State of Pursuit (6 page)

Yes. Even then.

I’m sitting on the edge of the biggest couch in the living room of the ranch house. We are leaving tonight. It’s cold, drizzly and dark. I stare out the front window. I have barely been able to rest while I’ve been here. I’m
anxious, on edge. Wondering where Chris is…if he’s alive…if he’s being interrogated. What if he’s being tortured?

I can’t even
think
about that.

I stand up and pace the length of the room, boots sinking into the soft carpet. The platoon is outside, getting ready. I’m waiting for my Lieutenants to meet me here. I need to speak to them privately before we leave this place.

Because when we leave…we might not be coming back.

Morbid, but true.

“What’s up, boss?” Derek asks as he saunters into the room, his rifle over his shoulder, pack on his back. “Bad news?”

“No,” I reply.

Uriah, Vera, and Andrew enter the room right behind him, geared up and ready to go.

“You’re going to need to travel as lightly as possible,” I say. “We’re not driving into Los Angeles, it’s too dangerous. And we can’t fly, either.”

“So how are we getting
in
, Hart?” Vera snaps. “We can’t just appear there.”

“I’ll show you,” I say.

We take a long hallway toward the back of the building, exiting into the backyard. Only
this
backyard is
massive. An empty swimming pool fed by a natural spring is wedged between lavish landscaping – exotic shrubbery and marble water fountains.

“Geez
Louise
,” Derek says. “How rich
was
Arlene?”

“Very rich,” Manny replies. “Her family raised cattle for over a hundred years. Good salt-of-the-earth people.”

“How do you know her family?” I ask.

“We go back a long way. I’ll tell you the story sometime.”

“Fair enough.”

In the back of the property, the stables stand tall and proud. The building is beautiful, and once we enter the side door, I smell straw and livestock. It’s a comforting scent. One that reminds me of my time spent with Chris and his family last Christmas. Before their farm was burned to the ground.

The interior is glowing with lamplight. Beautiful horses snort and shake their heads in their stalls. Maybe they’re not used to having this many people in their living space.

Sorry, guys.

“Oh, my God…” Vera mutters. “Horses. We’re taking horses.”

“It’s the tactical edge we need,” Manny exclaims. “And fortunately for you, I know everything there is to know about horseback riding. You’re welcome.”

“We’re going to die on these things,” Vera sighs.

“Not likely,” I reply. “United States Special Forces used horses in Afghanistan. They’re tough, they make good time, they’re pretty much all-terrain…and they’ll get us in and out of the city undetected.”

“Not a bad idea,” Andrew remarks.

“Not bad at all,” Uriah adds.

Vera slowly, hesitantly strokes the nose of a toffee-colored horse. She’s smiling, peaceful. When she catches me watching her, she hardens.

“So,” she says. “What now?”

“We saddle up, obviously,” Manny replies. He pats the cheek of a brown-hued horse. “Take only the necessary items. Weapons, food, ammo and water. You’ve all got tactical medical kits on your person, so besides that…you should be set. Keep it light, boys and girls.”

“We brought a ton of supplies in the Humvees,” Derek comments, “and there’s no way we’re going to be able to take all of it on horseback. My RPG is going to have to stay behind.”

He looks utterly crushed.

“It’ll be okay, Derek,” I say, squeezing his shoulder. “We can’t use an RPG in downtown Los Angeles, anyway. It’s not exactly discreet.”

“No.” He grins. “But it would be
awesome
.”

“Manny,” I say in a low voice, “you’re going to have to walk me through this. I’ve never been on a horse before.”

“Girl, believe me when I say that
you
more than anyone else here is capable of riding a horse,” Manny answers. He presses my hand against the forehead of his horse. “This is Katana. She’s my favorite of the lot, and the most even-tempered. She’s best suited for you.”

“Oh.” I peek around the side of Katana’s head, studying her huge, long lashed brown eyes. “Hey, girl. Nice to meet you.”

Katana nickers a soft, breathy nuzzle in response.

“The secret of horseback riding is simple,” Manny begins. Arlene strides into the room with a bucket of water, sets it down near Katana’s stall, and looks at me.

“I see you’ve taken a liking to my favorite girl,” she whispers.

I shrug. “Um, actually…”

“Ladies,” Manny interrupts. “If you don’t
mind
, I’m
trying
to give a lecture here.”

“Please continue,” I say.

The platoon fills the stable. We must look odd. Twenty-five camouflaged militiamen inside a 150-year-old stable. Then again…soldiers and horses were the equivalent to soldiers and Humvees not so long ago.

“Like I was saying before I was interrupted,” Manny goes on, raising an annoyed eyebrow, “the secret of horseback riding is very simple. Get on, hang on and pay attention. You exercise common sense and the horse will, too. You stay calm, and the horse will stay calm. You take care of your horse, and your horse will take care of you. It’s not really any different than a relationship with a human, actually.” He gestures to Katana. “Take this horse, for example. Fine tempered creature, common sense. As long as you treat her right, she’ll treat you right.”

“Sounds like dating advice to me,” Derek remarks.

The militiamen laugh. Manny cracks a smile.

“Very true,” Manny says. “Like I said. They’re not so different from people.”

“How do you know so much about horses, flyboy?” somebody shouts.

“I was raised with horses. Worked with them all my life in a stable before I got into flying. Now who’s ready to ride into Los Angeles?”

“Hi-ho Silver,” Uriah mutters, smiling at me.

“The Lone Ranger,” I say.

“Yeah. Now
that’s
a great old show.”

I tilt my head. Somehow, Uriah doesn’t strike me as someone who would appreciate the classics, but hey. Who am I to judge?

“These horses can go about fifteen to thirty miles in a day with pack loads, provided we give them the proper amount of rest and care on the way into the city,” Manny continues. “We’ll be traveling on rising and falling terrain, so we’ll need to be careful about pushing them too hard.” He pauses. “So. Any questions?”

“I got one,” Uriah says.

“Go.”

He leans against the wall, jerking his thumb at a horse.

“How do we actually ride these things?”

Manny cracks his knuckles and rolls up his sleeves. He looks a little mischievous.

“Now
that
, my boy, is the fun part,” he says.

The night is cold, but the clouds have cleared enough to shed white, brilliant moonlight across the mountains. I’m sitting with my boots in the stirrups of Katana’s saddle, holding her reins in the palm of my hand. I’ve got nothing but my rifle on my back, my sidearm on my thigh, my knife on my belt and a jacket buttoned up to the neck.

The horses are snorting blasts of steaming breath in the chill. A couple of them paw the ground.

Manny is seated on a horse beside me, lazily studying his flight cap.

“Are you going to bring that?” I ask.

He looks up. “Of course,” he replies. “It’s my good luck charm.”

“I don’t believe in luck.”

“You don’t, eh? Then what
do
you believe in, Commander?”

I don’t answer. Because I’m not sure I know anymore.

I can feel Katana’s lungs expand and shrink with each breath. Her body is warm, and every once in a while she snorts through her nose – loudly. Derek is loading up the last of the horses with gear, while the rest of the platoon finds their own animal.

“You have all of the information you’ll need,” Arlene says. She pats Katana’s nose. “Do you have any questions, Commander?”

“No,” I reply. “Manny?”

“I’m fine and dandy,” he replies. “Not much else to say.”

“Good luck, Manny,” she says softly. “Come back safely.” She looks at me. “You too. I pray that your operation will be successful.”

“Thank you,” I answer. “We’ll be back. Count on it.”

“Your mission codename,” she says. “What is it? What do I tell the Underground?”

I think about it.

“Angel Pursuit,” I say at last.

She nods, approving.

I tap the heels of my boots against Katana’s flanks and she moves forward.

Easy enough
, I think.
For now
.

The motion of the horse is almost like riding on the moving deck of a ship. Every movement of the animal rolls your body slightly forward and backward. I feel exposed sitting on top of such a big creature. I can see clearly in all directions, but as a mountain fighter, I’m used to traveling within the cover of ravines, behind trees and through bushes. Not perched on top of a twelve-hundred pound horse.

Behind the stables, there’s a hidden trail that winds into the woods. Manny moves toward it – but not before he whispers something to Arlene. She smiles.

It’s a sad smile. A wistful one.

I wonder what he said.

“Alrighty, Commander,” Manny tells me. “I’ll lead the way.”

“Roger that.”

He turns on his horse to look over the platoon. They’re saddled up and ready to go. Half of the group looks unsure of what they’re doing on their horses, while the other half seems to be adjusting just fine. Uriah is one of the latter.

He trots up beside me, an expression of wry amusement on his face.

“You look pretty relaxed in the saddle,” he comments.

I pull back on the reins and turn Katana to the right. I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth and urge her forward. She follows Manny’s lead, and the entire platoon begins moving out of the stable area, into the woods.

I frequently look over my shoulder, watching the militiamen. A few of them nearly fall off their horses at first. It’s comical to watch – if not a little depressing. My platoon Lieutenants – Vera, Derek, Andrew and Uriah – adjust the quickest. Unsurprising.

Vera looks royally ticked off to be riding a horse, however, judging by the sour expression on her face. I guess she’d rather take a Humvee into Los Angeles.

So would I, but hey.

There’s a war going on.

For the first hour of riding, I find myself adjusting to the sensation of horseback riding. At first it feels odd. Like I’m bouncing – floating. And then I settle into the saddle and relax into the rhythm of Katana’s strides. It’s nice not to have to hike on foot. But I can’t let my guard down. These hills are crawling with rogue militia groups and breakaway gangs that fled the city.

At least that’s what I’ve been told.

According to intelligence reports from the National Guard, Los Angeles is a hotbed of Omega activity – and the ring around the outside of the city limits is a dangerous barrier of violent people.

“Generally speaking,”
Arlene said earlier,
“Los Angeles is the castle, and the territory outside it is the village. The people that have been locked out of the castle are the few survivors, and the some of them have formed gangs. They’re dangerous. Several have created militia groups – only they’re rogue. They’re not fighting just Omega. They’re fighting
anyone
.”

Survival of the fittest.

The mountain trail gently slopes downward, winding between trees and bushes. But as the hours pass, the trail travels up and down and around the hills. At one point, we break the cover of the trees and hit the open, rolling hillside. Grazing territory for cattle.

“We’ll want to steer clear of the ridgeline,” Manny advises. “Ride the crest just below the top. We don’t want to silhouette against the moonlight.”

I can’t argue with that.

We stick to the trails and stay just enough below the ridgeline to avoid detection, but high enough to get a good view of the surrounding area. A bone-chilling breeze sweeps up the side of the hill, creating a ripple in the grass. I shiver and scan the horizon. It’s so open. So
exposed
. I don’t like it. I’ve come to love the cover and concealment of the deep forest.

We come to a spot in the ridge where it becomes necessary for us to deviate from traveling higher. The mountain is divided here. We will have to climb down and then back up.

“Let’s get this over with,” I breathe. “The sooner we get back on the ridgeline, the better.”

“No argument there, Commander,” Manny agrees.

So we take our horses downward to the valleys between the mountains. Going downhill on a steep trail is a new experience for me. I almost have to stand in the stirrups, pulling back on the reins. Katana nearly slides to the bottom, sticking her front legs out in front of her, crouching with her hind legs. I nearly topple over her head, but grab the saddle horn to keep myself mounted.

“Have you noticed something?” Uriah asks, hanging onto his mount tightly.

His horse, Mach, is midnight black. It matches Uriah’s personality perfectly.

“What are you talking about?” I say.

“I’m talking about
you
.” He wraps the reins in his right hand. “This platoon. Notice how everyone is following your orders? You’re a great Commander.”

“Uriah,” I sigh. “I’m
not
. Ordering people around doesn’t define a leader. Doing the right thing at the hardest time does.”

I’m quoting Chris.

“
You want to lead people?”
he said one day, long before we ever joined the National Guard. Or before I was even enslaved in a labor camp.
“The key to being a good leader is to make decisions based on facts, not on anger or fear. Find the genius in everyone you work with. Be humble. Don’t take credit for victory. It belongs to the group. But the hardest thing about being a leader is doing what you
know
in your gut is right. So many times, the simplest answer is the right answer. In the heat of the moment, complex strategies aren’t usually the answer. Look for that clear, easy solution. ”