CHAPTER 3

Hera: Mossberg Salvage

Just about figgers, don’t it, the way this day has gone? Took me years of roamin’, scratchin’ just to get by, before I finally gave in and came home. Got me a real job, steady work, a few friends, and not one blessed soul wantin’ my head on a platter. Shoulda known it was too good to last. My training took over and I didn’t even stick around to see Marcus high-tail it out of there. Time to un-ass the AO, as we used to say.

Pull up the trapdoor hidden under my cooler and start gathering up my bug-out kit. Some coin, but not enough to get off-planet. They’ll be watching for that anyways. The rest of the money can stay. I’ll gather it up later if I live.

A week’s worth of dehydrated rations, two canteens of water, spare bladder is already on the mule. Chameleon cloth tarp, my lever action rifle and the Glock, along with reloads for each. My old cammies, I’ll change into those later, and my knife. Cain’t forget the knife. Maybe I’ll get the chance to finish old Smelly off with it. Shoulda done it right the first time, but that’s what happens when you git in a hurry.

Shrug into my webbing, buckle it all down, then into the mule. Fire her up, purring, since I just worked on her yesterday. Thumb the little red button. BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, hinges on the double doors go bye-byes. Goose the plasma flow and we burst into sunshine.

And almost right over top of Smelly. Hard to tell who was more surprised by my hasty exit, but I wasn’t goin’ to hang around and figger it out. I cut a hard right and opened the throttle wide, graviton wake making the world all blurry behind me. Didn’t take Smelly long to get his act together. I’d only made 50 yards afore that big honkin’ gun of his started barkin’

Smelly’s choice in hand artillery was a Smith & Wesson 50 caliber. Most men’d pack it around on a sling, it’s that big, but in those ham-sized paws of his it looked like a toy. It fired a lead slug about like the end of my little finger, and whatever got hit, stayed hit.

It was a near thing makin’ the trees, damn near wrapped myself around an oak afore I got the speed hauled down to sumthin’ this side of sane. Now to find me a hidey-hole and give these guys the slip for awhile. Cover, cover, where’s my cover?

Options? Minimal. They’ll be airborne and scanning for my sled inside 10 minutes. Wait.......scanning for my sled. Perfect! I set the auto-nav to follow the road I was on, then stop about 5 miles from here where the trees started peterin’ out and power down. If they didn’t just blast the hell out of it I might be able to swing round and pick it up later. If they did blast it, well, better it than me. I gave her an affectionate pat on the dash, then hopped out and sent her on her way.

Okay, got some breathing room, now what to do? I’d set up several hides and caches for this eventuality, but they were all too far to reach quickly. Need to get my head down and make like a rock somewheres.

The thing my instructor stressed a lot during the E & E course was to avoid “places”. The top of a ridge is a place. Roads, creeks, big rocks, anything that can serve as a landmark is a place. From above, one patch of woods looks like any other, but hunker up next to a creek, or follow a game trail, and now you’re “somewhere” versus the middle of nowhere.

I headed off to the west for a ways before I found a good hide. Blackberries, twice my height easy, the canes as big around as my thumb. Tough gettin’ in or out of, but they’d do me fine. Plenty of concealment over the top visually and my tarp’d take care of heat signature. I just hoped I hadn’t left an obvious trail leading here. Cain’t help but leave SOME sign of my passing, and I was considerably outta practice. Take it as it comes, I guess. I wasn’t worried about my guns or blade showing up on scan. Hell, there’s junk scattered all over this damn planet from the war. If they jack up the sensitivity on their scan there’ll be blips all over the place.

Now’s as good a time as any for some chow. When on the run, any downtime is for food, water, and calls of nature. Ya might not get another chance in a long while. The rations I’d brought along weren’t the best, but it was all low bulk, high calorie stuff. Just add water, give the bottom of the sack a squeeze, and in a minute or so you’ve got hot flavored protein glop. Trust me, it smells better’n it tastes.

Sittin’ there under the tarp, spooning up mush, brought to mind a similar day nigh on seven years ago. On the run, alone, with a pack of purple-bellies lookin’ for some payback. They took it personal after I’d snuck into their camp and blew their commanding officer into orbit while he was taking a dump. No sense of humor, those boys.

And no time for trippin’ down memory lane, neither. In the quiet of the woods it’s easy to listen for what don’t belong, and there it was. The sound of heavy repulsors, slowly gettin’ nearer., maybe a mile or so off. And......yup, the higher pitched whine of a turbine underneath that, prolly a hover. A good deal smarter’n I give ‘em credit for runnin’ a high/low search that way.

Well now. They “know” I’m somewhere in front of ‘em, and any minute now they oughtta be picking up the mule on scan and take off after it. While they’re occupied with that I can sneak off deeper into the green. Won’t take ‘em long to figger out that I ain’t in the sled, so I need to make a run for it afore they circle back. Hope my bad knee don’t give out on this rough ground or I’m screwed for good and all.

Off in the distance I heard the crackle of an autogun, then a flat boom as my baby took one for the team. Time to git movin’.