| General Fiction posted September 5, 2018 | Chapters: |
2 3 -4- 5... 
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Baker makes it from the drop point to the encampment.
A chapter in the book Baker's Dozen
Encampment
by Bill Schott
| Background Ben Baker, a low-level cabinet worker on the White House staff, has been sentenced to fight for his life in a northeastern forest. He must find and eliminate twelve others, before they kill him. |
Ben Baker is trying to survive this life or death punishment given to him and others by the President of the United States' Chief of Staff, C.C. Connors. All men thrown into the challenge have been given a pistol with seven rounds and a knife. Any other help would be found at an encampment that is supposed to be where the fire break opens into a large clearing. Everyone is headed there to gain advantage over the others.
Having heard wild growling behind him, Ben looked back in horror to see three wolves ripping at the body in the road. Angles' intestines had burst from his body on impact and were now being yanked and strewn about. Ravenously ripping at the carcass, the creatures were seemingly unaware or totally uninterested in the other man down the road. He turned and ran as fast as he could remember ever running at any time in his entire life.
The encampment could only be seen from up close. Camouflage netting shielded the site from both visual and electronic detection from above. The thirty-meter width of the concealed area capped the firebreak mouth into a clearing. The breadth extended another thirty meters into the otherwise open area. There were several banded crates in the middle of the enclosure. The crates were placed around a single cot. A rolled sleeping bag, sleeping mat, and case of Meals-Ready-to-Eat rested on the cot.
Running first to the crates, he found the banding was heavy gauge nylon. His knife cut them easily and then it was used to pry open the first wooden box. Inside was one M-16A2 semi-automatic rifle and thousands of individual rounds. There was, however, no magazine to be found.
"Connors!" he screamed, then grabbed a single bullet and chambered it.
He noticed now that there were twelve crates in all. Going to the next nearest crate, he went through the same entry procedure. In the box was what looked like a net laundry bag filled with grenades.
'Terrific. They're probably all duds and I'll have to just throw them at son-of-a-bitches like rocks.' Thinking to leave the hand-toss explosives there, he proceeded to the next crate.
The third box contained a poncho, poncho liner, dozens of pairs of military issue socks, and a black wool cap. He pulled them out and immediate donned the poncho, cap, and two socks on each foot. He poked three holes in the toes of another pair and pulled them onto his hands. His holster was repositioned onto the outside of his new garment.
Nine more boxes seemed like a daunting task. He was wired with adrenaline, but also exhausted. Trying to think how to defend against others who would come, he considered the crates he'd already opened. An idea occurred to him in respect to the grenades, which he acted on before loading a sock full of M16 ammunition, picking up the sleeping bag and mat, and running back into the woods to hide and rest.
Having heard wild growling behind him, Ben looked back in horror to see three wolves ripping at the body in the road. Angles' intestines had burst from his body on impact and were now being yanked and strewn about. Ravenously ripping at the carcass, the creatures were seemingly unaware or totally uninterested in the other man down the road. He turned and ran as fast as he could remember ever running at any time in his entire life.
The encampment could only be seen from up close. Camouflage netting shielded the site from both visual and electronic detection from above. The thirty-meter width of the concealed area capped the firebreak mouth into a clearing. The breadth extended another thirty meters into the otherwise open area. There were several banded crates in the middle of the enclosure. The crates were placed around a single cot. A rolled sleeping bag, sleeping mat, and case of Meals-Ready-to-Eat rested on the cot.
Running first to the crates, he found the banding was heavy gauge nylon. His knife cut them easily and then it was used to pry open the first wooden box. Inside was one M-16A2 semi-automatic rifle and thousands of individual rounds. There was, however, no magazine to be found.
"Connors!" he screamed, then grabbed a single bullet and chambered it.
He noticed now that there were twelve crates in all. Going to the next nearest crate, he went through the same entry procedure. In the box was what looked like a net laundry bag filled with grenades.
'Terrific. They're probably all duds and I'll have to just throw them at son-of-a-bitches like rocks.' Thinking to leave the hand-toss explosives there, he proceeded to the next crate.
The third box contained a poncho, poncho liner, dozens of pairs of military issue socks, and a black wool cap. He pulled them out and immediate donned the poncho, cap, and two socks on each foot. He poked three holes in the toes of another pair and pulled them onto his hands. His holster was repositioned onto the outside of his new garment.
Nine more boxes seemed like a daunting task. He was wired with adrenaline, but also exhausted. Trying to think how to defend against others who would come, he considered the crates he'd already opened. An idea occurred to him in respect to the grenades, which he acted on before loading a sock full of M16 ammunition, picking up the sleeping bag and mat, and running back into the woods to hide and rest.
 Recognized |
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