by Paul Kirk
“Whatcha find out, Top?” asked Connor while the others gathered around.
“Well, sir, it’s a bit difficult to see under there, but some of those girders are pretty spattered with pigeonshit and they’re starting to flake rust, but my guess is that this bridge could stand another ten or twenty years if it’s untouched. I’m not sure we have enough explosives to drop it in the river, colonel.”
“I found the same thing, sir,” added BB. “At the north abutment, there’s some serious rust on the bearing plates, but there’s a lot of material left. It’s a solid connection, colonel.”
“Captain Daubney, what about you?” asked Connor.
“It’s a sturdy bridge, colonel—built to last, but it’s possible to bring it down.”
“How would you go about it, captain?”
“It’s supported by a single arch, sir,” said Daubney, pointing skyward. “We could set small charges at the apex of each of the two arches and split them. It’s the most vulnerable point on the bridge.”
“You sound skeptical of your own plan, captain.”
“Yes, sir. There are two flaws, colonel. One is that we don’t have a remote detonator—we’d have to set a fuse and I’m not sure we have one long enough that would allow whoever lit it to get away safely.”
“What’s the other flaw, captain.”
“The other flaw, colonel, is that engineers build bridges with double and triple redundancy. Sure, the top of that arch is its weak point, but I can’t guarantee that severing it would put the bridge in the river.”
“Edgars? Anything to add?”
“No, sir, except that the bridge is rusting away. But I’m with the first sergeant, colonel—it’s gonna take a decade or two for this thing to fail.”
“Okay, guys, it was worth the effort to try, but I think we gotta give up our hope of destroying this bridge. Let's move out."
“We’re ready to go, sir,” answered Mickey for all of them.
“Okay, good. Captain Daubney, same setup. Assign a two-man team for front guard and two two-man teams for rear guard. Change ‘em out every hour.”
“Yes, sir.”
The five men walked briskly to where the main force was and as Connor passed by John McLeod, he said “you’re with me, major.”
“Okay, colonel.”
The two men walked south at a quick pace, John McLeod leading his horse. The front guards sprinted past them and were eventually lost in the shadows of each side of the road. If they did their job right, Connor would have trouble spotting them.
“That’s a bit disappointing, Mac.”
“What’s that, John?”
“Not being able to blow the bridge.”
“It doesn’t matter. It would have slowed Phoenix down, but it wouldn’t have stopped him. If we can keep moving ahead of him, we’ll be okay.”
“Whatcha find out back there, Mac? Why’d you decide to leave the bridge?”
“Well, if we had enough explosives, I would’ve tackled it, but we don’t have enough to put it down and I’m not willing to take the chance with the last of our C4.”
They continued their easy stride chewing up the miles. The entire unit, except the front and rear guards, kept pace with the two. The speed of their pace was beyond the stealthy comfort level usually kept in unknown territory. The upside was that they made good time throughout the night, stopping only for brief rests and slowing only for sounds that weren’t immediately identifiable.
It was Marty’s second turn at front guard when he returned to Connor’s position at a fast trot.
“Mac, there’s a town over the crest of the next hill.”
“Yeah, I thought it might be coming up, Surf Boy. Let’s go take a look. Captain Daubney, call a halt, set a couple of perimeter guards, and I want you to join me for a little recon on top of that hill. Get BB, Roger, and Mickey to join us. John and Surf Boy can come with us, too. Captain, you can catch up. Let’s go.”
They double-timed it to the top of the hill and studied the town with night vision binoculars. Captain Daubney and the rest of the team reached them thirty seconds later.
“What town is this, colonel?” asked the captain.
“It’s Perryopolis, captain,” answered Connor, studying the signs along the road only a few hundred yards away. Trespassers will be shot. No questions asked read one. Turn around now and you won’t die said another.
“They’re a friendly bunch,” grumbled Mickey. “What are we walking into here, sir?”
Connor smiled as he studied the distant town. “That’s a quaint little town, Top. Well, it used to be.”
“How much distance do you think we put between us and Phoenix, colonel?” asked McLeod.
“We got some breathing room for now, major.”
“Yeah, colonel, I’m sure we have some breathing room, but how far do you think we’re ahead of them?” asked Captain Daubney.
“We made about twenty-five miles so far, captain. Pretty damn good march. Make sure you all let your men know I’m pleased.”
“They’re used to traveling, colonel. Are we going down there?”
“No, captain. We rest here. We’ll break for four hours sleep here while you, Surf Boy, BB, Mickey, Roger and I go check out Perryopolis before we move on past.”
“Where do you think Phoenix is now?” asked Marty. He came closer after hearing his name mentioned.
“I'm not sure, Surf Boy. Way I figure it, they’re probably trying to regroup somewhere on Route 51 heading south like us. We tried to throw ‘em off our trail with hoof prints and footprints leading in other directions, but I’m sure their trackers figured that out quick enough. Hey BB?”
“Yeah, Mac?”
“You estimated, what, those tracks might slow ‘em down for about an hour?”
“Yeah, if that.”
“I figure they’ll try to regroup at the Route 51 intersection,” suggested Connor.
“If I may speak some of that ‘psychobabble’?”
“C’mon, John. Say what you have to say.”
“Psychologically, they’ve had some serious setbacks in the last twenty-four hours, especially this evening. Several major negative emotional disruptions have occurred that even a psychopath like Phoenix will have to accommodate. And, I venture to say this was probably the first night that army’s ran straight through without setting camp. Sleep deprivation may come into play.”
“Yeah, go on,” said Connor.
“If they’re sending men up that road, um, Route 51, trying to catch us like you thought and they had to redirect those trucks and equipment off side roads and back on, yeah, that intersection of Route 51 and Brownsville Road is a good spot to reconvene for so many men. Of course, I imagine they’ll send an advance unit of those horse riders once it’s light out.”
“I agree. I've been wondering why they didn’t use them after we took our shots at them in Pittsburgh. Any other thoughts?”
“I think Phoenix’s army was in full tracking mode back in town. They hadn’t met up with any resistance or a force to challenge them,” said Captain Daubney. BB nodded in agreement.
“Good point. Sure, but it had to have pissed them off,” said Connor.
“Oh, I bet it did. But, I bet Renaldo’s little stunt did more to piss him off than Phoenix has experienced in a long, long time. A true psychological blow to his frail ego,” said John.
“Colonel,” interrupted Mickey. He lowered his nightvision binoculars and held them out for use, “put your eyes on either side of the road that leads to that gate, sir.”
“Whatta ya got, Top?” asked Connor, reaching for his binoculars.
“There's bodies hanging from pikes on each side of the road leading up from the town, sir.”
Connor focused on the gate. It was nearly a quarter a mile away, its distance and the darkness making his task more difficult. Though he found it tough to make out any details about the gate, it looked formidable. As his eyes adjusted to the limited lighting and the strange
contrast of nightvision images, Connor discovered what had caught the first sergeant’s attention.
Twenty hanging corpses came into focus. Ten hung on long pikes spaced about thirty feet apart on each side of the road and though further details were sketchy, Connor got the impression that these hanging bodies were skeletons.
"Hmm," said Connor, "Doing an end-around this town will take too long. But passing through Perryopolis might be more difficult than I had expected."
"So what do you want to do, sir?" asked BB.
"We do what we do best. We recon. We find an acceptable solution. Let's move."
CHAPTER 9.18-Seeking Answers
“Where’s that damn Rat Pack?” asked Phoenix. He rested on a green army cot near the main doors of the McDonald's restaurant. The faint light of dawn was better there.
“They're heading south on Route 51,” said Larry Reed.
“Where’s Luke and his team?”
“I put ‘em on ice like you asked. They’re sittin’ in that Slater funeral home across the street. Probably catching some shut eye waiting for mess.”
“An apt place for ‘em. Good.”
“He’s not happy ‘bout it, nephew.”
“Fuck ‘im.”
“Blistering him out there last night in front of his men probably didn’t help matters,” suggested Larry.
“You his mother now?”
“No. Just givin’ it to you straight.”
“Luke needs to be reminded that I reward for success. He had his chance.”
“Yeah, well, he’s developed a loyal following since we left the city. The men seem taken by him, his single-minded drive and passion. His skills.”
“It’s why I put ‘im third in charge, but he, and the men, need to be reminded that I only reward results, something that skinny wolf-faced bastard failed to deliver.”
“Well, that’s true.”
“Anyway, how we situated?”
“All trucks and gear accounted for…we got—”
“Uncle?”
“Yeah, Phoenix.”
“No sugar-coating. Lay it all out for me. Full report.”
“Okay.”
“Walk with me.” Phoenix stood, grimacing slightly. Larry Reed pretended not to notice. A slender man sitting on a milk crate behind the cot stood along with Phoenix. The shotgun in his hands was a natural extension of his movements. The Sig Sauer in his shoulder holster was within easy reach. Phoenix waved him away. “Stay here on this one, Tippy.”
“Yes, sir.” Tippy Cup sat down, grateful for the respite.
Phoenix and Larry Reed passed through a cluster of log-sups near the doorway. They were deep in the middle of planning the next phase of the expedition. Pointedly ignoring his uncle’s limp, Larry forced himself to walk as normally as possible and pushed out of the busted door of the dilapidated McDonald’s. Positioned on the corner of Brownsville Road and Route 51, it made for an excellent regrouping after the bungled night.
Most of the time, Larry was able to ignore the pain in his thigh and was pleased to see that the second bandage placed on the wound seeped very little blood. Keeping a slow pace, they walked toward the mess tent in the back parking lot. He heard his stomach growl at the thought of food. An hour past dawn, the men nearby made concerted efforts to appear alert and energized, despite their fatigue. They also took great care to ignore the stilted walk and occasional outright limp of Phoenix or the short, sometimes hesitant step of Larry. No men dared to sit and eat within sight of either man until, or unless, the order was given to make camp. All around, the men not yet assigned to the mess hall tried to appear busy, prepping for the upcoming southern march. They were under the impression that they would continue after the men that had disrupted their night’s sleep.
Larry studied the overcrowded intersection to his left. The brigade commanders were reorganizing men and equipment efficiently into full brigade strengths. The men controlling horses sought space for the task, most drifting toward the asphalt of a large gas station and the parking lot nearby. Commander Kaiden was especially charged up, berating a man who had stumbled directly in front of him. The trucks and other vehicles were converging and organizing in the road, pointing south. Larry pointed.
“Take a look around, Phoenix. The men need sleep. So do you.”
“You tellin’ me what I need now?”
“That foot needs rest.”
“Fuck it.”
“Yeah, that's exactly what your foot needs to heal.”
“It’s been treated. So is your leg.”
“Sure, Phoenix.”
“I’ll not let my foot slow me down finding that Rat Pack.”
“No, I guess not. Only, the thing is, when we do find them, you’ll be so damn weak, disabled and delirious from a foot infection that you won’t recognize Renaldo or…Gabriella, when we shove them naked in front of you.”
“The hell I won’t.”
“You gotta listen here, nephew! You’re going up against a team that’s like nothin’ we’ve seen before."
"I'll have their heads."
"These guys are top-notch professionals. Serious pros with serious weapons and years of experience in this kinda shit.”
“You don’t know that!”
“Yes, I do! So do you. That explosion was brilliant! It was a perfectly timed disruption and you know it. That crater was not meant to kill, but to slow us down. If you’re not at your best, Phoenix, we don’t stand a chance. You need rest, manic mood or not, you hafta rest. So do the men.”
Approaching the food line, Phoenix and Larry ignored the men slipping out of the way. Once near, Phoenix was immediately handed a grilled goose leg, which he accepted unceremoniously. He bit off a large chunk and ate without passion. Larry was handed his own goose leg and immediately buried his face in the meat as they both exited the tent. Outside the tent door, Larry reached into a plastic bin and pulled out a jug of water.
“How far do you think that professional Rat Pack got away from us?” Phoenix lifted his left hand to mimic quotes around the word, sneering with sarcasm. He bit into the goose leg with more passion. Walking slowly, they returned and entered the McDonald's restaurant.
“They’re human, they gotta sleep, too. So not far.”
“You think they ran all night.”
“Yeah, probably. I would.”
“Where you think they’re going?
“I dunno, Phoenix, several brigade leaders think these guys are heading to Washington, DC.”
“I see.”
“It’s on the right path.”
“Hunh. You think they’re going to hook up with Starkes somewhere on the way?”
“Don’t know. Though, the Bitch did fly over, as you might recall.”
“You pushing my buttons, uncle?”
“No, just not sugar-coating like you asked.”
“Good. Go on.”
“You think Starkes knows where this fuckin’ Rat Pack is? This Colonel Connor MacMillen?”
“It’s still only a possibility that the guys we’re huntin’ are Connor MacMillen and…I don’t know.” Larry Reed was not as sold on the fact that they were hunting this Colonel MacMillen, though Luke was sure they were on the path of the same unit that had interrupted their nighttime attack at the Hall.
“Uncle, I think this MacMillen was obviously here and so was the Bitch, as you so kindly pointed out. Perhaps they’re on the same path across country, don’t you think?”
“Not necessarily, I think that Bitch and her bird tracked us who was tracking a bunch of men, who could possibly be him, so, no, I’m not sold on the fact that they’re in any way connected. Though, based on what we know from Starkes' brief stay in Cleveland, they are looking for him, too.”
“You gotta think bigger, uncle. Think strategy more than tactics for a moment. It wouldn’t have been so hard for Starkes to find us like she did. But much earlier, you know? It’s not like we’re leaving a small carbon footprint.”
“That's true.
”
“But at the same time, I’m beginning to wonder—”
“Wonder what?”
“Well, we don’t see one hair of that Bitch on this entire excursion until she shows up in Pittsburgh, right when we start to hone in.”
“Good point. That’s true. We shoulda heard from her before this.”
“I know. That’s what I’m thinkin’.”
"I see.”
“I think somehow there’s a connection we’re missing here. That’s why I’m sold that the guys we're after are MacMillen and his Rat Pack friends. We should start thinkin’ of them as more of a coordinated team.”
“So how’s that change things?”
“Well, it makes me keep a closer eye in the sky as we track down our little rats for extermination.”
“Okay.”
“I want at least three RPGs ready to fire with men scanning the sky at all times. I will not be caught with my pants down again, you got me?”
“I do. That’s been a standing order since the hit.”
“Good. Now give me a full report of where we stand.”
“It's not pretty.”
“War never is, uncle. Lay it out now for me.”
“We got fifty-one trucks left, all having switched over to their thirty gallon reserve tanks. Most switched this morning though a few got a gallon or so left in the mains.”
“What about the two fifty-five gallon drums?”
“Still got ‘em.”
“Split the load across ten trucks and dump the containers.”
“Okay.”
“Each of the trucks got two spares and only six are without CBs now. We’re down to twelve quads. We can recover parts from the quads at the mill on the way back to rebuild possibly four. “
“The bikes?”
“Two of them gummed up. Other than that, all good. Finicky, but good.”
“The horses?”
“Lost five of the Fourth brigades to some kinda infection. One horse snapped his foreleg in a deep rut.”
“The infection contagious?”