“This is a shit sandwich, boys,” Barlow finally said, “and it’s time for all of us to take our bite. We’ll keep going, follow the plan, and maybe get there a little early. I want to get eyes on that complex before morning.”
“And if they’ve already taken the depot?” asked Carmichael, all business now.
“We bounce it to higher, using the code. But Paul, we need this. You know how slow and high maintenance those tracks are. And Colonel Forshe showed up with some of his troops riding in the backs of hay wagons. They can take Gruber back, maybe, with what we have, but doing more? We need that depot in friendly hands.”
I waited until the other men hurried off before speaking up.
“Sergeant, we’ve got civilians, but let me find a place for them…”
“Luke, you are out of this.” He spoke sympathetically. Not at all the hardass I’d just heard. He held up a hand. “Son, you’ve done enough. More than enough. Look at yourself. You’re still in so much pain you can barely stand there, and I’ll bet Amy is still seeing double. And that little girl? Shit, she’s the same age as Trish. Your crew is depending on you and Scott to get them to this promised land of yours.”
I nodded. I could see his point. Also, the last thing I wanted was to get shot again; or God above, for Amy to get shot again. But if ownership of the Red River Army Depot was that important, then we should do what we could; within the limits of our own personal safety anyway.
“Alright. Let us at least help with something, if you can find us a spot. Maybe sniping? Still got that big Barrett.”
“You’ve never fired it, and the recoil could open your stitches.”
“I’ll spot for Scott and let him have all the fun. And bruises. We’ve both read the manual, with that Bullet Drop Compensator, the optics system does everything but pull the trigger.”
Barlow sighed. I knew he could use the help. It would be little enough, but I already knew Scott would want a piece of this action as well. He was two years older, but apparently none the wiser.
“Alright Kid. Let’s go. We’re burnin’ daylight.”
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
The Battle for Camp Gruber might have been, as Captain Vanderpool dubbed it, the opening shots of the Second Civil War. The jury was still out on that one. I knew that Scott’s first shot at the battle for the depot decapitated the enemy commander’s ace in the hole before the battle ever started.
Of course, our battle really wasn’t for possession of the depot, since our late evening reconnaissance of the sprawling base revealed the presence of the elements of Texas National Guard and the regular army. At least, so I was told. Did the scouts go up and inquire at the gates? I wondered how that worked, but nobody asked my opinion. The depot looked to be in capable hands. Well-armed and numerous hands at that.
I don’t know how Barlow’s scouts located the bivouac of the unknown force, but early the next morning I followed Sergeant Carmichael as he led the way for Scott and I to our designated shooting position. We were dangerously close to the front gates of the Depot, and our first priority was to shoot and scoot.
Outnumbered by both forces, Staff Sergeant Barlow’s first inclination was to contact the depot and warn the troops of an impending attack. Unfortunately, Corporal Weeks spotted a picket guarding the gate entrance, and one most likely not assigned there by the Army. He was armed with a Javelin. He also was not alone.
The six armored and wheeled vehicles were only a small part of the actual attack force massing in the abandoned industrial warehouse outside of Hooks, Texas, about five miles from the depot proper. I didn’t see the lineup, but rumor was they had everything from Humvees up to main battle tanks. No more black Suburbans.
Barlow’s plan was simple, and scary.
Light up the massed armor in a quick, spoiling raid and haul ass back across the border into Oklahoma. He would radio a warning to the depot after his attack, and Scott and I were simply asked to kill a few missile wielding troops guarding the gates from the outside. Provided these weren’t legitimate state or federal troops, they were there to ambush anybody leaving the depot. Then we would climb down, meet our waiting vehicles, and roll out towards home. Barlow’s flight was intended to also draw any heat away from us. We would do as we could, but those guys were really taking the risk.
The twelve men talked the topic to death the night before, trying to see a better solution. That the massed troops and armor were intending to hit the depot was universally agreed. You didn’t hide like that if you were a friendly force. The smart thing would be to get on the SINCGARS radio and try to warn the forces controlling the depot. Except the first thing they would do would be to scramble a team to check Barlow’s story. BOOM, right at the gate. And the attacking force would likely know as soon as Barlow started broadcasting, anyway.
The sun was still two hours away and I was slowly scanning the road. Highway 82 ran in front of the main gates and I had a fourth generation night vision monocular that made the night into day. This was in the SUV, along with a night vision scope for the Barrett 98B that Scott was also using to search the night.
“You see anybody else?” Scott asked again, and I bit back the acidic retort. This was new for the young man, and he was undeniably nervous. Shit, I would be taking the shots myself if I could.
“No, man, just those two by the trailer. I think number three over there is trying to use a space blanket to mute his infrared signature, but he keeps moving so we got him anyway. That’s all I got.”
How the hell Carmichael knew these bushwhackers were here I would never know, but they put a major crimp in Barlow’s original plan—the one that didn’t risk life and limb, of course.
“Let’s just kill them and go,” Scott grumbled, and I echoed the sentiment in my head. The walk in had hurt, a lot, and I was hopeful we could catch a ride out.
Then we heard the rumble in the distance, the sound of machine guns being fired in a “mad minute” style, pouring out thousands of rounds on a target in the hopes of achieving some kind of mobility kills on the heavier armored assault vehicles. Not going to work on the M-1 Abrams, but maybe the bullets penetrated the aluminum armor on the M113s, or knocked out the drive train on a LAV. The sole .50 caliber in Barlow’s force was hammering out rounds at a barrel burning pace.
Watching one of the missile carrying soldiers in the distinctive camo outfit, I saw him lift and turn the weapon back down the direction we anticipated a reaction force to exit the depot.
“Take Target Two,” I said softly. We were over 500 meters away, sitting on plastic buckets on top a Gas-N-Go, and Scott had the Barrett tucked into his shoulder. BOOM. The night exploded as the rifle fired, and the center of the man’s chest disappeared in a black spray. I was only aware of the man’s death in a peripheral way, as I had turned to scan for more targets.
The second shape, a larger, beefier looking man, went down to a knee and brought his rifle to shoulder, scanning the dark, and then scrambled to take up the launcher dropped by his partner.
“Take Target One” I murmured, and again Scott triggered the massive rifle. I didn’t even look to see the second man die. I was still looking when I gave the next command, I mean, suggestion.
“Move down, Scott and set up again,” I said, and I could hear the approaching roar of vehicles. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the reaction team from the depot, but coming from back toward Hooks. Was it our guys beating feet out of town? Unlikely, since their plan called for them to take a roundabout path away from the depot.
“I think that’s the Homeland troops,” Scott said, a little louder than I would have liked.
“It is,” said the ghost standing at the edge of the roof. He was dressed in shadow, and was covered from head to toe in some light absorbing fabric. My night vision only showed a hole in the dark.
“Oh, fuck,” Scott whispered, and I could see him snaking his hand towards the pistol holstered on his thigh as he began to turn. He couldn’t see the short barreled carbine pointed
right as his back.
“Stop,” I said harshly, and Scott froze.
“What are you doing here?” the voice asked, as if I had not just spoken.
“Trying to help. That’s all. Just returning a favor,” I replied, and I mentally ordered Scott to keep his mouth shut.
“Are you with the National Guard?” the questioner persisted, but keeping his voice low and neutral. “Oklahoma, I mean.”
Shit. “No. We were going in the same direction, traveling together. They did us a good turn, and we offered to return the favor. They didn’t want to see the reaction team hit, so we offered to protect those vehicles.”
“Why didn’t they do it themselves? This is not something for civilians to get mixed up in.”
“Because they were so totally outnumbered,” I replied, giving him all the honesty he could handle. “They had twelve men total. They couldn’t do anything else. They needed to warn the soldiers at the depot about the eminent attack, so they staged a spoiling attack. Make enough noise, and maybe help cut down the numbers.”
I could barely make out the camouflaged shape as the carbine was lowered, then the man spoke again. He seemed much more relaxed at this point.
“Do you want to come in? The Depot, I mean. I know the general would love to talk to you guys. I won’t force it, though. We do have a doctor, if you need to see one.”
I gritted my teeth in a grin. “That was you in the space blanket, wasn’t it?”
My question seemed to take the soldier by surprise.
“You saw?” he asked, and looked back briefly in the direction where I’d first picked up his presence.
“Yes, sir. Good job but the movement gave you away.”
I caught a low chuckle that faded fast.
“One of them, the renegade Homeland agents, stepped right on my hide and was going to call his friends. That’s what you saw.”
I nodded. Shit happens, even to the best of us. I wondered what he was. I had nothing to compare, but I was leaning towards Special Forces. Green Berets, maybe.
“So you guys knew they were coming?” Scott finally asked, finding his voice.
“Yes. They’ve been gathering forces for days now. We couldn’t get word back because…”
“Your communications have been compromised,” I said carefully, my eyes on the man’s nearly obscured face as I finished the sentence for him. With only his cheeks and a sliver of his nose exposed, I don’t know what tell I was looking for, but the man never reacted other than nod in agreement.
“Yes, on a very high level, it would seem. We are still trying to unravel how far this goes.”
“By ‘we’ you mean Regular Army, correct? Not the Guard or Reserves?” I asked, pushing now that the sound of the approaching vehicles sounded louder as they neared.
“Yes” was all the man said.
“They knew before the event.” I tossed that tidbit out to see if it got a reaction. “Somebody high up the food chain got word maybe twelve or more hours in advance.”
“You have proof of this?” he demanded, and I knew I’d hit a nerve.
I shook my head. “Look to the nuclear power plants. They shut them down before the event, and sold it as a move to protect from terrorist attacks.”
“Who are you?” the man finally asked, and I could tell he really wanted to make that visit to the Depot mandatory.
“Just a man trying to do the right thing, sir. Those men who we traveled with, they are the good guys. I don’t know about you yet. Sorry, but there are too many things going on at once. If you are true to your oath, then get in touch with these friends of ours. They are Oklahoma National Guard, and they need help.”
“So you are really not in the Guard yourselves?”
“No. We are security for a group of civilians being escorted home. We are traveling with women and children. I’ve been trying to get home since the day it started.”
“Are you getting close to home?”
“Every day I’m alive is another day closer.”
With that, the early morning lit up like the dawn for a moment as dozens of detonations rumbled and roared. I saw one flash and realized this was the sound and fury of a main gun on a tank firing in the distance. The massive, armored monsters remained hidden in the trees on the base side of the road, but the collection of armored cars, armored scout vehicles, and a few true tanks streaming up the highway appeared suddenly outlined by fire, and the entire assemblage began to shatter into shards of burning steel.
Yes, somebody in the Red River Army Depot knew what they were doing. Knew enough to bring in their armor and somehow camouflage their tanks and cannons enough to catch the invaders completely by surprise. I wondered how they did it, and knew I still had a ton to learn.
“Fuck, I guess you did know they were coming,” Scott said, and when we looked back, the dark clad man was gone.
“Where did he…”
“He’s still around, Scott. Now let’s get packed up and call for pickup.”
I was trying not to think about what the soldier said as I policed up the two brass cartridges and packed up the monocle it the shock proof case. Scott was likewise packing and I could tell he had lost the battle of trying to get the shadowy man out of his head.
Our two vehicles were idling just a half mile away and a quick call got them rolling in our direction using the narrow farm roads paralleling the highway. By the time our rides pulled up, the fires from the destroyed armored vehicles were still burning bright, and I released a big sigh as we rapidly exited the area.
“What the heck happened back there?” asked Amy, craning her head back to watch the flickering flames receded in the distance.
“Well, the good news is the plan worked, sort of. The bad news is I still don’t really know what the heck was going on back there.”
“Where to now, trail boss?” Lori piped up.
“Like we planned; head south on Highway 259 and let’s out some miles behind us. We’ll find a place to park before noon and try to get some sleep. I’m still trying to process what the hell happened.”
Fortunately, nobody else had any questions and we drove on into the dawning morning.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
If anything, the urge to get home was now worse than ever as we traveled along roads I knew from years of living in the area. With Lori in the lead, we crept across Interstate 30 and I noticed the detritus of humanity’s passage as we drove around abandoned suitcases and broken down wagons around this road. This would have been a major avenue of escape from the Dallas/Fort Worth Metroplex. From the number of bodies we saw, the going must have been brutal. Hopefully, my Uncle Billy made his way clear before the deluge came.
Lori hurried on past the intersection and we cruised unmolested for over twenty miles until reaching the outskirts of Daingerfield. I could see a big pileup ahead, and I radioed for Connie to pull ahead with the Humvee and the M-240B machine gun. This could be a good choke point for toll collectors, and I wanted to be ready to make our payment. The big 7.62x51 rounds could make a sizable deposit.
Sure enough, some enterprising young men had set up a movable barrier in the one lane cleared for vehicles. I could see several of these guys hanging around behind the patchwork barricades, but the only thing blocking the one lane appeared to be a large, ten wheel delivery type truck. If that thing didn’t start, these skinny bastards didn’t look strong enough to move it. So there had to be a catch.
We stopped about a thousand yards away from the pileup, and I climbed carefully out of the front seat and glassed the whole jumbled area. What looked like a couple of car carriers and a cement truck had the tragic bad luck to be in close proximity when the pulse struck. The cement truck hit one of the car carriers, but the second one just came to a halt in such a way as to cut the traffic down to that one lane.
If not through, then around. I called back to Amy over my shoulder. “Can you please bring out that Texas Road Atlas?”
“Coming right up,” she rep
lied, and a few seconds later came bouncing out of the Suburban. Lori, as the driver, was stuck behind the wheel. That was the rule, and I planned on rotating in for her after the next stop.
As Amy came closer, I heard her say softly, “After we get around this, the kids really need a break. Some food, maybe a nap. Kevin and Rachel are just thrashed.”
I laughed ironically. “They aren’t the only ones. I can barely stay awake. See if you can get them to drink something. Maybe we can do a potty break while we’re here.”
Like the drivers, Scott was not able to leave his post, so Helena came back from the Humvee to join the pow-wow. The pickings for alternate routes did not look great. Well, we could go back and hit Highway 49, I thought. Then I realized that might be even better. We could bypass Longview altogether and go through Marshall instead once we got on Highway 59 in Jefferson. When I showed the ladies, they agreed it would get us closer to our final destination. Ripley. Population 800.
When we had a new heading, I walked up to the Humvee and had a quick discussion with Connie and Scott. I explained the change in plans and how I was going to take over for Lori at this stop rather than wait for it.
“I’ll take back over lead car, Connie. I kinda know my way around here. At least, I’ve been to most of these towns anyway.”
Connie laughed. “Better you than me. I’ve never even heard of most of these places. Daingerfield? Did they name it after the comedian?”
“See, I can tell you’re not from around here. Everybody’s heard of Daingerfield. They have a really good football team, year in and year out.”
That got an even louder chuckle. “Luke, I don’t even understand the rules of football, and I went to all of Scott’s games since he started dating Helena.”
Hard Rain Falling (Walking in the Rain Book 3) Page 21