Six Feet From Hell: Crisis by Joseph Coley Page B

… uh … yes sir. We’ll leave within the hour, and we should be there shortly after.”
    “Good. Now get your shit together and double-time it down here. I ain’t got all fucking day.”
    “Yessir. Peacemaker Seven out.”
    The Captain thumbed the END button on the sat-phone. He rubbed his forehead and wondered why he’d left such a complete jackass in charge in Kentucky. It was an unfortunate result of the type of people that were left to work with. They would follow orders when given; otherwise they’d just sit there with their thumbs up their asses.
    “Bad news, sir?” One of his lieutenants had been waiting for him to finish his call, and now stood beside him.
    “Goddamn retards in Kentucky. They lost six out of nine men. Acceptable combat losses, unfortunately.”
    “Well, you’ll be happy to know that we made contact with the mole in West Virginia. He said they are positive that the ZBRA unit out of there isn’t going to make it back. Their contingency plan is to go to some place near the Virginia/West Virginia border. Some town named Tazewell. They are taking three LMTVs and leaving at noon tomorrow. We could really use those vehicles, sir. In addition to the trucks, he says they will be loaded down with supplies. Guns, ammo, food, and water, the works.”
    The Captain raised an eyebrow. “And where is this place from here?”
    The lieutenant, named Edwards, lit up a little. “About sixty miles north of here. We could make the trip in two days. Just give me two Humvees and about ten men and I’ll get it done, sir.”
    The Captain pondered the idea. The three LMTVs would make a nice addition to his arsenal, and they could hold twenty men, making it easier to send out more small groups. The one he had sent to Beckley, West Virginia had done well, taking out the ZBRA unit while they slept. The communique they had received from their mole had said that the ZBRA unit in Blacksburg was making a run to the Radford Army Ammunition Plant. They could use that ammo themselves, so he sent the Beckley raiders east towards Blacksburg. The Blacksburg ZBRA unit was the last one in the area that needed to be dealt with. After his team was done, they would resupply and take out the units in Charlottesville and Fredericksburg. Then their path to D.C. would be complete.
    “What do you think, sir?” Edwards asked. The Captain mulled the idea over a moment longer, then gave him a nod.
    “Do it. Make contact with the mole in West Virginia. Tell him to make sure that the vehicles make the trip undamaged or they won’t be worth shit when we get hold of ‘em. Tell him to play along and keep the other two saps alive – at least until they get to Tazewell. You know what to do when you get there.”
    Edwards grinned devilishly. “Yes sir.”
    “Wait until he’s in position in Tazewell. Once he calls back and gives us the go-ahead, we will make the trip.”
    Edwards frowned slightly. “’We,’ sir?”
    “Yeah, ‘we.’ I'm going to make the trip with you and oversee this personally.”

CHAPTER 9
     
    DECEMBER 2 2, 2021
     
    The next morning Rick woke to the most incredible hangover. He was the first one up, and, not being familiar with the ‘morning after’ feeling, had immediately shot up off the couch. The intense pounding in his head immediately crippled him, shooting pain throughout his temples and almost literally knocking him down. He grabbed both sides of his head and slowly sat back down, surrendering to his thumping headache.
    “ Ohhhhh, dammit,” he said softly.
    Joe, Jamie, and Balboa slowly woke as well, each one apparently oblivious to the menacing hangover that Rick had.
    Rick frowned. “How in the hell do you old fuckers not have this shit goin’ on this morning?”
    Joe laughed. “Years of practice, my son. You gotta drink water while you’re drinkin’ the booze or else – well, you see how it ends up.”
    “Yeah, I was wonderin’ why y’all were sippin’ on those CamelBaks the whole