Homeland Defense

by Leo Nix

  “You damned idiots! You should've kept going!” he sobbed, almost unconscious from the shock and pain.

  John ripped his throttle open and pulled up next to his friend. “Beamy, climb on! Leave your damn weapon! Just climb on and hold tight!”

  Halo and Chan continued firing until they saw John and Beamy had started back, then they too stopped firing and took off after them. Halo paused to put a burst of fire into Beamy's bike so the terrorists couldn't use it, then he raced after Chan.

  'This is a disaster, a complete bloody disaster,' thought Doff as he watched the boys riding back noticing only three bikes with one passenger. He did the maths and knew that one of his boys was left behind, he hoped he was dead. He also figured that someone would be walking back to Birdsville.

  The boys pulled up beside Doff and the two wounded soldiers breathing hard. Chan looked around at their enemy, assessed their situation in a few seconds, then said, “We double and we triple. We're not leaving a single friend behind. Got it, sergeant!” He looked directly into Doff's eyes.

  The kindly sergeant saw the frightened, destitute and exhausted look painted on the boys faces. 'We really are in deep shit,' he thought once more to himself.

  “We've just lost Danny,” sobbed John, “he was one of my friends. I'm not going to let us lose any more. Chan, you're smallest, put Mugga in between you and Doff. It might be slow but we'll make it to our number one supply cache in a few hours.” He was sweating hard as he tried to fix his mental map of where the cache was hidden.

  “OK, John, you'll have to put Stan in front of you and hold him. He won't fall off but it'll be slow going. Beamy, are you OK like that?” asked Doff, his mind too was working overtime.

  “I'm fine, I've done this before you know,” said Beamy, his voice was slurred and Doff recognised he was in shock and had no doubt lost a lot of blood - it was all down his shirt front and side. They had to get the wounded moving and treated as soon as they could. Enemy rifle fire continued to zip around them but in the overcast dawn light none of it was accurate. They had to get moving even if it meant slow going.

  They stopped just as it began to rain again. A soft, gentle rain that made riding slippery and difficult. They spent the next twenty minutes bandaging their comrades and checking their wounds. The drizzling mist shifted and they could see between the Stosstruppen trucks moving slowly towards them.

  John said they had another hour before they made the first food and fuel cache, he was quite certain he could locate it. He stood looking at his map and compass working out the route. But the desert, as flat and featureless as it was without any visible landmarks, made it difficult. His training included orientation and he had been noting the distances on his bike's speed dial. He'd topped his classes in orienteering but was anxious that he might fail to find the cache in this rain and mist.

  “We know home base received our message before the fighting started. I told them I didn't have a good feeling about the contact so hopefully they'll have a patrol on it's way. It's a bugger losing Danny, Luddin and the Bushmaster.” He stopped talking for a moment, pushed his feelings back down, then spoke again. “The standing patrol at the Patrol One post should have been informed by Birdsville now too, they should all be on alert.” Doff stopped talking to drink from the water bottle thrust into his hands. Something was wrong, he looked at his hands and they were shaking, he ignored it.

  “I have a feeling we were set up, three convoys? Really? That was deliberate.” Again he stopped to drink deeply using both hands to hold the precious bottle of water.

  “Sarge?” called one of the wounded crewman, Mugga. “Our boys should be on their way by now but it'll take them hours to reach Patrol One's position.” He coughed up blood and had to stop talking for a moment. “I don't know if I can hold out that long, my guts feel bad and I'm struggling to stay on the bike.”

  His sergeant nodded. He knew they might lose both his crewmen before they could get them to Birdsville, and it hurt him to think of it. Again he pushed it down, deep down.

  “Boys, we just ride, that's all we can do. Get to the fuel dump and rest up, patch up, then get to Patrol One. Chan, how long will that take?” he asked the young man.

  “I think…” Chan looked upwards as he thought, “another hour to the cache. Take a half hour rest then another few hours to the Patrol One site. We should be there by mid afternoon., he replied, counting the kilometres in his head and the hours it should take in this rugged desert country.

  “John, is that what your calculations give you?” he asked.

  John nodded, “Yep, that's about right. Just follow me fella's, I've got this. Thankfully it's getting lighter and that should make it a little easier. So just stay on my six.”

  They all turned as they heard the sound of vehicles behind them. There were a half dozen Revelationist trucks now only a hundred metres behind, slowly approaching their position.

  “They just won't give up will they,” said Chan.

  “Halo, do you think you could stay back and put several magazines into them before you head off after us? It'll slow them down and give us a few minutes head start. We'll need that later on,” asked Doff.

  “I'm on it, Doff,” he said. Turning to his mate propped painfully on his bike behind him, “Beamy, just be prepared for a rushed escape, sorry mate we've gotta do it.” Beamy just nodded.

  “OK, let's do it, fella's.” Doff helped the wounded onto the bikes and they headed off again at a slow pace. Stan was bleeding internally and would probably have to be held in place by John, an almost impossible task in this rugged country.

  A minute later they could hear the sound of gunfire.

  While the bikers engaged in a fighting retreat, Patrol One on the Coopers Creek crossing had it's own problems.

  Chapter 15 - Patrol One

  The Stosstruppen commander, Major Daniels, knew he had to do something creative and impressive. His battalion was taking a beating and morale was low. With the constant pressure created by Sundown's hit-and-run tactics, his battalion was becoming a joke with the rest of General Himmler's Army Alpha. He knew what Sundown's Commando were doing but lacked the military skill to do anything about it.

  Daniels was another one of those leaders handed command because of his position in the church. The major liked doing things which he knew he shouldn't, but rather than hand him in to the police his superiors simply passed him from one parish to another. This continued throughout his professional career until he discovered the Revelationist church had a degree of tolerance for predator appetites like his. He was good at blackmail, when he uncovered a weakness in a superior he used that as leverage to work his way up the hierarchy of power.

  Major Daniels loved the Nazi regime and, like his commander, General Himmler, had a smattering of knowledge about German warfare strategy and could fool almost anyone. He had a lifetime of experience doing just that. It was his second in command, Captain Burgess, who had the extensive experience in the military he needed to play this game successfully.

  Captain Burgess returned from a stint in Afghanistan just days before the apocalypse. He came from a family of military historians and as a pastor in the military arm of the church he was a much sought after authority on military matters. His knowledge was exactly what Daniels wanted and he got it, in spadefuls.

  While Burgess had few weaknesses, he did like dressing up in women's clothing and liked to be called Mary. When Daniels discovered this fact he took full advantage, and blackmailed him.

  That was all it took to create the Stosstruppen, a brilliant strategist with hands-on experience and a lifetime study in all things military. Burgess knew that as long as he performed his duty he was safe from exposure and humiliation. Daniels knew that as long as he held tight control of the captain he was worshipped as one of the foremost military leaders of the Revelationists in Australia.

  At one time they were neck to neck with the Deaths Heads for position as the top battalion. But after the shattering losses a
t Marree and Birdsville, Major Lunney's elite company was disbanded and Daniels was now number one.

  “Burgess, did you get that order through?” asked Daniels over breakfast that morning.

  Burgess was bleary eyed after a night drinking himself into oblivion. “Yes sir, we've rounded up all the boys we could find. They should be here in a few days for you to choose from.” How he hated the major and his sexual excesses, it made him want to puke.

  Craftily Daniels enabled the captain's own excesses, bringing him new dresses and women's underwear whenever he came back from a trip to the city or interstate. In a strange way, Captain Burgess worshipped Daniels, while daily plotting his demise. Daniels, on the other hand, simply played the game, the game of power.

  “Did you make sure Linda and Phillip had enough soap and shampoo for them? You know I don't like dirty little boys, Mary. Cleanliness is next to Godliness, is the saying, and it's so true of pretty, little boys.” He enjoyed these little games and his use of the endearment 'Mary' was as strategic as Burgess' ambush this morning, when they knocked out Doff's Bushmaster.

  “Yes sir, its all done just the way you like it,” answered Burgess, who was busy plotting a way to poison his superior.

  Burgess still had work to do but his head was heavy and throbbed. He had no choice but to stall the next move in his game of chess with Sundown's Commando. His scouts knew of the Patrol One stockade, they couldn't miss it. The stockade was built across the road completely blocking any access to the north. Unless he was prepared to bush bash through several hundred metres of soft sand and thick scrub, it had to be breached. In reality it proved to be a formidable barrier and they needed to knock out that stockade.

  His next move was to be there to direct their assault, but he just wasn't up to it today. Lieutenant Donata was out there now and reported the position, though heavily defended, fell within a few minutes of his assault. They took two prisoners and two enemy were killed. Burgess was disappointed, he expected at least a half platoon strength holding the post, not four piddling defenders. One consolation was that they were regular army, and cavalry at that.

  He ordered Lieutenant Donata to hold the position, beef up it's defences, and send out day and evening patrols for several kilometres up the road. He also wanted his lieutenant to set up listening posts closer to Birdsville. If only his head wasn't so sore he would be out there now giving orders, but it could wait another day, he thought.

  Lance Corporal Poole sat with his hands tied behind his back and his unconscious mate lay beside him. He was thinking how unprepared they were. They had no chance against the full force of a platoon strength assault by the storm troopers.

  'These Stosstruppen are good,' he reminded himself. They came right on dawn when the rising sun would normally be slanting into the stockade blinding them. But with the early morning rain they were completely invisible, they didn't need to have the sun in their enemy's eyes.

  It began with snipers firing through their loop holes, the cavalry machine gun was put out of action in the first few seconds. All four troopers were awake, two up top and two below making a brew to have with their breakfast. They were ready, they had personnel mines laid on their perimeter, but none went off until the fighting actually started.

  Poole recalled how he was sitting with his cup of tea in his fist, a lazy cigarette in his other hand, while he waited for his breakfast to warm on the cooker. He carelessly stared out of the slit in the stockade wall. Above were his two mates on duty, talking softly in the pale dawn light. He sat up in confusion when he heard the 'splat!' of a sniper's bullet striking a human body.

  There was an expletive from one of his mates above followed by another 'splat!' The swearing stopped. Poole heard the second body collapse to the wooden floor above him. That was when he knew they were in trouble.

  Fighting from a strong defensive position is the best way to reduce your body count. That is, unless the surroundings are perfect hiding places for snipers and a well trained enemy. They can see you, clearly, from a distance too. But you can't see them. Even though Poole and his mates had cleared some of the scrub from around their stockade for twenty metres, it clearly wasn't enough. A well camouflaged sniper could easily crawl into a position twenty metres away and snipe at their leisure without being detected.

  When the two guards went down Poole recalled how Slimmy Lahotski stood up and knocked his head on the low roof and swore. It was in contrast to the tension and raw fear he felt.

  “For crying out loud, Slimmy, get your head down! They've got snipers and we're sitting ducks,” he'd said.

  Slimmy ducked down and looked across their tiny enclosure and asked in a child's small voice, “What are we gonna do, Poolie?”

  There came explosions as two of the mines went off followed by a hail of bullets, machine guns and then grenades. It was pandemonium and all directed at their post. Poole knew they were screwed. He didn't even think, he just ducked down below their sandbagged parapet and pulled out his handkerchief. It was off-white, good enough for a white flag of surrender. Wrapping it around a stick he poked it out of the slit and waved it frantically.

  “We surrender!” he called over and over but the bullets kept coming. Slimmy tried to crawl out through the exit at the back of the stockade, but one of the Stosstruppen was already waiting for him. He shot Slimmy twice in the stomach. When Poole heard the shots he increased his shouting.

  Finally the soldier outside called, “Cease fire!”

  He could hear Slimmy groaning as he crawled out with his hands over his head. The lance corporal saw his mate lying with his back against the sandbag wall, his hands covering his bloody stomach.

  The Stosstruppen NCO searched him then told him to take care of Slimmy. Poole watched as they went through their position searching for weapons and anything they could take of value. He lost his watch too, which seemed to be the usual booty of every victor since wrist watches were invented.

  “Get your mate bandaged, buddy, we'll be sending you back to Marree. There you'll be processed,” said the NCO as his lieutenant approached. “We'll do what we can for you now, but once the priests get hold of you, only God can help you.”

  Lieutenant Donata introduced himself and began his interrogation. He ordered food and water, then called for his medic to see to Slimmy, but only after he'd treated his own wounded.

  There was not much else really, thought Poole, he tried to avoid answering but his mind was shattered. He stammered awkward replies and couldn't even remember what he'd said, everything happened too fast. And now here he was waiting for the bastards to take him to their Marree camp. He heard they didn't get many regular army prisoners these days because there were so few left after the apocalypse. That made him more depressed than he already felt. It meant not only was he an oddity, but he would receive special attention. He could only imagine what that meant.

  One scene stuck in his mind as he was walked outside to pee, and that was the miserable state of their stockade. It looked like it would fall apart any moment. Although it weathered the grenade attack, the storm of bullets had split the sand bags open. It looked like the aftermath of a tornado.

  'At least it stayed together long enough to save Slimmy and me,' he thought.

  One thing he'd forgotten to do was destroy the radio and code book. Prized possessions that could easily compromise the entire commando.

  That morning the new arrivals from Arkaroola were having breakfast with the locals and already beginning to feel part of the community. All through their trip Bongo spoke of what they would find at Birdsville and how friendly everyone was. They were so excited to have finally arrived at 'sanctuary'. But news of the patrol contacts had broken and now they were subdued and nervous.

  “Wiram! Wiram!” called Andy, peering into the lounge where the community usually met for breakfast.

  “Over here, Andy!” replied Wiram, he stood up so the old man could see him.

  Andy walked over, his limp more pronounced than usual.
“Wiram, I think we've lost the Patrol One position as well. We can't get them up on the radio and that's never happened before. Cambra and Pellino are trouble shooting the electronics. They might have been hit by the Stosstruppen just after Charlie and the bike patrol were hit.” He sat down, his breath came fast and he wheezed as he spoke.

  “Hey, slow down, mate,” said Wiram, steadying their chief administrator. “OK, let me get this straight. First of all we hear One One Charlie is hit and our patrols are on the run. OK, we're covered for that, Assassin should reach Patrol One's post in a couple of hours and he'll let us know what's happening. We're just about ready with Alpha team and we should be gone in a half hour. But now you're saying we've lost contact with the Patrol One post?”

  “Yes, we chatted about a half hour ago. One One Charlie and bike patrol had a contact on the Birdsville Track near Mungerannie. We both agreed they most probably have wounded but they'd had no further information. I'm worried, if the Stosstruppen hit our bikers then it makes sense to take out our Patrol One post at the same time, don't you think?” asked Andy.

  Wiram nodded. “Yep, I just wish we had the numbers to have manned Patrol One better, beef it up a bit. If that's the case we've got real problems. Not only have we lost four men we've lost the Bushmaster and now our hit-and-run teams are probably scattered through the desert.” The giant aboriginal put his face in his hands as he tried to calm his racing mind.

  Chapter 16 - Prepare and Retaliate

  Sundown stood up and was heading towards the door when the general called out.

  “Sundown, wait a moment, you can't get there without the aeroplane and it'll take you a week to cross the Simpson by vehicle. Please, sit down and let's look at this with calm eyes.” Sundown stopped and thought maybe the general was trying to reconcile, perhaps he had a better plan.

  “Corporal, thank you, please wait here for your orders.” Turning to his attentive staff officers he called for their thoughts.