As soon as each battery was in position, it began to vomit forth a hell of steel and explosives, which streaked across the sky to slam into preregistered positions where the enemy had no choice but to be – road intersections, minor bridges and overpasses, gaps in the low but steep hills.
Within a minute, the combined firepower of five brigades of artillery rained down on the U.S. forces. Trapped between the 36th’s defensive positions and the Rio Grande river, they had nowhere to go, nowhere to maneuver.
“Order the 36th to attack, now!” Clemens said with relish. The screens soon began to show his armored forces pushing deliberately southward, overwhelming the lead edge of the now-disorganized enemy. There might be a small amount of fratricide as artillery fell among friendly units, but the Texas units had practiced coordinating their rolling barrages over the past few weeks, and the assault functioned as well as these things ever did on a confused battlefield.
The command center fell silent as everyone watched the slaughter.
“Sir, the 71st says enemy elements are moving into the city of Del Rio,” the battle captain said. “The Texas State Guard there is being pushed back.”
“What’s the battle damage assessment?” Clemens asked. “How bad did we hurt them?”
“Near eight-five percent for the lead elements. Closer to fifty for those near the river. Some are attempting an amphibious withdrawal, but without swimming modifications or bridging equipment, only a few will get away.”
“Should we refocus our fires on the river?” the battle captain asked.
“No, we don’t have enough observers. We’d waste a lot of ammo. Order the artillery to shift to combat support mode for their organic units. Priority of fires is assigned to the 36th. Tell the 36th to press forward to Del Rio and assist with the defense of the city. We don’t want them getting in there and then have to dig them out.”
General Clemens tried not to smile, but he couldn’t help it. By tomorrow everyone would know his name. He’d soundly defeated the Americans, inflicting catastrophic casualties on their lead elements. The other enemy forces were now stuck south of the Rio Grande. If they wanted to cross, they would have to throw up field bridges under fire, one of the most difficult military operations there ever was…and he wasn’t going to make it easy for them.
Probably end up with lots of prisoners, and captured equipment as well, a nice bonus.
It’s a glorious, overwhelming victory, certain to secure Texas from its enemies, and it’s got my name on it.
Chapter 28
Lieutenant Colonel Louie Korver felt as if he were coming home, albeit not in any way he would have ever imagined. He’d spent most of his army career at Fort Hood, Texas and he and his wife still owned a home in Killeen. Therefore, it seemed surreal to stand in the open hatch of his armored vehicle, looking out over the flat dusty landscape.
As the battalion commander of the lead element of Operation Lincoln, he knew speed was key. His three Bradley companies were spread out in front of him in a mighty wedge of mobility, firepower, and steel nearly two miles across, consisting of fifty Bradley fighting vehicles. His armored company of sixteen Abrams M2 tanks were right behind him to serve as a reserve should they encounter any resistance.
“Go around,” Korver said to his driver, who dutifully sped through the narrow opening in the highway they were crossing. Hundreds of dazed civilians looked on in shock from the long lines of vehicles that were standing still, nowhere to go in the mass panic to get away.
Why are they running? The fighting will be farther to the south. If they were smart they would stay where they are. It’s not like we’re the Russians bent on revenge, driving into Germany in ’45, after all.
The streaming masses of civilians had slowed the armored advance, and Korver had gritted his teeth in frustration. He knew that speed of maneuver was the way to take the Texans off guard, and he especially wanted to catch the lead elements of his former unit, Fort Hood’s 1st Armored Division, with their pants down.
Korver knew he would face former friends and comrades, and he was eager to do it. They were rebels and traitors. If they chose to stand against him and his men, he would do his best to make them regret it.
First, though, he had to achieve his principal objective. The entire operation depended upon him and his men.
“Incoming Hellfire! Helo, two o’clock,” said a voice over the battalion secure net.
“Engaging, now,” said another voice and Korver pulled up his binoculars just in time to see a puff of smoke leave the turret of one of the Bradleys. The Stinger missile streaked up into the sky before curving off to the left out of sight. A split second later there came an explosion in the sky, and then another, separate one on the ground.
“Target destroyed,” said a satisfied voice.
“Charlie Company, one mobility kill,” a different voice said. “Need recovery at grid…” The unnamed speaker recited the details needed to get a crew to repair or salvage the damaged Bradley.
This was the third helicopter they’d shot down and the second Bradley lost. Korver had heard on the division net that the main elements behind him were being harassed by A-10 ground attack planes, and he was grateful he only had to deal with the helos. On the flat open ground during daylight, the helicopters had a rough time, thank God. Once they got closer to built-up areas, it would be a different story.
Don’t plan on being here that long, Korver thought, looking at his watch. They had another hour until they reached their initial objective phase line. There, they would either link up with supply units to refuel, or raid gas stations.
Salvaging local fuel might work for the Bradleys, but he might have to leave the gas-guzzling Abrams tanks behind.
If we have to leave them behind for the support elements, I will. Speed is the most important thing and I won’t spend much time sitting still.
“Watch out!” Korver yelled into his headset. He was thrown sharply to the side as his driver swerved to the left to keep from running down a small herd of cattle that seemed to materialize out of the ground, equally startled.
He remembered the lightning armored drive into Iraq, and so much about this mission reminded him of that operation. Flat open dusty ground. Lines of cars and masses of bewildered civilians. Light to no resistance. Shepherds and their sheep wandering the arid landscape. He shuddered at the chain of thought, because it ended with outrun supply lines and brutal urban warfare inside the cities.
That’s why we have to move fast. Knock them out before they even realize they’re in a fight. But it all depends on taking the objective. My objective.
Objective Crimson, it had been designated. Target: an automated communications hub west of Fort Worth, one which controlled and coordinated the data streams for the radars and missiles of the umbrella covering all of Texas. As soon as they took out that site, the briefings had said the war would be largely won. U.S. warplanes could fly in with impunity, bombing every military target they could identify. The 101st and 82nd could drop and air assault deep, to seize key locations. And perhaps most importantly, friendly units would have no fear of attack from the Texas air forces and could concentrate on winning the ground war.
They came upon a long barbed wire fence enclosing thousands of sheep. “Go through it,” Korver roared. The Bradley burst through the thin barrier, and then had to slow to let the frightened flock run away.
He almost ordered his driver to run them down, and then remembered their instructions to minimize damage to private property. All they would need is some reporter showing a scene of his Bradley chewing through a herd of sheep, leaving a bloody train in its wake. That was the sort of thing he didn’t want associated with his name in the news.
Besides, his daughter loved sheep. She’d probably never recover from the spectacle.
It’s all about public opinion, he thought angrily, and was reminded again how much this was like Iraq. I hate public opinion. Hell, I hate the public.
“Stupid civilians
,” he said, not realizing his microphone was open.
“What, sir?” asked the gunner.
“Nothing.” Korver checked his watch again. If they could reach their objective before nightfall, the Texas Rebellion would be toast and he’d make Colonel within six months.
Chapter 29
Reaper’s team sat in the shade provided by one of the sheer rock walls. They were gathered around Shortfuse, who was mixing powders and crystals.
“How is it going?” she asked.
“Hard to say,” said Shortfuse. “I’d really like to test it, but that’s probably not a good idea.”
“How much more of this do you need?” Bunny asked.
He looked at the mixture in the bowl-shaped hollow in the rock before him, and then critically at the small mesh bag at his feet. “I’d like to have at least ten pounds of urea nitrate for a fifty-fifty mixture.”
“How much have we collected so far?” asked Hawkeye.
“I’d say we’ve got a pound so far. Maybe a little less.”
“What?” asked Bunny. “You mean after three days of collecting the camp’s smelly piss, Evaporating it and then scraping up the crystals to bring you, we only have a pound.”
Shortfuse shrugged. “It is what it is. It’s too bad everyone is so dehydrated or this would go faster.”
“So at this rate we only need another month here to be able to see if this works?”
There came a loud collective groan from the team, even Hulk, who had finally come out of his coma although he was still extremely weak.
“What else is there to do? I never said it would be quick.”
“Looks like we have more prisoners coming in,” said Hawkeye, pointing up toward activity at the main gate. Several guards were opening the series of barriers and letting someone in.”
Tarzan grunted. “Just one person. Must have been a slow day.”
Reaper ignored them and their griping. Something about the man’s walk seemed familiar. She stood as she saw the blue prison tattoos on bare arms, and then his face.
“Tarzan, Hawkeye, back me up.” Making her way through the shuffling crowds, Reaper met him at the base of the long winding rock path. Leaning close so that others couldn’t hear, she said, “What the hell are you doing here?”
Python looked at her, distressed. “Damn, Reap. You’ve lost at least twenty pounds and you were already a stick.”
“We’ve only been here a few days. You should see some of the long-timers. Again, what the hell are you doing here?”
“Spooky sent me.”
“A rescue?”
“Actually, yes.”
“Not to be critical, getting yourself captured might not be a good first step.”
“Have some faith. I’ve got a plan. Up here.” He tapped his head and waggled his eyebrows.
“I’m too tired and weak for banter,” Reaper said. “Just tell me. I’d like the opportunity to be disappointed and disgusted alone with you before we have to go tell my team the news of your already-failed rescue attempt.”
“Same old Reap. Anybody ever tell you you’re a pessimist?”
“All the time.”
Python pointed at the closed gates at the top of the path. “We’re going to get your team and walk right through there to freedom. My men are up top with vehicles and we’ll drive you south and back across the border.”
“And why would the guards just let us go?”
“Because I gave them an official military order saying you were free to go.”
“Surely they’re not dumb enough to think it’s legit,” she said.
“Of course not. The paper is only a justification if they get caught letting us go, although I’m not sure anyone will notice. There are so many Eden detainees around the country now they can hardly keep track of them all.”
“Why would they just let us go?”
Python rubbed his finger and thumb together. “Because I’ve made it worth their while. Given a choice between money or risking their lives for a questionable cause, a surprising number chose the green.”
Reaper looked around the vast dirt hole and the thousands of miserable, starving wraiths. “What about them?”
“Just have three vehicles. They won’t fit.”
“You know what I mean.”
Python sighed. “We can’t get them all out. The guards have to have someone to guard. There’s no way they can claim to believe an order to disband the camp, or something like that.”
Reaper shook her head. “We can’t just leave them.”
Python’s face turned grim. “I love you, girl, but I’m afraid you don’t really know what you’re talking about here.”
“Try me,” she said walking up close to glare at him. “Lay it out for me real simple and slow so I get it.”
He spread his hands toward the vast hole. “You think we’re in the only place like this? The Unionists bragged last week that they managed to get the Eden infection rate below five percent. Do you know what that means for a population of over three hundred million?”
Reaper sat down slowly on a rock beside her.
“Where do you put fifteen million infectees?” he continued. “Lots have escaped and Texas is now full of them, but the vast majority I would guess are like these poor souls...those that are still alive, that is. As you can see, now that the Unionists have taken control of Congress and many of the state governments, they’ve given up on the pretext of containing the Edens. This is a death camp. Efficient, brutal, and hidden. Pretty soon, they’ll fill places like this with transported Edens. They’ll tell them they’re being resettled, they’ll load them all into boxcars, and ship them here.”
“So we can’t smuggle them out. There are too many.”
“That’s what I said.”
Reaper chewed her lip in thought. “We’ve got to do something more.”
Python threw his hands in the air and then pushed them slowly through his hair. “Didn’t you hear me? Fifteen million Edens. Some put in places like this. Others are being shipped to the Canadian north to freeze slowly in the tundra. Saving a few thousand won’t make any difference.”
Reaper looked at him coldly. “Saving just us two made a difference. Now we’re working to help all Edens. Every one of them can make a difference. Just because we can’t save all of them doesn’t mean we should give up and not try to save any of them.”
“Okay,” said Python. “I cede the moral high ground, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve only paid to get you and your team out, and we need to do that fast, before the people I’ve paid off get nervous or my boys at the top do.”
“Fine. Let’s get going. But when the time comes, you follow my lead, get it?”
Python nodded slowly. “Of course, Jill.”
Reaper eyed him narrowly, but he only smiled. “Let’s go get the rest.”
When she told her team, they leaped to their feet.
“Wait,” she said. “Amble slowly through the crowds until we get a ways up the road. Otherwise, they might turn into a mob and stop us.”
“Why would they stop us?” Hawkeye asked.
Python looked at the short Hispanic man with disdain. “You don’t know much about people, do you?”
“Listen, convict –”
Reaper snapped, “Shut up, both of you, and do as I say. Walk slow and be ready for anything.”
They did as she instructed, and soon they were climbing the spiral road toward the top. Once they were halfway up, some of the zombies below began to point and holler, but by that time it was too late.
When they reached the top, the guards opened the gate to let them through. A roar of indignation swelled behind them, as if somehow the good fortune of a few meant that they were now worse off.
Three trucks and a dozen hard-bitten men with assault rifles stood beyond. One of them walked over to place a thick envelope in the hand of the prison guards’ leader, who nodded. “You can go.”
Python grinned, slapping the man’s back. “Su
re I can’t interest you in some high-quality powder? On the house. Must get pretty boring out here in bumfuck, New Mexico.”
The eyes of the camp boss roved over his men as he licked his lips. “Ah, maybe. If it’s free.”
“The first one always is. We’ll be back in a week or two with more cash and the best blow you ever put up your nose.” Python slapped an ounce into his hand, and then called over his shoulder, “Enrique, give them that case of tequila too.”
The man chuckled, fingering the packet and watching the liquor handed over. “My new friend, you can buy all the Edens you want for these prices.”
“Good. Pleasure doing business with you.” Python waved for everyone to load up in the trucks.
Once on the road, after stuffing her face with military rations and warm beer, Reaper said to Python, “We’re coming back tonight.”
“I figured.”
“You got extra weapons?”
“Of course. And some RPGs.”
Reaper made a face. “That will mean killing.”
“Going in like SWAT will mean risking our own lives. Besides, that ounce and that tequila I gave them was jam-packed with a max dose of Plague. That will give them a chance to live through it.”
Reaper chewed her lip for a moment, and then nodded. “I already lost Crash. Better them than us.”
“Glad we’re on the same page.”
“We hit them at three a.m.”
From her position a hundred yards from the pit, the moon gave Reaper plenty of light to see the building and guard towers along the rim. An hour of careful recon had determined that only a few of them were actually occupied. A pair of two-man teams rotated from place to place, moving around and checking to see no one was climbing the sheer walls. Two more men walked back and forth near the gate.
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