Chapter 23: Shaky Alliances
Rick honestly didn't think he would encounter more trouble just trying to talk to Miguel's barricaded forces than he did inflicting the crippling losses on the Citizens.
Eight of his men were wounded in extremities, each one from the bait team. In pain and out of commission, they'd at least survive the injuries. Two others incurred light flesh wounds or nicks and could still fight. Seven of his men were killed; six on the street and one to a lucky stray shot up into the building. The grenadier had been killed, several bullets punched into and through his chest. The sentimental thought struck Rick about burying the beloved grenade launcher with him, but he cast it aside. Wasting valuable resources was not something he was willing to do.
Being a commander, Rick hated losing men, as much for the loss of capable hands as for humanitarian reasons. As he surveyed the street east of the club called Heavenly Bodies, viewing the twisted, heaped remains of dozens upon dozens of dead Citizen soldiers, he vaguely wondered how their commanding officer was feeling right now. Not that he really cared.
Any who had survived and were merely bleeding and unable to move had been dispatched by the intermittent fire that still came out of the club from the paranoid and disorganized rabble of Miguel's men.
This is also why Rick had his back pressed to the very same brick wall that the unfortunate Lt. Bates had found himself not long ago. He was trying to figure out how to get them to stop shooting without resorting to violence himself. I haven't really come up with much so far, he thought.
An idea occurred to him. He nudged the soldier next to him, "You wearing a white undershirt?"
The man looked confused. "Well, uh... Yeah, I think so." He shouldered his rifle and pulled his uniform up, squinting. "Why?"
"Take it off, I need it."
More confused than ever, he reluctantly obeyed. He set down his weapon and pack, unzipping his uniform jacket and folding it carefully on top of his other possessions. The white shirt resembled more of a yellowed-grayish color from the grime and sweat it had absorbed. The soldier peeled it off and held it out.
Rick eyed it, frowning. He thumbed the safety on his rifle, for precaution's sake, and used the barrel to lift the shirt up. "I have no idea if this is going to work," he said to the man who was shrugging back into his uniform.
He poked the end of his gun out, with the off-white cloth dangling from it, and waved it up and down and back and forth. A few bullets whizzed by at the initial movement, but Rick imagined he heard the words, "Cease fire," yelled. He thought it also could have been something like, "Wait until they're exposed, then fire," but he was too far away to be truly certain.
Some of his men, who had taken up cover positions, gawked at him. "What are you doing, boss?" someone asked.
He continued waving the shirt up and down. "This is an old battle signal used for calling a truce. Or surrendering, I can never remember which."
"You wave a dirty t-shirt on the end of a gun?"
Rick shot him a scowl. "It's a white flag. You wave a white flag to signify that you want to talk peacefully and negotiate."
"That's not a flag."
Rick gave him a look. "Really? Are you sure?" He rolled his eyes. "Of course it isn't a flag, but it's the closest thing I've got here."
"Do you really think it's going to work?"
Rick thought about this. "No," he admitted. "Probably not. Then again, I don't have any other ideas and neither does anyone else. I can only hope that someone in there recognizes the symbol."
Sometime during that exchange, the weapons fire from the building had ceased completely. Rick was tempted to step around the corner, but he didn't know if it would hold, so he continued waving the "flag" up and down.
His radio crackled. He grabbed it and muttered, "Go ahead."
It was one of his marksman/scouts who informed him, in that icy-cold voice of someone accustomed to killing efficiently and often, "Someone is coming out. He is not holding a weapon, but it would appear as though he has a handgun in a shoulder holster."
"Continue to watch, and hold your fire," Rick replied. He replaced his radio and peeked around the corner. The report was confirmed; there was a man approaching. Good Lord, I can't believe this actually worked, he marveled.
Rick put the weapon and shirt on the ground. He knew it was a gamble, but he walked out with his hands up, displaying himself as non-threatening as possible. The man opposite him did not do the same. He was of average height, long sandy-colored hair spilling about his shoulders. With a square jaw and prominent brow, his skin was weathered and lined, and it all together made him look like he wore a permanent scowl. He wore dirty jeans and an open flannel work shirt with a white tank-top underneath.
As he approached, through the open shirt, Rick could see dark and sweat-stained leather straps that he assumed connected to the semi-concealed weapon. They met in the middle of the square in a deathly still silence. The bodies of fallen men were scattered around, both Citizen and Miguel's people alike. Rick still held his hands up, not wanting to make any sort of motion that would spook the trigger-happy people in the building.
The man's scowl expression remained on his face as the two men sized each other up. After a moment, he broke the silence. "You're not a Citizen." Hints of a question shaded his inflection.
"No. I'm not," Rick replied.
"You used a surrender signal. Why?"
Rick grimaced. White flag of surrender; that's what it is. "I wanted to speak with you on peaceful terms. We have some important things to discuss."
Rick could see the gears grinding in the man's head as he gazed around the square. He looked past Rick, seeing the street filled with the bodies of enemy soldiers. "You did this," again a statement with a questioning tone.
"Yes."
"Who are you?"
"My name is Rick. I represent Elijah."
The man's eyes widened at the name drop. "Elijah? Why would he want to help us? We're…" he paused, frowning, "enemies, aren't we?"
Rick gave a grin and lowered his hands. "That, as you can see," he said, tossing a sweeping gesture around at the dead soldiers, "is changing."
The man nodded. "So it would seem. My name is Isaac." He turned and yelled behind him, "Everyone, stand down! Get some security around the square and tend to the wounded!"
Rick gave a short laugh. "Don't get too comfortable." Isaac raised an eyebrow. "By my best guess, we still have near two hundred Citizen soldiers camped somewhere around here. Evicting them is a priority."
Isaac raised an eyebrow. "A counter-attack already? You sure got brass."
"Yeah, so they tell me," Rick said dismissively, changing the subject. He was curious for news. "Are you in charge around here? Where is Miguel?"
Isaac scowled, deepening the lines on his face. "We don't know where he is. He disappeared sometime around the attack trying to woo some captive bitch." Rick fought to keep the anger out of his face from the insult to who he assumed was Kaylee. "We haven't heard from him in hours." Isaac stiffened up, standing up straight and raising his chin. "With him absent, I'm in charge."
Rick grinned broadly. "Excellent! I'd like to immediately negotiate a truce and alliance." People were starting to filter out of the building and move to their assigned tasks. "There are times when it's stupid and pointless to be fighting when there are bigger problems to solve." Isaac nodded at this. "This'd be one of those times."
"How did you know what was happening?" Isaac asked.
"Since the attack we repelled a couple of days ago, we've been keeping a close eye on Purgatory. We were half-expecting something, but four hundred troops was a hell of a surprise. We did the best we could, considering the circumstances." It was a half-truth, but Isaac seemed to accept it.
Rick's new ally nodded. "It seems we owe you quite a bit. I don't believe we would have lasted the night without your help."
"In that case, why don't you return the favor by joining us in a retaliatory strike? We cert
ainly could use more firepower, and I'm sure your people would enjoy the payback."
A smile cracked on the man's face. "It seems a good possibility."
"I'll tell you what," Rick said, extending his hand, "Gather together as many of your people as can be ready to move out soon, and we'll meet back here in five minutes to discuss our plan."
Isaac stared at the offered hand for a moment before giving his own in a firm grip. They shook and parted. Rick jogged back to the street, already on his radio. "All units, stand down; get some sentries posted and inform me immediately if there is any of the slightest hint of enemy activity. We've got some delicate negotiations to make here, and I want them to proceed unhindered. Get to it."
Once he disengaged the talk button, he switched his radio over to a different frequency and spoke once more into it. "We're ready for you in the square."
Victor's calm voice came back. "Acknowledged."
Rick stuck the radio back into the pouch once more. He picked up and slung his weapon, noting that the filthy shirt had already disappeared, probably back on the soldier who had graciously donated it. He walked back out into the square with a more relaxed feeling, despite having to step around dozens upon dozens of dead men. At least for the time being, he didn't have to worry about joining them.
******
Captain Redgick's hands shook as he received a final count on the number of remaining soldiers. Under two hundred, counting those back at Alpha base. It was less than half of what he began with. This is a complete disaster.