Karl nudged aside a radio operator and said, “What’s happening?”
The man looked up, trouble written over his expression. “The ships, sir—”
“Damn it, I know they’ve attacked the ships. What’s the damage report?”
The man shook his head. “The planes came out of nowhere, sir. The men on the boats weren’t prepared for an aerial attack. None of the surface-to-air missiles were in place.”
The anger coursing through Karl’s veins was waking him up faster than a pot of coffee could. “Speak plainly, damn it! Are they still operational?”
“No, sir.” The man was sweating, trying to avoid eye contact.
“What’s going on in Alice?”
“They reported hearing the planes less than ten minutes ago.” His words were dry and he swallowed visibly. “Since then it’s been radio silence from all their relay stations. We’ve received dozens of communications from men on their line—some targets are being bombarded with pinpoint accuracy; others are carpet-bombed. There are reports that all of Alice is surrounded.”
Footfalls resounded across the open warehouse from behind, and Karl turned to see General Greg Ubel rushing toward him, followed by four of his officers.
“Mister Ubel,” Karl said. “Your ships—”
“They’re gone.” His voice was sharp, angry. “Alice will be gone soon too.”
“They’ve acquired an air force, somehow.”
“They haven’t acquired jack shit. It’s California and Texas. Goddamn it, they’ve marched. Never in a million years would I think … where were they when Montana fell? Or Maine? Where were they when Albuquerque pleaded for help? None of us mustered our armies to support one another; why now?”
“When we first spoke, before an agreement came to fruition, you promised me the other colonies would not come to Alice or Hightown’s aid.”
“They never so much as moved a muscle for anyone before; why would I think otherwise?”
Karl felt an impulse to unholster his pistol and deal with Greg Ubel. The world had grown larger, it appeared, and not to their benefit. Before speaking to the delegates from Louisiana, he’d had no prior knowledge of the colonies on the West Coast. And because of those early chats, Karl was put to ease that they were of no consequence. Too many miles away, and little was expected from Hightown and Alice. They didn’t produce fuel, just some water and food, and the other colonies produced enough on their own to survive. They wouldn’t protect these lesser colonies when more productive communities, such as Colorado and Montana, were allowed to crumble without the slightest show of support.
“How many men did they bring?” Karl asked.
“How the hell should I know?”
Karl waved his hand dismissively. “We have surface-to-air missiles.” He turned to Liam. “Have them armed, now.”
“Yes, sir.”
Greg Ubel shook his head. “They’ll be flying high and fast and will have the town in ruins before daybreak. They’re going to erase Alice and Hightown, and us along with them.”
“They’ll never—”
“They will. Get out of here, now. Abandon all posts. Have your men flee.”
“Flee? Flee! We don’t flee from anything. We stand and fight.”
“And lose. You’re going to lose. I’ve called for a complete departure of my men.”
“You’ve done what? Where will you go? Your fleet has been annihilated! Do you think you’ll be safe down in your ports?”
“No, I don’t. We’ll try to strike up a new deal with the colonies. I would suggest you do the same, but I don’t think they’ll forgive you after your many transgressions.”
Karl again felt the pull of his pistol, but there were just as many soldiers from Louisiana in the room as his own; if he pulled his weapon, bullets would fly in all directions. They would destroy each other before the colonies had the opportunity. He turned to the radio operator, listening to the dozens of footfalls leave the warehouse. The room was silent as General Ubel left, and then Liam whispered, “Karl, sir, what are your orders?”
Karl didn’t respond. He grabbed the headphones off the radio operator’s head and pushed the man until he stood from the chair. Then he sat and listened for many minutes.
“What the hell are you all doing standing around?” Liam said to the many blinking eyes. “Get back to work. Man the defenses, make sure the missiles are deployed. Double the scouts outside the gates, set a one-mile perimeter, and make sure they’re watching the bridge.” The crowd dispersed. Karl listened to the various radio channels, switching from one to the other. The air attack had obliterated the vessels off Alice’s coast and was now dropping precise bombs on the inner workings of Alice and the defensive line. An overwhelming ground force had circled the perimeter, and any of their fleeing or surrendering soldiers were cut down indiscriminately. A screaming report came over the wire, “They’re not taking prisoners! They’re executing our men waving white flags! Jesus Christ, it’s a slaughterhouse …” Another report told of the barracks targeted in a bombardment, killing flea, bedbug, and man alike. There was nowhere to hide and nowhere to run.
Before Alice fell, he dreamed of its destruction, despite knowing that it would serve him best for it to remain intact. Now, his anger seethed that he was robbed of the opportunity to set the torch. And there was something beyond anger … Jealousy. He was jealous. This war had consumed his life, put all other campaigns on the sidelines. And now, in under two hours, his newly acquired navy was destroyed and his allies defected. Could he still win this war? It occurred to him that the colonies had the opportunity to overwhelm Alice and burn it to ash. However, that was not what they were doing. They were flexing their muscles, dropping precise and decimating bombs.
The radio grew quieter, and then a report came in: “We’ve received communication from the colonies… we’re being told to rebel … we’re offered absolution if we … take down the leadership …” Karl exchanged a worried glance with the radio operator. Further reports followed from various sections of the defensive perimeter and from the offices and homes; battles, small and large, were waged. The aerial bombardment had ceased, and in its absence, the soldiers—his soldiers—had taken up arms against each other. Karl pressed the headphones to his ears, listening as a sergeant on the front line attempted to keep order. “Backup, we need backup!” The background noise was a boil of gunfire and screaming.
This isn’t possible, Karl thought. My men would never disobey me.
But all indications told another tale. Alice was burning, and it was his own men holding the torch, but Karl had not issued the command. The flames were searching for those loyal to the Red Hands, especially himself.
Karl removed the earphones. “Cut the lines,” he instructed the dazed-looking operators. “Cut all lines with Alice. No more reports coming in or out.”
His attention was stolen by Liam, who was shouting at a radio operator, his face red, the veins on his thick neck protruding.
“What is it?” Karl asked.
“They’re leaving,” Liam said, not looking over. “Our soldiers are fleeing Hightown with Greg.”
“How many?”
“About a company’s worth, maybe a little more.”
Karl stood from the table. “And Alice is gone.” He took Liam’s shoulder and led him away from listening ears. “We don’t have much time until the colonies advance on us. First, they’ll make a display of their might, and then they’ll make the same proposition as they offered the soldiers in Alice—amnesty, in exchange for our heads on a stick.”
“Our men will never—”
“They already have. We need to cut off all communication with Alice, keep Hightown in the dark for as long as possible.”
“They’re already fleeing. The colonies will never accept them, never absolve them.”
“No,” Karl said. “Not for our men. It’s a false promise. However, you heard what Greg Ubel said; he’s going to attempt to make a reconciliation with th
e colonies, and what do you think that agreement will entail? How will he be forgiven?”
“Jesus,” Liam said in a low grumble. “We have to muster those most loyal to us and salvage what we can.”
“Yes,” Karl muttered, rubbing his forehead with his thumb and pointer finger. He knew what he had to do—must do—but making the call, saying the words, was nearly impossible.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Low Tide
Simon, Bethany, and Brian gathered gear from a makeshift supply tent while discussing strategy. Simon’s plan to sneak in slow and undetected was scratched. Time was not a luxury they had. Once Alice fell, the planes would come shrieking across the sky to Hightown, and the colony’s combined army would circle the front. The rumor of General Driscoll’s survival was not enough to stop the initiative—however, together with news of the Red Hands showing a reluctance to blindly follow Karl’s orders, the plans were altered.
Simon felt the heft of the flak jacket, the water bladder, the grenades, ammunition, and his rifle, and doubt crept into his mind that the gear would weigh him down, be more of a hindrance than a help. But Brian convinced him that it was necessary. There was no time to scout, to go swift and silent into Hightown. There was a real possibility that they were heading straight into gunfire. The flak jackets were a must.
Carolanne said little as they prepared. The man she loved so dearly, who had returned from a presumed death, was leaving her once again. Less than an hour after his return, the medical tent was a scramble of activity as soldiers gathered.
“Simon, Brian,” Richard Jarrett said. “The Rangers are gathering supplies and will be here shortly. As General Winters ordered, thirty men are joining the initiative, all on volunteer basis. If General Driscoll is alive, we’re ready to bring him home. What’s the plan?”
“Richard,” Simon said. “I can’t thank you and the others enough.”
General Driscoll was presumed to be held captive in Karl Metzger’s private quarters in one of the homes overlooking the bay. Over half of those buildings had been destroyed when the Red Hands invaded, so finding which home belonged to Karl was narrowed down. The easiest way was to come by the water, on raft—try to remain undetected, just as Brian had done when fleeing. But that would take time, and boats, of which they had neither. Richard drew a quick map by hand, and it was decided they would advance upon the topmost corner, closest to their position, where the wall hit the water, and then—if they broke past—they would travel fast along the bank, taking the old trails which navigated the shoreline, back when their purpose was for sea-gazing and leisurely strolls. This would take them to the steep coast with the homes above. They’d have to find the least vertical inclines to ascend in the dark. There was no way to know how much resistance they would encounter, so the incursion had to be fast, although intelligence reported Hightown was left lightly defended. Perhaps, if they were lucky, Karl was dead down in Alice, and with the lack of leadership, confusion would follow.
The rest of the brigade arrived, applying dark makeup to their faces and checking their ammunition and supplies. The plan was rehashed, and Simon and Richard spoke to the Rangers, offering handshakes and words of support. Then Brian checked his watch and made eye contact with Simon. “Ready?” he asked.
Simon inhaled and exhaled. “Never been so ready in my life.”
***
They parked the two transport trucks a mile outside of Hightown’s walls as all the while, the bombs were dropping on Alice, and the first reports of defection among the enemy’s numbers were given. Soon, dawn would turn the sky a pale shade of blue, and with it would come the targeted aerial bombardment, and the inevitable war. Either the enemy in Hightown would defect, like what they had seen in Alice, or the United Colonies would bomb and burn the territory to the ground. Either way, it would soon be hell inside Hightown’s walls.
Simon couldn’t help but reflect that he had traveled all that distance, from British Columbia to the East Coast, to find his family. What he found was a new home, a new family, a new reason to keep moving forward. And now, he would again be marching, fighting, to find yet another home. Wherever that new home may be, he would be at peace if he had Bethany beside him, and to that end, he would have to tap into that animal he’d become on the lawn of Nick’s mansion, to assault, brutalize his way through the Red Hands’ front gate if needed, to where her uncle was kept captive.
He breathed in and out, in and out … In and out … The woods were thin, and they progressed fast, remaining quiet as each man observed the terrain, looked for enemy movement. When would clarity return, as it had the last time he’d fought, when he ran through the trenches, his body moving so fast it was as if he were not doing those evil things? Shooting, hacking, bludgeoning the enemy soldiers with a swiftness unknown to his skillset. He breathed, he tried to focus … but all he felt was fear and revulsion.
There was movement ahead.
The soldier in the front held up a fist, and everyone fell to a knee. Two, three … maybe five people ran fast toward them, seemingly unaware of their presence. Simon watched them filter through the trees, closer. His finger brushed the trigger of his rifle, his eyesight blurry down the wavering sights, sweat dripping from his forehead. Bethany crouched beside him, rifle up. He could hear her labored breathing. Someone shouted, “Hold up!” and the advancing men froze, aiming their rifles in the direction of the voice, searching.
A reply came. “We don’t want to fight.” A man in the lead turned his head and said, “Guns down,” to his entourage. “W-we give up.” The man put his rifle on the ground and raised his hands. Others did the same, or averted their aim.
For a moment, no one moved. An enemy force fleeing, thinking the soldiers they encountered were part of a larger brigade, an advancing party. Slowly, one of the men in Simon’s group stood, and then others followed. They walked, weapons pointed, sidestepping the surrendering troops. The enemy soldiers seemed to understand, and with slow, deliberate steps, they continued on their way.
After a few yards, they moved quicker toward Hightown, and they came to another flock of deserters. A handful at first, then more. The walls were in view. Another dozen followed, and then a steady stream exited the gate. The advancing party made eye contact with the fleeing men, each one surprised, scared. These men knew end times had arrived. They knew death awaited any who stayed to fight. No one wanted to get caught in a shoot-out, not with escape a possibility.
The filthy, weary faces of the enemy passed, and when they came to the open entrance, the defenses were abandoned. Mounted machine guns were left with ammunition belts fed in the chambers. Lookout towers with no snipers. Floodlights dark. Richard turned and said in a whisper, “I can’t believe this. They’re retreating—they’re giving up.”
No one replied as Simon’s party moved fast toward a small beachfront, where they found the trail skirting the shoreline. They encountered no more enemy soldiers as they progressed, and the paved trail was easy to navigate. As they ran, the only sound other than their panting breaths came from the gentle and rhythmic water lapping at the shores, calm and beautiful—the symphony of nature. The dark water, cast in shadow, reflected a million moons upon each crest, the water at low tide moving back toward the shore. It dawned on Simon that it was possible General Driscoll was gone—taken from Hightown in anticipation of the coming bombardment and moved elsewhere. Perhaps executed.
His hope was renewed as they neared the steep banks, and far up, obscured in the distance behind trees and homes, came the obvious illumination of a lone house running electricity. All of the men noticed it as they slowed, catching their breaths. Richard, Simon, and Brian took lead to find a suitable place to scale the bank. A little further on they found a long, narrow staircase leading from the trail. They spoke with hand signals alone, the men taking to the steps one at a time, until they were gathered on top. “All right,” Simon said, his words coming out in huffs. “I’m scouting ahead. Wait here.” All of the dark faces, smea
red with camouflage and dirt, nodded their approval. The one belonging to Bethany stared back at him. Her stern demeanor broke, and her mouth opened, presumably to state that she was going to join him, but then she regressed and nodded.
Simon went slowly, despite his adrenaline pumping so hard that he found it difficult to move with precision. When will I tap back into the warrior? There came no answer.
Though his movements were not as graceful as they could be, Simon managed to stick to the shadows as he neared the edge of the building. He heard voices before he saw faces. Heard vehicle engines rumbling. When he peered out from around the corner of the house, he saw six or more soldiers standing outside the front door of the illuminated home. Four smoked, and all were listless. There were drivers in the three waiting Hummers. From his distance, their words were murmurs. Simon waited a moment longer, then backtracked, carefully selecting each footfall before placing his weight down. When he neared the huddled mass of his men, he whispered, “Six or so outside. Don’t know how many inside. They’re waiting for something, ready to take off.”
“Okay,” Richard said. “I don’t see any way around this. We’re going to be quick, take them by surprise, and storm the door. With any luck, they’re the last of the vermin left in Hightown, although that’s doubtful. We have to find the general and get the hell out before more show up.”
“Rodger-dodger,” one of the soldiers said.
With that, a quick plan was made to strike from either side of the adjacent home. Four men would remain behind, entering the neighboring home and offering covering fire from the second-floor windows.
“Ready?” Richard said. Everyone nodded. He looked to Simon and Brian. “You’re on point.”
Simon inhaled, nodded to Brian, and said, “All right. Group one, on me.”
He turned toward Karl Metzger’s home and led his soldiers to battle.
Someday Soon Page 20