Determination

by Nathan Jones

  There was nothing there that would protect them from both teams, and as the enemy realized that their panic rose even higher. Few were even bothering to try returning fire, and the ones that did fell quickly as the highest priority targets. As those blockheads dropped the others realized the tangle was their best hope and sprinted for it, stumbling and weaving like drunken men to make themselves more difficult targets.

  Trev's gun clicked on an empty magazine, so he hit the release button and smoothly inserted a full one. While he was lining up a new shot he thumbed his radio. “Tom, you've got a few enemies circling around the hill to the southeast instead of following the road. Focus on those.”

  “We got it,” Mason replied. The man sounded confident, as well he should: he was one of the people who'd stood in the back of a truck attacking the raider camp in the face of possible return fire.

  “Good. Be ca-”

  Trev abruptly jerked forward, feeling as if he'd been punched in the back. Even in his confusion he managed to lunge to the side, where a dip in the ground formed a deeper depression. Once there he fell flat, hoping it would be enough to defend him from whoever had a bead on him. His back felt numb, but pain was starting to make itself known, along with the uncomfortable sensation of his flak jacket rubbing against forming bruises.

  He'd been shot. If the bullets had been half a foot higher or two feet lower the jacket wouldn't have protected him and he'd probably be dying right now. Through the confused roaring in his ears he heard more shots from both sides, inside the thicket of scrub oak at the foot of the hill to the south and from somewhere to the north of them.

  The shot that had hit him had to have come from the north, and none of the blockheads below had reached the tangle yet. That meant there were at least two more enemy groups out there. Forward and rear scouts Trev's squad hadn't noticed, or had the blockheads planned to ambush the ambushers? Either way it didn't matter.

  “I'm hit!” he shouted. “There's more enemies out there to the north and south!” With some effort he awkwardly hauled his M16 across his body, rising out of the dip just enough to look north with his scope.

  Other shouts had started up over the radio, confusion from his squad mates. They were the ambushers, they hadn't expected to be surprised themselves. “We've got some on this side, too,” Tom growled. “But I don't see them. Anyone got eyes on where they are? How many?”

  “Where did they come from?” Susan asked almost on top of the older man's transmission. It was the least important of the questions, and one just as unlikely to be answered.

  Trev couldn't see any muzzle flashes from the general direction where the shots had come from, and whoever had targeted him seemed to have moved on to new targets. He heard a scream, not over the radio but from nearby. Where Fred Donnell had sought shelter in his own dip in the ground once they came under fire.

  It wasn't nearly as deep, and Fred was lying protectively on top of someone else, Alice, spraying blood from a shot to his leg. The blond young woman screamed for help again and frantically tried to staunch the wound, but even as she worked the older man abruptly went limp, eyes fluttering horribly in a way Trev didn't think he'd ever forget.

  He looked away, shuddering, and focused on the problem at hand. How had none of them noticed these blockheads? They must've gotten in position hours earlier, because no one in his squad had seen anyone coming or going after they caught sight of the patrol. They'd seen no signs that the enemy soldiers were expecting the return of anyone, either.

  Then again, his squad might've been so focused on the patrol they missed seeing anything else.

  That wasn't important at the moment. His people were in a good position for cover from the road below, but completely defenseless to attack from the north and pinned down by the blockheads in the thicket.

  It was an ugly situation, and he could only see one solution. “Tom, find whoever's shooting at my team and pin them down if you can. I'm going to lay cover fire down on the blockheads below. We'll return the favor for your team once we've made it to safety. Everyone else on my team, get to the cover of the thicket!”

  There was complete silence over the radio for several seconds before he heard any confirmation. Bolting to the scrub oak would require running down a steep slope, crossing dozens of yards of open space. That would put them in the crosshairs of the enemy on the road as well as in the thicket. But it had to be done or they'd end up pinned down with inadequate cover, being shot at from multiple directions until they were all dead.

  The same thing they'd tried to do to the enemy patrol.

  Trev grit his teeth, mentally preparing himself for getting shot, and rolled up out of his dip and right over the other side to another depression, which hopefully would shield him from shots from the north. It did nothing to keep him out of the crosshairs of anyone on the road below, but beggars couldn't be choosers. As soon as he thought he was covered he immediately halted his roll, raised up on his elbows, and lifted his rifle, searching the road leading into the tangle.

  He saw one soldier peering out from the thicket, firing somewhere off to Trev's right, and hastily lined up to fire. The man went down, revealing his lower half, and Trev fired a second burst where he wasn't covered with body armor.

  Trev immediately searched for another target in the thicket, sincerely hoping his people were taking this opportunity to bolt for safety in the trees. He fully expected to be shot soon, and he wanted to get out of there before that happened.

  He saw muzzle flashes from behind some bushes and aimed at the spot. After a few bursts the flashes stopped, but he couldn't be sure if that was because he'd taken out the blockhead or if the man had simply stopped shooting so he wouldn't be a target.

  Bullets thudded into the ground to his right, and Trev instinctively rolled away from them. He really wished he had better cover. Once he completed his roll he looked around desperately for the source of the shots. He saw more muzzle flashes from the thicket, on the other side of the road this time. Although he wasn't overjoyed at being a target for them, at least they weren't shooting at Tom's people. He aimed for the spot and fired, and the muzzle flashes disappeared.

  From in the thicket off to his right he heard a scream. One of his people, shot while trying to get to cover? Trev clenched his teeth in helpless frustration and kept searching for more targets, aware of shots thudding into the ground around him. Whoever it was shooting from the north had found a better position.

  “I'm in the trees laying down cover fire, Trev!” Rick abruptly shouted over the radio. “Get out of there!”

  Trev wasted no time throwing himself down the hill. The next few seconds were a blur as he tumbled in an uncontrolled roll towards the thicket below, aware of the whine of ricochets around him. He somehow reached the bottom of the slope still holding his gun and lurched to his feet, ducking and zigzagging towards the copse where Alice waved frantically for him to hurry.

  As he ran he desperately toggled his radio. “Are you there, Vernon? We ran into an ambush and we need help!”

  There was a pause that seemed to last forever with gunfire all around him, the trees seeming impossibly far away. In the frantic chaos of shots hitting the ground between his legs he was almost surprised when the former sheriff answered. “An ambush? You don't say.”

  Trev grit his teeth. “Where are you?”

  “Back at the canyon, guarding it. What part of “It's a bad idea” was hard for you to understand?”

  He finally reached the nearest scrub oak and threw himself through the tough, jagged branches. With adrenaline surging through him he barely noticed the scrapes and jabs. He forced his way in deeper to where Alice waited, screaming into the mic. “You never actually said you wouldn't help, and now we're getting hit by blockheads from your direction!”

  “Then it's a good thing me and my boys stayed put.” The radio crackled and went silent with finality. For a moment Trev saw red with pure rage at the former sheriff's betrayal.

  He wasn't t
he only one. A few members of his squad cursed over the radio, yelling at the man until Trev snapped for them to keep the airwaves clear.

  “What do we do, Trev?” Rick shouted from his cover nearby.

  Trev snapped off a shot at a muzzle flash to the east of them. It was getting dark fast, to the point where those flashes were immediately noticeable even in his peripheral vision. Instead of breaking off under his attack more muzzle flashes joined the first, and he ducked back behind cover fighting the urge to curse. “We've got to cover Tom's people so they can get to the thicket.”

  “No need,” the older man growled. Trev hadn't realized he'd left his mic on when answering Rick. “We managed to reach the trees, those of us who're still alive. Not sure how many that is, to be honest, but I'm sure Ray Colby's dead. And we've got wounded.”

  “We'll come help,” Trev said, clenching his teeth around the words. He couldn't afford to be angry at himself right now. Plenty of time for that later.

  “Don't you dare, kiddo. It's hairy here like you wouldn't believe, feels like we're getting shot at from all sides. You'd just add to the confusion. The only thing we've got going for us is that in the dark, especially in this thick tangle, the person who shoots first fires his last. If you catch my drift.”

  It was true. The gunfire continued from the few remaining blockheads on the road, and those who'd ambushed them from the north. But within the scrub oak nobody was firing. In fact, aside from Trev's own shouting he didn't hear much in the way of talking, either.

  He lowered his voice. “Everyone switch to night vision and go slow and quiet for the canyon. Don't fire unless it's absolutely necessary. If we're lucky the enemy isn't still in front of us, or if they are they won't have night vision of their own. We might be able to sneak past, or take out anyone who gets in our way.”

  Tom took a while to reply, and his voice was doubtful. “We've got pretty dense thickets of scrub oak between us and there. If we try to break through with enemies at our backs, not to mention probably ahead and to the sides, it's going to be a fustercluck.”

  “It already is.” Trev shook his head and shifted position, fumbling out his goggles and flicking them on. With the improved visibility he began searching for his team, as well as a path ahead through the snarl of iron-hard branches and roots. “Good thing we know the area better than them.”

  * * * * *

  His team had scattered surprisingly far during their break for the safety of the tangle, and it took agonizing minutes to gather them together. At least aside from Fred Donnell they all seemed to be in one piece, although from the sounds of it Tom's team had taken the brunt of the ambush.

  But Trev couldn't afford to think of the people he'd lost right now.

  While he waited for everyone to get ready Trev radioed in a report to Davis. First thing the sergeant did was tear into him for not giving advance notice of his planned ambush. Next he got shouted at for not calling for backup when things went south.

  And finally he got the less than fantastic news that, given how chaotic the situation was, his squad was on their own getting through the scrub oak. But at least once they'd managed that, and reached the safety of the canyon, the soldiers Davis was sending would be able to help them.

  Until then they were on their own.

  Trev looked around at his three remaining team members, Rick, Alice, and Rob Jonas. They were all watching him with pale faces, waiting for the signal to go. With a deep breath he scrabbled in one of his flak jacket's pockets, pulling out the flashbang grenade he'd brought all the way from Michigan. The one he'd taken from the soldier in the internment camp.

  “On three, we close our eyes and cover our ears,” he whispered, not just for his team but into the radio. Hopefully if Davis and Vernon's people were in line of sight they'd also hear the warning. He didn't want to accidentally blind his own side.

  After a moment he received a quiet acknowledgement from Tom, so he lifted his goggles away from his eyes, the others following suit. Once they were as ready as they were going to be he slowly counted down, pulled the pin, waited what felt like way too long, and lobbed the grenade as high as he could into the air ahead of them.

  As soon as it left his hand Trev crouched down and squeezed his eyes shut, slamming his hands over his ears. He wasn't sure if his earbuds' noise protection would help with something like this, but he wasn't about to risk it.

  Long seconds later brilliant white light pierced his eyelids and he heard an oddly muted sharp thunderclap. The air around him shivered for just a moment, then as quick as they'd come the noise and light vanished.

  All around him blockheads shrieked in surprise and pain, but Trev ignored them. He was already on his feet, goggles slammed back down over his eyes, picking his way as quickly as he dared through the thicket without sounding like a herd of buffalo. It took most of his concentration just choosing his steps and twisting his body, navigating through the snarl of roots and branches so he wouldn't get caught.

  When he could snatch a moment he searched the night around them for signs of the enemy, but so far none were visible. He didn't hear them either. Hopefully that was because they weren't making a sound, not because his earbuds were impairing his hearing.

  Had they done it? Had they gotten past the blockheads while the enemy soldiers were still stunned by the flashbang? It didn't feel like they'd gone very far, even though the seconds ticked by like minutes. Each careful step seemed to take an eternity.

  To his relief they found a spot where the thicket gave way to evergreen shrubs, spaced close enough together that he had to push through branches on either side to slip past. But compared to the scrub oak it felt like walking through feather dusters.

  It was a more friendly place to travel, which meant the enemy might think so as well.

  Trev continued forward warily, doing his best not to make a sound. He hadn't heard a gunshot for a long time now, and the night around him was eerily silent. He heard a few snaps and crashes among the dense underbrush somewhere to the east, but nothing close enough to be alarming. He only hoped that noise didn't mean danger for Tom.

  He had no idea where the other team was, or the blockheads who'd ambushed them in the thicket. He didn't even know where the pursuing survivors of the blockhead patrol and the ambushers from the north were, other than somewhere behind him. He felt alone, even with his team following close behind and enemies likely a stone's throw away. And all he had to do to find them was make the slightest noise and get shot, with friendly fire just as likely as enemy fire if Tom's team was nearby.

  And thank goodness for that, since it was why the gunshots had stopped. Nobody could see each other in the tangle, and no one wanted to risk a shot without the certainty of an enemy in their sights, for fear of hitting a friend as much as of any return fire they might draw. If they were smart they'd probably even avoid taking the shot then.

  His squad was possibly trapped between hammer and anvil with the blockheads ahead and behind. But that also meant the enemy would be doubly wary of incorrectly identifying a target, firing, and accidentally hitting one of their own with a bullet.

  Nobody wanted to make the first move and get shot, or run the risk of shooting a friend. But the thicket wouldn't go on forever, and even if everyone stayed quiet Trev wasn't sure this uneasy silence would last. Eventually someone would start shooting again, and then all bets were off.

  It turned out that his caution wasn't enough. Trev barely had time to respond, caught almost entirely off guard, as a rustling among the branches to his right became the blurry shape of a soldier lunging towards him.

  He spun, raising his weapon protectively to block the butt of a rifle coming for his face, but for once his reflexes weren't enough. He only managed to partially deflect the blow, and then a noise like glass breaking underwater filled his head and his vision went red tinged with black.

  His rifle and goggles both went flying away. It was only by luck, or pure instinct, that he somehow managed to keep his
feet beneath him as he reeled away from the impact. He kept backing away, desperately struggling to see in the sudden darkness. The stars swimming across his vision didn't help. In spite of those obstacles he miraculously caught sight of his assailant's weapon coming for him, just in time to awkwardly snatch at it.

  This time Trev's reflexes redeemed themselves, and against all odds his hand closed around the rifle stock and shoved it aside before it could connect. He held on like grim death as his enemy hissed what he was assumed was a curse and yanked at the weapon, trying to free it from his grip. In the next few seconds of frantic struggling he kept hold of it, at least long enough to fumble with his other hand and get a better hold farther down the barrel.

  Around him he heard shouts, gunfire, and saw dark shapes struggling with each other among the branches. But he didn't have time to worry about any of that as he fought back furiously, relieved he'd managed to react before getting his skull caved in by the surprise attack. The enemy soldier fought just as hard, struggling to retrieve his weapon so he could take another swing at Trev's head. Together they heaved and stumbled their way through the closely spaced evergreens, each teetering on the verge of getting enough leverage to gain the upper hand.

  But even though they'd found themselves in a life and death struggle neither one made any noise, aside from panting and the occasional grunt of effort. Trev was all too aware that any of the dark shapes around him could just as easily be an enemy as a friend, and he guessed his attacker had realized the same. That explained why the man had tried to cold cock Trev instead of just shooting him, which would've revealed his position and possibly even drawn friendly fire in the confusion.

  There were a few times when Trev could've broken free and gone for the 1911 at his hip, but he didn't dare for the same reason. Besides, as long as his enemy was willing to keep it hand to hand Trev was happy to play along. Even dazed and hurting he was still holding his own, and he was confident that he had the strength and speed to win this once he recovered his wits.