by Nathan Jones
Grimes's man sounded a bit sheepish when he replied. “Yeah, sorry. They took out one of our patrols to the man and slipped through the gap. Good thing your people had their eyes open to pick up our slack.”
Lewis shook himself out of his daze. “Down in the valley! The blockheads are preparing a-”
Sheepishness was replaced by amusement. “We've already sent four trucks, with enough troops and firepower to fight World War III. If the enemy tries to press their attack they'll regret it.”
“I thought we were already in World War III.” That was Tam.
Grimes's liaison sounded even more amused. “Well it's about to get even more exciting. Give us your positions along the mountains overlooking the valley, so we don't accidentally light you up as we deploy.” A slight pause. “And you best be grateful, civvies. You're not the only ones fighting tonight, and we might get punished for sending help your way.”
The last blockhead in Lewis's field of view fell and went still, and he nodded to the other defenders in the truck. “We are,” he replied. “I'm Lewis Halsson. You?”
“Lieutenant Faraday. Don't let it go to your head, but I've heard of you. It's a pleasure.” There was a brief pause. “We've eliminated the enemy here. Tell your people to stand down so we can come join you . . . we still need to deal with whatever the blockheads are sending our way from the valley.”
Lewis repeated the order, and the noise of gunfire faded to disconcerting silence around him.
Minutes later Faraday's unit approached, those in the lead waving green glow sticks to indicate their friendly status. Lewis couldn't help but admire the lieutenant's people, who all looked like proper soldiers. They had the expected uniforms, equipment, and night vision gear, as well as camouflage paint. More than that, they slid through the night like they were part of it, so even with the glow sticks it was hard to follow them.
Small wonder they'd managed to ambush the blockheads from behind and wipe them out to a man.
“Cheers for protecting our southern flank,” Faraday said as he made his way up to the truck, piercing green eyes looking up at Lewis from beneath a shock of blond hair. “I wish we could do this more often, but we've got our own fires to put out.” He paused. “Speaking of which . . .”
“This way,” Lewis said, hopping down to stand next to the lieutenant. “Thanks for saving our bacon.”
The gratitude was genuine, but it wasn't all good news. The blockheads had given as good as they got, from the initial volley right up until Faraday's people showed up. Over half of Lewis's defenders had been killed or seriously wounded in the fighting, and as far as Lewis could tell their rescuers had taken out two dozen or so blockheads to finish the battle. Not the best showing for Aspen Hill; a lot of good people had died tonight.
“All part of a day's work,” Faraday replied. “Or a night's, in this case.” He motioned. “Are we taking the truck?”
Lewis shook his head. “It couldn't take us where we need to be. Besides, the wounded need it.” He turned to Catherine, who'd hopped down from the cab to greet the officer.
The Mayor nodded at his unspoken question. “I'll take over here.”
Faraday nodded as well. “Fair enough. I'll leave behind the few people I've got with training in field triage.” He suited his words by barking a few orders, and a handful of soldiers trotted over to where the defenders were gathering the wounded. Catherine hurried after them to organize relief efforts.
During that time Lewis picked out as many defenders as he could spare from helping the Mayor, getting them ready to move out. Then, with Faraday waiting expectantly, he led the way back east towards the slopes and the threat there.
It turned out to be unnecessary. By the time they reached the sniper positions, where Lewis's volunteers and the four trucks' worth of troops Grimes had sent had been desperately working to push back the enemy below, the blockheads had already withdrawn. Maybe losing their infiltration team had effectively ended the enemy's attack, or they'd been intimidated by the quick arrival of reinforcements.
Either way it was over. After a half hour of waiting, once they were fairly certain there'd be no more excitement that night, Faraday announced that his men were needed elsewhere.
Lewis was a bit disappointed to hear that, remembering how the Army reinforcements helping Davis had stayed the night to give the sergeant and his people a reprieve. But from the sounds of it Colonel Grimes's forces were getting hit hard in other areas, and after leaving here the lieutenant's unit would work right through the night, hopping from location to location putting out fires. Lewis was just glad they'd come at all.
On the plus side, before leaving Faraday announced that Aspen Hill could have the gear retrieved from the blockheads they'd just fought. “You need that stuff more than we do,” he said with a tight grin. “Maybe it'll help you hold this area on your own from now on. We might not be in a position to send help next time.”
Lewis nodded. After tonight it was pretty obvious he didn't have enough defenders, so he'd probably need to talk more townspeople into signing up. It might be a hard sell after everyone they'd lost tonight, but he had to find some way to impress in his neighbors' heads that he couldn't defend them as things stood.
People in town refusing to join Matt and his volunteers was one thing. But refusing to step up and defend their own homes, humble as those the refuge offered were, as well as their own family and friends, was something else entirely. If Lewis couldn't get enough defenders the only option he could see was sending the townspeople even farther up into the mountains, then leaving them effectively defenseless while he pulled everyone he had to guard this area.
But that was an issue for another time, and hopefully one he'd never have to deal with. He held out his hand to the lieutenant. “Thanks again. Best of luck out there.”
Faraday shook, grip firm. “Same to you here. I had my reservations when I heard the Colonel was leaving this area's defenses up to civvies, but you folks are doing all right.”
The soldiers left as quickly as they'd arrived. With them gone Lewis suddenly felt as if a boulder of exhaustion had landed on his shoulders, but he had a lot to do before he could rest.
First off he pulled his volunteers back from their sniper posts. They were too tired to keep going as they were, and anyway if the blockheads didn't know where they'd been getting shot at from tonight by this point they were complete idiots. Besides, he didn't have the manpower to defend everywhere without them.
Lewis spent a while organizing new sentry positions and patrol routes, to make sure that those who were most tired or shellshocked from the night's fighting got the rest they needed. Then he left Jane in charge and headed back towards the refuge with those who were going off duty.
Not to rest, though. He needed to see to the wounded and the dead, especially giving their loved ones the bad news. Then he'd need Catherine's help rounding up more volunteers, and he'd have to see to their training.
Thankfully his dad decided to come along and help with all that, as well as to make sure their family and friends from the shelter group were doing all right. It was a relief to have him there, although they walked in silence for a while.
The other defenders had gone on ahead, eager to get some rest, and once he was alone with his dad Lewis cleared his throat. “Tonight was bad.”
His dad nodded. “Might not be the last time it's bad. It'll probably get worse, even.”
Well he'd started the doom and gloom talk, but partly because he'd hoped his dad would offer reassurance. “Yeah, probably. We couldn't expect the blockheads to sit around in the valley forever.” He let his shoulders slump. “So what do we do?”
After a moment his dad's hand rested heavily on his shoulder, somehow bolstering him rather than weighing him down even more. “Nothing to do but fight and win.”
Lewis snorted. “That easy, huh?”
“Not easy, but doable. When the Romans fought the Carthaginians the whole world thought they were going to lose
. In fact, at many points the world thought they had lost, when their defeats grew too costly and the wisest course was to admit defeat and end the war.
“Instead they fought on, refusing to give up and surprising their enemies with their determination. In the end Carthage lost due to the sheer stubbornness of the Romans refusing to allow themselves to be beaten, even when it seemed like there was no hope of victory.”
His dad took a deep breath, looking ahead at the defenders still barely in sight. “If we have any hope of saving our country, of even surviving the coming months, we'll have to be just as stubborn. We'll have to fight on until it's too costly for the enemy to keep up the war and they leave. Even if it's just as costly for us.”
The words were stirring, and Lewis appreciated the sentiment. But he couldn't help but think that the Punic Wars had ended with Rome completely annihilating Carthage. In spite of the death and suffering the Gold Bloc had caused with their invasion, he hoped it wouldn't come to that here. He would be content if the enemy simply left, never to return, so they could get on with their lives.
Rome had fought Carthage thousands of years ago. He had to believe humanity had grown more civilized since then.
Of course, the cynical side of him could argue that they already had annihilated the Gold Bloc with the Retaliation, on a scale that the ancient Romans couldn't even conceive of. So maybe they hadn't learned anything after all. Either way this was all philosophical; his job was to defend his home and the people of Aspen Hill, and that was what he was going to do.
But his dad had the right idea . . . Lewis was going to stubbornly fight to the end for that goal. He picked up his pace. “Come on. We've got a lot to do.”
Chapter Eight
Sticking Their Necks Out
“Unbelievable,” Rick, beside him, whispered. “Are they going to walk right up into the canyon?”
Trev shook his head. “This is what we've been waiting for. Get our team into position, I'll let Tom know we're doing this.”
His friend nodded and slipped down the far side of the foothill, waiting until he was out of sight of the dirt path below before breaking into a trot, the rest of their team following him. Trev gave the blockhead patrol and the area around them a final once-over with his binoculars. Once he was satisfied it all looked good he hurried to catch up, whispering into his radio as he went.
It had been three days since Davis gave the order to wait and watch the enemy to see what they did. In that time Gold Bloc patrols had encroached deeper and deeper into the foothills, usually going vaguely north-northwest or south-southwest in a way that clearly suggested they weren't planning on suddenly bolting up the slope in a suicidal charge.
Not that their increasingly bold patrols weren't suicidal in their own right. The twenty blockheads below were only five hundred or so yards from the mouth of Cedar Creek Canyon, following a rough ATV trail that led directly there. Were they getting sloppy, or did they honestly think that their enemies wouldn't open fire once they finally wandered close enough?
Maybe they had orders of their own, to keep going until they did come under attack. Trev had no idea what strategies the blockhead leaders running this war were using, aside from the obvious goal of breaking through their defenses somewhere and killing every US citizen in the Utah Rockies. Maybe right now they were just trying to push for as much territory as they could hold, to give Davis and his people less room to work with.
Or maybe they just wanted to feel like they were doing something, even if what they were doing was getting their soldiers killed.
Sure, it wasn't like the blockheads were just strolling down the path. They were moving cautiously from cover to cover, watching for signs of attack. But that alertness wouldn't save them when they walked right into an ambush.
Whatever their reasoning, the time had come to punish them for it. Ever since picking up on the patrol an hour or so ago and following their progress, Trev had been getting his squad into position for an attack that would take place well after sundown. Just as it was starting to get dark.
They'd left Susan Donnell at a sentry post to the north where she could cover their entire area, just in case. Meanwhile Tom had circled his team of six north and east to get on the other side of the blockheads, to cut them off if they tried to bolt back to the valley, while Trev's team of five prepared to hit them from the northwest.
Which meant the only way the blockheads could go to escape the ambush was into Cedar Creek Canyon, where Vernon's people would be waiting for them if they got that far.
Unless of course the former sheriff didn't want to wait, and was willing to join the attack. Trev toggled his radio to the appropriate channel. “Vernon, this is Smith.”
There was a long pause as Trev continued jogging after Rick. There was no way the group guarding the canyon wasn't getting his signal, not from this distance. Finally he heard the amiable, hated voice. “Vernon here.”
“There's a blockhead patrol heading for the mouth of your canyon.”
The tone became a bit more businesslike. “Does it look like they're going to attack?”
“No, they've been edging their way farther and farther west like the other patrols, without ever committing. They just came close enough this time that I think we should attack them.”
Another pause. “We?” the former sheriff asked flatly.
Trev frowned at the tone. “It's a perfect opportunity. If you come out of the canyon and hit them from the front while we hit them from the northeast and northwest, we'll mow them all down before they even know what's going on.”
“Yeah, no, Smith. There are a lot of things I don't like about what you just said. Among them being “come out of the canyon”, “hit them from the front”, and “it's a perfect opportunity”. Our orders are to guard the canyon, not go looking for trouble. And your orders are to scout for possible threats, not ambush enemy patrols unless you absolutely have to.”
Trev tried to shove down his impatience. “Davis told us to take any targets of opportunity, if it wasn't too big a risk and didn't go against our other orders.”
“What part of leaving the canyon we're supposed to guard doesn't go against orders?” the former sheriff shot back.
He gave up. “Look, my squad can take this group on our own. I just thought it would be a bit safer with your help, and you'd be happy to provide that help seeing as we're on the same side and all.” There was no response. “At the very least I figured you'd want a heads up that we'll be driving the patrol your way. We're going to attack in five minutes. That should give you plenty of time to get in position if you want to lend a hand.”
“It's a bad idea,” Vernon replied. The radio fell silent.
That wasn't exactly a “no”, but Trev doubted it was a “yes” either. He shrugged and kept going, joining his team at the designated spot. It was the last foothill before the mouth of the canyon, which was choked with scrub oak and other brush for over a hundred yards of mostly level ground between here and there. Aside from the road the blockheads were on, which cut through the tangle in an almost straight line.
By hurrying Trev's team had managed to outpace the enemy soldiers moving more cautiously below. Now it was just a matter of waiting until the blockheads walked right past them. Then, as long as Tom's team had also managed to get in position atop the shorter foothill a bit southeast of the road, they'd all open fire and force the enemy to flee along the road right into the tangle.
From there they'd have trouble doing anything but following the road, which would make them open targets right up until they entered the canyon, where Vernon could finish them off. Assuming any got that far.
From a well concealed spot Trev watched the enemy approaching on the road below, picking out targets with his scope. He didn't want to admit it, but he was starting to have misgivings about his plan.
On the one hand he couldn't see a downside. His squad was well hidden and had assault rifles with burst fire. The blockheads coming up the road had no idea
they were there, moving in a clump with only a few outliers watching the road ahead and behind. On a larger scale it was just like when he and Lewis had ambushed those robbers near the hideout and saved Jane's group.
On the other hand he was about to engage an enemy that outnumbered him nearly two to one when it wasn't necessary. Davis hadn't exactly ordered him not to, but he hadn't exactly encouraged it either. They were here to scout and to defend the foothills, not go hunting Gold Bloc patrols.
He'd heard all about Lewis's push to attack Turner's raiders in the spring. He agreed with his cousin's point that the defending force couldn't just hunker down, waiting for the enemy to figure out how to wipe them out. That attack had gone disastrously for Matt, but there the raiders had had all the advantages, and even as a disaster it had given the town a shot to take out the raiders for good.
Here his people had the advantages, and every small victory would add up to winning this war. Trev set his jaw and sighted in on the lead soldier in the line, then thumbed his radio. “Now.”
Beside him Rick rose up and hurled a grenade at the group below, mirrored by another man, probably Mason, on the foothill across from them. Both men immediately dropped down, and as the seconds ticked by Trev wondered whether the blockheads would even realize they were under attack. At least until they were getting blown to pieces.
Then he heard alarmed shouts from below and saw the enemy bolting in every direction. He followed the target he'd picked out and opened fire, only seconds before twin explosions erupted in the middle of the scattering patrol. Over half fell, several shredded by shrapnel and the rest ducking down from the blast with many wounded. Around Trev his team also opened fire.
The first few seconds of the ambush were every bit as chaotic as he'd expected, with the enemy below screaming in pain and shouting confused orders in whatever their language was.
Trev had his selector on burst, and he was firing off three rounds as quickly as he had a target picked out. Between his haste and fighting recoil his accuracy was probably terrible, but under the fire of his squad the blockheads had hauled themselves back to their feet to continue bolting for whatever cover they could find.