Home Coming (The Survivalist Book 10) by A. American (ebook reader .TXT) 📕

This is good in that it doesn’t provide a lot of cover. Bad, in that this lot is full of cars which do offer the surviving commies some concealment. But the bombs Bone One and Two dropped had set most of the cars ablaze. It was kind of odd to watch the fire as it moved across the acres of parked cars, like some kind of surreal forest fire. Only instead of a forest of trees, it was a lot full of cars.

Periodically, the big gun would fire. It’s hard to describe what a gun of that caliber going off is like. There’s the noise of course. An ear shattering boom that is followed by a concussive wave that takes the air from your lungs. It compresses your ears and you can feel it in your lungs. Dust is kicked up from every surface for a large area around the gun. It just jumps into the air. Then the round impacts its target. There’s a flash and another bang, and debris is flung into the air. Sometimes, stuff was set on fire as the old man was firing HE rounds at general targets. I witnessed him hit two more pieces of armor. For these, he fired AP rounds, causing hunks of armor to fly into the air and fountains of flame to erupt from the stricken vehicles.

On more than one, I saw wounded men roll out of the armor. They were either in flames or their clothes were smoking. All of them were severely wounded. I took no pity on them and added a couple of the forty-millimeter grenades to insure they were eliminated. The entire time, I envisioned the carnage left behind in Eustis. Every one of these men here was getting what they deserved.

Throughout the smoke and flames, I could occasionally see figures moving, running. These men weren’t interested in mounting an organized defense. They were trying to get the hell out of the target area. Whenever I saw movement, I would fire at it. And I got really good at it in short order and would see bodies cartwheeling through the air. Others would simply collapse where they stood. And it felt good. I got a rush every time I saw them fall.

After a while, the radio crackled. It was Sarge. Teddy, start moving in from your side. We’re going to work in from our side. I don’t want a single one of these bastards to make it out.

Roger that, Top. We’re moving.

Thad, start working your way through the lot. Morgan, you kill anyone you see.

“With pleasure,” I replied.

“You ready to move?” Thad asked over his shoulder.

“Let’s get this over with,” I replied.

Thad put the truck in gear and began to move through the shattered remains of the auto auction. I ducked down and grabbed my carbine to have it in the turret with me. The mark nineteen was a fantastic weapon but wasn’t much good for close-in work. And I fully anticipated having to engage some close targets.

Dalton, Ted and Mike emerged from their hide and started to move towards the auction. The three men spread out, keeping about ten meters between them and rifles at the ready. They entered the east side of the compound and immediately encountered a group of four Cuban soldiers running for their lives. They’d dropped their rifles and gear and were simply trying to get out of Dodge. As soon as Dalton saw them, he started firing his AK. Mike and Ted quickly joined in, and the four men were cut down. They were the first of many to follow.

While the airstrike had done an amazing job, there were still people alive, though only a couple dozen. But we had to exterminate them. That’s right, exterminate. What else can you do to people that commit such crimes as shelling a town full of civilians?

As they moved through the yard, the men would come across wounded Russian and Cuban soldiers. Dalton didn’t waste ammo on the wounded. Many of them would ask for help. He came across a Cuban soldier with severe wounds, his left leg blasted away above the knee and shrapnel wounds to his abdomen.

He held a hand up and begged, “Por favor, ayúdame.”

Dalton leaned over and whispered, “Deberías haberte quedado en Cuba.” And with a flick of his wrist, he cut the man’s throat from ear to ear.

And that’s how it went for the rest of the day. We moved through the compound, dispatching the wounded. There were a couple of firefights. Thankfully, the incoming fire was ineffective, and we didn’t suffer any casualties. On those couple of occasions, I used my carbine. I’d dismounted and was walking through the lot looking for men that needed to be put down. But I wasn’t using my carbine for that work. Instead, I used the tomahawk that Dalton had made for me. It saved ammo and helped quench the rage building inside me.

But killing a man with an edged weapon isn’t a clean business, and by late afternoon, I was covered in blood. I hadn’t noticed it, but when I came upon Dalton, he paused and looked at me. Reaching into his pocket, he took out a rag and handed it to me, saying, “Wipe your face.”

I took it and did as he said and was shocked at what I saw. “Damn,” I said and looked down at myself. I looked awful. I was covered in blood from my boots to my face. Even my carbine was dripping blood. As I mopped at the blood, trying to remove it, Sarge walked up.

“Holy hell, Morgan. You look like shit. What the hell have you been doing? You’re supposed to kill them, not wear ‘em like a suit.”

I looked down at the tomahawk and replied, “I have been. It’s not easy.”

The old man was gripping his Colt and glanced at it, “Like hell. Just shoot the bastards in the head. It’s quick and clean. What you’re doing is a