Chapter 1

Preface:

David Randall lived alone in the rambling farmhouse. A Vietnam Veteran with two combat tours as a "mud Marine" he and his wife had purchased the sprawling farm in the northern part of the state with his savings and one hell of a loan that would take a lifetime to pay off. Corn and wheat were his staples. He had a nice little "truck garden" in back of the house for his personal needs. Had even gotten pretty good at canning the excess veggies once the leaves turned brown.

David ran about ten dozen head of beef cattle and pastured several unpampered work horses.

With the variety of activities, the farm itself was profitable, and he steadily worked down the debt. The marriage was less so. It had dissolved a few years after his return from Vietnam and his discharge from the Marine Corps. It would be easy to say that Vietnam was the cause of his divorce, but marriage, like Vietnam was too complex for it to have been that simple. On the upside, since there was only David, expenses were even lower and that helped contribute to the bottom line. David enjoyed the solitude of the farm. Certain times of the year he hired hands to assist with plowing, planning and harvesting. A crew of handymen checked in with him about once a month and handled any maintenance issues that were too big for him to handle alone. He worked his farmhands hard, but no harder than he worked himself. He gave a fair day's pay for a fair day's work, and never had trouble hiring hands.

Like a lot of combat veterans, David didn't sleep. He dozed and catnapped. He was most alert at night. In fact, he was more alert when it appeared he was asleep, than most men were when fully awake.

David also had a bit of a violent temper and hair-trigger nerves. He was not one of the PTSD cases one reads about. He functioned well in society; it's just that he chose not to embrace society. He usually kept his temper in check. He was well regarded by his neighbors, who viewed his as "distant but reliable." They were probably thankful that he did not try and date their family members. Yet, if there was a neighbor's barn that needed raising, or a combine stuck in a wet field, David was always willing and able to lend a hand.

David had never been a problem for local law enforcement, either. If the sheriff needed volunteer help, David was on his list of men to call. When called, David was respectful and most importantly, he followed orders. In the sheriff's eyes, David was a good man to have around.

David never remarried. Whether it was the courtship ritual, or the time requirements, or the generally confusing nature of women, he rarely dated. David did know a discrete place down the next country south where he could, and did, get his pipes cleaned about once a month. That seemed to meet his needs and eliminated the risk of actually having to interact with someone on a long term basis. He reputation with the local 'pipe cleaner's union" was as a quiet, needful man who gave as good as he got.

Sounds in the Night

It was about midnight and David was instantly alert.

Something was amiss. His mind instantly thought "intruder," and without conscious thought, David was out of bed, slipping into some jeans a dark T-shirt and heavy boots. As he finished dressing he began to focus on what had triggered this instant alertness.

Something, or someone had interrupted the usual sounds of the night.

Someone, or something was not where it was supposed to be. Yet, a sixth sense told him that the trouble was not in the house.

Without turning on any lights, and moving as quietly as a cat, David went to the downstairs closet, and took out his shotgun. He loaded the weapon with an alternating mix of regular buckshot and sabot slugs. Once the weapon was full, he put a handful of each type shell in his pants pockets, shot on the left, sabot on the right, in case he needed to reload with a particular type of shell.

He opened a drawer and pulled out his heavy duty Mag flashlight. This was the model that took four "D" cells, and was often used by cops as an auxiliary nightstick. Black, with a heavy metal case, it was well-balanced and heavy. It was functional as either a light, or as a weapon. He tucked it in his waistband for easy access, and made sure it would not fall out until he was ready to take it out. He also slipped on his razor-sharp K-bar combat knife. Now he was ready.

David, silently slipped out the back of his house, and like a shadow, moved around to the side of his house nearest the barn.

Voices!

David definitely heard voices. They were quiet, but definitely human voices. David moved about 25 yards to his left and listened again. Again he heard the voices and now he was certain that they were coming from in, or behind, his barn.

"Shit," he worried, "it might be the vandals." Unknown vandals had been responsible for a series of barn fires that had plagued the county over the last month or so. With that thought in mind, he moved into the waist high corn, stooped, and vanished from view.

David might have been a ghost for all the noise the made moving through the corn. Had it been high noon, an observer knowing he was there would probably have never seen nor heard him. As it was, he took nearly 10 minutes to travel the short distance to the barn. Once there, he pressed against the shadowy barn wall and listened.

There! Again! Voices.

"It sounds like they are up in the hay loft," he thought.

Again, moving without sound, he got ready to enter the barn through a small door that was not where one would expect to find a door. In truth, it was more of a hatch than a door, about two foot square and the bottom was only knee high. It opened to an unused stall, and he sometimes used the door to simply toss stuff in the barn from the back of one of the trucks, when he didn't want to open one of the larger doors.

His entry to the barn would have been unnoticed by the most skittish animal, although no livestock was in the barn at night this time of year. The well-oiled hinges did not make a sound when he opened the hatchway just wide enough to slip through, and once he was in the barn he stood absolutely still.

Confrontation

Standing in the dark, his breathing measured, David listened. There was no such thing as a totally silent barn. All barns made some noise, as the wind and weather exerted pressure on the walls and roof. Wood was constantly drying, warping, rubbing and moving. Field mice and small birds were frequent occupants of the average barn and contributed their fair share to the ambient noise level.

After listening for a minute or so, David moved to the other side of the barn and listened again. There were definitely at least two people in the loft, on the end of the loft with the hay door.

"Not the best place to start a fire," he thought. Time to find out what is happening.

David's night vision was sharp, and he was able to move in the near-total darkness without fear of crashing into something or tripping over anything on the barn floor (not that there was ever any reason for something to be lying on the floor of his barn).

It only took a moment for David to navigate his way to the bottom of the ladder that went up to the loft. He changed his grip on the shotgun so as to avoid shooting himself if he slipped. David worked his way up the wooden ladder one careful step at a time. He would step with one foot, adjust his grip with his free hand and bring up his other foot. Only when both feet were secure on the same rung, and he had adjusted his grip one more time, would he begin the next step.

Soon he had only three more steps and he had a clear view of the dark hayloft. He looked in the direction of the hay doors and could see that one was partially open. He would never leave the hay door open, so he knew that it had to be the work of the intruders. Perhaps they needed some light from the faint moon. He could also see some activity near or on the loose hay pile next to the piles of hay bales.

Convinced that the intruders were unaware of his presence, he completed his climb up the ladder. He positioned himself near some additional hay bales that he could use for cover if necessary.

He then simultaneously pumped the first round into the shotgun, and yelled "Freeze, motherfuckers."

The Capture

David held the shotgun with one hand, then drew the flashlight and held it next to the barrel of the shotgun. When he flipped on the light he saw a sight that he definitely didn't expect.

There, on a blanket, was a pair of half-naked teens.

Well, he was naked; she was just wearing what looked like a pair of cotton panties. As soon as the light hit them they started to cover up.

"Don't fucking move."

'Don't even fucking breathe or you are dead."

David stepped close and used the Mag light to take a batter look at them. The girl was definitely young. Maybe she was not jailbait, but she was definitely young with an underdeveloped body. She also had no tan and short blonde hair. The boy looked to be a little older, with a rapidly diminishing hard-on.

As David looked them over, the boy showed a little testicular fortitude and moved to cover the girl's nakedness. That effort earned the boy a little love tap on the side of the head with the shotgun barrel and a cautionary "not smart, slick" from David. After that encounter there was no hard-on left to diminish any more.

"Don't move a muscle," David cautioned as he backed into the darkness.

The now docile couple didn't move as David searched for and found several short lengths of rope that he kept up in the loft for various purposes.

He returned with rope in hand and illuminated the couple with his Mag.