“So what do we do?”
“I don’t know,” Stryker replied. “You see how they are spread out in small groups of people?”
“Yes.”
“That’s why they have the Humvees with the Stingers on the racks. They are expecting another air attack and, at low altitude, the noise from the planes turbines would give them over a minute to man and deploy those weapons. It’s a death sentence for the pilots.”
They again glassed the area, and Stryker lingered on one of the semis parked below. He saw a tarp covering a stack of something at the front of the flatbed and concluded more weapons were below the covering.
“I would give anything to know what’s under those tarps,” Stryker murmured.
Erin lowered her binoculars and turned toward Stryker. “We may as well go get something to eat and some water. I don’t think they are going anywhere.”
“Yes, and I need to call Edwards and give him a situation report for the captain,” Stryker replied, lowering his binoculars and backing away from the ridge.
The Humvee was parked in a hollow a mile away and they moved silently until they reached the vehicle, and then sat down in the front seats and drank from water bottles.
Any given situation is packed with possibilities and they present themselves every minute of every waking moment. Stryker had long been processing them constantly almost without knowing he was doing it. It was a part of him that seemed to operate apart from the rest of his thoughts, almost like a parallel computer processor. Considering and evaluating each option with caution was something he never ceased doing. One decision taken, by definition, changed the remaining possibilities that presented themselves in the wake of the first decision. If you pick door one, and step through it, you will not face the same possibilities as you would if you selected door two. Some choices unlocked new opportunities and perils, while others might further limit your choices going forward. The choice Stryker faced now was complicated by the fact they could not use air support.
For one of the few times in his life, he could not formulate a plan to solve the problem.
“There’s more C-4 back at Pendleton,” he finally said. “We could try to find a way to take them out like the first time.”
“There are no overpasses between here and the city,” Erin replied.
“No tunnels either,” Stryker replied. The two fell silent for a moment, and then ate crackers from one of the MREs.
“I hate to call this in without even a suggestion of how to handle it,” Stryker finally said. “The fact is I don’t have an idea here.”
“Something will come to you,” Erin replied, patting his arm.
“Did you see how they traveled last night?” Stryker asked.
“I just saw the Humvees go by.”
“They were running with lights out and with around a hundred meters between each vehicle. I don’t know that explosives are going to do the trick either. With that kind of space discipline, we can’t take out more than one vehicle. And, even during the day they are so spread out when they camp, it wouldn’t work when they stop either.”
“What about letting them get into the city and taking them out there?” Erin asked with a note of hope in her voice.
“I don’t think that will change anything,” Stryker replied. “And, to be honest, the navy is not known for small arms training and small unit combat. If anything, those guys might be more of a liability that an asset. In a toe-to-toe fight, we would probably win, but it would be at a much higher cost and I want to avoid that.”
“So, what do we do now?”
“We just keep tabs on them until something occurs to us.”
“Call Edwards and explain things to him. He might come up with something.”
An hour later, Stryker called Edwards.
“Can you go to Captain Thomas’ office and call me back with you two on the speaker phone?”
“What’s this about?” Edwards replied.
“I’d rather not go through it twice. Just call me back.”
“Okay. Give me a few minutes.
“You got it.”
A few minutes later, the phone rang, and Stryker set it on the hood of the Humvee and hit the speaker button.
“Thomas here,” the captain said.
“I have a situation to report.”
“Go ahead.”
“We are observing a group of five hundred ISIS fighters camping around twenty miles west of Gila Bend,” Stryker said. A long silence ensued.
“Are they from the same group we attacked?” Edwards finally asked.
“My guess is yes.”
“Is there any possibility there was another landing?” Thomas asked.
“I guess so,” Stryker replied. “But, it’s more likely the group we thought was heading back to the ships. The number of terrorists is consistent with that theory. But, there is no way to be sure of that either. We just don’t know.”
“Do you want to dial up another air strike?” Thomas asked.
“I would love to,” Stryker admitted, “But, I don’t think that’s possible. They are traveling at night, without lights, and are spacing their vehicles about one hundred meters apart. During the day, they don’t mass and they have Stingers, apparently a lot of them, so an air strike is probably a suicide mission. If we can’t use designators, those pilots are going to be flying at close to stall speed and would be sitting ducks. I’m not sure it’s worth the risk.”
Another long pause followed. Stryker heard Thomas say something in the background and waited for them to finish their calculations.
“We could fly drones over them and, if they take the bait that would use up their Stingers. We could then launch a real attack.” Thomas said, his voice sounding doubtful even as he offered the possibility.
“How many drones do you have?” Stryker asked.
“Four, but they are surveillance drones and we don’t have hard points on them for weapons or a remote means to release bombs from the drones.”
“They have at least six Stingers mounted on Humvees and one of the semis has something hidden under a tarp. I am guessing those are more Stingers.”
“Oh,” Thomas replied with a note of disappointment.
“Yeah, I would love to know what is under the tarps, but there is no way to find out that I can see. If I had to guess, it would be that they have more Stingers, or some other air defense weapons.
“How long before they get here?” Thomas finally asked.
“My estimate is three days. They are moving slowly without the lights, so that is probably a good guesstimate. If they decide to travel during the day, or use headlights, we can cut that down to a single day, if we’re lucky.”
“Can you think of any reason they would do that?” Thomas asked.
“No.”
“Were you able to identify any leadership we could take out?” Edwards asked.
“I tried, but nobody stood out. They were in groups of six scattered over a large area and it was impossible to tell who, if anyone, is leading. If I could, I would have taken him with the Barrett and got the hell out of Dodge. I thought of that already.”
“Did you get a look at the lead Humvee when they passed the hotel?”
“No, it was already by our position and it would not have mattered, it was too dark to identify anyone.”
“Do you think they know we are here?” Thomas asked.
“I’m guessing that they do. We have to presume that because I’m assuming they got the Humvees and Stingers from Camp Stanly and, if they know where that was; they must know where the Naval Station is. It’s hard for me to believe anything else.”
“Do you think they are coming for us?” Thomas asked.
Stryker thought it over for a minute, and then said, “If it was me, I would do whatever it took to get the air assets off the table. They have to do that, or they know they can never be safe. They took Stingers for a reason.”
“What’s your assessment of a battle between the tw
o forces?” Thomas had a hopeful note in his voice.
“We would prevail, but it would be costly. They can do a lot of damage from a distance with those Stingers, and they probably won’t mass for an attack until they soften us up first. Before that happens, we could lose a lot of men and the base might not be very livable for quite some time.”
“I’m not anxious to turn this into the Alamo,” the captain muttered, his voice low.
“Me either,” Stryker replied. “Whatever we do, we need to find a battleground that is forward of the base, and take the fight to them.” There was a note of finality in his voice.
“Why do you say that?” Thomas asked.
“They are trained urban warfare fighters. That is most probably their combat experience, and my guess is they are probably pretty good at it. If they get in that environment, it’s going to be like trying to kill all the rats in the barn, and it could go on forever.”
“Are you coming in?” Edwards asked.
“I guess so,” Stryker replied. “I don’t have the means to do anything right now, and I don’t have a plan, so I guess we are not doing anything useful for the time being.”
“Anything else?” Thomas asked.
“Well, I would do what I could to get whatever weapons systems you have on the carrier ready to use against them if that’s possible, and see if you can find any crew-served weapons. I would also get some weapons from the SEAL base and get your men trained up on small arms. Edwards and I can come up with something and, with enough men who can shoot; we might be able to keep them away from the base. The last thing is to get the drones up and plot their progress toward the base every day so we have a better idea of how much time we have.”
“That will all happen today,” Thomas said.
“Edwards, how is everyone there?”
“Fine.”
“What about my pilot?” Thomas asked.
“We didn’t see him on the way here, and I plan on skirting the ISIS position and trying to find him on the way back. We can’t take too long looking for him; we need to be back there soon.”
“All right. Keep me informed,” the captain replied, and then hung up.
CHAPTER THREE
After taking a detour around the ISIS camp, they spent over an hour on the interstate, both watching their side of the vehicle for any sign of the pilot. The air grew warmer and the sun beat down on them with a relentless heat that started to border on the unbearable. Stryker wiped sweat from his forehead with his shirtsleeve every few minutes, and finally gave up, closed the window and turned on the air conditioning.
“That aircraft looks military,” Erin said as they drove past the Yuma airport, where a long line of aircraft hunkered down on the tarmac, anchored by cleats around the tires or, in some cases, tethered to posts that protruded up from the parking area.
“It is. That’s The Marine Corp Air Station. Those aircraft are AV-8B Harriers. They were used for close air support.”
“Why is it so far inland?” Erin asked.
“Well, it was a training base. So, there are air-to-ground weapons ranges and the area has almost perfect year round weather conditions, so they could pretty much train whenever they wanted.”
“I see commercial aircraft parked out there too?”
“It was a dual use airport. Saved a lot of money for the both the airport authority and the corps?”
“Do you suppose we’re going to find the pilot?” She asked.
“My guess is that’s him up ahead.”
Erin shifted her eyes forward and saw a man in a flight suit sitting on the back of an abandoned pickup that sat on the shoulder of the freeway. Stryker pulled up and braked to a stop, got out of the Humvee with his M-4 dangling from one hand, and approached the man, who gazed back with a look of mild curiosity.
“I take it you are the F-18 pilot?”
“That would be me?” He jumped to the ground and extended his hand. “John Glenn is the name.”
“I’m guessing that’s not a joke,” Stryker replied dryly.
“Well, no. My dad was a huge fan.”
Stryker examined the man more carefully. He was short and waiflike, with a slight build and a boyish cherubic face. A cowlick stood away from his head at an angle, and he had rosy cheeks. Stryker concluded that he looked like the child of Woody Woodpecker and Dennis the Menace, had they mated, were that possible. He briefly wondered when the navy started recruiting people that looked like twelve year old midgets.
“My guess is that you weren’t picked for the navy recruitment poster,” Stryker murmured.
“Well no, why do you ask?”
“Never mind.”
“And who are you?” He asked.
“Name is Stryker. Captain Thomas sent us to find you.”
His face split into a wide grin and he said, “Good, I was getting tired of walking. It was kind of lonely too. I’m used to having my weapons officer around.”
“The captain told me you guys were flying solo. I wasn’t expecting to find anybody else.”
“Do you have anything to eat?” He asked with an anxious look.
“Sure. Hop in and you can eat on the road.”
They walked back to the Humvee and Stryker introduced him to Erin, handed him an MRE from the back of the vehicle and started to walk around to the driver’s seat.
“He doesn’t look like John Glenn,” Erin said with an amused smile,
“No he doesn’t,” Stryker replied.
“I’ve never eaten one of these,” John said, looking down at the package with a confused expression.
“Are you hungry?” Stryker replied.
“Well, yes.”
“Then, you will figure it out. Get in. We need to get moving.”
Stryker handed the sat phone to Erin, and then said, “Can you call Edwards and let him know we found the missing astronaut?”
She made a quick call, and then shut the connection and handed the phone back to Stryker.
They left town limits a few minutes later and Stryker drove as he always did; His eyes never stopped moving as he examined the landscape they passed through, clicking to the four points of the compass and using the rear-view mirror.
John had figured out how to get the package open and was eating everything, with the exception of the main dish, which apparently eluded him because the warming pouches.
“How long before we get back?” he asked from the back seat.
When Stryker remained mute, Erin answered, “Two hours.”
“It will be nice to be back with my guys,” he said.
“I’m sure they missed you,” Stryker murmured.
“Why did they send you guys?”
“We are part of the group that found the ISIS formation and called in the air strike,” Erin answered. “We’ve been out in what’s left of the world for over two years, so it made sense to send us, and everyone else is busy getting the base running.” She glanced over at Stryker and saw he looked like a sculpture. He obviously was not interested in having a conversation with John.
John seemed to get the message and returned to attacking his food like a cannibal.
Stryker’s brain was incapable of not working on a problem. Once he started, he could no more stop himself from finding a solution than a Bulldog can relinquish a chew toy. So, he continued running possible solutions through his mind and discarding them as quickly as they occurred to him. He remained silent as the gears continued to grind through possibilities.
An hour later they were passing through the town of Alpine, California, and they had gained several hundred feet of elevation as they climbed up the east side of the mountains that separated the desert from the more lush environs of the coast.
Stryker glanced up and noted the cliffs on both sides of the road loomed upward around two hundred meters from the roadbed. He pulled over, stopped, and got out of the vehicle, and then looked up.
He glanced down the road to the west and realized the cut made in the mountain when t
hey were building the road was close to a thousand meters long. He then glanced up again at the cliffs over the roadbed. His mind whirred through a blistering series of trajectory calculations for gunfire coming off the ridgetops, aimed down, and others that expressed the geometry of gunfire from below directed at the higher ground.
Perfect,” he whispered. “Just perfect.”
“What’s going on?” Erin asked as she approached.
“This is the perfect ambush point. Look at the ridgeline; there are natural firing ports up there, where you see lower areas surrounded by higher ones all along the top of the cut. No gunfire can reach those points unless it’s fired from directly below those points.” His voice was low and excited. “I’ve driven through this town many times, but never really noticed how perfect a spot it was.”
“Maybe you weren’t looking.”
“I guess not.”
“Well, okay.” Erin shrugged. “Tell me why this is so good.”
“Check out the length of this cut.” he continued. It’s right around the length of the ISIS column.”
“So, what’s the plan?”
“We could place claymores on both sides of the road spaced at around one hundred meters apart, blow them, drop grenades from above, and then clean up with small arms fire,” Stryker replied. “I don’t see how that would not work.”
“How will we know when they are in the cut?” Erin asked.
“Thomas has four drones. We fly them over the Interstate and, when they are a day away, we plant the claymores and wait for them to show up.” A huge smile split his face. “Damn, it was right in front of me all the time.”
“I’m glad it occurred to you. Can we get back to the base now?”
“Sure, let’s go.”
They arrived at the Naval Station and passed through the gates, still flanked by Humvees with Ma Deuces on mounts, and pulled up in front of Thomas’ office. Stryker killed the engine and got out in time to see Thomas emerge from the front door of the building and walk up to John and embrace him with a fierce hug.
STRYKER - OMNIBUS: BOOKS 3-5: A Post Apocalyptic Tale Page 19