So at 0200, a fueler, plus fourteen Strykers and 108 soldiers left Fort Carney on a mission that was almost guaranteed to produce a stunning victory or a terrible defeat. As the convoy drove west on Highway 20, doubts plagued Mac’s mind as they passed through Natrona, Shoshoni, and veered north to Thermopolis. From there it was a short trip to Worland and Highway 16 east.
By the time 0445 rolled around, Mac knew they were deep inside horde-occupied territory. The fact that they’d been able to travel that far without being forced to fight was thanks to good luck, the early hour, and complete secrecy. Only Mac and Lightfoot knew where the convoy was headed—although the troops could guess by then.
Mac felt an emptiness in her gut as they cleared Worland and continued east. The first part of the mission was over—but the most dangerous section lay ahead. Mac had chosen to ride in the lead vehicle. It was an ESV Stryker with a dozer blade mounted up front. She ducked down into the cargo area below. The air was warm and heavy with the smell of hydraulic fluid. Her RTO sat up straight. “Send this message on this frequency,” Mac told him.
Worsky accepted the piece of paper, made the necessary adjustment to his radio, and spoke into his mike. “Starlight to Star Bright . . . We cleared Worland. Over.”
The reply consisted of two clicks. That meant Huntington had received the scrambled message, understood it, and was waiting. Mac felt a sense of relief. Thank God. The whole plan would have gone up in smoke had the civilian scout been intercepted or killed.
Fifteen minutes later, Mac was standing in the hatch, struggling to stay warm, when the vehicle rounded a curve. Lights appeared in the distance, and Mac knew they were approaching the town of Ten Sleep. Huntington claimed that Ten Sleep had been a favorite with tourists prior to the May Day disaster. Now it was home to fifty or sixty bandits who were stationed there to protect Howard’s southwestern flank and collect taxes from travelers.
The outlaws were a threat in and of themselves, of course . . . But the greater danger lay in the possibility that they would tip Howard off to the convoy’s presence.
Even though the sun hadn’t cleared the horizon, there was enough light to see by as Mac raised her binoculars. Barricades to channel vehicles through a checkpoint had been put in place. “This is Bravo-Six,” Mac said. “One-one and one-two will pull over to the side of the road. One-three and one-four will engage the position ahead. Hit them hard, people . . . And take that antenna out immediately. Execute.”
Mac was thrown sideways as the ESV swerved to the right and stopped. One-two turned left and pulled over. That cleared the way for one-three and one-four to advance side by side. One-three, AKA OL’ SLAB SIDES, was equipped with a 105mm cannon. Mac heard a loud boom and saw a bright flash as a shell hit the checkpoint. “Good morning, assholes,” the Stryker’s driver said. “Eat lead!”
“That will be enough of that,” Captain Lightfoot said from his position at the tail end of the convoy. “Cut the crap. Over.” Mac grinned and knew that everyone else in the convoy was grinning, too.
One-four was armed with a 40mm grenade launcher, and it chugged away as the vic called LUCKY LOU closed in on the concrete barriers. A steady stream of grenades swept left to right across the enemy checkpoint. The overlapping explosions threw bodies into the air.
SLAB SIDES jerked to a halt, its gunner sent another round downrange, and Mac saw a flash as it hit the thirty-foot-tall com mast. That was followed by a loud bang. The top half of the antenna crashed onto the top of the thirty-foot trailer parked beside the highway. An office perhaps? Or a ready room? Mac hoped so. She keyed her mike. “Nice shooting, one-three . . . All right, get some troops in there and mop up. Over.”
Two squads left their Strykers and made their way forward. Mac heard firing and a series of bangs as more grenades went off. A lieutenant named Swanson was in charge—and she called in five minutes later. “This is Charlie-Two . . . The area has been secured. Twelve bandits are down—and about ten got away. One of my soldiers was wounded, but the doc says he’ll make it. Over.”
Mac swore. Some bad guys were on the loose and, if they had the right kind of radio, were talking to Howard. And even if they couldn’t, the survivors would send a messenger to the High Fort in order to warn him. But that was to be expected. The race was on. “Roger that, Charlie-Two. Well done. Pull back and mount up. We’re out of here. Over.”
Mac ducked down into the cargo compartment. “Worsky . . . Send this message on the same frequency as the last one.”
Worsky accepted the slip of paper and read the words aloud. “Starlight to Star Bright . . . We’re leaving Ten Sleep. Over.”
Mac listened for the clicks, heard them, and felt the ESV jerk ahead. She went forward to speak with the driver. “Watch for a flashlight on the left. It will blink three times. Stop when you see it—but warn the rest of the column first.”
The truck commander was named Castel. He kept his eyes on the road. “Yes, ma’am.”
Mac went up top. The sun was higher but hadn’t cleared the mountains. Five minutes dragged by as Mac waited. Then she saw it! A blink followed by two more. Huntington was waiting at the point where a dirt road met the highway.
Castel put out a call to the other TCs and braked. As the ESV came to a stop, Huntington climbed up onto the vic. She was carrying a scope-mounted rifle and a light pack. “Good morning, Captain. You’re right on time.”
“So far so good,” Mac said. “Hang on.”
Then, to Castel, “Hit the gas and turn left. Let’s get off the highway.”
“Bravo-Six actual to Charlie-Six . . . We need to clear the highway without being seen. If you see a vehicle, destroy it.”
It was a cold-blooded order, and one that might cause completely innocent people to die. But Mac had 107 other lives to preserve, prisoners to free, and a scumbag to kill. Did that make it okay? No, it didn’t. And Mac knew that if Lightfoot was forced to obey her order, it would haunt her forever.
Seconds turned into five incredibly long minutes punctuated by a burp of static. “This is Charlie-Six. The last vehicle cleared the highway. No vehicles passed in either direction. Over.”
Mac felt a tremendous sense of relief. “This is Bravo-Six. Roger that . . . Once your vehicle is hidden, send a squad back to clear our tracks. Over.”
Mac knew Lightfoot would understand. It was just a matter of time before Howard learned about the attack in Ten Sleep. But if he didn’t know where the column was, he’d have to send people to find it. That meant a large contingent of bandits would be ordered to block Highway 16 west of Buffalo—and that would reduce the number of men available to defend the High Fort. “This is Bravo-Six actual . . . All units will stop. Bring the fueler forward. TCs will top off their tanks. Over.”
The column came to a halt, and it wasn’t long before the tank truck pulled up level with one-one. Once the lead ESV was fueled, it pulled forward so that one-two could take its place, and so on until all of the Strykers had full tanks. And that was important because it would be disastrous if any one of them ran out of gas during the final phase of the attack. In the meantime, each squad had a short bio break. The entire process consumed thirty precious minutes but was absolutely necessary.
Finally, assured that the company’s tracks had been obliterated a full fifty feet back from the highway, Mac told Castel to get under way. The ESV jerked ahead, forcing Huntington to hang on or fall off. The scout had been invited to ride down below, but she wanted to see, and Mac couldn’t blame her.
Before long, the dirt road narrowed to one lane, and the company entered the Bighorn National Forest. An alpine meadow lay to the left, with a lightly treed slope on the right and craggy mountains in the distance.
Eventually, they came to a Y in the road. Huntington was crouched next to Mac. “Stay to the right!” she shouted, and pointed. Mac relayed the message to Castel. And that’s how the next hour was spent. The sc
out would point the way, and the column would follow along.
Most of the roads weren’t maintained. So there were times when the Strykers had to power through creeks, circle around washouts, and crash through thickets of saplings to proceed. They passed an old log cabin at one point—and a rusty pickup half a mile later. But there was no traffic. And for that, Mac was grateful.
That didn’t mean they were safe from observation, however. Howard was no fool . . . The ex–Green Beret would have lookouts up high somewhere. Mac’s train of thought was interrupted as the ESV topped a rise, and Huntington raised a fist. “Stop here.”
Mac gave the order, and the Stryker came to a stop. Huntington dropped to the ground, walked a few yards, and pointed at the ground. “Here it is! Just like I told you it would be!”
Mac felt a rising sense of excitement as she lowered herself to the ground and went to join the scout. And sure enough . . . There they were. Two rusty rails! “The main line used to run south from Buffalo, around the mountains, and up to Sheridan,” Huntington explained. “But the trains stopped running when my great-grandfather’s gold mine played out. And eventually they built Highway 16 over part of the line. We need to follow the old right-of-way for two miles . . . That’s where we’ll run into the spur that leads to the mine.”
“And the mine is located under the lodge,” Mac added.
“That’s correct,” Huntington agreed. “When the mine closed, my great-grandfather went into the cattle business, did well, and built his home over the mine. So all we have to do is follow the track in and boom! We win.”
Mac knew it wouldn’t be so simple but smiled anyway. “Okay, let’s get going.”
Once the women were aboard, Castel lowered the ESV’s dozer blade and angled it to the right. One-two’s driver angled his blade the other way. And with the rest of the column tagging along behind, they turned onto the track.
Mac had done her homework and knew that the Strykers could straddle the narrow-gauge tracks with room to spare. And by mowing the brush down, the lead vehicles could clear the way for the vics following behind them.
The ESV shook, and gear rattled as the Stryker bumped over a long succession of railroad ties. But that was the price to be paid if they were going to close in on Howard. The spur was right where Huntington said it would be, and the company turned east. Now they were west of the High Fort and aimed directly at it. “Two miles,” Huntington announced. “Then we’ll enter the tunnel.”
That was the moment when three F-111 fighter-bombers appeared from the south and began to circle. Mac saw them, as did a dozen other people, all of whom tried to report at the same time. “This is Bravo-Six actual,” Mac said. “I see them. Worsky . . . Get on the horn. Contact the zoomies. Tell them to hold off . . . There are hostages on the ground. Over.”
“Roger that,” the RTO replied from inside the ESV.
Mac’s mind was racing. She hadn’t requested the fighters . . . So who sent them? Some REMF at Fort Knox? In retribution for the attack on Fort Carney? Probably.
If so, that was on her since rather than request permission for a raid on the ground, and have her request denied, Mac had chosen to proceed on her own. Shit! What if prisoners died? It would be her fault!
“This is Bravo-Ten,” Worsky said. “The F-111s belong to the rebs! Some guy told me to fuck myself.”
Mac swore as the lead plane completed a wide turn and dived. “Step on it Castel! We need to reach the tunnel and fast!”
The ESV was already making pretty good time given the conditions, but the TC put his foot down. Mac’s teeth rattled as the big tires bumped across ancient railroad ties. “Bravo-Six to all units . . . Pick up the pace! Stand by to repel aircraft. Fire at will.”
The order to fire was largely meaningless since the only AA capability the Strykers had were the light machine guns mounted on the top of each vic. Mac turned hers toward an incoming plane as rockets flared off its wings and cannon shells ripped through a stand of trees to the north. Mac saw a flash of light out of the corner of her eye and turned to see a Stryker explode. “Keep going!” Lightfoot yelled from his position at the tail end of the column. “Push the wreckage out of the way!”
Mac looked up, fully expecting to see another F-111 coming straight in. But, rather than attack Charlie Company the way she expected them to, the other jets were focused on a target in the distance. She heard a thud, followed by a boom, and saw smoke billow up into the sky. Were the planes dropping bombs on the High Fort? Yes! But why?
Then it came to her . . . Maybe someone from Ten Sleep had been able to alert Howard. Or, given his alliance with the Confederacy, maybe the column had been spotted from orbit!
The exact mechanism didn’t matter. What mattered was that unlike the Union and Fort Carney, Howard didn’t give a shit about the High Fort, or the prisoners located there . . . He was a nomad . . . Or a renegade playing the part of a nomad. And, rather than surrender his headquarters to the Union, he preferred to destroy the old building. And the Strykers. A victory even the Khan would admire. “There it is!” Huntington exclaimed. “The tunnel!”
Mac turned, saw that the entrance was guarded by a pair of rotting doors, and told Castel to break through them. Then she grabbed Huntington’s arm and pulled the scout toward the hatch. They tumbled into the cargo compartment as the bulldozer blade struck wood. The impact threw Mac into Worsky, and they wound up in a tangle of arms and legs as the Stryker broke through. Once Mac was on her feet, she turned to the hatch. “Don’t go up there,” Huntington warned. “There’s less than a foot of clearance.”
“We lost the remote-weapons station,” Castel added, as the ESV bounced over a chunk of wood. Mac winced. So much for her planning. If the ESV’s primary weapon was gone, others would be lost, too.
Worsky had recovered by then, and Mac took his mike. “Bravo-Six to Charlie-Six. Give me a sitrep. Over.”
There was a pause followed by the sound of an unfamiliar voice. “Vic three-four didn’t make it Bravo-Six . . . They took a direct hit. The rest of the column entered the tunnel.”
Mac felt the ESV come to a sudden stop as she struggled to assimilate the news. At least ten people were dead, including Captain Lightfoot, who’d been riding drag. It took an act of will to keep her voice steady. “Roger that, over. Charlie-Three will use a squad to secure the entrance to the tunnel. All other units will prepare to deploy . . . Over.”
After returning the mike to Worsky, Mac went forward to speak with Castel. But there was no need. She could see the cave-in on the screen in front of him. “Drop the ramp . . . I’m going out.”
Mac heard the whine of hydraulics as she made her way toward the rear of the vehicle. Was there enough room to get past the cave-in? If so, she could take the entire company through the gap. If not, they’d have to exit through the west entrance. That would take them back the way they’d come—and it would take forever to find a way up over the ridge.
Mac made her way down the ramp, with Worsky and Huntington right behind her. As soon as she cleared the ESV, Mac turned east. There was very little room between the Stryker and the wall. That meant the officer had to turn sideways in order to get through.
Once Mac arrived at the front end of the vic, things opened up. She was wearing her helmet and night-vision gear but had no need of it yet. The cave-in was easy to see thanks to the glare from the Stryker’s headlights. Mac eyed the pile of dirt, rock, and broken timbers, looking for a passageway. She didn’t see one at first. But up top, and off to the right, she saw what looked like a hole.
After climbing up the pile of debris, Mac confirmed that yes, there was a way through, and allowed herself to slide back down. Worsky was waiting at the bottom of the slope. “Get on the horn . . . Tell Charlie-Three to remain where he is. Tell the rest of the company to shed everything except their combat gear and follow me.”
Worsky was relaying her instruct
ions as Mac and Huntington scrambled up the slope and wiggled through the hole and into the darkness beyond. The tunnel assumed a greenish hue as Mac turned the night-vision gear on—and Huntington was using a penlight to find her way. The rusty tracks led them east. Water dripped from the ceiling, and Mac was forced to splash through a series of puddles.
It wasn’t long before Mac spotted blobs of light up ahead. As she got closer, Mac realized that they were holes in the wooden doors that protected the east end of the tunnel. They were a problem, but a relatively minor one. Her people could blow them open if necessary.
The larger issue was Howard . . . Where was he? Miles away? Laughing as the rebs bombed her? Maybe. But Mac didn’t think so. She stopped as soldiers ran forward to deal with the doors. Huntington was standing next to her. “Tell me about the lodge, Sarah . . . Does it have a basement?”
“No,” the scout answered. “But the doors open onto an old trestle that leads to the mine. And it’s located under the lodge.”
“Is it possible to enter the mine from the lodge?”
“Yes. Immediately after the lodge was converted into a hotel, the owners installed a spiral staircase in one of the air shafts. The staff took guests down for tours.”
That’s where he is, Mac thought to herself. Waiting for the bombing to stop. Then he plans to come out and ride away.
Maybe her theory was accurate, and maybe it wasn’t. It didn’t matter. Because if the warlord of warlords was gone, then the battle was over. But if the bastard was there, waiting for her, then it was important to be prepared. A sergeant yelled, “Get back!” and the women obeyed.
Then a private shouted, “Fire in the hole!” and pressed a button. That produced a flash of light, a loud boom, and a cloud of dust. As a hole appeared, the horde opened fire from the opposite side of the canyon. The hail of machine-gun bullets sent everyone scuttling for cover. He’s there all right, Mac concluded. That’s why the mine is so well defended.
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