Chapter 21 Hidden Heroics
Chapter twenty-one
Hidden Heroics
The brutal private dropped the mop handle and yanked a revolver, aiming straight at Luke.
Lark knew he had no credentials and no chance of talking his way out of this confrontation.
Her finger squeezed. The bolt slammed into the guy’s chest at a steep angle.
The gun dropped from his hand as he crumpled, striking a table and sending a metal toolbox clattering.
As his body thudded to the floor, the sergeant pulled his gun. With Luke standing between Lark and the enemy, she couldn’t get a clean shot. Luke whipped the knife from behind his back and lunged, burying it deep in the man’s gut. He cried out, forcing Luke to slash his throat to silence him.
Harlan readied his rifle as the front door flew open, two more guards at the ready storming through.
Not wanting to risk a gunshot bringing the entire enemy force down on them, Lark fired again, her bolt punching through an Iron soldier’s neck.
He grabbed for it, staggering to the side while Luke grappled with the other guard.
“Free the prisoners,” he ordered Harlan.
Shouldering the rifle, Harlan drew his knife and crouched beside them.
General Calder glanced up, his gaze locking onto Lark’s as she peered down at him. His face contorted—half-anguish, half-laughter—as tears welled in his eyes. Harlan cut his bindings first. Calder’s attention snapped to his companion. “Lieutenant Rushing,” he eked out, followed by a cough.
A gunshot split the air, jolting Lark. Her eyes flew to Luke. He yanked his knife from the guard’s chest, but not before he’d gotten off a warning round.
“Move it,” Luke commanded. Lark scrambled to the lowest eave, grabbed it, and rappelled to the ground.
“Over here!” someone yelled in the distance. “The prisoners!” An engine blared to life, followed by the tromp of many feet.
“Run, run!” Luke shouted as he and Harlan dragged General Calder and Lieutenant Rushing from the shed’s back door.
Lark hurried over to assist, catching Calder under an arm, gripping him around the waist. Diego laid down cover fire, and Skye appeared at the general’s other side.
“Get him out of here,” ordered Luke as he swung his rifle into position. “Rushing, can you run?”
He nodded, rubbing his wrists, looking like he might stumble at any moment.
Lark, Skye, and the targets they’d come for raced for the forest’s edge as gunfire peppered the darkness behind them.
The slow whine of a siren crescendoed into an insistent shriek.
With her goggles back on, Lark guided the general through thick underbrush and over fallen logs as they pushed further into the woods.
Still, she and Skye’s speed was hindered by supporting Calder’s weight and his command to not leave the lagging Rushing behind.
“This way,” Luke directed. He and the others had caught up to them a few hundred meters into the thicket. “The nearest patrol is behind us, but they don’t have goggles—just flashlights and lanterns.”
“We can’t outrun them,” Skye said, her voice strained as they continued to move.
“Wes, pick a spot. Diego, quick hide,” Luke directed. “I’ll lay a false trail.”
Sliding to a stop in a hollow, Wes dropped his pack and tossed something to Luke. “Lie down,” he ordered the team in a sharp whisper. “Turn off your goggles and play dead.”
Luke nodded and sprinted off, breaking branches and making lots of noise.
Lark and Skye assisted the general into the shallow hole filled with leaves, lying on either side of him.
Rushing squeezed in with Harlan and Diego, curling up at their feet.
Wes draped a silver thermal tarp over them, followed by the camo net, tying it quickly to surrounding trees and bushes. Hastily, he slid in at their head end.
Crowd noise burst through the air, moving rapidly away from them. Luke ducked under the leafy, insulated hide and lay still. Clicked off his night vision. Slowed his breathing. They waited.
Must be that cube Wes gave him, Lark thought. An old electronic device that makes sounds.
Lark settled on her back, hugging her crossbow to her chest, ready to fire at a moment’s notice. The musty odor of rotting wood and decomposing vegetation filled her nostrils. A broken twig poked her in the ribs.
No one made a sound, yet tension pressed in, heavy and unyielding. This would be a short-lived rescue if they were discovered. The camouflaged cover was like the one they laid over the vehicles, 12 by 15 feet, and they were packed in snugly.
Lark breathed shallow and slow, listening to the tromp of boots and shouts in the forest.
“This way!”
“No, this way.”
“Split up,” sounded a commanding baritone. “Check under every bush, in every tree. You, Sergeant, take a patrol double-time farther ahead. We’ve got trucks and motorcycles setting up roadblocks. We can’t let them escape.”
“Roger that.”
Rapidly moving feet shook the ground as the patrol raced by, a mere few meters away. Lark could see light from torches filtering through the leafy hide.
“Take your team that way,” shouted the leader. “Shoot at anything that moves.”
More footsteps heading away. “There’s a trail!” sounded a hopeful voice. “Broken twigs. Trampled plants.”
“The rest of you, with him!” barked the commander.
Lark could sense the presence of several soldiers still loitering nearby. Slow steps crunched their way nearer. These last few were searching more thoroughly, and she was sure the leader was with them. Her finger rested on the trigger. She felt the others tense beside her.
Steady, she told herself. They won’t find us, and they’ll move on.
Sweat rolled down Lark’s face. Why was it getting so hot? All the trapped body heat?
“Kennedy, turn on that infrared camera and sweep the woods.” It was the leader’s voice.
“Sure thing, but it’ll pick up our guys too.”
“They’re far enough away by now. Go slow and be meticulous. We lost them about seventy-five meters back, so start there and work your way back to this trailhead. They could be hiding.”
“Yes, sir.” A low hum sliced the silence. Gunshots cracked in the distance.
“Did you find them?” the man barked.
“Maybe,” returned an indistinct voice through static.
They have radios, Lark assumed.
“False alarm. Just some quail.”
“Keep searching.” The radio clicked off.
Boots crunched close. Nobody breathed. Bugs crawled over Lark. She ignored them.
“Do a sweep over here,” called the leader.
More crunching footsteps. A pause while the detector hummed.
“Nothing here.”
“Alright, let’s move on. That way.” The footsteps trotted away.
The team lay as still as death for a full ten minutes, ensuring no others on the hunt came this way or circled back.
Lark was anxious to move—not just for comfort.
She estimated less than two hours remained before dawn.
Their chances of making it to their vehicles undetected in daylight were slim to none.
“Wait,” Luke whispered and crawled out from under the canopy. A few minutes later, he lifted a corner of their cover, allowing a wave of blessed fresh air. Wes stood and helped him fold it. Lark inhaled deeply.
“Stealth mode. Harlan, point,” Luke ordered in a hush. Lark stood and helped General Calder to his feet. With her goggles back on, she noticed the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes.
“They hold other prisoners,” he said.
“I’m sorry, General,” Luke replied, tone grim.
Calder bowed his head in regret and nodded. “Understood.”
Skye lined up on General Calder’s other side, and together the women assisted the weakened man through the dense undergrowth.
They crept along with no further words, skirting any sign of the Iron Army, crawling through a drainpipe under a four-lane road that cut through the forest. Awareness high and steady, Lark refrained from jumping at shadows and performed her job as expected.
At the spot Wes had marked with glow paint visible through night vision, Diego and Harlan ripped the netting off their vehicles.
Lark and Skye assisted the general and lieutenant into the jeep.
Skye turned the key. Luke and Harlan kicked up on their bikes and sped east as fast as they could.
Sixty kilometers away, the sun knifed over the horizon into their eyes, and the vehicles pulled over.
“Ten minutes,” Luke said. “I need a pit stop.” It was the first moment anyone had felt safe.
Lark passed her canteen to Calder, who sat across from her in the back of the jeep.
“Thanks.” He gulped a long swallow and came up coughing.
“Take it easy,” Skye said.
He nodded and handed the canteen to his lieutenant. Calder wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and leaned his elbows wearily on his knees. Meeting Lark’s gaze, he asked, “What’s your name, soldier?”
“Lark Sutter, sir, from Saltmarsh Reach.”
“I’m in your debt,” he said. “Your whole team. That was quite a risk.”
“Rescuing you was Queen Frost’s immediate priority,” Lark answered. The lieutenant, his reddish-blond beard growing in after nearly a week of captivity, returned the canteen. Lark finished the remaining water.
Calder’s eyes flashed with surprise at her words. “Truly?”
“Yes, General,” Diego confirmed. “We are to bring you back for a full medical exam.”
“No.” The authority returned to Calder’s voice. “You must take me straight to Stonevale. I overheard them talking, and a division is marching there now.”
Luke, who had returned from the woods, stepped up to the jeep’s open side. “Yes, General. We spotted their convoy yesterday.”
“We must beat them to Stonevale,” Calder declared. “And what became of the rest of my army?”
“We’ve been in touch with Major Williams, who reported that over half have regrouped and returned to Fort Calder. The Iron Army has a day on us, but we can move much faster, so that should be possible. You mentioned a division? What about the rest of Garcia’s forces?”
“Heading to Marchland,” Calder said.
Lark’s gut twisted. She had known her dad would be in the thick of it. Still, she’d hoped it wouldn’t be so.
“Skye,” Luke called. She had already pulled out a notepad and pencil.
“I’m on it. Lark, pigeon.”
She reached for the crate on the scraped metal floor and pulled out one whose tag read, “Nelanta.” It cooed in her hands, its feathers cool and smooth. She passed it to Skye in the front seat.
“Last call for nature,” Luke announced. “General?”
Calder and Rushing ambled to the right; Lark scampered to the left. When they all returned, Skye started the engine.
“Lark Sutter,” Calder said, catching her attention. She peered at the important man curiously. “You saved my life and killed my tormentor. I prayed for days. Yours was the first friendly face I saw, and I knew my prayers had been answered. I won’t forget.”
That assurance meant everything to Lark. The Calders’ approval would go a long way if a lasting relationship between her and Azaleen lay in their future. Warmth filled her cheeks as her lips curved.
“Thank you, sir. I’m glad it worked.”
The jeep lurched forward. They raced toward Stonevale, determined to beat the enemy army there.