Kent sighed, gave his clock one last, forlorn look, then slid on his brown work boots. The clock was ticking, now. The attack would come soon, as they had known it would. Damn Black…
But Dean would handle it personally, Kent had no doubts. The man was meticulous, that way. The depot would be in good hands.
The radio squawked, and Abram’s voice came out, calling Nick by callsign.
Nick pulled the vehicle over and turned off the headlights, then took the handset to identify himself. Then, “What’s up?”
Abram replied, “Things are getting hairy over here. We raided them, to good effect, but it wasn’t enough, by any means. Then, the daughter went out and sowed some discord among them. It must have had an effect.”
“Why do you say that?” Nick glanced at Misty—or Miranda, as Abram had known her—and nodded to her, though she was staring intently at the dash-mounted speaker.
Abram said, “They suddenly rearranged their whole battle line. It looks like they’ll focus on the rail depot, now. I don’t know why. But you need to get Miranda here ASAP. I think if we get her and Brooke on the PA system, we might get some of them to switch sides. Brooke said their reaction to her little story was about as good as anything we could have hoped for. She thinks he might have had to put down a mutiny last night. It could explain the troop shuffle, if Gary wanted to keep his disloyal ones nearby to keep an eye on them.”
Nick listened carefully, glad the signal wasn’t too weak to catch parts of it, and then paused. Troop shuffling was one explanation. “Or, he might be surrounding himself with the loyal ones, and putting the shaky ones by the rail. If Black is sending in a train, that would make sense—they could shore up those units with loyal ones who hadn’t yet heard the truth.”
A pause. Then Abram said, “Maybe. But put the pedal to the metal. Whatever’s going on, I think we’ll need the two of them to speak together, to have any chance at winning.”
Nick frowned. That sounded dire. And he expected more enemy reinforcements? How could they possibly hold out? Nick took a deep breath and then said what was on his mind. “Why don’t you get out of there? If Burnsville falls, your people could be next. They’ll need you there, if we’re to have any chance.”
Abram laughed into the mic. “No, son, if Burnsville falls, it won’t matter whether I die here or there—Gary won’t spare me either way, and there’s no chance our compound could hold against all of this. Wait until you see them. They’re like locusts, out there. Just get here, and sneak in on the southwest side. You’ll have to go around the town and their lines to get there. And, Nick? Be careful. Your cargo is probably our only real hope.”
With that, the radio went silent.
Nick breathed deeply, trying to calm his heartbeat. After a few seconds, he looked at Misty and found her staring intently at him. He said, “Get out the map. Find a way to get to the southwest corner. And put your seatbelt on, because we’re going to go fast, and these roads are crap.”
She nodded, slowly. “Yeah. You do that. If this is a lost cause, I want to see my daughter before it all comes down around us.”
Nick pulled back onto the road and flicked the headlights on. More and more, it looked like her fears were a foregone conclusion. But Nick would be damned if he’d let Corey and Rae Ann live under Gary’s rule—if Gary would spare them at all.
46
The train rumbled beneath Palmer’s feet, the wind blowing in his face. It was pretty grand. Such a shame that these old steam engines had all been decommissioned. There was a romance to them that was appealing, even if they had become impractical. As it turned out, though, they’d been the more practical solution, in the long term—those ugly diesel engines were all dead, good for little more than scrap metal at this point.
But, it was time to stop indulging his softer side. Burnsville was coming up soon, and he had a battle to run just as soon as he arrived on scene. Ahead, the troop train chugged away noisily, smoke rising up beautifully from its antique smokestack. A side rail was coming up, but he hadn’t scouted it yet. Where it led, he didn’t know. Maybe to his next target, once Burnsville was burning? Ha, he smiled at the irony of their name.
A roar sounded, up ahead, drawing Palmer’s attention. Flames lit up the night sky, highlighting the troop train ahead. A moment later, a horrible squeal of twisting metal reached his ears; the troop train tottered, then tipped over, landing on its left side, and skid to a stop.
Worse, Palmer’s own train was bearing down on the wreck. What had happened? A trap of some kind, something his scouts had missed? It didn’t matter. Crashing this train would be a disaster, not just for the fighters packed into the trainwreck, but more importantly, for Palmer. Toxic waste would not be good for his health. He yanked the brake lever; the train lurched forward, throwing him into the engineer. Palmer struggled to his feet and looked ahead. There was no way he’d stop in time—
There! Ahead, one of those mechanical switches was situated by the railway. If he knocked it aside, the switch ahead would send him careening down the unexplored side rail. Better than swimming in toxic waste. There was no time to explain this to the engineer, though. Palmer grabbed the MailGaff, a long stick that was used both to switch tracks and to grab mailbags without the need to stop the train. He couched the pole under his arm, like some kind of medieval knight, and aimed for the round metal switch lever…
Clang.
The wooden lance smashed apart, sending slivers raining into his face, but missed his eyes. The metal target spun crazily as it went by in a flash.
A moment later, the train, still skidding in its futile attempt to stop, veered sharply to the right. Palmer was flung left, toward the hatch out, but struck the wall instead. He felt fiery pain in his shoulder, and his whole arm burned with pins and needles, but after a crazy moment of bucking like a mule, the train righted itself and landed on the rails, and continued its slow slide to a stop.
Palmer released the brake lever. He shouted to the engineer, “Radio the other train. Get the survivors moving. They won’t need intact rails to run, the lazy bastards.”
“Yes, sir,” the engineer replied.
Palmer had to fight a grin. Being called sir, the elation at still being alive without swimming in poison sludge, all made him want to shove his fist in the air and howl. But that wouldn’t be dignified. Instead, he climbed up the ladder to the engine’s roof, over the control cab, and popped his head up. Where were they going?
A sign approached, up ahead. Or rather, he was approaching it. He squinted to read it.
Burnsville Depot.
No. F’n. Way. This wasn’t a branch, it was a side-spur, and it was taking him right where he’d wanted to go in the first place. Of all the dumb luck…
Palmer made his way back to the single passenger car on his train, where the few defenders and pump-operating crews—hand-picked men and women chosen for their loyalty and ability to keep their mouths shut about the training he’d put them through—were ensconced, awaiting their orders. They were jumbled from the rough ride but were busy picking up the baggage and supplies that had been flung from the shelves overhead and in back.
He said, “Ladies and gentlemen,” and then waited until he had their attention. He continued, “We’re almost in Burnsville. Our troop train was taken out by some boobytrap on the rails, but we missed them, narrowly, by taking a side-spur. We’re about to reconnect to the main railway into Burnsville. Do not worry about the troop train, though. We don’t need them—they’ll reinforce us whenever they can make their way to us.”
A woman in the crew asked, “You want us to ride this thing into their city without fighters on our side? We’ll get slaughtered.”
Palmer shook his head. “No, we won’t. I had Gary move over half our people to this side of the town. They should be attacking as we speak. So, unlike the original plan, you’ll be going in with a big chunk of our total forces. They’ll cover you until you can deploy my little gift. Then, the engine will take you to
the depot itself, where you’ll dismount and join up with our forces, who will follow the train into the town. Seeing a train barrel into town is going to really screw with the other guy’s game plan, folks. I hope they try to swarm the train, so they can get a taste of my little present to them. But if not, you’ll still deny a big swath of the town to them, until the chemical dissipates. So, get your gas masks ready, people. We’re going in hot.”
He smiled his easy, reassuring smile as they fished masks out of pouches, relishing the predatory grins they returned him. He’d never see them again, of course. The toxic waste didn’t care about gas masks. But this handful of loyal troops was a small price to pay to put an end to Burnsville and rid himself of those disloyal bastards who’d made so much trouble for Gary.
He made his way toward the engine, in front. He’d have to get off soon—but not until the train was almost to the city. He was going to keep an eye on things on this train until the last possible minute. Always keep eyes on the ball. That was a lesson Gary needed to learn, apparently, but the man learned lessons quickly. Palmer had no doubt Gary would never make the same mistake twice.
With only a tiny bit of luck, today would be the start of a grand new age—with Palmer at the top, where he belonged.
The time was up—six o’clock, just before the sun rose over the hills and trees. Gary looked up from his watch and nodded at his new aide. “Signal the attack. Scouts haven’t reported anything that would make us change our plans.”
“Yes, sir. They’ve just been sandbagging all night, though our snipers slowed them down, I daresay.”
Gary frowned at the man. “And theirs slowed ours. Launch the attack, or get out of my way.”
His aide’s face paled, and he scurried from the makeshift bunker that was Gary’s field HQ for the attack.
Field HQ…boy, that sounded professional. Gary supposed he was a professional, now, though. He raised his binoculars and scanned for the signal. He found it in seconds, a bonfire roaring to life on a hilltop nearby. He shifted his view toward the town, then, and counted silently. By the time he reached three, he spotted squad leaders jumping up, and waving their units forward. All around Gary, every other unit laid down heavy suppressive fire—Black’s idea, and a good one. To Gary’s relief, the return fire looked to be sporadic, at best, as they were forced to keep their heads down. Still, their sandbags were protecting them enough that they could return more fire than Gary had thought likely. He picked up the radio and clicked the mic. “Clark Two to Hammer One.”
The mortar unit leader answered, then asked, “What can we do for you, sir?”
Gary looked at the map, considering the places where they’d pre-sighted the mortars. Then, he said, “Send three rounds to target One-One-Adam.” Thankfully, his mortar crew had been hand-picked by him, and could be counted on for their loyalty.
Sure enough, the chest-thumping whump of mortars firing went off in rapid succession. He had three of them, and about fifty rounds, so they had to be used sparingly.
Moments later, geysers of pavement erupted in front of the defenders’ sandbags on their side of the nearest bridge, and heavy smoke filled the air, a byproduct of the somewhat primitive concoction they were using for the explosive charge. He’d been surprised to learn how easy mortars were to make, and the rounds were only slightly more complicated. He grinned at the explosion, taking a visceral joy at the savagery of it.
By the time the smoke cleared, his units were across the bridge, and only a couple bodies had been left behind in the crossing. They broke to either side at the far end, taking cover along the river’s bank. From there, they returned heavy fire on the defenders, directly. The defensive muzzle flashes petered out to nothing.
He grabbed another radio but skipped the formalities. “What’s the status on the southern push? Over.”
A moment later, the radio crackled in response, and Gary could hear gunfire in the background. “Less resistance than we expected. We’re across the bridge and taking positions in nearby buildings. I hope the rest of these bastards got thrown on the north end, sir.”
Gary couldn’t have agreed more. The northeast approach was where the main railway into town came through, and where he’d stuck the bulk of the units he couldn’t rely on. They were out of range of the meager home-made mortars, as well as from easy resupply. The idiots didn’t know a good deal when it bit them in the rear, and they deserved everything they were going to get that day.
He said, “Copy that. If you hit heavy resistance, you are authorized to call in one mortar barrage. So, make it count.”
Elsewhere around the little emplacement, radio operators were busy on other radios, talking to other units. They’d rush to the big table in the middle, move wooden blocks around, then hurry back to the table. Gary noted that there were a growing number of enemy blocks being removed from the defenders’ perimeter and placed on the map’s corner. The “we don’t have a clue where these guys are” corner. That was disturbing, but the longer they went without showing up, the more concentrated Gary’s forces would be as they pushed the perimeters inward. It concentrated their fire, too, but as outnumbered as they were, it hardly mattered. Gary would have thrown them all into the fray at the start, if he were those idiots—the longer their guns were shooting, the longer they could have been killing attackers.
Thank God for small favors. But they’d been stupid enough to not just decline Black’s protection, but to attack his troops, forcing Black’s hand. These were no geniuses. Gary grinned, then radioed a unit that was a bit out of place, at risk of having their flank exposed. Moments later, a radio operator came and nudged that wooden block a bit south, behind a farm supply store and the cover it would provide them to enemy fire from deeper into town.
So far, so good. But Gary was kept too busy to spare many moments in gloating.
“Hurry the hell up,” Abram shouted, and smacked the roof of a pickup truck.
Immediately, its engine roared. A metallic wrenching sound screamed in his ears as chains grew taught. On the truck’s other side, another truck also strained. Together, tires spinning, they began to move forward, inches at first, then a bit faster. Behind them, the railroad cargo boxcar they were chained to gouged deep furrows into the gravelly soil.
In the distance, an explosion sounded to the north.
“Crap.” Abram jumped off the truck’s running board and backed out of range of any chain that snapped. The team lead had said a chain snapping could whip back with enough force to take off a man’s head. He clicked his walkie-talkie. “They’re one mile out, dammit. Get this damn boxcar across the rails, or they’re going to punch through our perimeter all the way to the train depot before we can stop them.”
It was going to be close. But, watching the boxcar’s progress, Abram felt fairly confident they’d get the train tracks blocked off with enough time to bug out, before the troop transport arrived. Thank goodness Brooke’s little spy mission had given them some damn useful spies among Black’s and Gary’s forces.
Nonetheless, with the odds heavily stacked against Burnsville, every rifle was needed back in town, even though, at the moment, the attackers were only facing small delaying teams. Brave men and women, many of them tired of living, Abram guessed, who had volunteered for the duty.
God bless those brave souls. Without them, Burnsville would have had to actually try to defend their perimeter, and that was a whole lot of perimeter to cover. But with them…Well, Gary was going to be in for one hell of a surprise. Whether it would save the town, he couldn’t say, but at least they would go down fighting, and bloody that bastard’s nose on their way down if the town fell. With any luck, they’d weaken Black to the point where he would be no threat to anyone else—not for a long time, at least.
Abram’s thoughts were interrupted by the piercing wail of a steam engine, a bit to his right. He narrowed his eyes to see better. Impossible! Another train was coming down the side rail. But the makeshift roadblock wasn’t ready—and that
train was coming fast. Abram had to make a decision, and there was no time to ponder.
“Fall back,” he shouted into his walkie-talkie, and jumped at the back end of the nearest truck. A flip of a latch sent one chain flying back to strike the boxcar with a deafening clang. A moment later, the second chain was off, and the truck lurched forward, sending him tumbling off the back—right into the path of the second pickup when its last chain was released.
The truck veered, spraying Abram with rocks and dirt. One struck his head, and he grabbed his head in both hands, covering it reflexively as he waited for the impact…
It never came. He looked up, only to find the pickup idling a few feet away, the driver waving frantically at him as he leaned out the window.
Abram didn’t need encouragement. He sprinted forward, leaping into the truck bed, shouting at them to go, go, go.
Both trucks turned back toward town, skirting the battlefield once again. To the rear, Abram watched the speeding train approaching, until the truck turned, and it passed from view. All he could do then was to listen, and pray.
Palmer’s lips flatlined. Ahead, there was movement by the railroad where there should have been none, according to the attack plan. He raised a pair of binoculars he’d fished from his pack after the narrow escape earlier and peered through them. Trucks, fleeing toward Burnsville along the main railway, beyond where Palmer’s spur rejoined it. What had they been up to?
To the engineer, he said, “Emergency brakes, now.”
With one hand on a handhold bar over his head, to hold himself up against the train throwing him forward, he tried to scan the railway. His jaw dropped. A cargo container, set across the railway. Furious thoughts raced through his head.
Come on, stop! You fat goddamn train, sonuvabitch—
But it was too late. He’d seen this train trying to stop once, already. They were going to hit. The only question was how bad the crash would be.
EMP Crisis Series (Book 3): Instant Mayhem Page 36