A Pair of Fives, King high
“Ok, a pair of fives showing, king high, who wants to pay to see the next card?” Jones called out, like he was some Vegas dealer and not some wanna be that was wrapped up into a fad. Allen looked up for a moment and saw that there were four guys still in the game. Allen turned back to his book, he loved to read. Currently he was working his way through a murder mystery. John was cleaning his rifle again, he tended to do that when he was bored. The gym that was not their home for the foreseeable future was a beehive of activity
Allen was startled when he heard his name called out, along with that of Jones, Boudreaux and Greg. It brought a pain to him when he expected eddies name, but it was not called out. He looked over at the doors and there were four MPs complete with mirrored sunglasses waiting. Allen noticed John looking at him, he shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe we have more paper work to fill out” He told him. “lets go see what they want”
Jonsey folded up his card game in a hurry, he woke Gregg up and the four of them approached the military police. “Are you Jones, Croix, Boudreaux and Eaddy?” the Lieutenant in charge of the bunch asked. Allen spoke for the group, “Yes, can we help you, Sir?” Lieutenant Smith looked about the room wondering if these guys had enough friends to make this ugly, but most were not paying attention. “Yes, you’re under arrest for the murders of two civilians. You have the right to remain silent…” Allen stood still, almost numb, he barely remembered the officer reading him his rights. Two of the MPS turned him around and placed cuffs on him. Jones looked at him and nodded, telling him to go with it. John, however, didn’t want to have cuffs put on him ever again. He turned and started to run, and most likely would have gotten at least out of the gym had the third MP had not hit him over the head with is baton. John fell like a dead man, a nasty bruise starting to show through his crew cut red hair.
Greg, to his credit decided to just put his hands up. The three of them were led off and the LT had drafted two men in the impromptu BEQ to carry John. The MPs had take up office in the county Sheriffs office. They were thrown into a cell that seemed like it had not seen any cleaning in years. The small sell had two solid walls and two made of bars. The beige paint was faded from repeated scrubbings and the fluorescent lighting with missing tubes contributed to a dismal feeling. The LT sat at a desk filling out some paperwork while one of the two sergeants called for a medic to take a look at John. Greg looked out the barred window, Jonesy curled up on one of the nasty cots. Allen gave up trying to get the chiseled chinned recruiting poster boy officer to tell them why they were here. The strangest thing was when they had photographers come in and let them take a bunch of pictures. All with the cell bars in-between. This was going to break his mothers heart.
Brenner looked through the scope of his rifle at the sheriff’s office. There were several men being led into it in handcuffs, feds, not locals not suspected rebels. Something was not right here. He lowered the rifle and began the long slow process of backing down the other side of the hill. He would melt away and call this in. Why would the FEDS be arresting their own? There was something fishy about it. If there had been any looting or major media breaches, they would have known about it. This was something more.
As he slipped off the slope and onto the concrete poured at the bottom he heard the noise of a military vehicle headed his way. He darted behind the burned out wreck and crouched down. Peering through the twisted metal he saw two of the Army’s new infantry fighting vehicles come into view. This was bad news he thought to himself, group told them that the IFV would not be in service for another year due to sabotage in the plant making them. Brenner pulled out his small camera and disabled the flash. He took as many photos as he could with out exposing his position. The camouflaged vehicles lumbered out of view, and Brenner waited a few moments before he darted to the storm drain on the edge of the street, she dropped to the ground and rolled into it dropping the bottom. The water smelled, he still was not used to it, but it was the safest way to move around when carrying a weapon now that the Feds were here. He crawled to the main line and slipped into it landing on his feet. At least he could walk in here even if it was stooped over.
Walking the three mile underground with bad lighting did nothing to help his mood. By the time Brenner got to the bunker, he was mad at himself for not taking the shot at that officer leading the cuffed men in and mad at himself for almost getting caught and mad that the intel he got was wrong, again. He knocked on the door and waited. He knew that the guards had been watching him since he entered the tunnel. “Name” was the only word out of the hollow sounding speaker box. “Ryan Brenner. 863050” after a pause the door opened and he slipped through. Once the door shut light came on and he handed his rifle off to one of the guards as another ran a chemical stiffer over him. Ryan waited with impatience, if he wanted to kill the commander he would not need explosives.
Once he was cleared he walked down the hall way which was decorated in an early twentieth century bomb shelter motif. He got to the Commanders office which was more of a conference room now. He looked about, the CO was nowhere to be seen which meant he was relieving himself or he was in the operations center. Scott headed that way thinking about how in the last few hours about how things had changed, and about how they were about to get a lot more dangerous.
Allen was startled when he heard his name called out, along with that of Jones, Boudreaux and Greg. It brought a pain to him when he expected eddies name, but it was not called out. He looked over at the doors and there were four MPs complete with mirrored sunglasses waiting. Allen noticed John looking at him, he shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe we have more paper work to fill out” He told him. “lets go see what they want”
Jonsey folded up his card game in a hurry, he woke Gregg up and the four of them approached the military police. “Are you Jones, Croix, Boudreaux and Eaddy?” the Lieutenant in charge of the bunch asked. Allen spoke for the group, “Yes, can we help you, Sir?” Lieutenant Smith looked about the room wondering if these guys had enough friends to make this ugly, but most were not paying attention. “Yes, you’re under arrest for the murders of two civilians. You have the right to remain silent…” Allen stood still, almost numb, he barely remembered the officer reading him his rights. Two of the MPS turned him around and placed cuffs on him. Jones looked at him and nodded, telling him to go with it. John, however, didn’t want to have cuffs put on him ever again. He turned and started to run, and most likely would have gotten at least out of the gym had the third MP had not hit him over the head with is baton. John fell like a dead man, a nasty bruise starting to show through his crew cut red hair.
Greg, to his credit decided to just put his hands up. The three of them were led off and the LT had drafted two men in the impromptu BEQ to carry John. The MPs had take up office in the county Sheriffs office. They were thrown into a cell that seemed like it had not seen any cleaning in years. The small sell had two solid walls and two made of bars. The beige paint was faded from repeated scrubbings and the fluorescent lighting with missing tubes contributed to a dismal feeling. The LT sat at a desk filling out some paperwork while one of the two sergeants called for a medic to take a look at John. Greg looked out the barred window, Jonesy curled up on one of the nasty cots. Allen gave up trying to get the chiseled chinned recruiting poster boy officer to tell them why they were here. The strangest thing was when they had photographers come in and let them take a bunch of pictures. All with the cell bars in-between. This was going to break his mothers heart.
Brenner looked through the scope of his rifle at the sheriff’s office. There were several men being led into it in handcuffs, feds, not locals not suspected rebels. Something was not right here. He lowered the rifle and began the long slow process of backing down the other side of the hill. He would melt away and call this in. Why would the FEDS be arresting their own? There was something fishy about it. If there had been any looting or major media breaches, they would have known about it. This was something more.
As he slipped off the slope and onto the concrete poured at the bottom he heard the noise of a military vehicle headed his way. He darted behind the burned out wreck and crouched down. Peering through the twisted metal he saw two of the Army’s new infantry fighting vehicles come into view. This was bad news he thought to himself, group told them that the IFV would not be in service for another year due to sabotage in the plant making them. Brenner pulled out his small camera and disabled the flash. He took as many photos as he could with out exposing his position. The camouflaged vehicles lumbered out of view, and Brenner waited a few moments before he darted to the storm drain on the edge of the street, she dropped to the ground and rolled into it dropping the bottom. The water smelled, he still was not used to it, but it was the safest way to move around when carrying a weapon now that the Feds were here. He crawled to the main line and slipped into it landing on his feet. At least he could walk in here even if it was stooped over.
Walking the three mile underground with bad lighting did nothing to help his mood. By the time Brenner got to the bunker, he was mad at himself for not taking the shot at that officer leading the cuffed men in and mad at himself for almost getting caught and mad that the intel he got was wrong, again. He knocked on the door and waited. He knew that the guards had been watching him since he entered the tunnel. “Name” was the only word out of the hollow sounding speaker box. “Ryan Brenner. 863050” after a pause the door opened and he slipped through. Once the door shut light came on and he handed his rifle off to one of the guards as another ran a chemical stiffer over him. Ryan waited with impatience, if he wanted to kill the commander he would not need explosives.
Once he was cleared he walked down the hall way which was decorated in an early twentieth century bomb shelter motif. He got to the Commanders office which was more of a conference room now. He looked about, the CO was nowhere to be seen which meant he was relieving himself or he was in the operations center. Scott headed that way thinking about how in the last few hours about how things had changed, and about how they were about to get a lot more dangerous.
posted by Vulture 6 | 4:31 PM
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