The Western Front - Parts 1-3 (Western Front Series)

by Archer Garrett

  “…is Checkpoint Two, we’re under assault! …taking heavy fire; may have to fall back! Send reinforcements immediately!” Gunfire was readily apparent in the background of the broadcast.

  Kate said, “What was that?”

  “Sounds like some locals’re under attack,” Jake replied, “We’re just a few miles outside of Decatur; it could be there.”

  Geram began searching the channels on the CB radio for any other communications.

  “What’re you doing?” Jake asked.

  “We need to find that channel.” Geram scanned, but found nothing. “Must be on some other frequency,” he reasoned, “Hopefully they’ve got a CB too.”

  “Wait,” Jake interjected, “is that safe? We could be getting in over our heads.”

  The scanner chirped again. “Checkpoint Two, this is Town Hall. One is taking fire too. I’m sorry, you’re on your own. We’ve no one to spare. Hold out as long as you can.”

  Geram turned to Jake and said, “That town is about to get overrun. There’re innocent people that’ll die if we don’t help; I know that for sure. I don’t know all the details, but I reckon we should help if we can.”

  Jake glanced back at Kate. She nodded in agreement. Finally, he relented. “You’re right, let’s do what we can.”

  Geram keyed up the CB. “Checkpoint Two this is a southbound civilian on Highway 15. State your location and we’ll aid you.”

  He repeated the broadcast several times without any response. Each time, he would flip to the next channel and repeat himself. As he was about to change the channel again, a voice crackled through.

  “Civilian on Highway, 15 this is Town Hall, what’s your purpose?”

  “Town Hall, we wish to aid Checkpoint Two. All you have is my word, but we mean you no harm.”

  “Describe yourself Civilian.”

  “We’re a tan Bronco southbound on Highway 15, approximately five miles north of Decatur.”

  “Continue south, Civilian; you’ll find them. Will contact Checkpoint Two.”

  Immediately afterwards the scanner barked to life.

  “Checkpoint Two, this is Town Hall; you have alleged friendly support two miles to the north. They’re in a tan, Ford Bronco and are willing to provide you aid. Do you copy?”

  “Copy Town Hall, send them on; we’ll take what we can get. It can’t get any worse.”

  ***

  After a short while, they approached the scene. Checkpoint Two was several police cruisers parked across the highway. The assailants were a dozen men hidden behind a deuce and a half with an M2 Browning mounted in the back of the truck. Checkpoint Two was utterly and helplessly pinned to the ground by the machine gun’s fire.

  Geram pulled off the highway a little less than a thousand hundred yards from the attackers. He eased the Bronco behind a thick stand of trees that acted as a wind break for one of the fields along the road. Sasha whined in protest as they left her in the back seat.

  They moved along the woods line on the right-of-way of the road. The gunfire ahead of them was brutal.

  Geram explained his plan to Jake and Kate, “We stay low and out of the checkpoint’s line of fire as we approach. When we get a couple hundred yards away, we find a safe position in the woods and start picking these guys off. As long as they don’t see us coming, we should be fine.”

  As they neared the predetermined distance, they searched and found a fallen oak tree not far in the woods. The thick trunk provided excellent cover. There was a narrow gap between the ground and the tree that was suitable for firing through.

  Geram removed the night-vision scope from the FAL and peered through the rear aperture sight. He searched for the gunner on the M2 atop the deuce and a half. Jake and Kate had matching, scoped AR-15s, and had already settled on their targets. The assailants’ backs were fully exposed. They were so confident in their superior firepower, and focused on overrunning the checkpoint, they failed to consider a counter-assault from the direction they had come from.

  On the count of three they fired simultaneously, downing their marks. As the sound of the Browning faded, the raiders looked about in dismay. One man left his position to climb up to the gun, but Geram caught him mid-stride. Kate and Jake had also found and dropped their second targets. The attackers were now in a full panic. Half of their group and been killed in a matter of seconds and they had no idea where the gunfire was coming from. One man tried to run to the woods on the opposite side of the road, but was downed by a member of Checkpoint Two.

  The raiders’ resolve had been shattered. They formed a circular pattern and began to frantically fire in all directions. Two more of the assailants were gunned down by Checkpoint Two, before the remaining three flung their rifles sidelong and lay prone on the pavement. As the gunfire subsided, a man from the checkpoint shouted, “Hold your fire, Bronco! I think that’s all of them.”

  Geram shouted back in response, “You’ve got three down behind the deuce. Go ahead and retrieve them; we’ll provide cover.”

  “Roger, coming forward.”

  The men of the checkpoint advanced and secured the remaining assailants in the back of one of the bullet-riddled cruisers. Geram, Kate and Jake appeared from out of the woods with their rifles slung over their backs and their hands skyward. Geram called out again, “Bronco, coming forward!”

  “Hands down Bronco, that ain’t how we treat our friends.” The man was tall, uniformed and in his late fifties. Geram reasoned he was likely Decatur’s chief of police.

  “Bronco, I need to take several of my officers and check on the other side of town. Do you mind staying here with a couple of my men ‘til we return?”

  “Go; hurry,” Geram replied, “We’ve got you covered.”

  ***

  Jake and Kate had already fueled up the Bronco from the town’s reserves and were enjoying the tiny café’s lavish, all-day breakfast menu. Geram and the police chief were riding around town, discussing more appropriate defensive tactics.

  “I think you’ve got to cut off some of these roads leading into town. You can’t defend them all. You’ve got how many, at least ten roads leading in?”

  The man nodded. “We’ve considered it, but a lot of folks have been reluctant to barricade ourselves in like that.”

  “I think after today, they’ll have a change of heart. If we hadn’t showed up when we-“

  “You’re right son, don’t even say it. I’d rather forget the whole experience. So, let’s say we block some of these roads; what’s the best way to do it?”

  “You want to go far enough out so that if someone abandons their vehicle and tries to hoof it in to town, they’ll be in no shape to fight by the time they reach you. I’d say at least five miles, but ten is better. Find a creek, a bridge, a bottom – a natural choke point. Where we’re from, we cut trenches across the road at points like that. You could also build an abatis, which might be even better.”

  The chief interrupted, “A what?”

  “An abatis – take for instance a wicker chair, you know how the material is woven?”

  The chief nodded.

  “Imagine that with ten or twelve trees across a road; you cut them so that they fall over each other and interlock, making a huge mess.” Geram entwined his hands as an example. “Nothing around here is going to drive over that, and it’d take some serious effort to clear it.”

  “I like it.”

  “Remember, anybody can get through anything, given enough time. So don’t completely forget about these barricades, just focus your people elsewhere and check on them occasionally.”

  “Makes perfect sense; thanks.”

  As they pulled up to the café, the mayor approached. The chief lowered the window and the mayor leaned, in smiling widely. “Is this one of the folks that saved my town?”

  Geram smiled, “We helped, but your men did a lot to.”

  “Don’t be modest, you saved us. Come on in, I want to buy you lunch, ahh, breakfast.”

  Ch apter
18

  SPARC Team 2

  San Francisco, California

  The men approached the bridge wearing hiking boots and backpacks. They split up and walked on opposite sides as they neared their destination. They waited until there was no traffic, which didn’t take long at all. They removed the ropes from their packs and fastened them to the side rails.

  After several deep breaths, they hopped over the edge and rappelled down to the bridge’s pile caps. The men realized just how dizzyingly high they were. They placed the matching packages on their respective pile caps, right next to the bearings that the bridge deck rested on.

  Once the packages were in place, they continued their rapid descent. As they reached the water’s surface, a small skiff motored over and picked each man up in turn. Once both men were in the boat, the operator throttled the motor and disappeared into the thick, foggy night. The entire operation took less than an hour.

  ***

  SPARC Team 5

  Chicago, Illinois

  The driver pulled the ball cap down tightly over her face. She followed the pre-described route that offered the least chance of passing through a checkpoint. Even if she was pulled over and searched, they would have to empty the entire contents of the fully-packed, box truck to find anything of suspicion. She rounded the final turn and took several deep breaths as she approached the end of her journey. She passed under the large sign that read:

  Commercial Vehicles Only

  She pouted her lips and gave the security guard the most innocent smile she could muster. He blushed as he checked her credentials, before smiling and waving her through. She winked at him as she drove through the gate and into the delivery bay of the Federal building. She wasn’t the normal driver, the guard realized, but she was just so cute. A girl like that couldn’t possibly be dangerous. Maybe he would stop her when she returned and ask for her number.

  She hopped out of the truck and glanced around. Not a soul in sight. She locked the door and trotted away. A forklift driver rounded the corner and shouted, “Ma’am, can I help you?”

  “Oh! I’m sorry; I just needed to use the restroom. Is there one close by?” She pouted her lips and flashed the same smile as before.

  “Oh, well, just up the hall and take a right. But hurry back; I’ll get in trouble if the super shows up and you’re missing.”

  “Sure thing babe, see you in a flash.”

  ***

  SPARC Team 12

  Columbus, Ohio

  The mechanics performed their final safety checks on the planes before clearing them for takeoff. They sealed the mechanical compartments and packed up their tools before leaving for their union-mandated break.

  The planes taxied across the airport to their terminals and prepared for boarding. In a matter of hours they would be spread across the entire nation, flying towards numerous major, metropolitan areas.

  In a dozen other cities, at a dozen other facilities, packages were hidden or simply left in plain view in an unassuming briefcase or toolbox. One by one the reports came in that the drops had been successful. One by one the malefactors executed their missions and disappeared back into the shadows.

  ***

  William

  Washington, D.C.

  William flew down U.S. Route 1. He frantically whipped around the roundabouts at Logan and Scott Circles and continued southwest. He weaved in and out of the slower-moving traffic, down Connecticut Avenue and then onto K Street. As he passed the statue of David Farragut in a blur of speed, he thought of the man’s famous quote and laughed. “Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!” had taken on quite a different meaning, as far as he was concerned.

  George Washington University soon came into view. William looked down to check his watch – twenty minutes. He had to hurry; he did not want to miss a moment of the action. William wheeled the bike into the parking area behind Tonic and rushed up the sidewalk and into the bar.

  As he opened the door and stepped into the establishment, he was greeted by an ambiance that was immediately relaxing. The temperature was perfect, the lighting was immaculate. The music was obscure, but tasteful. He loved everything about the place.

  William made his way to the restroom and turned on the faucet. He splashed water on his face and ran his fingers through his black hair. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing as he tried to rein it in, but it was to no avail. He strolled across the empty room and into one of the stalls. He sat down on the closed toilet seat, reached into his pocket and retrieved a prescription bottle and a small flask. He rattled out a cocktail of pills of varying shapes and sizes from the bottle. William chewed the pills up and washed the powder down his throat with the gin and tonic that was in the flask. He checked his watch again – ten minutes.

  He closed his eyes again and allowed the chemicals to work their calming magic on his body. Within several minutes, he began to relax. His pulse slowed and his breathing returned to a more normal pace. He was usually very relaxed, but the night had brought with it an anxiety that he had never experienced before. Everything hinged on the actions that would be set into motion in a matter of minutes. Soon, the world would begin to radically evolve, more so than even in the last six months. Soon, he would hasten the transformation by tenfold.

  He took one last look in the mirror. He straightened his collar and tamed the messy helmet hair from the wild ride. He exited the restroom with a newfound swagger. His presence was more commanding as he strode to the bar. People were beginning to filter in for a long night of drinking and reveling, or so they thought.

  She had watched him rush into the bar and disappear into the restroom for several minutes before reappearing as a completely different William, the William that she knew so well. She aimed for him, her heels echoing on the hardwood floor with each purposeful stride. As she reached him, he turned around with his usual Guinness in one hand and a cabernet sauvignon in his other.

  She smiled. “Were you expecting me?”

  He simply handed her the glass and returned the smile. “Let’s have a seat in the corner tonight.”

  They walked over to the secluded nook and sat on the leather sofa. A flat-screen television was hung above the couch opposite of him. The television was a stark contrast to the elegantly rustic surroundings. Normally the contradiction would have annoyed him, but, for the moment, he appreciated its strategic placement. He sunk deep into the couch cushions and propped his feet on the antique coffee table in front of him.

  He brought the tall glass of the rich beer to his lips and savored the first mouthful. He rolled it in his mouth like a fine wine before swallowing the liquid. The pills’ effects were in full force now. He smiled and placed his arm around her.

  “William,” she smiled playfully and said, “What kind of girl do you think I am?”

  “Shhh.” he replied, “Tonight’s not about you, babe; it’s all about me.”

  Breaking News flashed across the screen as the regularly scheduled propaganda from the marionettes was interrupted. The feed was replaced with a new, solemn-faced puppet. William grabbed the remote and turned the volume up as high as it would go. Groups were beginning to converge around other televisions within the bar.

  “Greetings America,” the teary eyed broadcaster announced, “we have breaking developments from across the country. Reports are still coming in as we speak, but it appears that a coordinated, terrorist attack has struck numerous targets from coast to coast. Bridges have been attacked in New York and San Francisco – wait, this just coming in,” she cupped her ear for a moment before continuing, “-a third bridge has just collapsed in Chicago.

  The targets vary widely in nature, but appear to all be connected to a single party. Federal buildings, water treatment facilities, passenger planes – there have been at least a dozen attacks, and more are being reported by the minute.”

  She cupped her ear again, straining to hear the speaker, “Oh, we’re cutting to live footage now.”

  A camera with a bird�
�s-eye view circled the collapsed section of the San Mateo Bridge in San Francisco. The sounds of the helicopter’s blades could faintly be heard behind the broadcaster’s narration of the destruction. Cars were beginning to pile up on the bridge with nowhere to go. Suddenly, a second section of the bridge collapsed into the bay. The crowd in the bar gasped collectively at the horror as cars tumbled into the water.

  The footage changed to a scene of scattered wreckage and debris in downtown Boston. Multiple buildings appeared to have been damaged by the sabotaged Boeing 747. Hundreds were confirmed dead, but the reporter warned that casualties could reach a thousand before it was over, and there were other plane crashes as well.

  The screen returned to the reporter in the newsroom, now sitting behind a desk as other journalists and assistants ran frantically to and fro. William reasoned it was a ploy to add a sense of drama and urgency to the newsroom, as if such was needed.

  “This just in,” the broadcaster announced, “an anonymous source from the Pentagon has reported that they believe the terror attacks have been committed by a right-wing extremist organization. They further believe that the terror organization may even have ties with foreign governments, due to the complexity and the coordination required for the attacks,” She paused and exchanged a sidebar whisper with a man just off screen, before continuing, “The president has declared a state of emergency for all fifty states and will be mobilizing additional troops throughout the nation, especially in areas sensitive to further terror attacks.”

  Silence had fallen across the establishment as the young staffers and lobbyists were breathlessly glued to the reports. The bartender did not even notice William walk behind the bar and refill the drinks. He strolled back to the corner and eased back onto the couch. He was smiling contently as he handed her the glass.