. was like right after Black Friday, but this place was a zoo. Wallace signed Directive 51, then croaked from a heart attack. Mendez took over, there was that fiasco with DC-62 which poisoned whole blocks of the city, and he ate a bullet over it. And Ellis, God alone knows where he is. Somebody took out Air Force One with a SAM about a month or so after he took over." A look of shock crept over Kelso's face. "Christ, there's nobody left in the line of succession. Everybody else is dead or missing." She shook her head. "We were supposed to ensure the continuity of government, and we have failed."

    "Not yet, we haven't," Ryckmen said firmly. "We're still around, and we can pick up the pieces. I saw it happen in New York. I know we can make it happen here."

    Kelso gave him a crooked smile. "All right, Lobo. And yes, I've been in touch with Lau over ham radio. She wanted me to tell you the Post Office isn't the same without you or Urquidez, but she hopes your project is proceeding according to your designs. Didn't ask what she meant by that."

    "Probably best you don't for right now. When I have information relevant and timely to our circumstances here, you'll be the first to know. Listen, I'm going to go find Peace, get him noodling on this Hyena supply problem." Ryckmen left the operations center, stopping by the mess table to grab two cups of coffee, then went downstairs. Thinking for a moment, he walked into the West Wing, then made his way over to the Oval Office. Gregory sat behind the President's desk, staring at the opposite wall.

    "Got you some coffee," Ryckmen said without preamble, setting a cup down next to Gregory. Taking a sip, he grimaced. "Think it's about three-quarters chicory at this point. Guessing the Kerman's bean bags have all been used up."

    Gregory closed his eyes, shuddering a little in the chair. "Did I get him killed, Lowell? Did I kill Espinoza?" he asked softly.

    "No, you didn't. You didn't pull the trigger, you didn't kick him off the mezzanine. The only person responsible for Espinoza's death is Coyote, and she's paid the price for it. Look at me." Gregory turned and looked Ryckmen in the eyes, the devastation he felt painfully clear. "You did everything right, Paxton. In this line of work, we can do everything right and still fail. It happens. It sucks, but it happens. We don't stop doing things the right way just because it didn't give us the result we wanted. In a perfect world, we do everything the right way, the good guys win, and the bad guys lose. But, as you may have noticed, this isn't a perfect world." Gregory snorted, bringing a smile to Ryckmen's lips. "Listen, partner, you flogging yourself over Espinoza's death isn't going to bring him back. And it's not going to help anybody around here. Which is kind of important, since we really could use your help with something. There's a small logistical problem we need to sort out regarding the Hyenas. If nothing else," said Ryckmen, his smile turning decidedly predatory, "it'll make it a lot harder for those bastards to pull the same kind of stunt a second time. You interested?"

    Gregory closed his eyes again, brows knitting together in thought for a few moments before he opened them again. "Hell, yeah."
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  2. #2
    A Note From The Author

    If you're enjoying the story, please don't hesitate to let me know. The only thing better than feedback from fans is knowing there are fans out there to begin with.
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