Chapter Three—Resistance Action

John drove the truck, mostly over the hills and through fields, avoiding the main roads whenever possible.

The sound of jet engines filled the sky and Ichiro glanced up into the greyness. Leading an exhaust trail, a winged mech crossed over them, unaware of who they were and what they were doing. The mech had probably been called to another area to bolster defense or provide an intimidating front against the residence fighters pocketed throughout the region.

And as if he had read Ichiro’s mind, Dawson asked, “You’re not in the residence?”

Ichiro glanced at him and shook his head.

“Why not?”

“This conflict has not yet called to me.”

Dawson looked at him skeptically. “I don’t see why not. The empress has lost her mind. Daily calls for the residence to end are broadcast all over the country, and yet she won’t tell anyone why she has closed the country, or why she’s starving us of both food and work. Hells, if you break her mandates you go to prison or get a firing squad!”

“It is strange.”

“Even you can see it,” Dawson said as they hit a bump and Ichiro was jounced out of his seat. “Sorry.”

“We are almost there. Go straight and take the second right.”

“Okay. Where are we going?”

“It is a secluded road.” He glanced down at his assault rifle he had looted off the dead guards. “A military truck with a single escort laden with food passes along that road like clockwork every day.”

“That’s the one you want to hit?”

Ichiro nodded as they drove along the road at a fast clip. After a short time they came to the spot and Dawson pulled off the road.

“No,” Ichiro said. “Park in the middle. We can use this vehicle to halt the truck when it comes around the bend.”

“All right,” Dawson said with a nod as he backed the vehicle into the road.

Ichiro got out and double checked his weapon, then he went to the back of the all-terrain vehicle and took some spare magazines for his rifle from the ammo crate.

“Cross fire,” he said. “I will hide behind the vehicle. Then he pointed. “You, behind those trees. Wait until I start firing, then open up on them.”

He nodded, clearly practiced at this kind of basic maneuver. “You’re definitely a military man. You know what you’re doing.”

“Mm,” Ichiro noised with a nod.

“All right,” Dawson said. “I’ll be in the trees.”

“Quickly,” Ichiro said. “I think I hear the truck now.”

As the resistance fighter ran off the road and into the trees, Ichiro glanced at the stormy horizon behind the seaside city one last time, then he ducked behind the all-terrain military vehicle.

The transport truck with the military escort—another all-terrain just like the one Dawson and Ichiro had stolen could be heard coming around the bend.

Ichiro pulled back the slide on his assault rifle to put the first active round into the chamber.

As the escort pulled up, its lights flashing over Ichiro, he pulled his rifle close. The vehicle stopped, then sounded its horn.

“What is this?” one man bellowed.

As soon as Ichiro heard the door open, he stood up aimed down his rife sights and shot the driver who was stepping out. He jerked convulsively and fell as Ichiro took aim on the second soldier and put two rounds into his chest.

The truck snorted, indicating the driver changing gears.

Ichiro put two shots into the driver-side window while Dawson opened up on the right-side cab door. Because he couldn’t see the driver due to the blinding headlights from the escort, Ichiro squeezed off six more shots through the truck windshield, aiming slightly high so he didn’t waste his bullets shooting the engine block.

They both stopped firing and all was quiet, save for the idling of the cars.

Ichiro stood up straight and walked around the escort vehicle, stepping over the body of the driver. Without bothering to open the cab door first, he put a few more rounds through it to make sure the driver was dead.

When he opened the door, the soldier fell out heavily, his body like so many of the limp sacks of food in the back. Except with a lot of seeping blood.

John came around the front. “We need to hurry,” he said. “All this shooting is bound to alert somebody in the area.”

“Worse,” Ichiro said, “it’s bound to attract the attention of collaborators.”

“Shit!”

“There is nothing worse than a collaborator.”

Dawson laughed. “You’re telling me?”

After they moved the two all-terrain vehicles off the road, Dawson and Ichiro drove the truck forward, taking a winding path across various roads. Dawson was at the wheel while Ichiro, rifle at the ready and twice the ammo they had before, prepared to defend the truck.

“If they send a mech for us, we’re done,” Dawson said nervously.

“We are far enough away now that they won’t know this is the truck.”

Dawson glanced at him, a worried look on his face. “None of this is even bothering you is it?”

Of course it was. His heart rate was up—he was nervous. He just didn’t let it show. In fact, despite knowing his reactions were natural, he was somewhat shamed, because of his training.

But it had been some time before he had exercises that training.

Even so, the body reacted the way the body reacted. If the mind was not constantly honed to tell the body what to do during intense situations, that fast reaction and lack of physical response was impossible to maintain.

“We are fine.”

I hope so,” Dawson said. “Now what, we drop this food off and then I can be on my way?”

“Yes.”

“All right,” Dawson said. “Where do you want me to go?”