by Nathan Jones
“It went. We got their trucks, at least, and one or two emplacements. The blockheads scattered like roaches at that point, and Sergeant Harmon and the others pursued them in a cautious but exuberant manner. In the meantime Abrams and I brought the remaining missiles and launchers, for which there was little use against the currently dispersed enemy targets, to haul your collective bacons off the fire. I figured I'd lost enough good people today.” Davis's eyes tightened. “The dogs killed Peterson and Anders before running.”
They'd all known it was coming, but a heavy feeling still settled over Trev. “I'm sorry, Sarge.”
The Marine sighed, shoulders sagging. “I don't know, maybe a quick death was a mercy.” Abruptly straightening, he turned and looked over the ragged prisoners gathered in an uncertain mob around the medics, just inside the treeline.
For once Davis tried to inject a bit of warmth into his voice. “You escaped,” he said loudly but with feeling. “And I'm glad for that. Now that you're in the mountains you'll have the protection of the United States Armed Forces, and as long as we can hold off the enemy no harm will come to you.”
There were a few grateful murmurs, but the majority of the newly freed men and women just listened silently. For his part Trev tensed slightly. Was this a recruitment speech? These poor people had already suffered so much.
He was half right. The sergeant continued. “As you might be aware, the people who rescued you tonight are volunteers. Civilians, like yourselves, who picked up a gun to fight the blockheads. While escaping tonight, many of you also picked up a gun and fought. If you want to continue to do so, to fight to make sure you'll never suffer the Gold Bloc's tender mercies again, you're more than welcome. If not I'll send a few people along with you to the nearest civilian camp, deeper in the mountains where you'll be safe.”
Davis looked around, then clasped his hands behind his back. “It's not a decision to make lightly. You've been through a lot and could use a good meal and a night's sleep. Tomorrow morning I'll arrange the trip to the civilian camp for those who want to go. You'll have to walk, I'm afraid, and I can't offer much in the way of supplies, although of course you're entitled to everything you took from the enemy. If you set a good pace you can be there before nightfall.”
An uncertain silence settled as people processed that. In that silence the sergeant turned to look at everyone. “All right, people! The danger's passed but we're not quite home yet. Let's get you all to our camp and get you dinner and a bed. Tomorrow we'll observe a proper mourning period for all your fellow prisoners who didn't make it, but for tonight we can be grateful for those who did.” He waved towards the Aspen Hill volunteers. “Smith, Halsson, our priority is the wounded first. Come on, move it!”
The Aspen Hill volunteers quickly got to work helping the medics finish stabilizing the most injured, then moving them onto the stretchers they'd brought. At that point they left most of the medics behind to tend the other wounded, while the last two medics helped them carry the stretchers along the most level, easy route Trev knew of.
Most of the freed prisoners were long gone by then, following Davis back to camp. But Deb had remained with Alice, and as Trev and Gutierrez worked together to carry a stretcher she came to walk beside him.
“I want to join up with you,” she said.
Trev wasn't sure how he felt about that. He'd seen the trouble Pete had caused Matt before running off, and although he liked Deb he wasn't certain of her mental state. Not to mention that when it came to firing Rick's pistol she'd been enthusiastic rather than competent, and that was putting it as nicely as he could.
“That's a possibility, once you've received some training with the others who volunteer,” he hedged. “Davis will want to make sure you're ready before you go out and fight.”
The brown-haired woman met his eyes stubbornly. “I was talking to Alice, and she said just about everyone in your squad started out as inexperienced as me. They all learned as they went, and I can too.”
Trev shook his head, fighting irritation at his squad mate. What kind of stories was she telling? “That's not exactly how it works. We spent a long time training together before we were ready to go out and fight, and now we are going out and fighting. Things will probably end badly for you if I let you just jump in unprepared.”
Deb didn't look happy about it, but she nodded reluctantly. “I guess I'll train, then. As long as you promise me that once I'm ready there's a place for me in your squad.”
That wasn't a promise he wanted to make, but he felt he should at least offer something. “If I decide you are. And if Davis doesn't have some other duty for you and the rest of the new volunteers.”
The brown-haired woman's lips pulled up hesitantly, the first smile he'd seen from her since discovering her in the barn. Even seen with night vision it made her look decades younger. Or, he supposed, closer to her actual age after everything she'd been through.
“Thanks.” Deb hesitated. “And thank you again for saving us. You have no idea what you took us away from.” She leaned in to give him a quick hug, careful not to jostle the stretcher. Then, after a slightly awkward pause, she turned and headed back down the trail to rejoin Alice, who was with a few of their less muscular squad mates carrying equipment.
Chapter Sixteen
Ups and Downs
Trev wasn't sure if it was because of their raid on the depot, but over the next two weeks the blockheads started stepping up their attacks.
They never committed to anything major, but instead tried for the same types of harassment techniques Lewis had used up near Aspen Hill, sending out probes of one or two squads. The probes were careful, obviously intended to draw out Davis's fighters into a more vulnerable position without exposing the blockheads to too much risk. Unfortunately those lures also came with consequences for not taking the bait, so they couldn't just be ignored.
Specifically, the enemy was finally putting their tanks to work. The probes would mark the positions of emplacements up on the mountain. Then, if they couldn't draw the fighters out of those emplacements for an ambush, the tanks would roll in and shell them. Depending on the situation, the probes would then be there to attack the fighters scrambling to escape the shelling.
That was pretty bad, but after the first couple times the solution was obvious; abandon the emplacements, scatter across the slopes in individual foxholes, and hunker down when the shelling started, popping up between shots to fire at the blockhead squads.
It got a bit more hairy when the blockheads began using that same strategy, except with snipers instead of tanks. Or even worse switching up between the two. The more scattered foxholes were vulnerable to getting picked off by sniper teams, and any time the fighters grouped up or sent in reinforcements the tanks rolled in. The blockheads also started using rocket-propelled grenades more often, with a similar result to the tank shelling but with much less warning.
All that started to take its toll, especially since the enemy was relentless in their attacks. All along every front, completely surrounding the territory held by the military, the enemy gave them no breathing room, no chance to rest and recover. Gunfire and the sound of explosions became a common backdrop to Trev's routine; just from Davis's stretch of territory, between Highway 31 and Aspen Hill, casualty reports of wounded and dead were called in practically every day.
Few attacks came along the highway itself, but the southern slope received its fair share. Luckily they weren't one of the first to be shelled, and Lewis was able to change their strategy before the tanks rolled in. In doing so he prevented any deaths from shelling, although they still lost their emplacements. And over time a few of their people fell to sniper attacks.
But in spite of frequent pressure by the blockheads, the Aspen Hill volunteers were one of the few groups that still managed to send attacks of their own into the valley. Led by Lewis, and nothing anywhere near as ambitious as blowing up the armory or rescuing the depot's prisoners, the attacks mostly involved carefully mo
ving fighters into position to snipe enemy emplacements, then coming home.
They did stage one major attack, aided by Davis. Word reached them from Lassiter's forces along I-70 that a lone truck carrying prisoners was headed their way. With the sergeant's help they were able to ambush the truck, kill the soldiers riding in the cab, and free twenty-two US citizens.
While the ambushing party retreated to the safety of the foothills due west, towards a team of Aspen Hill volunteers waiting to cover them there, Trev and Jane drove the truck full of prisoners as close to those foothills as they could along side roads. Then they unloaded the shaken and disheveled men and women and led them to freedom.
The rest of the rescuers, coming behind on foot, stopped at the truck just long enough to strip it of anything useful, then permanently disabled the vehicle. There was no road available nearby to bring it up into the mountains, and even if there had been the blockheads would've been guarding it too closely to attempt breaking through. Not to mention the risk of driving any distance through enemy territory to reach that road.
Even without capturing the truck the rescue was still a massive success, and there wasn't a person involved who didn't feel pride at saving the prisoners from the fate that awaited them.
Bringing those people to safety, their ordeal finally over, would've been Trev's high point for the two weeks. It still probably was, although a close second came when Harmon radioed everyone with good news on the afternoon of the last day of July, the eighth day since the attack on the depot.
“I normally prefer to keep the airwaves clear,” the sergeant admitted. “But this is worth an exception. Word has reached us that Canada is in open revolt against their Gold Bloc occupiers.”
For a moment Trev, on patrol along the southern slope, just stared ahead in shock, taking in the news. Then he whooped. The rest of his team quickly followed, and he heard more cheers from the direction of their camp.
Lewis's voice cut into the silence on the airwaves following that bombshell. “How did it happen?”
“I was getting to that.” Harmon sounded cheerful rather than annoyed. “It started when the Canadians began looking into large numbers of American prisoners being brought across their borders, to the Gold Bloc civilian camps. The blockheads were supposed to be moving people out of those camps, not into them, since that's where their settlers wait to be relocated to conquered territories.
“It didn't take long for the Canadians to discover that the prisoners were being used as slave labor. That plus horrific details about how they were being mistreated, including overwork, beatings, starvation, and rape and forced prostitution, were enough to make the Canadians cut off all supplies and military support to the Gold Bloc.”
Trev shuddered, thinking of a prison camp like the one he and his family had escaped from, only without even a trace of compassion or humanity from their blockhead captors. He was glad they'd managed to get away, and equally glad he'd been able to help other prisoners escape that fate.
He was also more than happy to push aside those unpleasant thoughts and listen as Harmon continued. “Losing that support compelled Gold Bloc troops to turn on their hosts, capturing vital Canadian facilities and supply storehouses. Which pretty much incited our northern neighbors from simply withdrawing support to outright revolution. We've yet to see how this will affect us down here, but the results can only be good.”
For Trev the ramifications of the news were obvious, and major. Without supplies the Gold Bloc forces surrounding them would quickly run out of gas, literally as well as figuratively. They'd have to withdraw, not just here but possibly from other areas of the US as well. Or at the very least they'd lose most of their mobility and would be reduced to the same sort of low tech, asymmetrical warfare the US remnants relied on.
This could explain why the enemy had stepped up their attacks, not out of retribution but out of desperation. Even more than that, it might be the first step to a real and permanent victory. Even though the blockheads outnumbered them, even with the enemy's supply lines, somehow the US remnants had managed to outlast them. They just had to hold out a little longer and it might all be over soon.
The blockheads didn't give them a chance to really appreciate Harmon's news, staging a series of attacks up and down the range that had them scrambling all day. Still, in spite of that there was a mood of subdued celebration in the camps that persisted for days afterwards.
Two weeks after gaining their freedom, the freed prisoners who'd volunteered to join Davis finished their training. It provided a welcome reprieve for everyone after weeks of tension interrupted by minor attacks, since it meant almost fifty recruits were ready to be rotated in. Those who needed the rest most could finally get it, without needing to weaken their defenses anywhere.
Trev was surprised to discover that the Aspen Hill volunteers were inundated with offers to join from the recruits. He supposed that made sense, considering the role they'd played in freeing the prisoners, but he'd never expected anyone to be fighting for the chance to join his squad.
He didn't forget his promise to Deb. Once the offers started rolling in he spent some time talking about her performance, along with her temperament, with Abrams and the veteran volunteers who'd helped with the training.
The brown-haired woman hadn't stood out, either by excelling or by falling behind, but those who'd worked with her said she was determined and had put in a lot of effort. Not the easiest thing to do when recovering from a month of deprivation and mistreatment, but she hadn't complained.
Her trainers, women who'd volunteered to work with Deb and the other female recruits out of consideration for what they'd suffered, did mention that she might have potential issues recovering from her trauma. But since the same could be said for the majority of the escaped prisoners, both men and women, that was an issue they'd all have to handle as best they could.
So Trev sought Deb out to let her know she was welcome in his squad.
On the way he ran into Grant, the second recruit he'd asked around about, and invited him to join the squad as well. Grant was the man Trev had loaned his 1911 to during the escape, and he'd kindly kept hold of it to return afterwards. From what Trev had heard he'd also done well in training, not just with his drilling and target practice but in following orders and working well with his squad.
The one reservation his trainers had was that he tended to keep to himself when he could, but Trev had plenty of experience with people like that. Such as Jane, who was leading a squad but still did her best to avoid people when off duty, or even Lewis at times.
The gaunt man was only too happy to accept his offer, and agreed to meet him back at their camp once he'd gathered his things. Trev continued on to the women's section of the recruit camp and, keeping to the fringes, spied Deb eating next to a campfire and called her name. She looked up, wary, but perked up when she recognized him, quickly setting her plate aside to make her way over to him.
The last two weeks had done the brown-haired woman an astonishing amount of good. Most of the haggardness had faded from her features and she looked more like her actual age, if a bit weathered by what she'd been through. Her eyes were also clearer, calmer, unlike the wild swings between blank passivity and uncontrolled emotion he'd seen from her just after she'd been freed.
Trev was glad. He hadn't had time to think about much but the fighting since freeing her, but he had worried about her welfare, her and the other freed prisoners. They'd been through a lot, and throwing them into combat training to prepare them for fighting didn't seem like the best therapy.
But maybe her sense of purpose had pulled her through whatever dark places she'd had to navigate, or at least allowed her to focus on something besides her time as a prisoner.
“Am I in?” she asked.
Trev nodded. “If you're still interested we'd be happy to have you.”
For the second time since finding her in that cage he saw her smile, a slightly painful thing but showing a lot of her former s
elf. “And Davis approved the assignment?”
Trev nodded. “He gave us first pick, since everyone was asking for us. Lewis will give him the names once we've filled our squads.”
“Okay.” She turned and hurried to gather up her things, showing the slightly hesitant steps of a recovering patient in spite of her enthusiasm.
Along with the tattered clothes on her back, the sum of her worldly possessions were made up of the weapons and gear she'd been issued after finishing her training, her blanket and some coarse sacks that could be stuffed with grass for padding, and a bright red coat that would make her a target for miles if she had to use it. Which she probably would.
Trev offered to carry the large bundle for her, more out of necessity than chivalry since he doubted she could get far with it, and was relieved when she gratefully handed them over. He half wondered if he wouldn't have to offer her his arm as well, but she kept up as he started along the trail between the two camps.
* * * * *
Matt worked nonstop to build the town's new valley refuge, from the moment he woke up at first light to the moment he collapsed in bed beside Sam just after full dark.
And he couldn't have been happier about it. He worked beside family and friends, got to take his breaks and meals in the company of his wife and parents and other loved ones, and everything he did secured a better future for those he cared about.
Yes, the work often left him so sore that he moved like an old man getting dressed in the morning, and was usually the backbreaking sort that had put overworked men into early graves throughout much of human history. And yes, he sometimes felt quiet moments of despair when he thought about just how much there still was left to do, and how difficult things would be for a long time before they got any easier.
But he was back in the community, with family. He didn't have to start awake at any loud noise, fearing it was the prelude to an attack. He didn't have to face enemies who wanted to kill him, and grieve at being unable to save those they did kill. He had the luxury of looking to the future, rather than facing the immediate grinding weight of imminent extermination. He didn't have to look out every day at an endless expanse of enemies in the valley below, with the knowledge that today could be the day they came for him.