“He’s right,” Kate said reluctantly.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Bud and the two militia sat hidden on a rise behind the Maverick gas station. They parked the pickup in a stand of trees and had a good view of the intersection of Highway 69 and Fain Road. An hour passed without them seeing a single soul, when Bud’s radio came to life. “We just heard from the sheriff’s scouts by the freeway. They are headed toward you, and should be there in about fifteen minutes. Do you copy?” It was Don’s voice.
“Copy. Will launch in ten minutes.”
“Stay at two thousand feet.”
“Copy.”
“Stay well behind them. Let the drone be your eyes. If they figure out we’re on to them, this whole thing is over.”
“Copy that.”
Bud pulled the first drone from the pickup and set it on the ground. The second drone with its control panel remained in the bed of the truck with another panel. One of the militia members sat next to it. Ten minutes later it hovered at two thousand feet directly over the intersection. The other militia member was glassing the road from behind a tree.
“Here they come,” he said. A long column of vehicles appeared. They were mostly motorcycles, with a few pickups mixed in. In the middle of the column two pickups, with .50 caliber machine guns mounted to the floor of the truck beds, grew visible. The group was all male and most of them wore leathers and boots.
“Make sure you get a count,” Bud said to the militia member with the binoculars, who nodded without taking his eyes off the road. The column stopped at the intersection and two of the gang dismounted their Harleys and started to talk. Soon, they were waving their arms around, one pointing up Fair Road and the other down Highway 69. After a few minutes, they mounted their bikes and continued down the highway toward the town.
“Count?” Bud asked without taking his eyes off the control panel.
“Two hundred and four.” Bud handed the control panel to the militiaman.
“Don?”
“Copy.”
“Final count is two hundred and four. Roughly fifty percent have M16s, and they have two Ma Deuces in the middle of the column mounted on pickups. They stayed on the 69.”
“Are the .50s manned?”
“Not now, but they probably will be when they get closer to town.”
“How long is the column?”
“Around three hundred feet; they’re riding three to a row.”
“Copy, follow them until they get to Bear’s location, then take the back road to mine.”
“Copy, leaving in five minutes.”
“Everyone get that?”
“Copy,” Bear said.
“Copy,” the sheriff added.
“Okay, everyone stick to the plan.”
Minutes ticked by as though they were seconds, and Don could see the men growing more nervous. “Let’s get into position: throwers on both flanks and the center. Double-check to make sure your lighters work. The rest of you spread out with at least thirty feet between you. The column is three hundred feet long. When you see the Ma Deuces, that’s the middle of the column. The center thrower must get the IED between the two .50s. Throwers on the flanks: watch for my signal. Everybody understand?” The men all nodded and dispersed to their assignments.
“Don?” It was Bear’s voice.
“They just passed us. We’re moving into position now.”
“Copy that. I’ll call with a headcount of how many head back your way.”
“Copy.”
Don walked down the line of prone men, checking to make sure the spacing was right and that they each had spare mags out by their sides. He stopped and talked to two Guardsmen closest to the thrower in the middle. “Make sure nobody gets to those Ma Deuces,” he said. They both nodded. Don moved to the side of the thrower in the center. “On my command.”
“Roger.”
Don spoke into the mic of his radio, “you all set, Chief?”
“We’re ready.”
As the column approached, a man in the front row extended his arm out with his thumb pointing down, and the line of vehicles slowed to a crawl. The gang members all looked around warily. As they entered the curve, they slowed even further. When the lead row spied the cars blocking the road, they stopped. Don gave the signal, and the center thrower lit and released the first IED. Two others followed from the flanks. The men on the ridge all lowered their heads as a massive explosion split the air. After the shock wave passed, the Guardsmen rose as one, and an ear-splitting fusillade of gunfire rang out.
Don looked down and saw the sort of destruction he hadn’t witnessed since his last tour. Body parts were scattered around the smoking wreck of the two pickups. Men lay everywhere in heaps. Shrieks of agony rang out, but the gunfire from the ridge and Prescott PD continued unabated. Don saw a Guardsman go down from return fire, and directed his AR to the shooter, hitting him twice before he pirouetted to the ground. Two other men were returning fire from behind another pickup further down the column. Don directed the Guardsman to his left to fire toward them. Another Guardsman went down from the return fire before Don, and the Guardsman at his side deflected fire off the concrete under the vehicle.
Four of the gang had somehow escaped the wall of lead and were attempting to flee across the road. They were cut down by the Prescott PD. One man attempted to get to one of the Ma Deuces and was cut down when he tried to climb into the truck bed. The last two remaining gang members attempted to surrender, but were met with a hail of gunfire when they rose from behind a pickup.
Don looked to the back of the column and saw that about twenty riders had made it out of the ambush. They continued to fire at the retreating gang members until they were out of range. The gunfire slowed and finally stopped. Don picked up his mic, noticing his ears were ringing for the first time, and said, “Bear, around twenty squirters are coming your way at a high rate of speed.”
“Copy.”
“Get the IEDs out early. They’re moving fast.”
“Copy.”
Another massive explosion ripped through the air as Bear’s team released their IEDs. It was followed by a hail of gunfire that slowly died down, until all Don could hear was individual gunshots. Eventually they stopped as well. Don’s radio squawked once and Bear’s voice said, “they’re all down.”
“Casualties?”
“One dead and one wounded.”
“Chief?”
“Two wounded.”
“Let’s get the wounded evacuated to the hospital.” He walked over to the medic, who was treating a chest wound. “How many?”
“Two dead and one wounded. Ned here will be okay. The slug missed the lung.” The man waved at him weakly.
“Get him to the hospital.” Don walked away realizing he didn’t even know the names of the dead and wounded in his group. He shook his head sadly as he sat on a rock and examined the destruction below. As two soldiers loaded the wounded man in a pickup, the EMT approached him. Don looked down the line of standing guardsmen. They all wore the dazed expression of a sleepwalker. One was quietly sobbing. He looked down and noted he had gone through close to ninety rounds of ammo. He wondered how long the battle had lasted. It seemed like a minute, but he knew it had been several, based on the amount of ammo he had burned through.
“Sir, you’re wounded,” his EMP said.
Don noticed blood trickling from his left hand and examined his shoulder. “Just slap a field dressing on it and I’ll get it stitched up later.” As the man expertly dressed his shoulder, Don asked, “what’s your name?”
“Ned, sir.” He finished wrapping the shoulder.
“Good to meet you, Ned. And, thanks. But, please don’t call me sir. I’m retired.”
“Don’t really seem so, does it?” Ned replied as he examined the carnage below.
“It does now. That was my last rodeo.” Don was exhausted and the adrenaline rush had past. He suddenly felt sleepy. As Bud pulled up, Don rose and embraced him in a
one-armed hug. “Thank God, you’re okay.”
“You too,” Bud replied.
“Don?” It was the chief.
“Go ahead.”
“What do we do with the wounded gang members?” Don thought for a second. “Up to you. The battle’s over. It’s your call. But, I don’t really care. Kill them. Take them to the hospital. Let them bleed out. I’m not in charge anymore. I’m heading home.” He looked at Bud. “You ready?”
“Ohhhh yeah!”
“Let’s go. I got some serious fence mending to do with Kate.”
“Don’t worry about it. She loves you and she knows you love her. And you know what else?”
“No.”
“It don’t suck being us.”
THE END OF PREPPER’S CRUCIBLE – OMNIBUS
Prepper's Crucible (Omnibus, Volumes 1-3): A Post Apocalyptic Tale (Preppers Crucible) Page 23