MAD

Gunner fixed the owner with a sharp look.

"Those Coyotes — how many head are we talking?"

"I'd reckon… more than fifteen, but it won't be twenty."

I nodded at that.

"Give us ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a moment to talk it over among ourselves."

"Fair enough. Ah — and if you take me up on my offer, I'll sell you as much fuel as you can carry."

Gunner cut in.

"Let me take a look at that."

While Gunner went to inspect the old man's fuel stores, I headed slowly toward the trailer, gathering the others as I walked. Along the way, a memory surfaced unbidden — the words of a legendary old-timer from my Foreign Legion days.

By the time I came back from that brief recollection, Gunner was jogging over.

"Fuel's overflowing. Place is practically a gas station."

"Anything else?"

"Empty drums sitting around."

"Alright. Got it."

Everyone gathered in the trailer. The cramped space carried a weight of tension unlike anything that had filled it before. I laid out everything the farm owner had told us. Through the whole briefing, Dave and Frank couldn't hide the unease in their eyes; they just kept glancing at each other, neither of them able to get a word out.

I turned to Gunner. His gaze was fixed somewhere above his left brow — already mapping the battlefield in his head, from the look of it.

"If it's an ambush… it's a fight we can take."

"Same thought here."

"I spotted three of them on the farm with long guns — sons or hired hands, couldn't tell."

The risk was steep, but we had to take it. Combat was a danger we could manage. Running out of fuel in this world meant freezing to death before you ever got to touch the supplies you'd stockpiled.

I looked around at everyone.

"Gunner and I will handle this. The rest of you wait inside my truck until it's over. That's the best play for all of us."

Dave and Frank started to say something, then hesitated. In that pause, Mike — who'd been listening in silence — stepped forward.

"Hey, boss. Why am I being left out?"

I didn't answer.

"I was a Marine too. You writing me off because I'm old?"

His tone wasn't so much hurt as it was a warrior's pride taking a hit. I started to talk him down, then saw the look in his eyes and let it go.

"Alright. Mike too, then. Three of us."

Gunner, Mike, and I headed back to the farm owner. He was waiting for us, anxiety written across his face.

"We'll protect your farm. But we have a few conditions."

"Conditions?"

"First: when this is over, you sell us the fuel you promised — at a fair price. As much as we can load."

"Second: I command the entire operation. You and your people follow my orders without question."

I locked eyes with him.

"And last: after the fight, everything those Coyotes leave behind is ours."

He didn't hesitate for a second.

"Done. I accept all of it."

Hope was finally lighting up his face. The deal struck, we moved straight into operational planning.

First, I needed to lock down everyone's roles. I called the whole crew back to the trailer.

"I'm assigning tasks. Starting now."

I pulled out a notebook and sketched the terrain around the farm as I talked.

"Our vehicles go here — tucked under the rise beside the side road into the farm, as concealed as we can get them. Dave, Frank: you take Mom and the families and wait inside my trailer. Do not set foot outside until the fighting's done."

Both of them nodded, faces tight. I led the two of them to the cab of my W990.

"This is insurance for an emergency. Watch close."

I pointed to the small rings cleverly hidden under the driver's and passenger's seats.

"Red rings. Those are buckshot traps mounted under the running boards. If they get right up on the truck and try the doors, you pull these. Left for left, right for right. Got it?"

Then I showed them the blue rings hidden on the inside of the driver's door.

"Blue rings. Salt-round traps under the side mirrors. You use these if they try climbing on the truck. Same deal — left for the left door, right for the right."

The color drained from their faces. I brought them back to the trailer and pointed to the small control panel mounted beside the CCTV monitors.

"And this is the last line of defense for the trailer itself."

I walked them through the camera feeds covering the trailer's perimeter.

"You watch these screens for anyone coming in. Open this box and you'll find the wire-trip rings."

"Whoa—"

While they were still catching their breath, I pointed to the trailer walls. Boxes that looked like electrical panels were mounted all around.

"Open those and you can pull additional wire trips. Three rounds of buckshot fire from the position directly below each one."

Neither of them said a word.

"One of you watches the monitors, the other pulls the wires. That way you can observe and engage at the same time. And—"

I looked from Dave to Frank and back.

"Remember. Every one of these is a one-shot deal. You save them for the absolute last moment, and you use them carefully."

Dave and Frank stared at me, shock and awe tangled together on their faces.

"Jesus, Chan… what the hell even are you?"

Dave's voice was shaking. Frank just let out a hollow laugh.

"This was never just a truck. You were gearing up for a war from day one, weren't you?"

Once I'd finished briefing Dave and Frank, I turned to Gunner.

"Gunner. Your rifle — can you convert it to full auto?"

"Thirty minutes. Easy."

He said it like it was nothing. I looked at Mike.

"Mike — can you handle Gunner's M700?"

"M700… I was the battalion sniper back in the Corps. I know that rifle."

I glanced at Gunner. He gave a silent nod — the rifle was Mike's.

"Good. Mike, you're on sniper duty. Check the second and third floors of the farmhouse and lock down at least three firing positions."

"No problem."

"And… you already know this, but after two shots from any one position, you relocate. No exceptions."

Mike snorted.

"Hmph. That's the basics. Don't worry about it."

Every role was set. We moved immediately. Dave and Frank shifted the vehicles under the rise and hid them as promised. Gunner got to work converting his rifle at his bench. Mike started zeroing the M700.

From the trailer's hidden compartment I pulled a Saiga-12 semi-auto shotgun and a TAC-14, then loaded magazines and shells into my tactical vest.

Once everything was ready, the three ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of us regrouped to deliver the final ops plan to the farm owner. That's when Mike came over, looking pleased with himself.

"Hey, Chan."

"Yeah?"

"Haha. Look what I found."

He held up a PTT earpiece set for the radios.

"Whoa — when did you even pack those?"

"Got 'em as a freebie when I bought the radios. Somehow they ended up in the other gear. Heh heh heh."

Gunner saw them and gave a thumbs-up.

And so the three of us, fully armed, headed for the farm. As we walked the dusty road, the fight was already unfolding in my head.

They'll come split across a few pickup trucks. Once they hit the farm entrance, they'll dismount and scan the area.

That's the first window. The instant Mike's first round cracks, Gunner and I hit them from both sides… then the ones who take cover…

I ran every phase of the coming fight in my head as we walked toward the farmhouse, a place that already seemed to smell of blood.

As we approached the farmhouse, Cyrus was waiting on the porch. The wariness from our first meeting was gone; now his face was bright, like a man greeting his saviors. Two young men stood with him, and an older man besides. They took in the Saiga in my hands, the TAC-14 slung across my back, and Gunner and Mike behind me, and the relief on their faces was plain.

"Welcome, Polar Bear. These are my boys, Luke and Wyatt, and this here's my brother Merle."

We shook hands in turn. Merle took my hand and said,

"Saw you on TV. That truck stop, the guy with the knife. You put him down hard. Made an impression."

Luke chimed in.

"Your name's all over the CB, too. Never figured I'd actually meet Polar Bear."

The introductions done, I got to business.

"We need to test our weapons before the fight. Any problem with us shooting here?"

"Ha! Don't you worry."

Cyrus laughed, big and hearty.

"Everything within seven miles is our land. You could fire a cannon and nobody'd so much as blink."

"Good. Let's see what you're carrying, then."

They laid out their weapons: two shotguns, one semi-auto rifle, and an old but well-kept hunting rifle. Enough for a minimum defense. Every card was on the table now. Winning or losing would come down to how we played them.

I gathered everyone in front of the barn and laid out the plan I'd been building on the walk over.

"Listen carefully. This fight is an ambush with no back door. An annihilation engagement."

I looked at Cyrus.

"First, hide every vehicle on this farm behind the barn. Make it look like you abandoned everything and ran."

"Haha — like we all just took off?"

I nodded. He grinned.

"I like it. We'll throw the front door wide open too. Sell it even better."

"Anything that can keep a vehicle from leaving once it's in the front yard?"

Cyrus pointed to the small guard shack by the entrance.

"Figured you'd spotted that. Pull the lever inside and lock it, and a heavy chain comes up out of the ground with a spike strip. But… if they're not complete idiots, that's the first place they'll check."

"Noted. Everyone outside. I'll walk it on the ground."

We stepped out into the farmyard. I pointed to positions on the farmhouse as I spoke.

"Mike, Merle. You two are the snipers. Mike takes that third-floor window. Merle, the second-floor attic window. Work out your dead zones with each other ahead of time. And—"

I paused, letting the most important rule sink in.

"The fight starts with Mike's first shot. Meaning you wait until every last one of them is out of the vehicles."

Mike nodded. Everyone else signaled agreement.

I pointed to the barn and the shed flanking the yard.

"Jake and Gunner, that barn. Cody, Cyrus — you two take this shed. Pair an automatic rifle with a shotgun in each team so we throw a crossfire across the entire yard."

Cyrus let out a low whistle.

"Hell. You really are something else. So where are you gonna be in all this?"

I pointed to the massive haystack beside the guard shack.

"I'll be inside that."

"What? That's suicide!"

"The second the first shots go off, they'll instinctively take cover behind their own engine blocks and truck beds. Then it turns into a drawn-out firefight, we burn through ammo, and our casualties only go up."

I looked around at all of them.

"When they think they're fully covered behind those vehicles, I come out of that haystack and I solve the problem."

A murmur went through them — too dangerous, they said. I looked from Gunner to Mike.

"While I'm moving, you just keep my six clean."

I pointed to the barn and the shed, tracing the fields of fire they needed to hold and the exact path I'd take.

"Hold those lanes. That's all I need."

It was, by any reasonable measure, a reckless, insane plan.

Mad Chan.

That was the nickname they'd hung on me in the Legion. Fair enough. On base I was the stubborn bastard who did a thing because it could be done. In the field I was the one who made it work just by doing it — in ways the rest of them could never quite wrap their heads around.

Then came an operation in Africa. The whole team had written the mission off. I finished it alone and came ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠back. After that, they stopped calling me Mad Chan.

They added an X — for the unknown quantity, the unpredictable variable, the joker in the deck. Respect, in its way.

And now, I was ready to be that mad variable all over again.