by Nathan Jones
That had been the plan, at least. Unfortunately in spite of their somewhat asinine nickname the blockheads weren't idiots, and although these mountains didn't have any particular strategic value the enemy did hold them, so they were patrolling them.
Lewis and his volunteers were hidden halfway down a slope, watching with binoculars as a patrol of twenty men in camo bandannas passed single file along a narrow trail the next slope over.
“What are they even guarding?” Uncle George whispered. “We're miles away from anything.”
Jane, crouched beside Lewis with her own binoculars out, shrugged. “They've got plenty of people, and I'd say our side's proven we can be a nuisance if we've got some mountains to work with. Maybe they're holding this area just to keep it from us.”
“Not to mention Highway 6 is pretty much the only route connecting Carbon County and everything north of us,” Lewis added. “They can't afford to take even the risk that someone might get close enough to knock it out.”
His dad sighed. “I warned you going for 6 would be more than we could manage. Should we head home?”
Lewis hesitated. That patrol was a tempting target, if they couldn't hit anything bigger. But at the same time they were deep in enemy territory, and there was no telling if there were blockheads in a position to cut off their escape if they revealed themselves.
“I'd like to hit that patrol,” Jane said. Lewis opened his mouth to raise the same objections he'd just been thinking, but his wife caught his eye. “Maybe just the two of us, after the rest of you have made it safely back to our territory.”
That seemed a bit more doable. Lewis nodded. “You guys okay with that?”
A few of the volunteers looked disgruntled. “Why do you get to have all the fun?” Martin asked.
“Because for all we know there might be a hundred blockheads on the mountainsides behind us,” Lewis replied. “No offense, but I'm not about to order anyone else through that gauntlet if we draw attention to ourselves here.”
That took a bit of the wind out of the man's sails. Tam nodded in agreement. “It's easier for two people to sneak out than fourteen. Besides, I'm not in the mood to stick my neck out that far.”
“I'm not sure you two should be in the mood to do that, either,” his dad said, giving them a worried look. Uncle George nodded in agreement.
“Well hopefully you'll keep your eyes open on the way back, give us a bit of warning if there are actually enemies out there,” Lewis said. His dad's eyes tightened at his light tone, and Lewis gave him a reassuring look. “We've done something like this before.”
“Never assume a plan will go smoothly just because it has before,” Uncle George warned. “That's how you get killed. What happened to Trev's squad should be a lesson for all of us.”
Lewis glanced at Jane, who looked back impassively. “Scout the way back,” he said quietly in a firm voice. “Radio in once you're a safe distance away.”
His dad and uncle exchanged looks of mingled concern and irritation, then his dad sighed. “Be careful, son.”
The volunteers collected the missile launcher and two missiles they'd brought with them, in the faint hope they'd have a chance to hit at the highway, and slipped back up the slope, leaving Lewis and his wife alone. He motioned for Jane to take the lead, and she eased her way along a route that would shadow the course of the blockheads on the opposite slope.
The blockheads were good, he had to give them that. Although they obviously weren't expecting company and seemed to prefer speed to stealth on their patrol, they moved with the sort of fluid grace that suggested they could disappear into the underbrush in a moment if they sensed a threat.
And they were vigilant for that threat: those in front watched ahead, those in back behind, and those in the middle to the sides. But in spite of that each and every man among them was aware of his surroundings, ready to pick up the slack if his companions failed. Lewis and Jane were no slouches when it came to tracking without being seen, and they were over a thousand yards away, but even so he felt his skin crawl every time one of those bandanna-covered faces turned his way.
He was willing to entertain the idea that going after these guys was a mistake.
Over the next couple hours they trailed the blockheads north along their respective opposite mountainsides, across a valley, and up another perpendicular slope to a ridge. Near the top they finally got word from the others, although it wasn't very reliable; even though they were close to the highest point in sight, and presumably so was his dad, the transmission was so garbled he only caught one word in five.
It took almost ten minutes to confirm the simple message that the volunteers had reached safety, and as far as they could tell the way back was clear. Lewis signed off and glanced at Jane, crouched behind a tree ahead. His wife motioned, and he eased over to join her.
The enemy was slowing down, looking as if they were about ready to break for lunch. That was a good time to hit them, since their guard might be down while eating. Jane's sky blue eyes reflected the same realization, and she nodded and started forward again.
It was slow going catching up to a wary enemy, and even though the blockheads did stop about ten minutes later, they were almost finished with their meal before Lewis was satisfied that he and his wife were close enough to effectively target them. Hopefully while still being far enough away to make a clean escape.
They found good spots to mount their weapons and began getting ready, part of those preparations being planning which route they'd take to get away. “Remember,” Lewis said quietly, watching the way the trees moved around the blockheads to assess windage. “We take a few out, just enough to spook them and make them realize these mountains aren't theirs. Then we're gone.”
“Preaching to the choir, honey,” Jane murmured, cheek hovering above the stock of her .308. “I'm ready.”
He took a breath, sighting on his target and willing his arms, his body, and the rifle to be still. Halfway through releasing the breath he slowly squeezed the trigger.
The report of Jane's rifle sounded only moments after his, like an echo across the wooded hills, and his target and the man next to him both dropped. Lewis was already shifting to another target, pulling the trigger just short of the break in preparation.
He couldn't afford to be as accurate this time, but he couldn't afford to miss either. A hasty shot on a surprised target that was still sitting motionless beat a well aimed shot against one scrambling for cover. His wavering crosshairs settled on the next soldier down the line, weaved as he steadied his aim, and he timed it so his rifle went still centered on the target just as he squeezed the trigger again.
In spite of firing her first shot later Jane's second shot came at almost the same time as his. After that the blockheads were scrambling for cover, leaving food and packs behind. Lewis abandoned attempts to aim, squeezing the trigger whenever his crosshairs settled for more than a moment on anything he thought he could hit. Jane was still firing slower, more methodically.
Ten shots in, while the enemy was still panicking and seeking cover, Lewis's instincts kicked in. He engaged the safety, snapped the bipod legs back against the barrel of his G3, and in a smooth motion slung it over his shoulder while resting a hand on Jane's back to alert her. She followed suit, fumbling slightly in her haste as she realized they might've stuck around longer than was safe.
Moments later they were sprinting down a fold in the slope, towards the evergreens densely lining the hillside below. There was a game trail there that was well concealed and led west in the direction they wanted to go.
The enemy was hundreds of yards behind, still hopefully scrambling to figure out what had just happened, let alone where their attackers had been shooting from. Even if they also sprinted they'd have trouble catching up, and long before then Lewis and Jane would've cut back to the more familiar terrain they'd taken to get here.
Coming the other way he'd seen a few good hiding spots, where they could conceal themselves to watc
h the trail behind them and see if they'd been pursued. Those spots would also give a good view of other approaches, in case the patrol had called in backup that was coming from other directions. Lewis wasn't about to assume they were in the clear, but he was optimistic.
Half a mile later they reached the first of those spots and dropped down behind cover, panting as they checked the trail behind them. To Lewis's dismay he saw that the enemy had sprinted to follow them. They didn't seem to know where exactly he and Jane were, moving too fast to do any proper tracking, but they were headed in the right direction.
“Do we try ambushing them again, slow them down or turn them back?” Jane whispered.
Against upwards of sixteen or seventeen enemy soldiers, who were obviously in good physical condition and were out for blood? Lewis shook his head. “They don't know exactly where we are, and running like that they're obviously hoping to flush us out. Let's try taking it slow in a different direction from the one they're going, see if we can slip away.”
Her short, coppery ponytail bobbed slightly as she turned to look at him. “What if we can't?”
Lewis reached up to touch the pocket on his combat vest that held a fragmentation grenade. “Then we find a choke point where they'll either have to clump up or string themselves out. Either way gives us a better chance of taking out enough of them to turn the rest back.”
His wife nodded, expression grim, and Lewis squeezed her shoulder before setting off.
Their fears were unfounded. The enemy patrol might've been good, but even they couldn't sprint and track at the same time. As Lewis and Jane veered south the blockheads kept going west, and within an hour they couldn't see or hear any sign of them. They turned for home, wary of the enemy reappearing or other patrols converging on their location, but there was no sign of either.
A couple hours after that they waved as they passed the defender sentry guarding the northeast corner of their territory, and Lewis felt tension ease out of him that he hadn't realized he still held.
It wasn't exactly the attack he'd hoped for, but all was well that ended well.
* * * * *
Trev volunteered to lead the hunting parties, those first few days after his failed ambush.
What remained of his squad seemed happy for the chance to get away from combat for a while. At the moment it was just him, Trent, Rob Jonas, Hans Miller, and Alice. Rick and Mason were still recovering from their wounds, while after losing her husband Susan Donnell had returned to the refuge to be with the rest of her family. Although nobody had begrudged her the decision, she'd still promised to join the defenders there as if she needed to justify leaving.
Since Matt had more than enough people to guard the slope, Trev didn't see any problem with heading west along and up it to reach a perpendicular mountainside, then going right up and over that one's ridge to the other side. He wanted to see if game was more plentiful there, which it was, and as an added bonus it was out of view of the valley and the constant looming presence of the blockheads there.
His group was fairly somber in spite of the change in scenery. Especially Alice, who seemed to carry the weight of Tom and Fred dying and Rick being wounded almost as much as Trev did. With his permission she spent a lot of time with Rick, so it was a surprise to have her come out with them on the fifth day since the ambush.
Trev still felt a twinge every time he bent or twisted sharply, but it was nothing compared to the first day. His bruises had been a burning mass throbbing across his back by the end of that hunt, and he'd been physically incapable of helping carry the buck they'd brought down.
Today he had no trouble handling his half of another field dressed buck, wrapped in a tarp and slung from an aspen sapling between him and Trent, that they were bringing in. Behind them Rob, Alice, and Hans were spelling each other carrying a smaller doe they'd also brought down. The hunting had been good that afternoon.
They'd topped the ridge and were making their way along and down the slope, halfway back to Matt's camp, when they reached an overlook in the trail that provided a good view of the valley below.
It seemed like a good spot to rest and get some water, so Trev called a break and set down his end of the sapling with a soft groan of relief. Behind him Trent set down the other end with an expression like he had another five miles in him, while farther back the trail Alice and Rob dropped the doe with similar relieved noises.
Hans had already edged past them to the overlook, staring down at the valley below as he took a sip of water from a stainless steel canteen. When Trev stepped up beside him he handed the water over, and Trev nodded in thanks as he took a drink.
“I still don't get why the blockheads don't just rush us with everyone they've got,” Hans said, eyes on a convoy crawling its way towards Huntington on a side road to get around a damaged section of Highway 10. “All those thousands of troops, and we've only got a few hundred to stop them. They're losing so many anyway, they might as well do it rolling over us like a tide over a sand castle.”
Trev handed the canteen and cap back over, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “It'd be pointless.”
The slightly haggard man turned to look at him. “Pointless? I thought taking the mountains was the whole point.”
“With access to roads, maybe.” Trev motioned to the slope below. “Let's say the blockheads spend a thousand lives taking that and the other slopes overlooking the valley. So what? They'd be coming after us, on foot, climbing steep mountainsides under fire from fighters in fortified emplacements. Let's say they actually manage it. At that point there's another line of slopes beyond these ones that we can retreat to and make them do it all over again. So they've wasted a lot of lives to take some hills and they're in the same position.”
Trent joined them, waving off Hans's canteen as he produced his own plastic water bottle. “It's not quite that cut and dried.”
Trev glanced at Hans. “Things usually aren't. How do you see it?”
The squad's new member gulped down some water before answering. “Sure, as long as we've got people and ammo and they're only coming from the one side, it probably plays out like that. But if they manage to completely break through somewhere, and do it before we can regroup and send reinforcements, they get to flood into the gap and swarm across the hills. At that point it's easy to attack us from behind and to the sides. Same thing if they kill us all in the attack, and there's no one left to go defend the next slope along. Or if we run out of bullets and they can walk right up to us and shoot us in the face.”
“Can we not talk about this?” Alice asked in a soft voice. They turned to find her sitting on a rock nearby, back to the view below. She'd begun to shake slightly.
Trev shared a look with the others. “Sure. It's a nice day, no need to spoil it.”
A slightly awkward silence settled, no one coming up with anything else to discuss. Trev called an end to the rest soon afterwards, and everyone seemed relieved to get back to carrying their meat back to camp.
Matt met them along the way, carrying a few jackrabbits from snares they'd set up. “Looks like we'll be eating well tonight,” he said with a smile as he fell into step beside Trev.
“This dinner, at least,” Trev replied, drawing a few annoyed sounds from his squad mates.
They were giving everything they could spare to Harmon to feed the other fighters, eating from meal to meal. It provided a good incentive to have a successful hunt or place their snares in good locations, but it also meant they'd missed a few meals. Although on the plus side everyone was getting a lot better at gathering edible plants, since in a strange quirk nobody considered those something that needed to be shared with Harmon to be distributed.
His friend ignored the almost complaint. “Listen, Trev, your people are doing a great job hunting. But there are other jobs we need to do out here.”
Meaning patrol and sentry duty. Matt's squad had generously let Trev's squad have the less stressful hunting jobs, out of respect for what they'd been through,
but it wasn't fair to make it a permanent arrangement. “Okay sure. We'll hop into the rotation with the next shift.”
He'd tried to keep his voice casual, but Matt must've caught a bit of Trev's unease at the prospect of being out there again, where his squad mates might run into the enemy. His friend glanced back at Rob, who was walking at the back now that Hans had taken over carrying his end of the doe. “Hey, could you spell Trev for a second? I need to talk to him.”
“Sure.” Rob trotted up the line, and Trev reluctantly handed the sapling over to him and let Matt lead him ahead towards camp.
“Going to give me a pep talk?” he asked once they were far enough away.
“Something like that.” Matt sucked in a breath. “Listen, Trev, I know you're not taking this easy. Believe me, I get it. I went through the same thing after attacking the raider camp and losing so many people. It's the sort of thing you can't really understand unless you've been through it yourself.”
Trev looked away. “Yeah.”
“We plan and we prepare as well as we know how, but sometimes we make mistakes that get people killed,” Matt continued. “And it hurts, but the only way past it is to keep going. Keep doing the best you can and hope it's good enough, then keep going even when it's not. Nobody else expects you to be perfect; even after what happened your squad mates still trust you as their leader. But you also need to trust yourself.”
“I know.” Trev took a shaky breath. “I'll get there eventually. Getting back into the shift rotation will probably help.”
His friend patted him on the shoulder. “You know I'm here if you need to talk. It doesn't even have to be about what happened. It'd be good to just hang out, get out of our heads and find something to think about besides what's staring us in the face every day.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” Trev glanced back. “I want to make sure everyone in my squad is okay with getting out there again too. Especially Alice.”
“Okay.” Matt patted the rabbits on his belt. “This is probably enough for our dinner. Why don't you take the deer straight down to 31? It'll save you a bit of walking, at least.”