“You’re dreaming,” Arnold said. “They’d just take cover in Los Alamos. Plenty of the buildings there are serviceable.”
“Then that’s one of the first things we need to do – destroy anything that could provide shelter. Scorched earth,” Michael countered.
Lucas watched the exchange without comment. Elliot noted his silence and sat back with a hard stare. “What do you think, Lucas?”
“Who cares what he thinks?” Arnold snapped. “Who’s responsible for security here, anyway? Me or him? Or Michael?”
“I care, Arnold,” Elliot said. “I don’t undervalue your perspective, but I want to hear everyone’s before making any decisions.”
Arnold’s frown creased his face into a death mask. Lucas inhaled slowly, and when he spoke, his tone was soft.
“Seems like you have natural defenses. If it was me, I’d plant charges at key spots in the canyon and use landslides against any riders. That’s an easy one – it blocks the route with rubble and takes a bunch of them off the board.” He let the idea sink in before continuing. “I’d also look at antipersonnel weapons. Claymores. Land mines. Anything that can inflict damage without risking anyone’s life from here. Mine the entire canyon if you can. And blow the bridge that crosses the river. Make them fight and claw for every inch.”
Arnold nodded in spite of his anger. “Not bad,” he conceded. “Probably doable. We have some mines, and we could make more. For the record, I drew up a plan to mine the approaches a few years back, so we’re on the same page.”
Lucas shifted in his seat. “Shall I go on?”
“Please,” Elliot said.
“If you have any grenade launchers or rockets, save those for after you’ve used all the mines and landslides.” He paused. “My grandfather gave me some advice a long time ago, and it makes a lot of sense now. The question was, how do you eat an elephant? The answer: one bite at a time. If you know there’s going to be a big force coming at you, you need to break the attack down into a series of manageable battles where you can take five or ten of them for every one of you. So if I was running the show, I’d stage things so that instead of a siege, you draw them into a slew of skirmishes where you can even the odds through attrition. That means guerilla warfare. Snipers. Mines. Sneak attacks. Blowing bridges, dropping bombs. Anything that can compensate for your smaller numbers.”
“Man’s got a point,” Michael said.
“How many able-bodied fighters do you have? I know you said three hundred live here, but I’ve seen a bunch of kids and some older folks…”
“About two hundred and fifty, give or take,” Michael said, looking to Arnold.
“That’s right,” Arnold said. “But back up a second. You said drop bombs?”
Lucas nodded. “Sure. You have a plane. That’s an air force. If you can figure out how to make some homemade napalm, that would cause some damage. Make it as ugly to take you on as possible. If the cost is high enough, they might lose the stomach for the fight. Although from what I’ve heard, Magnus won’t quit.”
They went back and forth for two hours, arguing the finer points of mounting a coherent defense. After the meeting, Arnold pulled Lucas aside as he was leaving, the deep discoloration beneath his eyes telling the story of his exhaustion.
“I wanted to say that was pretty impressive for a civilian,” Arnold began.
“I just threw some crap at the wall to see what sticks. You had most of that covered. My ideas were icing.”
“Not true. Sometimes it’s important for the Doc to hear different voices. He places a lot of faith in Michael, but Michael doesn’t have a background in this sort of thing.”
Lucas shrugged. “I don’t want to get involved in any power struggles.”
“No, that’s not it. I guess what I’m saying is that we need every resource we can leverage, and you even managed to convince me that we might stand a chance defending the valley. And I walked in saying we needed to leave.” Arnold studied Lucas. “That’s a hell of a hat trick.”
“Never got good at running,” Lucas said. “It’s easy to start, but then it becomes a habit. You got enough ammo and explosives here – don’t see why you couldn’t take them on.”
“What if they order up reinforcements?”
“After losing a thousand men? Not sure I’d sign up for round two if I was the cannon fodder.”
“Only thing I disagree with is taking the fight to them. We don’t have enough competent people to dilute our efforts like that.”
“Again, none of my business. Do whatever you think is right. I just spitballed some stuff.” Lucas yawned. “Look, Arnold, I’m dead on my feet. I need some sleep. Let’s talk about this tomorrow, okay?”
Arnold nodded. “Yeah. Sure. Anyway, I just wanted to say that maybe I was wrong about all strangers being a bad idea.”
Lucas exhaled and adjusted his hat. “In this case, you were right about the guide. Sierra wasn’t trying to sell you out. He was, and he did a good job of it.”
“Water under the bridge.”
“Yep. Which reminds me. If you have any demolitions experts, I’d get to that bridge sooner than later, and I’d also look at alternative approaches and fortify those. Remind me again – you got any big machine guns?”
“Three Browning .50s.”
“That’s a decent start, depending on how you deploy them. Good thing you have NV gear. Because they’ll come at night once they start losing men. That’s how I’d do it.”
Arnold watched Lucas make his way to the sleeping quarters with a pensive expression. The former Texas Ranger had demonstrated why the organization had been one of the most respected law enforcement groups in the country – and he’d done so after being sleep deprived and shell-shocked from a gun battle that had been seven against one.
Chapter 37
The Crew army had crossed almost two hundred miles of highway by the time the sun had risen. The column of overloaded vehicles stretched a half mile long, led by the tow trucks whose hoods had been equipped with heavy iron pipes filled with cement for battering ram bumpers that made short work of the odd car the larger buses and semi-rigs couldn’t get past.
So far they’d lost three tires – two on the buses, one on a horse trailer. The problem was the age of the rubber, which had degraded with time and sun exposure. Even though the procession was crawling along, the weight was considerable, and it had become obvious within the first twelve hours that Magnus’s hope of a rapid trip was overoptimistic.
The fighters slept in their seats as the buses growled down the highway, and Magnus dozed in the rear of one of the Humvees that had been customized as his command vehicle with a bed in the back, as well as steel plating on the doors and run-flat tires in case of attack. The force stopped every eight hours to refuel; the process took several hours, further slowing their progress and increasing Magnus’s frustration with each delay.
He could taste victory now that his nemesis had been located. While he would like to take the girl alive – he knew from the Apaches that the travelers had a female child with them – if he had to kill her, he would. The rush to develop the vaccine would be over once the parallel effort of Shangri-La had been eliminated, and his technicians had assured him that even without her they would have it in a matter of months.
The Humvee lurched to a halt with a squeak of brakes, and Magnus sat up and called out to the driver, “What is it now?”
The radio in the cab crackled and a voice screeched from the speaker. The driver yelled back to Magnus, “One of the horse transports lost a radiator hose.”
“Damn. Let me have the radio,” Magnus ordered.
The driver handed it to him through a sliding window and Magnus growled into it.
“This is Magnus. Can you repair the truck and have it catch up with us if we keep moving?”
A long pause ensued as static crackled over the airwaves. A voice answered just as Magnus was losing patience.
“Negative. No way of knowing whether the
engine’s damaged. We lost all the coolant, for starters.”
“I thought these rigs were in good shape.”
“They are, but the hoses and belts are all at least five or six years old. Some of them are going to give. No way around it with the loads we’re pulling.”
“How long will it take to get it up and running again?”
“We’re going through the parts right now. Changing a hose won’t take much time, assuming we have one that will fit. Should know more in half an hour.”
Magnus twisted the radio volume down and handed it back to his driver. He lay back in the cool from the AC vents and cursed their luck so far. He’d known there would be setbacks, of course, but it seemed that his confidence in the integrity of the vehicles had been misplaced. And he was learning the bad news firsthand as the temperature climbed into the red outside, making for a miserable wait.
Time ticked by at a glacial pace, and eventually Magnus threw open the door and barked at the driver, “I’ll be back. I want to see what the hell’s taking so long.”
He marched to where the repair crew was huddled around the open engine compartment of a massive Peterbilt rig, a toolbox open beside it. One of the repairmen uttered an oath and stepped back to wipe sweat from his face, and froze when he saw Magnus watching him.
“Well?” Magnus demanded.
“This is the third hose we’re trying.”
“What happened to the other two?”
“They disintegrated once we tightened them down.”
“So what’s the solution, other than continuing to do what isn’t working?”
“This third one’s looking promising. I should know in a few more minutes.”
“Then we can get under way?”
“Shortly. We have to refill the cooling system and check for leaks. The engine spiked well into the red, so we also need to make sure nothing’s been damaged. But if everything’s okay, sure, we can get rolling in a few.”
“A few,” Magnus echoed.
“Sorry I can’t narrow it down. It’s the parts that are the problem. I told my boss before we left, but he ignored me.”
“Your boss is Woody?” Magnus asked, naming the head of the mechanics in Houston.
“Yeah.”
Magnus nodded. “Do the best you can.”
When he returned to the Humvee, Magnus got on the radio again, this time to Houston. The radio operator responded in seconds, and Magnus demanded to speak to Snake.
Five minutes later Snake’s distinctive voice emanated from the speaker.
“This is Snake.”
“Snake, Magnus.”
“Is there a problem?”
“Our spare parts are failing. The crew leader here says he warned Woody about the parts, but he ignored him.”
Snake grunted but didn’t say anything, waiting for what came next. Magnus’s voice lowered to an ominous volume. “I want you to strip him of his rank and flog the skin off his back until he’s half dead. Leave the other half for when I get back.”
“I’ll take care of it immediately.”
“Do so. And see if you can raise Whitely in Lubbock. He might have some ideas on workarounds for the parts that are bad. Tell him it’s the rubber that’s the problem. Hoses, tires, seals.”
“Will do. Is there anything else?”
“Make the flogging a public spectacle, and make sure everyone knows why it’s being done.”
“Of course. I’ll add it to tonight’s executions.”
Magnus signed off and tossed the driver the radio before climbing back into the climate-controlled interior, the vehicle’s diesel engine clattering reassuringly in the oppressive swelter.
If the vehicles continued to break down as they had so far, the cross-country run would be more like a death march, he knew. His only hope was that the run of failures in the first part of the trip was infant mortality of the weakest vehicles, and once those questionable parts were replaced, the rest would continue to run well.
Magnus refused to consider the alternatives. His fate was to destroy Shangri-La and dominate the country, and he would not be refused. If he had to walk all the way there, pushing his men at gunpoint, then he would.
The one thing he’d learned was that perseverance and the willingness to do whatever it took were the keys to leadership, whether it was a prison crew or a massive multistate criminal empire. Sheer force of will had enabled him to achieve the unthinkable so far, and he would continue to be an irresistible force of nature. His future was written in the stars.
And nothing would stop him from fulfilling his destiny.
Even if every one of his men had to die trying.
Chapter 38
Ross was in the lead as Luis tailed him along the trail. The going was slow. They’d camped overnight along the river, where they’d been eaten alive by mosquitoes, and Luis was in a foul mood at the daunting prospect of subjecting himself to more of Cano’s abuse. The clopping of the horses’ hooves on the dirt was the only sound as they drove north. Ross at least was in better spirits after having rewarded himself with two meth-addled skanks who’d been missing most of their teeth.
Luis recognized one of the rock formations near where Cano had made camp, and his shoulders sagged as they neared the flat clearing by the Rio Grande.
Ross stopped abruptly and unslung his AK. Luis slowed and called out to him, “What is it?”
The Crew gunman didn’t respond, instead dropping from the saddle and moving cautiously down the trail. Luis couldn’t see what had spooked the man, but followed his lead and dismounted, gun in hand. He crept after Ross, heart hammering in his chest, and then froze at the sight of the corpses near the water’s edge.
Hundreds of flies buzzed around the scattering of bodies. Ross held a finger to his lips and edged into the clearing, leading with his assault rifle, his expression agitated. Luis maintained his position, uninterested in learning whether whoever had killed everyone was still around. He busied himself with counting the bodies while Ross moved toward the dead, and came up four short – the woman and three men weren’t there.
Ross toed one of the corpses and recoiled at the mound of insects that had consumed most of its face. He moved to the next and found the same, and did a quick inspection of the area before returning to Luis, his skin gray beneath the veneer of prison ink that covered his face.
“Missing four,” Luis whispered.
“Yeah. They been dead a while. Least a day. Maybe more. Stink something fierce, and they’re bloated like balloons.”
“Cano one of them?”
Ross shook his head. “Don’t see his vest.”
Great, Luis thought. The one he’d been praying would choke on a chicken bone had survived.
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“We should spread out and search the perimeter. Could be more there.”
Ross nodded and nodded to his left. “I’ll go that way.” He stopped after a few steps. “No sign of their horses. Or their guns.”
“Raiding party?”
“Don’t know. But someone cleaned them out.”
Luis ascended to the rise where the lookout had been stationed and stopped near the tree. He called to Ross in a tight voice, and the Crew gunman came at a run.
“What is it?” he asked.
Luis pointed at the bodies. “The rest. All dead. Whoever got them did it silently.”
“How do you know?”
“Because the ones around the fire died where they lay. If they’d had any warning, they would have taken up better defensive positions.”
Ross looked over the bodies. “No Cano.”
“Not yet,” Luis agreed.
They continued searching until Ross gave a yell. Luis followed his voice until they were both standing over what had until recently been the bane of Luis’s existence. Ross’s expression was grave.
“That’s everyone.” He looked around. “I wonder who got them?”
Luis shrugged. “Doesn’t
really matter much. We need to get out of here, though, in case they come back.”
Ross shook his head. “No. Our orders were to stay put and wait for Magnus.”
“Those were Cano’s instructions. And they didn’t work out so well for him, did they?”
“Doesn’t matter. He was the top Crew boss here, and that’s what he wanted.”
“Well, I’m now the top Crew dog, and I’m saying we go back to Albuquerque and wait for Magnus to arrive.”
Ross sneered. “You’re not Crew. I am, which makes me the boss.”
“You seem to be confused. The Locos are part of the Crew. That was the deal. I’m the head of the Locos. That means what I say goes.”
Ross shook his head. “I don’t know anything about that deal, but Cano wanted us to wait here, Magnus is expecting to meet us here, and nothing you say changes that. So I say we stay and wait for Magnus.”
As Luis had feared, Cano’s disrespect of Luis had infected his men, and now this foot soldier believed himself to be Luis’s equal, if not his superior. Luis couldn’t allow that to stand, and as Ross turned dismissively, Luis pulled his H&K 9mm from its holster and fired two rounds into the back of Ross’s head. The Crew thug tumbled forward and Luis sprang into motion, resigned to dragging Ross to the river and disposing of his body so there was no evidence of the execution.
Luis would concoct a story for Magnus, assuming he even missed Ross, which was unlikely if he was heading up an army. But in the event he did, Luis would tell a tale of having gone back into town for supplies at Cano’s orders and, upon his return, finding the camp slaughtered.
A thought occurred to Luis as he neared the camp area with Ross. He hastily removed the Crew gunman’s flak jacket and leather vest and carried it to Tarak’s deteriorating remains. Luis held his breath as he stripped Tarak’s shirt from his maggot-infested carcass and pulled Ross’s gear onto the Apache. When he was finished, he stepped back and inspected his work.
The Day After Never - Covenant (Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller - Book 3) Page 17