Fight Like Hell [America Falls Series | Books 1-6]

by Medbury, Scott

  “Get everyone back from the roadblock, now!” yelled the Colonel as he climbed down from the pick-up.

  BOOM!

  The orders were barely out of Bowman’s mouth when the cannon fired. A second later, the middle part of the barrier exploded. Men and debris flew in every direction as the rest of the men turned and fled. Another boom rang out. This shell struck the road on their side of the barrier. More men flew like ragdolls. Bowman and Randall watched helplessly.

  “We may have to retreat sir.”

  “No, they’re just softening us up. We need to hold the line.”

  Bowman opened his mouth to argue, but a third boom drowned him out. This one hit the barrier again. When the dust and smoke cleared, it looked like an old man’s smile, with two teeth missing. The tank would be able to crash through now without missing a beat.

  Then they heard the chant; it started quietly then picked up momentum as thousands of voices joined in.

  “New Am-er-ic-a, New Am-er-ic-a, New Am-er-ic-a!”

  Randall put the binoculars back to his eyes. The tank was moving again, faster this time. And behind it, the horses were trotting. The infantry jogged behind them.

  “Get ready; the first wave is coming.”

  29

  Lockwood and Paul intercepted the Marauders at the northern limits of Concord. They were a daunting sight. Every man was armed with a gun, and nearly everyone carried a backup weapon. From where he stood, Paul saw axes, modified baseball bats, and swords.

  While the New American’s wore black uniforms and the Brotherhood their habits, the Marauders looked more like warriors from a Mad Max movie. They were painted and tattooed and looked downright mean. Paul knew they would strike fear into anyone they faced. He certainly felt intimidated.

  Still, their leader, Jarrod was friendly and respectful when he spoke with Lockwood. More importantly, he was amenable to the change of plans and heading west instead of down to Concord. Within ten minutes of halting, they were following behind Lockwood and Paul in their Hummer, crossing the Merrimack and heading west where a foreboding pall of smoke painted the horizon.

  ***

  Riley was pleased with the results of the Tank’s barrage and looked to capitalize quickly.

  “Order them full steam ahead. I want the tank to smash that roadblock; then the cavalry is to ride through with all guns blazing.”

  “Yes, sir,” he said and spoke into his walkie-talkie.

  Personally, Orton would have preferred to fire a few more volleys at them, but Riley, incensed by the ambush that had nearly claimed his life, was keen to push forward. There was no use arguing, and besides, Orton had decided he would use the confusion of battle to make his final move against the president.

  While he had made a deal with Cyclops, it looked as though the confusion of battle would see the opportunity present itself much sooner. He intended to make sure that Riley wouldn’t see out the first ten minutes. Once he was eliminated and the fight turned their way, Orton would continue and conquer Concord before returning triumphantly to Rochester at the head of his army.

  If by some miracle the Concord rabble turned the tide, well he could treat with the enemy, and present his assassination of the president evidence of his goodwill.

  Eshman had made his way slowly from the rear of the column until he was in the third row from the front. Ahead he could see the president and General Orton near the rear of the tank. Orton spoke into his walkie talkie, and the tank jerked forward. It wasn’t held back to ensure men on foot could keep up this time and gathered momentum as it sped along the highway headed for the damaged roadblock.

  “Go!” yelled the president to the men on horseback and they spurred their mounts, galloping after the armored vehicle.

  Eshman, watching with interest, ducked out of sight behind the man in front when Orton turned to address the men on foot.

  “Forward march!” he called.

  Eshman stepped forward with the other men as they fell in behind Riley and his cruel general.

  ***

  Isaac and co arrived in Concord just as the Brotherhood was getting set for the defense of the city under Saracen’s direction. Coupled with the men the colonel had left behind they numbered five hundred.

  “Do you think you’re covered if we head out to back up the colonel?” Isaac asked Saracen.

  “Of course. Sixty men aren’t going to make a difference here, but they might there. Go for it.”

  Isaac conferred with Lipman, the captain who led the contingent that had been stationed in Manchester and he agreed.

  “Let’s do it.”

  ***

  The tank hammered across the bridge and crashed through the roadblock in a spray of timber and rubble. The horsemen followed it through, shooting at the men in the distance as soon as they had cleared the debris. The armored vehicle travelled another twenty yards; it’s operator seemingly intent on running right over the sandbagged nests ahead. The two rocket launched grenades struck it from either side. One hit the turret, blowing it askew and the other whizzed under the tank and exploded, lifting it two feet into the air before it crashed back to the asphalt and shuddered to a halt.

  “Light ‘em up!” Yelled Randall, happy that the New Americans had fallen so easily into his trap.

  The gauntlet of men in the surrounding trees began shooting, and within two minutes the entire New American cavalry was dead or injured on the road around the tank and beyond.

  “Now for the real fight,” said Randall.

  The battle began in earnest three minutes later as the infantry of the New American army went head to head with Randall’s smaller fighting force.

  At the beginning at least, the fight was even. Randall’s men secreted in the woods managed to keep the enemy from passing the remnants of the roadblock, eventually, though, the sheer weight of numbers began to tell.

  Riley split the first portion of his men into two and had them concentrate their fire on the trees on either side of the highway while Orton and a smaller group laid down suppressing fire on the men ahead of them.

  Slowly, as men in the woods fell, the rate of firing from the trees diminished and Riley called Orton over.

  “It’s time to send your men through,” he said. “One charge and we should have them.”

  Orton gave the order. Twenty yards behind them, Eshman decided now was his moment. He slid off to the side as the other men crowded forward and began assembling near the gap for the charge. Eshman lifted his rifle casually, pointing it in Orton’s general direction. When the firing began, he would take his shot.

  Orton slowly stepped back and away from Riley who was facing the gap in the roadblock. It was time. When the men charged through, and the firing began he would assassinate Riley.

  “On three, charge the enemy!” he ordered, slowly pulling the pistol from his pocket. “One! Two! Three! ATTACK!”

  30

  Lockwood and Paul had left the Hummer a mile out from the intersection with the Franklin Pierce Highway. They now marched at the head of the Marauders column with Jarrod.

  Smoke was thick in the air, but the fire that was causing it seemed to be well to the west. They paused at the intersection to pore over the map.

  “We’re here,” said Lockwood, pointing at the map, before gesturing down the highway towards the east. “The colonel’s position is two miles that way.”

  “Do you think the invaders have gotten that far?” asked Paul.

  His question was answered, not by Lockwood, but by a distant boom, carried on the wind from the same direction.

  “It would appear so,” said the older man. “Come on, we need to get moving.”

  ***

  “Fire!” ordered Randall.

  Gunfire erupted around him. The first enemy soldiers through the gap fell quickly, but soon, like ants over a dead carcass they swarmed through the gap and charged headlong towards them.

  Eshman watched the men begin running through the roadblock as the inevitable r
eturn fire began. Bullets whizzed and whined past his head but Eshman was now fully focused on the task at hand. He raised his rifle to his eye and aimed between William Orton’s shoulder blades.

  Orton moved closer to Riley and slowly brought his pistol up. He was almost tempted to tap the president on the shoulder, to see his eyes as he realized he was about to be betrayed. He resisted the temptation and pointed it at the back of Riley’s head and began to squeeze the trigger.

  That’s when his back exploded in white hot agony. He fell forward, and even as life fled his body, the last directive from his brain was completed by his hand. The gun fired.

  President Aidan Riley jerked forward as a bullet hit him in the back under his shoulder. From behind? How? The strength went out of his legs as he puzzled over the question. He fell to his knees and reached around to feel the warm, sticky mess.

  On leaden legs, he turned and found William Orton face down on the ground, a smoking pistol a few inches away from his outstretched hand, and a bullet wound between his shoulders.

  “Bastard, you shot me…” he said as he toppled over.

  Strong hands grabbed him and eased him to the ground. Kneeling over him was Eshman, the sniper Orton had ordered whipped not so long ago.

  “You’ll be okay sir, just stay down.”

  ***

  Lockwood and the others heard the battle before they saw it.

  “Around that bend!” he called.

  Paul ran alongside him, a semi-automatic pistol in his hands as the Marauders roared and sprinted around and past them, rushing headlong into battle.

  “Stick close with me son,” Lockwood told the nervous kid.

  Don’t shoot unless you have to.”

  They heard the clash of bodies and gunshots as they rounded the bend. The Marauders had crashed into the tail of the enemy column and had already cut a swathe through the panicked and surprised soldiers. Bodies, most of them wearing the black uniform of the New American army, fell everywhere as the Marauders relentlessly pushed the enemy force back upon itself.

  Paul and Lockwood watched but didn’t need to fire their weapons.

  ***

  Randall and his men were forced back, from position to position, but for each yard, the enemy gained, they paid a heavy price. Still, he knew it was only a matter of time before they were overwhelmed.

  As he looked at the broken and dead bodies of his men scattered across the battlefield, he started to wonder if he shouldn’t have taken the deal after all. There was nothing for it now. A white flag meant certain death because they had resisted in the first place.

  Then two things happened. First, the New Americans on the other side of the roadblock and the length of the bridge began to turn as gunfire and screams rang out from their rear and second, behind Randall and his men, a posse of vehicles screeched to a halt.

  There weren’t many of them, but Isaac and Luke led an invigorated unit that joined the battle with enthusiasm and began to force the New American’s vanguard back. Randall’s tired men joined in, and their new push, coupled with the trouble behind the enemy’s line swung the battle back in Concord’s favor.

  Soon they had taken back control of the area behind the road block and were picking off the enemy forces on the other side. He didn’t dare to call it yet, but somehow, through some miracle. It looked like they might prevail.

  “What’s happening?” Riley asked, coming to.

  He had been bandaged and was sitting off to the side, with Eshman standing guard over him. Eshman didn’t try to sweeten it.

  “We’re being attacked on two fronts, sir,” he said. “A big force from behind is crushing us, and we’ve lost the ground we gained on the other side of the roadblock. They’ll be on us soon. We can’t fight our way out of this. I think we should surrender.”

  The pale faced president didn’t respond to the news.

  “You killed General Orton to save my life?”

  Eshman thought about being honest and telling Riley he hadn’t known that Orton was going to assassinate him. But then, he didn’t think it was a lie to claim he had saved his life, even if it wasn’t intentional.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Riley reached out and put his hand on the sniper’s arm, wincing at the pain in his shoulder.

  “Thank you. See to our surrender; I don’t want any more to die because of me. You’re in command now.”

  Badly wounded, with heavy blood loss it appeared the fight had gone out of President Aidan Riley.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Eshman stood up and began yelling.

  “We surrender! We surrender!”

  The frightened men and women around him picked up the cry and began laying down their arms.

  “They’re surrendering sir,” reported Bowman, as the gunfire began to taper off.

  Randall, bone tired, looked heavenward and exhaled slowly.

  Thank God!

  ***

  Two days later, in the Concord City Hall, Colonel Randall, Isaac Race and a sick but recovering Aidan Riley signed a peace treaty. For the damage and lives they had taken, Riley and New America agreed to pay compensation in the way of goods and labor for two years. Riley also signed a non-aggression pact that, if breached, meant New America would be invaded by the combined forces of Concord, the Brotherhood and the Marauders and Aidan Riley put to death.

  Riley was happy to sign it. He understood very clearly that his execution had been discussed and supported loudly by some during the days after the surrender.

  As luck would have it, Isaac Race and his contingent had pushed for mercy, and he owed them a debt of gratitude.

  In the days that he’d been there and while they debated his future, Isaac, Luke, and Randall had gotten some insight into how Aidan Riley had turned out as he had. He’d had it much rougher than any of them, and it was clear the influence of his general, William Orton, hadn’t been helpful. In some respects, he was a victim of circumstance, but then again, they all were.

  “You know, all I ever wanted was to put America back together again,” said Riley, as he was climbing into his damaged but still running Mercedes. Eshman sat in the driver’s seat. “Maybe this is the beginning of that. I’m sorry I didn’t try another way to start with.”

  In the end, he’d taken full responsibility, and they’d all agreed that the last president’s son was not a lost cause and that some good would actually come of the Battle of Concord. The last act of the peace accords was an agreement to form a council between all five cities to begin working on trade and mutual assistance between the members. The council was to meet every six months and would include setting a framework for military co-operation in case of another threat arising. No one named them, but everyone knew that was likely to come from the Chinese occupiers if they ever came back across the Mississippi.

  “Maybe he’s right,” said Luke, as they watched the car turn and head back out of Concord. “Maybe today is the rebirth of America?”

  Randall put his hand on Luke’s shoulder.

  “I hope so son, I hope so.”

  Epilogue

  I pitched the ball. Max struck it clean, and it flew over Luke’s head. He turned and began sprinting after the ball even as Becky made a beeline for it.

  “Run Max!” called Indigo as she sprinted from second to third base. Cade was already headed for home.

  Becky and Luke ended up in a scrum wrestling over the ball as Erin, standing in the bleachers of the small park, jumped up and down next to her sister, squealing in delight. In the end, the ball rolled free, much to the disgust of their teammate Sam, who retrieved it.

  “Get a room you two!” I yelled from the mound. “We have a game to win.”

  Cade passed home base as Sam threw the ball and Indigo slipped home while it was still in the air. Diana, who was playing catcher, dragged in the catch and rushed to the plate as my boy steamed home. With an almighty slide, he beat her to it.

  The gangly eight-year-old’s victory dance was a sight to b
ehold, and my team lined up to congratulate him and the other winners with high-fives and claps on the back.

  We had a picnic on the grass after the game. Indigo and I, Ben and Diana, and Luke and Becky watched the kids playing together. Ben and Diana’s three-year-old, Blake, played with his cousin Erin and her raven-haired little sister Elizabeth, who had just turned two. The bigger kids played some catch.

  “I still can’t get over how much she looks like you,” Indigo said to Becky, as they watched the girls.

  “Her good looks, my smarts,” piped up Luke.

  We greeted this with the groans it deserved.

  “Seriously though,” said Luke, taking a sip of cold lemonade. “Does it get any better than this?”

  Things had changed markedly since the battle for Concord. The spirit of co-operation between the signatories after the battle had continued and we now had a healthy, loose collaboration between settlements. Concord and Manchester along with Rochester were growing quickly as word of the cities, and the lifestyles they could offer spread.

  Aidan Riley came to understand it was possible to grow without conquest and when he died tragically of a blood clot on the brain at the age of only twenty-four, President Eshman had continued his good work.

  Colonel Randall stepped down as leader of Concord a year ago, saying it was time for democracy to begin again. Their first election was won by Daniel Bowman who became governor in a landslide. He immediately appointed Colonel Randall as his senior advisor.

  The Marauders and the people of Ashland began migrating to Concord and Manchester as soon as the accords had been signed. Word had spread quickly about the comfort and safety that the cities had to offer. Their army blended with Randall’s and despite some teething problems had settled in nicely. Their leader Jarrod was appointed general after Bowman won the role of governor, he had proven himself an extremely capable leader in the few years since the battle.