Someday Soon

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Someday Soon Page 12

by Brandon Zenner


  A report came in over the radio: “We’re at Benton Bridge. Over.”

  That was good. The bridge was the marker for the assault. Once crossed, it was a swift western turn to Alice’s gate. Soon, his ships would pass below the bridge to anchor north of the land assault. Over the roar of the engines, Karl heard the thumping sound of the helicopter blades high above. They had been instructed to keep their distance far in the rear until the army crossed the bridge.

  Karl found a cigar and struck a match to the end, rolling the tip in the flame.

  “Light ’em if you got ’em, boys,” he said. “Once over the br—”

  A plume of fire and smoke shot high in the near distance, and the cab of the truck rattled with an explosion. The driver came to a halt, and Karl lost the grip on his cigar.

  “Jesus,” he said. Rocks and debris rained down on the hood in a heavy downpour. “They blew the fucking bridge …. Fan the column!” he ordered to no one in particular.

  ***

  The corded radio crackled in the scout’s ears. “The operation’s a go. Enemy contact less than a half mile out. Over.”

  The three dozen scouts were in position along the shore, scattered high in trees or behind cover as the sound of the coming army grew loud. When the first truck came into view the radio again spoke, “We have visual. Get ready for contact. Over.”

  Richard Jarrett was given battlefield command. Besides this being a full-on military operation, it was only hours ago that he’d learned Simon had every intention of leaving Alice to make some suicide mission alone into Hightown, and leave him in charge. Did Jeremy know of Simon’s plan? Did Jeremy know that Simon wanted to step down as head Ranger? If the Red Hands hadn’t arrived when they did, Simon would now be on his way to Hightown instead of relaying communications in the headquarters.

  Those thoughts would have to wait. Richard knelt behind the broad side of a boulder, feeling the cold of the stone penetrate his uniform. He peered through the night-vision scope of his rifle, watching the first two armored vehicles proceed onto the bridge. Far in the rear of the procession, he could hear but not see the drumming blades of the helicopters.

  God, he wished that Albuquerque and Louisiana’s army would arrive. If they had, this operation would be much different. Instead of a small brigade—only to stall the enemy—they would have the manpower for a full-on showdown along the riverbank, and end this nightmare for good.

  The full might of the enemy was hard to determine through the limited view of the scope. All Richard could see was the side of the bridge and a small portion of the road beyond. The first vehicles on the platform were Hummers, two and then four, and then two more. Next were tanks. US-issued Abrams tanks. His pulse beat fast knowing that those tanks belonged to Hightown’s arsenal, and were commandeered by those vile men.

  The first Hummer made it to the opposite side, followed by two more, and then all six were on land. The treads of the tanks were close to the end of the bridge when Richard said, “Now.” A soldier beside him didn’t hesitate. He typed a code on the keypad of the remote, flipped the safety switch, then squeezed the trigger beneath. The transmission was instant, and the firing pulse ignited the small batch of C-4 and dynamite planted on the beams behind the supports on both ends of the bridge, hidden on the undersides.

  The explosion turned night into day for a flash as columns of fire shot high. Prior to the threat of invasion, every bridge connecting Alice to the north was wired with explosives in a ten-mile stretch. For this mission, the explosives planted in the middle of the bridge were hastily removed. It was not the intention to blow the structure to rubble. With a terrible creak, the metal and stone collapsed, and the lane holding the tanks and armored vehicles disappeared behind a gust of smoke and a plume of water as they fell into the Ridgeline River below, effectively blocking the canal from the oncoming boats, if at least for a short duration.

  Gunshot erupted from either side of the road as Richard’s brigade opened fire on the six Hummers that had made it safely across the river. Machine guns mounted to the tops of the vehicles fired back, indiscriminately cutting down the brush in the woods. It wasn’t long until a medic was called for over the radio.

  Three of the Hummers sped off the road, and one crashed into the side of a tree. Grenades were lobbed from the shadows, and pillars of dirt rocketed high. The doors opened on two of the vehicles and men emerged, running and shooting wildly, but they only made it a few steps before the snipers and machine gunners mowed them down.

  From across the river, the Red Hands’ procession had begun to spread out along the bank, and a volley of bullets and tank shells began to rain down.

  “Fall back to position two,” Richard told the solder beside him. His message was relayed, and Richard waited behind the boulder, seeing his men emerge from various foxholes and dug-in positions. Bright tracer rounds tore at tree branches as explosions became more frequent. A shell burst into the side of a massive oak tree, and Richard was momentarily entranced as he saw the middle section burst into splinters, and the giant tree topple like a boulder falling, the crash as loud as thunder.

  The drumming of the helicopter blades increased in volume, and Richard could now see the dark outline of the aircraft moving steadily toward them. His heart thumped heavy against the rock as he thought, Come on! What are you waiting for?

  High-caliber machine gun fire strafed the ground, and with terrible shrieks, missiles came tearing out from the heavens. He saw his men run for cover as the munitions tore up the ground. Another tree a few yards before him burst at its base, sending a torrent of shrapnel and fire, and Richard dropped down behind the boulder.

  Fuck! Come on!

  All at once, doubt plagued him. The shoulder-mounted stinger missiles should have been fired by now. The plan was a simple bait-and-eliminate. The helicopters weren’t supposed to make it across the river. This wasn’t the war, this was only a skirmish, planned to slow the Red Hands’ progress and eliminate, reduce, or frighten their air support.

  But now the woods all around him were boiling with bullet fire and explosives, and he doubted that half the men would make it back if he called for a full retreat—which was exactly what he needed to do. “Private!” he yelled. “Call for—” He looked over. The man beside him was motionless, his back against the rock, half his face missing. Richard reached for the radio, when he heard it. The sweet roaring of rockets fired from the rear of the formation.

  The cacophony of explosion came first, and then he peered over the edge of the rock, seeing fire blazing in the sky and twisting, around and around, as the helicopter lost control, its rear tail burning. More rockets streaked into the air, and there was a deafening explosion from high above.

  Bullet fire continued from both sides as his men fell back. Far in the distance, the buzzing sound of a lone helicopter grew distant as it retreated, but there was no doubt that it would soon return, with backup in tow.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Reposition

  Karl met Liam behind the defensive perimeter hastily constructed along the riverbank. On the opposite shore, pockets of fire burned, the brightest belonging to their own Hummers blown to pieces in the melee.

  “I’ve sent outriders to check the bridge west and—”

  “No bother,” Karl interrupted. “They’re all wired. I’m sure of it.”

  Liam scratched at his beard. “We can begin construction of a new bridge ASAP. I suggest going a mile downstream, where the distance between the shores is minor.”

  Karl looked over the sea of his men digging trenches and setting up machine gun turrets behind sandbags and fallen trees. He bit his cigar and spoke behind clenched teeth. “No, Mister Briggs. It would be a foolish pursuit. They’ll pick off the workers one by one with snipers.”

  Liam rested his palm on his holstered pistol. “The armada is held up a half mile down the river. They can clear a path enough to pass through the debris in no time. We have enough ships to load the whole army, if n
eeded.”

  “And then, Mister Briggs, we would leave our armored wing behind. Without the tanks, the battle would go quickly in Alice’s favor.”

  “All right then … what’s the plan?”

  “If you were them, what would you do?”

  Liam shrugged. “Probably wait behind the line.”

  “Maybe. But right here, where we are, we appear to be in a place of weakness. We’re stranded at the riverside, with a thin defensive perimeter.”

  “Exactly my point.”

  “But we are not as weak as we appear, now are we?”

  Liam shook his head. “No, sir.”

  “If I were them, I would muster the troops and have our battle right here, along the bank of the river. Line the opposite shore with artillery and snipers, and attack us head-on with a ground assault. Drive us into the river.”

  “We could move the army closer to the bridge, strike them down as they came across, just like they did to us.”

  “Staying close to the ocean is a priority.” Karl dropped his cigar and ground it out with the toe of his boot. “Going further inland will lessen our firepower. This is but a game of chess. Pieces move and strategies alter.”

  “Yes, sir. What is the plan then?”

  Karl took in a big inhale and let it out slowly. “We wait. See if they attack.” He paused in contemplation. “Strike that,” he said. “They will attack. Sooner than later. Get me a radio. I want to get this show on the road.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The Verdict

  The officials stuffed in the meeting room in Alice Elementary were exhausted, yet listened to the presentation with focused intent. Wafts of cigarette smoke layered in murky drifts, and the stale odor of coffee permeated the fog. Simon’s stomach was sour and twisted with anxiety, yet he sipped from the mug.

  A briefing of the attack and reports from the front line were presented. It was followed by an assessment of everything gathered about Karl Metzger, Liam Briggs, and the Red Hands at large. Much of the information was accumulated by interrogating the prisoners acquired following the battle in Alice; the intel included the locations of Haddonfield Maximum Security Prison and Odyssey, which were the birthplaces of the Red Hands. They were still controlled by Karl’s men, yet believed to hold limited resource or strategic value, and some of the prisoners spoke of Karl as once being an inmate of the penitentiary. The personal information presented offered a wider perspective of Karl’s thought process. Although it was hard to decipher reality from fiction in the prisoners’ accounts, some information was correlated with records kept in Alice’s public library.

  Karl was, by all accounts, a murderer before the fall of civilization. The library kept limited documents of newspapers from around the United States on microform, and after hours looking over films from Houston and Dallas, one article came to light. It told the tale of a vagabond. A ruthless and sinister criminal. The article was written upon his arrest, which subsequently put two police officers in the hospital, battered and maimed. The full scope of his atrocities was still under investigation at the time the article was written, but he was on trial for nine murders, and suspected of at least eight more. Men. Women. Children. Police officers had followed his trail of arson, robberies, and murder from coast to coast. At first, it was believed that one man was not capable of committing all these horrific crimes alone, such as in the case of a former small-town delegate and wealthy benefactor, found with his wrists tied behind his back and a bullet shot through his temple in executionary form. The same fate befell his family, which included three young and robust sons. The strong boys were beaten and subdued before being killed. The mafia was blamed before the connection to Karl was established, who had acted alone with only a pistol and a baseball bat.

  Karl never remained sedentary, leaving a wake of carnage as he drifted from state to state. He stole everything in his sight and formed two false companies which employed four gullible employees, who were all subsequently robbed and murdered. A police officer interviewed in the report stated, “The man holds no semblance of human emotion. When we told him of everything we knew of his crimes and offered a plea deal that might spare him the death penalty in exchange for his cooperation in discovering more of his victims, the man laughed and asked how the chow is over in Haddonfield Max. He doesn’t care about anything, including his own life. He’s the most dangerous man our department has ever encountered.”

  The presentation was given to a quiet assemblage, with Jeremy sitting behind the desk, bleary-eyed and chain-smoking cigarettes. The officer at the podium was using a projector to display an image of the article on a roll-down backdrop.

  Then the door swung open, and a soldier walked straight over to Jeremy and whispered something in his ear.

  “All right,” Jeremy said, and twisted his cigarette out in the ashtray. “We’ve received word from both colonies. Albuquerque’s army will be arriving within an hour, and Louisiana before dawn.” He checked his watch and stood. For a moment his legs seemed to falter, then he said, “We march when the ships arrive. Everyone, get what rest you can.” He turned to the soldier who’d just arrived. “I’ll be in my office. Alert me on any developments.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As Jeremy left the room, the officials all began speaking at once. Maps were unrolled on the table and ledgers were produced. Simon stood, and squeezed past the throng of activity toward the door. The air in the hallway was cool and refreshing. He rubbed at his sore eyes, not sure which was making them more bloodshot, the sleeplessness or the room full of smoke.

  Jeremy’s office was along the same hallway, just a few doors down. Simon knocked, and Jeremy’s voice was quick to call out, “What is it?” Simon turned the handle and entered. “Oh,” Jeremy said, taking a seat behind his desk. “Simon, what’s up?”

  There was a cot with a ruffled blanket in the corner. “Jeremy,” Simon said. “You getting any sleep?”

  “A few minutes here and there.”

  “You need more.”

  “I’m fine. I learned a trick during boot camp, that if you get a few twenty-minute naps in during the day, you can keep going without a full night’s sleep. The brain goes into REM faster when it knows it won’t be getting much rest.”

  “You getting any twenty-minute naps?”

  Jeremy shrugged, took his cigarettes from his front pocket, and pulled one out before tossing the pack on the desk. “What is it you need?”

  Simon looked to the ground. “Well, first, I wanted to check on you. Make sure you’re resting.”

  The Zippo lighter snapped open and flicked to life. “Right,” Jeremy said, closing the lighter. “Which is just what I’m planning on doing.”

  “Good.”

  “Simon.” Jeremy flicked an ash into an overflowing ashtray. “What’s wrong?”

  “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to say it.”

  “You want to go try and save Brian, right?”

  Simon looked up at him. “Richard talk to you?”

  “No, but I’m not surprised,” he continued. “I tried putting myself in your shoes, thinking about what I’d do if the person I loved was in as much pain as Bethany.” He took a large inhale, then blew the smoke out. “You willing to risk your life in the process? What happens if you fail? This is only one man, remember, and we’re about to go into battle.”

  “What happens if I do nothing?”

  Jeremy offered a thin smile. “Look, I get it. But I’d be lying if I told you it wasn’t foolish. As good of a scout as you are, sneaking in past Hightown’s line and finding him—and then bringing him out safely—is impossible.”

  “I can go during the battle, when they’re distracted.”

  “You mean, while the men on their defenses are on high alert?”

  Simon didn’t answer.

  “Look, I know that if you’ve made up your mind, there’s nothing I can do to stop you. But I would much rather have you fighting at my side when the battle
begins. Once the colonies arrive, we’ll catch the Red Hands by surprise and squeeze them from both sides. They’ll pop like a grape. The men need you. The soldiers respect you. You took down Nick Byrnes, after all.”

  Simon shook his head. “I’m not … I’m not a soldier. I’m not a fighter. I don’t think I can do that again, fight the way I did on Nick’s lawn.”

  “Damn it, Simon.” Jeremy ground his cigarette in the ashtray and leaned across the desk. “You’ve been going on about not being this, not being that, since the day I met you. I’m starting to realize that you’re completely full of shit. You need to recognize that who you are, the real you, is the person you are every day. A fighter. A soldier. A compassionate human. If you go off and die on some suicide mission, what’s going to happen to the boy … what’s his name?”

  “Connor.”

  “Yeah, him. The kid survived terrible ordeal after terrible ordeal, to wind up in your care, if at least partially. He doesn’t need more people in his life dying a pointless death. And what about Bethany? Does she know your plan? Is she going with you?”

  “No, she doesn’t know. If she did, she would want to come along, and I wouldn’t be able to stop her.”

  “Just like how I can’t stop you?”

  “Look, the way I see it, I have just as much of a chance—more of a chance—dying in the battle as I do sneaking into Hightown.”

  Jeremy was quiet for a moment and sat back in his chair. He began unbuttoning the front of his shirt and said, “Your chances of saving him are better with us than alone. Not to mention that your Rangers need your leadership.”

  Simon was about to mention his plan to hand the position over to Richard Jarrett, but decided it was best to wait.

 

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