Next World Series | Vol. 6 | Families First [Battle Grounds] Ewing, K. (free ebooks for android .txt) 📖

“Have it your way, commander!” With that, he pressed the red-hot poker deep into Baker’s chest, right through the expensive white linen shirt, like the ones he always wore.

Mike had joked with Sergio only yesterday that Baker must have knocked off the men’s section of a Neiman Marcus store on his migration across the country and only wore the most expensive of wardrobes.

Baker didn’t take the pain as well as Sergio, Mike, or any others before him, passing out onto the floor.

“That’s a wrap,” said Sergio, grabbing the gas can just outside the front door and quickly dousing the floor, emptying the five-gallon can. He dropped the brand and the still-burning log, tossing both over his shoulder behind him. The old wood farmhouse lit like a stack of matches, with flames quickly crawling up the drapes and onto the ceiling.

Both Sergio and Mike instinctively touched their arms where the brand would forever stay.

“I thought you wanted his head on a stake?” asked Mike.

“I will if he walks out of there,” replied Sergio.

Ten minutes later, it was clear he never would.

* * * *

Sergio and Mike made their way through women and children, occasionally locking eyes with a grandfather most likely. All were void of expression, with death in their eyes. Most didn’t even notice the fire, and nobody guarded them, figuring they had nowhere to go.

“How long have you been carrying around that branding iron?” Mike asked, as they headed back towards the Ranch unopposed.

“Since right after they marked you. I took it the next morning and vowed the next recipient would be Baker himself. And wouldn’t you know, I was right!”

“We’ve got company at three o’clock,” said Mike, ducking down.

A quick look through binoculars had Sergio smiling.

“It’s my boss. No worries.”

“Mike looked closer and saw Ronna sitting up front, as he had before back in Texas, where he first realized he was not a former barista and somehow linked to the Military.

Ronna had eyes on the two, as well, and told his driver to stop when he reached them. He wasn’t worried about someone on his side firing shots; they only did so when he gave the command.

“Sergio, you are still alive, I see! And you, Mike, you look almost good as new—well, at least better than the last time I saw you, back at camp.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied.

“I’m sorry about your girlfriend, Mike. It’s hard to find a partner, especially now—am I right? Anyway,” he continued…“well, I’m just sorry about it, is all. I hear you may be considering joining our team. Is that right?”

“You know a lot about me, sir, but I don’t know how,” Mike responded respectfully.

“Little birdies tell me all kinds of things. I guess I won’t need to be checking in on Baker,” he added, pointing to the flames still burning the now completely leveled two-story farmhouse. “How did he take the branding?”

“Not so good, sir,” replied Sergio, “but it made the second part easier for him, I’m sure.”

* * * *

“I’m going to see what these people want to do, now that their coward leader is out of play,” said Ronna. “Three shots, one after another in the air if you need us, Sergio, and check back in with me tonight. Now I’m kind of wishing you hadn’t burned down the only house in the area.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry about that,” he said, with an almost-straight face.

“Ah, what are another few nights on the ground anyway?” said Ronna casually. “Now go help your friends.”

* * * *

With that, Sergio and Mike headed straight up the back of the Rimrock, towards the Ranch.

“We’re on cleanup, Mike. Know what that means?”

“Yep, there’s no such thing as a wounded bad guy.”

“Exactly right,” replied Sergio, pulling out his 40-caliber pistol as Mike pulled his nine.

“It’s easy to tell what side the wounded are on,” said Mike. “Our guys help each other back home, and these guys,” pointing with his pistol before quieting the man’s agonizing screams with one shot…“well, these guys could care less who they bring home.”

They both looked back down the mountain towards what was now Ronna’s camp, spotting a dozen or so men hobbling back—all walking alone, spread out, and not even talking with each other.

“They just don’t care at all about their fellowman,” replied Sergio, shooting another and stopping briefly to write it down in his little book.

“Is Baker in that book?” asked Mike, not seeing him write anything after the house burned.

“Oh, not yet, but by tonight he will have a whole page, maybe even two, dedicated to him alone. These guys up here...” he said, pausing to shoot another as he and Mike both took cover from the man’s single shot.

“I was saying that,” after taking his own shot, hitting the mark, “these guys up here are harder to remember. I mean, they all start to run together after a while, so I have to get them in the book right away. I’m a stickler for accuracy and getting the facts right.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” said Mike. “I’m working on it myself.”

“It’s the only way we win as a country,” added Sergio. “We have to be crystal clear on what we need to do and how to pull it off. Baker was just one man, and I get that your friends are here, but this skirmish isn’t about them, or even us. It comes down to the Colonel defeating the others, and today we did just that.”

“I guess I feel like an 18-year-old kid, stepping on the bow of a warship for the first time, headed who knows where but certainly vowing to extinguish the enemy wherever they may hide,” said Mike.

“Yes, that’s precisely where we are headed after this. I need to meet with Ronna later today, and probably the