State of Pursuit (3 page)

I pause before continuing.

“Our Commander and several other officers are prisoners of war,” I state. “You all know how Omega operates. They capture, interrogate and kill. Colonel Rivera has refused my request to send a rescue unit to stop the trucks and bring them home.”

“Why the hell would he do that?” Derek says sharply. He is sitting near Sophia, who is regarding the entire
situation with a solemn expression. She has hardly spoken to me since she’s returned from the battlefield.

“Because he’s a
Colonel
,” Manny drawls. “I said it before and I’ll say it again: politics. It’s all about the
politics
.”

“What politics?” Derek demands. “This is a battlefield.”

“He’s trying to save his own skin and his own men,” Manny shrugs. “If the militias fall by the wayside while he does so, it’s no skin off his nose.”

“But it
is
,” I interrupt. “He’s just doing what he thinks is right.”

I am surprised to hear those words come out of my mouth.

Why should I cut Colonel Rivera any slack?

“Look, I didn’t call you here so you could argue,” I say. “I called you here to ask you a question. I want to bring those men back. Chris Young is the best leader the militia forces have ever had and ever
will
have. I’m asking you to volunteer to join my rescue unit.” I take a deep breath before going on. “I have received no authorization from the Colonel and we can expect no support from the Guard. It’s dangerous. The chances of all of us coming back alive are slim. But I believe it’s worth the risk. We all swore an oath to leave no fighter behind, and I want to uphold that promise.”

I look around at the faces in the room. Battle-tested, hardened individuals.

“Who’s with me?” I ask.

Manny leans lazily against the wall, raising his hand. I nod at him, holding his gaze in silent thanks.

Uriah lifts his hand, along with Derek. To my shock, Vera raises her hand, as well. The rest of the soldiers don’t look so certain. Silence fills the room, and I realize that I need to step up my game.

“Here’s the thing,” I say, wiping my hands on my jacket. My palms are sweaty. Apparently I
am
nervous. “This is a volunteer mission. Nobody is making you go. Colonel Rivera is pulling our forces out of the Chokepoint tomorrow morning. We’ll be back in Fresno by nightfall. If that’s what you want to do, go for it. If you’re loyal to Chris and the militia and everything that he’s fought for, stay here. Help him and the other officers. We
need
Chris. He’s one of the biggest reasons we’ve had so much success as a military force.”

“How do we know Chris isn’t a traitor, too?” Sophia replies.

I stare at her. Her hands are curled into fists on her knees. A tight, resentful expression lights her dark features.

“What are you saying?” I grit.

“Don’t you think it’s convenient that at the exact same time that a chunk of our militia betrayed us, Chris conveniently went
missing
?” she accuses. There is no sympathy in her eyes. Only pure, boiling anger. “Who’s to say that he didn’t orchestrate the entire thing?”

“And I guess he orchestrated Jeff’s death, too,” I snap. “You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

“I know
exactly
what I’m saying,” Sophia replies coldly. “It doesn’t add up.”

“Chris Young would
die
before he betrayed us,” Uriah says, turning his dark gaze on Sophia. “You’re a fool to think otherwise.”

“There is no one more loyal to the militias than Commander Young,” Vera agrees. She glances at me. “Cassidy is right. We need him.”

I shake myself. This is a new twist:

Sophia is attacking and Vera is defending me.

What is happening to my world?

“I’m in,” a young man says. I remember him. Andrew. Tall and lean, dark hair and a great shot with a rifle. He has always been dependable on the battlefield. I nod, thankful for his support. More than half of the soldiers in the room raise their hands. That’s twenty-five.

“This will be considered desertion, you know,” Manny interjects. “Going against Rivera’s orders…pulling back
to track those trucks while he takes the National Guard back to Fresno. He’s liable to throw quite a fit.”

“We’re here on a volunteer basis,” I say. “We’ll do what we want.”

“There will be consequences when we return,” Vera points out.

“We’ll deal with them.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Sophia presses. “It’s not worth any more people dying to go after
one
man.”

I swallow a slew of stinging retorts and steady my emotions.

I will deal with my anger at Sophia later.

“This is a war,” I say, echoing Colonel Rivera. “People die.”

“How are we going to assemble a rescue team without Rivera finding out?” Uriah asks. His gaze is deep, intense. It makes me a little uncomfortable. “He’ll go ballistic if he finds out what we’re planning.”

“He won’t find out.” I smile slightly. “Our convoy is massive. We’ll pull out of line, let the others pass, then turn around and head up the interstate.”

“We can’t just
drive
into Los Angeles like a bunch of tourists,” Derek says.

“We won’t.” I glance at Manny. “Manny’s got connections.”

“I will scout ahead,” he replies, illustrating a plane in flight with his hands. “It’s elementary, really. The fat cats like Rivera head back to Fresno, I go ahead and meet you at a rendezvous point with friendly militia Underground operatives, and you meet me there. Simple, easy and effective.” He winks.

“What will we do when we get to the rendezvous point?” Vera asks.

“Manny will arrange transportation to get us into Los Angeles,” I say.

“What kind of transportation? If we have vehicles, why not just take those all the way into the city?”

“Because the city is infested with Omega forces,” Derek replies. “We won’t be able to get close enough without being detected.” He looks at me. “Right?”

“Correct,” I agree. “And the Underground operatives will have information we’ll need to find Chris.”

“I thought you were going to track
trucks
,” Sophia snorts.

“We are.” I give her a stern, warning look. “But remember that those trucks are long gone now, probably already back in Los Angeles. The Underground will know where they would take POWs like Chris.”

“Like Chris?”

“High level officers.”

I clasp my hands behind my back.

“So,” I say, resolved. “We have a plan of action and we have volunteers. All we need is a Commander. I say we take a vote.”

Manny laughs.

“It’ll be a landslide,” he chuckles. “My vote rests on you, my girl.”

“So does mine,” Uriah says.

“Me too,” Derek shrugs.

“But…I’m not a field commander,” I say, shocked.

Yes, I am organizing a rescue unit to save Chris, but I am not a commander. Not like him. I’m a Lieutenant. A sniper. I was planning on someone else being in charge.

“You have the battlefield experience we need,” Uriah points out. “Besides, we trust you. You’ve been leading the militias as long as Chris has. And if Chris trusts you, I do, too.”

He holds my gaze for a few moments, turning to the others.

“Does anyone here disagree?” he asks.

Silence.

Everyone in the room slowly raises their hands. Manny smiles with satisfaction, almost smug. I lick my lips, fear creeping into my heart.

What have I gotten myself into?

I am no longer a Lieutenant. I am a Commander.

I am in charge. And I’m scared.

Chapter Three

As a child, I spent most of my time alone. I was my own best friend. My daily activities consisted of homework, chores and pretending that I was widely loved and adored by all. And by
all
I mean the collection of toys and stuffed animals I kept in my room. I played with wooden swords and dressed my dolls as commando operatives. I read books about the lives of famous world leaders. People like Alexander the Great, Napoleon Bonaparte and George Washington. I enjoyed history. I liked imagining myself as someone important. Why?

I suppose it was because I was a
nobody
, and I wanted to feel accepted.

Now, as the Commander of a paramilitary rescue unit headed into Los Angeles, I feel more than acceptance. I feel raw fear. I am not afraid that I will die. No. The possibility of death is something I accepted long ago.

I am afraid that I will fail my mission…and fail Chris. Once upon a time Chris took control of a militia group called the
Free Army
to rescue me from an Omega slave labor camp. That group is now called the
Freedom Fighters
, and I am taking them into the heart of Omega’s stronghold to save Chris’s life.

I don’t think I’m ready.

But here I am.

I am sitting in a Humvee. Uriah is in the driver’s seat and I am in the passenger side. Despite my anger that he abandoned Max on the battlefield, I must admit that I’ve appreciated his support. He really
does
seem sorry. People panic in battle. They make bad decisions. And who am I to hold a grudge? I’ve certainly made plenty of my own mistakes since the collapse.

Vera is in another vehicle with Derek, and Manny…well, he’s with his biplane, getting ready to scout ahead and meet us at the rendezvous point in the Tehachapi Mountains. The National Guard convoy is rolling out of Headquarters, a massive movement of trucks and vehicles heading north. It’s surreal to watch.

We came. We fought. We won.

For now.

“They’ll be back,” Uriah mutters.

“Who?” I ask.

“Omega.” He adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. “Don’t you find it a little hard to believe that they would pull back completely and just let us retreat? They’ve got a five million-man army. Let’s be realistic.”

I fold my hands in my lap. The Humvee rumbles to life. Soldiers and officers outside shout orders. Troops are being loaded into transport trucks.

“Something scared them off,” I suggest.

Something caused Omega to retreat, and it wasn’t the National Guard. Many of our
own
men turned on us. We should still be outnumbered. In fact, we should probably be dead.

So why did Omega break off the attack?

“She’s not coming,” Uriah states.

I blink, following his line of sight. Sophia is standing near a transport truck headed northbound. She is dressed in uniform, her gear on her back and a rifle on one shoulder. Her short, dark hair is hidden beneath a beanie.

I watch her carefully. Her face has no expression. She looks up, sensing someone watching her, and locks eyes with me. I slowly shake my head.

Don’t do this
, I think.
We’ve been through so much together
.

She lifts her chin, pursing her lips. She takes a step onto the bumper below the rear gate of the truck, turns her back, and steps inside. She disappears into the dark maw of the vehicle.

I exhale sharply.

Why is she doing this? After everything that’s happened?

“She’s grieving,” Uriah says, softening. “People in grief do illogical things.”

I study his profile. His eyes are trained on the road, soft black hair tangled under a National Guard baseball cap. Since when has Uriah become a friend to me?

“She’s angry,” I reply. “She blames me for losing Alexander and Jeff.”

“That’s not your problem. That’s hers.”

“Sophia has been my friend since we were POWs in a labor camp.”

“People change, and sometimes you don’t know why.” He turns slightly, touching my knee with his hand. “You’re better than her, Cassidy. You’ve got greatness in you.”

My mouth goes dry.

“That’s
Lieutenant
Hart to you,” I murmur.

“Actually, you’re a Commander now,” he counters.

I don’t reply. Chris is the one who offers words of wisdom when I am hurting.

Not Uriah.

“How far away did Manny say the rendezvous point was?” Uriah asks, clearing his throat. Changing the subject. Removing his hand from my knee.

“Three hours, tops, in these trucks,” I say. “Manny has friends in the Underground in the Tehachapi Mountains. That’s our contact.”

“The Colonel’s going to be pissed.”

“He’ll have to deal with it.”

Lately, I’ve been surprised at my own behavior. Recently, stuff that comes out of my mouth is tight and cold. Commanding, even. It’s unlike me, and yet…it
is
, somehow.

This isn’t who I am. It’s just
part
of who I am.

Cassidy Hart, the smart mouthed girl from L.A., died somewhere on the battlefield. At some point, she was replaced by a battle hardened ex-slave laborer and the Lieutenant of a sniper platoon.

Cassidy Hart has changed.

“Here we go,” Uriah mutters.

I lean forward, peering ahead. The convoy is moving forward, a mass of transport trucks and commandeered vehicles filling the freeway. The sky is beautiful. The sun is just peeking over the horizon, filling the hills with a gorgeous gold tone.

Uriah gently eases the Humvee onto the freeway. The back of our vehicle is stocked with supplies and weaponry – the other members that volunteered for our rescue unit follow in separate trucks.

The radio on my belt crackles.

“Yankee, this is Sundog,” Manny says, his voice scratchy. “I’m ready.”

“Roger that, Sundog,” I reply, hiding a grin. “Happy flying.”

We rumble down the interstate, headed northbound. The speed at which the convoy travels is no more than fifteen to twenty miles per hour – maddeningly slow. Discreetly, Uriah pulls to the right hand side of the road, waving follow-on vehicles ahead.

“You better pray they don’t notice this, Commander,” Uriah comments.

“They won’t,” I say. But I’m not confident. I’m bluffing.

Uriah pulls off the road completely and the truck sits there, idling. The convoy continues to pass us by, a roaring collection of engines and troop transports. The truck that Sophia is in lumbers past. A sick, devastated feeling washes over me.

Sophia is angry at the world
, my conscious tells me.
Her decisions are her own, and you can’t waste time worrying about her. Your job is to keep your team safe and to rescue Chris. Focus on the objective, Cassidy!