They spent an uneasy night under the stars, and the next morning the procession got under way again, the repair crews having worked until dawn, readying the vehicles for another two-hundred-mile leg. Duke and Aaron rode in one of the tow trucks with a driver who was long on curses and short on patience, their horses in a trailer behind it. They’d noted the howitzers being pulled by the semi-rigs, confirming their impression that Magnus intended to crush anything in his way.
By noon they’d lost six more tires to the sweltering pavement, and Magnus was visibly agitated at the constant interruptions. He was pacing near his Humvee when a lookout radioed on his handheld – a party of riders was approaching.
The Apaches neared, taking in the size of the force, and conferred among themselves before their leader swung from his saddle and walked to where Magnus was waiting.
“I see you made it,” the Apache said.
“Of course. You’re here to guide us?”
“Yes. But we need to stop at our headquarters so you can speak with our council.”
“Why?”
“This is a lot of men. We were expecting half as many.”
“I was clear that it was going to be a thousand men.”
“Yes, well, I’m just delivering the message.”
Magnus frowned, the tattoos on his face writhing like live snakes beneath a sheen of sweat. “Deliver one to your council: I will not be delayed. I have no problem talking to them, but if it will slow us down, it’s not an option. We can talk on the radio.”
“It’s just off the highway – about two hours’ ride from here. I’ll let them know you’re en route.”
Magnus watched the man mount his horse and ride back to his fellows with a clouded expression. He’d negotiated a fair price, but he’d done enough horse trading to see a curveball coming and silently debated how he would deal with it. The patrol retraced its steps, and Magnus ordered his column procession forward.
The Apache patrol must have ridden hard, because it was waiting for the Crew convoy when it appeared from over a rise, the afternoon sun having already begun its slow descent. The lead rider motioned to Magnus in the point Humvee. On Magnus’s orders, the buses remained on the highway, and only the Humvees followed the horsemen down the gravel road to the Apache headquarters.
Ben was waiting for their arrival surrounded by his council, projecting authority with at least a hundred Apache fighters by the buildings, all armed and staring at the vehicles bouncing toward them. When the Humvees pulled to a stop, Ben eyed the Browning machine guns and then turned to confront Magnus, who’d swung his door open and stepped onto the gravel, his heavy black boots coated with road dust.
“You Ben?” Magnus asked curtly.
Ben nodded. “That’s right. You must be Magnus.”
Magnus motioned to the Humvees. “We brought your payment. As agreed.”
“We need to discuss that.”
“There’s nothing to discuss. We had a deal.”
“We lost a guide getting you the information you requested, which we did without question. Since then, he’s gone dark. We have to presume the worst.”
“I don’t have time for this. How much more are we talking?”
Ben threw out a price in gold, at which Magnus laughed harshly. “You’re dreaming.”
“It’s a fair price.”
Magnus waved dismissively. “I’m willing to pay more, but nothing like that.” He countered with a considerably smaller increase.
Ben scowled. “I need to talk to my council.”
“Me too.”
Magnus stalked back to his Humvee and climbed in. He snapped his fingers and the driver handed him the radio.
The Brownings opened fire on the buildings, cutting down the Apache gunmen where they stood. The heavy rounds shredded Ben and the council members, spackling the wall behind them with blood and bone.
The shooting lasted less than a minute, and when the guns fell silent, Magnus stepped from his vehicle again and inspected the scene. Nobody was left alive that he could see, and he didn’t want to waste the time to do a search of the buildings. He turned to the Humvees and called out to the drivers, “Turn it around. These clowns aren’t going to be a problem.”
Magnus strode back to his vehicle. He was a conqueror. He would take what he wanted and make no excuses. Magnus had gotten what he needed from the Apaches, and they’d overestimated their importance and paid the price.
He wasn’t worried about traps they might have laid or any attacks. Only fools would take on a heavily armed force like his, and he’d put some men out front on horses to verify the road was clear. For the amount of gold he’d saved, he could afford to lose a few men to traps. And if any of the natives decided to play hero, they’d die like rats, just as their lofty council had, bleeding out on the worthless land they treasured.
Chapter 42
Arnold stood beside the Shangri-La radio operator as Elliot and Michael listened to the report from Steven, their contact in Albuquerque who’d given Colt the password. Elliot seemed to have aged ten years in the last few days; his eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and his sagging skin had a sallow cast. The broadcast had come in while they’d been at dinner, and they’d raced for the radio to hear the report.
Steven’s voice faded in and out over the communication channel they used. Elliot had his hands in the pockets of his loose pants, staring at the radio with an intensity that could have powered the compound.
“Are you sure about the count? Over,” Elliot asked for the third time.
“Yes,” Steven assured him. “Based on the number of buses, you’re looking at somewhere around a thousand men. But the worst news is the four heavy artillery guns – howitzers that can lob shells fifteen to twenty miles. They can bombard you for a week before ever mounting an attack. Over.”
“The lab and the winter quarters are all underground and reinforced,” Michael said.
“Unless they were designed to withstand direct hits, I don’t like the odds. Sorry,” Arnold replied.
Michael leaned toward the transmitter. “How soon will they be here? Over.”
“They’re pulling out tonight or tomorrow morning, depending on how their vehicle repairs go, so figure fifteen hours from when I call in again. Over.”
“Very well. Keep us appraised,” Elliot said, his tone resigned. “Over and out.”
The men stared at each other, each waiting for the other to speak. Eventually Elliot motioned them to his office area and they took seats at a small table. Elliot sighed heavily and stared at the men for a few moments before speaking.
“Well, we knew it would eventually happen. And here it is,” he said.
“We never expected howitzers. That changes everything,” Arnold said.
“Maybe,” Michael began. “Unless we can disable them before they’re in range. That underscores the wisdom of the plan I’ve been advocating. Like it or not, we need to take the battle to them before they get here. Send sniper teams out to hit them on the road. We’ve already laid the mines, so hopefully some of those will disable them and slow them down. They should. Then we can hit them when they’re stopped. One of the big Brownings would make short work of a camp.”
Arnold shook his head. “Again, that would involve dividing our focus and risking the lives of some of our most capable men, as well as one of our few big guns. It would be suicide against a force that size. Even if we were able to eliminate some of the Crew, our people would be wiped out eventually.” Arnold stared hard at Elliot. “Look, I know you love this place, but against a sustained shelling we have no chance. Staying is suicide.”
“Which is why we need to stop the artillery before they reach us,” Michael pressed.
Arnold ignored the younger man. “Doc, you need to issue the evacuation order, or you’re going to lose everyone. Michael here has never been under artillery fire. I have. I never want to repeat it.”
Elliot nodded. “It doesn’t sound pleasant. But the lab and winter q
uarters have the protection of the mountains above.”
“After days of shelling, none of that will matter. Trying to stop the guns en route is madness, which leaves us sitting ducks against a force of hardened fighters that outnumber us four to one.” Arnold shook his head. “Doc…” He paused, clearly struggling to put his argument most convincingly. “Elliot, what we should do is mine the way in, launch a few guerrilla attacks to slow them down and buy us time to evacuate someplace safe. We’ll have at least a day’s head start, plus another for them to make it through the canyon, at best. That’s two days. We can be a long ways away in two days.” Arnold swallowed back his frustration. “You have to give the evacuation order. There’s no other way.”
Michael snorted in disgust. “Of course there is. You just don’t agree with it. I think we can stop them on the road and take out the artillery, and that leaves them having to go through the canyon, which is booby-trapped to the teeth.”
Arnold frowned at Michael. “Spoken as a wire-head with exactly zero combat experience.”
“I’m sorry I’ve been skilled enough to avoid being shot at my entire life. That’s called being smart. I don’t expect you’d understand it.”
Temper flaring, Arnold stood. “I’m in charge of security here, and I’m telling you that you can’t defend this place against artillery, and your boy here has come up with a plan that will divide your resources and get everyone killed.”
“No,” Michael retorted. “I’ve just come up with a better plan than yours, and your ego can’t handle it.” Michael paused. “Yours is basically to run away. Mine is to take preemptive action and surgically eliminate the threats before they arrive.”
“Yours is idiocy, which you’ll only learn once you’ve lost your men.” Arnold slammed his fist on the table. “I’m done with this discussion. Elliot, if you’re going to listen to this moron, you’re risking everyone’s lives on someone with zero experience. If that’s how it’s going to be, I’m tendering my resignation, effective immediately, and getting the hell out of here.”
Elliot’s expression hardened. “Arnold, there’s no need for melodrama. I understand you disagree…”
“I don’t ‘disagree.’ I refuse to lead everyone to the slaughter out of some crazy sense of power. Staying and fighting is certain death, with big guns and a thousand men coming at us. I won’t go to my grave on somebody else’s mistaken whim. And that’s what staying is.” Arnold frowned at Michael and then straightened as he faced Elliot. “No disrespect, Doctor, but it’s suicide, and I’ll have no part of it.”
“So you’re going to cut and run when we need you most?” Michael snapped.
“I’m going to survive, you fool. You’ll learn I was right, but you’ll be dying by the time it sinks in. We have exactly zero chance with a clown like you calling the shots. I’ll say a prayer for you, but it’ll be a prayer for the dead, because that’s how you and everyone that stays will wind up. Sorry. That’s how it’ll go down.”
“Arnold, please. We have to work together,” Elliot implored.
“Either I lead everyone to safety, or you can make this your Alamo and die to the last man. Those are your choices.”
“Just get out of here, you coward. We don’t need you. I always thought you were all talk, and this proves it. First sign of trouble and you turn tail. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out,” Michael snapped.
Arnold barely controlled his impulse to lunge across the table at Michael and instead shook his head. “I’m talking to a ghost. Enjoy your remaining hours,” he said. “You too, Doc. You’re making a big mistake, but it’s yours to make. I’ll tell my men my decision, and any of them that want to stay are welcome to. Most probably will, which is sad, but they’re more loyal to the idea of Shangri-La than they are realistic.”
“Great. So now you’re going to cause a mutiny because you didn’t get your way,” Michael said.
Arnold stopped at the door and leveled a flat stare at Michael. “One more word out of you and you’ll be swallowing teeth. Don’t tempt me, because there’s nothing I’d rather do than knock you senseless. You’re going to get everyone butchered with your little power grab.”
Michael held his tongue, and Arnold left. When he was gone, Michael shook his head.
“We don’t need him. The mines are laid. All we need to do is blow the bridge and assemble some volunteers to run guerilla raids between here and Albuquerque. Maybe Lucas can help.”
Elliot stared at his hands as though he didn’t recognize them. “Maybe he’s right.”
“He’s not. He’s just not willing to consider anyone’s perspective but his own. That’s why he was a soldier instead of a general.”
Elliot exhaled and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he nodded. “Let’s get a sniper detail formed and assign a crew to blow the bridge. The charges are in place, right?”
“Correct. Arnold’s men set them yesterday. Hopefully correctly.”
Elliot regarded Michael dispassionately. “Michael, Arnold is many things, but incompetent isn’t one of them; nor is he a coward. We have to respect his decision, whether we agree with it or not. Don’t dismiss him so lightly – he’s done a fine job for years here, and we’ll be the poorer for his loss.”
“At the worst possible moment. Don’t forget he’s choosing to abandon us, not the other way around,” Michael spat, his tone bitter.
“We don’t have time to dwell on it. Come. Let’s break the news to the assembly and hand out assignments. We don’t have a moment to lose.”
Chapter 43
Lucas stood beside Sierra near the back of the gathering. On her other side Eve held her hand tightly, Ellie the piglet nuzzling the little girl’s ankle as Ruby looked on with concern. Michael had called an emergency assembly twenty minutes earlier, attendance mandatory. Terry waited next to Ruby, his long face furrowed with doubt but his gaze determined as Elliot emerged from the main building and faced the crowd, Michael behind him.
“Thank you for coming so quickly,” Elliot began. “We’ve just received word that the Crew is on its way and will probably be here at some point tomorrow.”
A collective gasp went up from the group. Elliot held up a hand for silence before continuing. “Our man in Albuquerque says it’s a big force. He estimates around a thousand strong, in a motorized convoy towing horse trailers…and four howitzers.”
Another gasp was quickly followed by alarmed murmurs. Elliot allowed the unrest to continue for a half minute before signaling again for silence.
A voice called out from near the front, “How are we supposed to defend against howitzers, much less a thousand fighters?”
Elliot nodded. “A fair question. We’ve anticipated a large force, and as many of you know, we’ve already mined the highway approach and set charges on the bridge across the Rio Grande to stop the vehicles well away from here. But now that we have a definitive on the number of men, we’ve decided that it makes the most sense to conduct guerilla raids en route as well and to mine further away. They won’t be expecting it, and it should have a profound psychological effect on their fighters.”
“But you said they’ll be here tomorrow,” another man argued from the front of the throng.
“I said probably. But if the mines do their job, we can slow them considerably, which is where the guerilla raids will come in. Our strategy will be to send out a group of skilled snipers with night vision equipment, high-powered rifles, and AT4s, and hit them while they’re stopped at the minefields.”
Lucas frowned. “If they’re that well equipped, they’ll have NV gear too.”
Michael nodded, as though expecting the statement. “Yes, but we’re hoping that having some of their vehicles destroyed will throw them into disarray. At the very least, it will slow their progress to a crawl as they check every yard of road. We didn’t only mine the highway – we also mined the surrounding areas they’d have to take, and deliberately chose sections where there weren’t any options other than the road.
That lends itself perfectly to snipers lying in wait. If we can hit a few of their buses, we could eliminate hundreds of them before they get anywhere near us. By repeating this process again and again, we hope to be able to whittle them down by a significant number.”
“What about the big guns?”
Michael fielded that question, too. “Shouldn’t be an issue if they can’t get across the river. Their max range is about fifteen miles. That’s over twenty.”
Richard, one of Arnold’s security force, stepped forward. “That was for conventional units. If they’ve got special munitions, they could hit us from up to twenty-plus miles away.”
Michael looked like a deer in the headlights for a moment and then recovered. “We have no information on what they’re using for ammo.”
“Right. My point is that they very well could have big guns that could reach us even from across the river. That’s a very real possibility, especially if they aren’t all that concerned with accuracy. All they need to do is get a spotter into one of the hills around us and they could call in the fire and adjust as necessary. Presuming they don’t have a map, which they will.”
Michael’s tone hardened. “Which is why we need to eliminate the artillery before they get to the river.”
Another voice called out, “What’s this I heard about Arnold leaving?”
Elliot nodded. “Sadly, we had a parting of the ways over the best way to guarantee that our work here doesn’t go to waste. Arnold felt that the best option would be to abandon the valley to the Crew. I’m unwilling to vacate a place that’s the only bit of civilization I know of left in the world. If that isn’t worth fighting for, then I’m not sure there’s anything worth living for in the badlands. Everyone knows what it’s like out there. Nothing in life is free or easy, and sometimes you have to be prepared to fight to defend what’s yours. I made the call to stay; Arnold didn’t.”
The Day After Never - Covenant (Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller - Book 3) Page 19