An idea occurred to him. Strogolev walked over to the crew hatch and reached inside for a local map, looted from one of the deserted beach-shops at their landing site. He unfolded the crinkly paper and spread out the map on the side of the BTR.
“Orders acknowledged, Major. We are ready to roll,” said his lieutenant.
“Very good,” mumbled Strogolev. He traced a finger along the road his convoy was traveling. It lead straight north along the coast, to Port Canaveral and into the Kennedy Space Center. He examined the strategic position of KSC in relation to the rest of the state. It was a little more than halfway up the Atlantic coast.
His gaze settled on Miami—the initial beachhead of the Russian-Cuban forces. The great metropolis had crumpled in hours, giving itself to its new masters with reckless abandon. From there, he had rolled north with his commander, Colonel Doskoy, unopposed into Fort Lauderdale. The entire southern third of the state had been in Russian/Cuban hands in less than a week. Those that opposed their arrival had already fled, which left only supporters, the invalid, aged, or prisoners behind.
And there had been peace. Excepting a few little flare-ups in small towns like the one he was traveling through at the moment, the citizens of Florida had come to accept their Russian and Cuban “liberators”. They readily took the food and medicine offered by Strogolev’s forces and had even been polite about it.
Until today.
He pulled out a pencil and drew a rough line across the state—that was where the American home-guard had established itself as a deterrent to further expansion of what the Americans had started calling the Occupied Zone. The pencil traced from Tampa on the west coast to Orlando and then stopped at Cocoa Beach. He moved the pencil north and circled the Kennedy Space Center and Cape Canaveral.
“If we take The Cape, we break their line and turn their flank.” His frown deepened. “And if they want a war, we’ll give them one.”
YOU SURE THIS IS a good idea?” asked Erik. He crouched low by the corner of a pastel colored building on the southern border of Port Canaveral.
“Absolutely not,” was the tense reply over his headset.
Erik grinned and shook his head. “I don’t see anything from my position.”
“Negative visual,” replied Pinner’s deep voice from three blocks away.
“Keep watching,” ordered Ted. He was about a block away from Erik, holding down the middle of their very thin line. All around them, the local citizens were gathering to assault the approaching Russian convoy.
Erik heard footsteps behind him and turned to see a teenager approach, carrying a bolt action rifle complete with a large scope. “You one of the army guys?” he asked, voice cracking.
Erik grinned. “For now. Who you with?”
“35th Volunteers. Jacksonville. This is my first chance at the Commies…” Beads of sweat trickled down the younger man’s forehead as he gripped his rifle with white knuckles. He leaned around the house. “Seen any yet?”
“Nope,” said Erik. He leaned back against the wall. “But listen closely…” He held up a finger to his lips and closed his eyes. “You can hear their APCs…low rumbling sound.”
The young man closed his eyes and grew still. After a moment he opened his eyes wide. “By God, you can!” He took a nervous glance again around the corner of the building. “I can’t see ‘em, where they at?”
“We got a location on the convoy?” asked Erik.
“Best guess about one mile out. You got any reinforcements yet?”
“Yes, sir,” said Erik, sizing up the nervous teenager next to him. “They’re a little skittish.”
Pinner’s laugh sounded tinny but heartfelt. “You should have seen the way you looked a month ago…sir.”
A rifle shot echoed in the distance. The boy next to Erik flinched and nearly dropped his rifle.
“Cut the chatter—let’s keep the net open. I think Ivan just got here. You all know your orders…good hunting!”
“Roger that,” said Erik. He looked up at the clear blue sky and prayed silently for strength, good aim, and solid cover. Then asked God to get him out of this mess as quickly as possible.
“Oka hey,” replied Pinner’s voice.
A loud boom rolled through the air towards them from the south, sending birds darting into the sky from nearby trees.
“Is that t-them?” asked the boy.
“Yes,” said Erik. He put a hand on the teenager’s arm and pull the rifle down to a usable position. “Take it easy, man. You got a nice sniper rifle there. Let’s set up on the roof of this building, here. Get you behind an air conditioner unit or something where they’ll never see you.”
The youth blinked through the sweat dripping down his face and grinned. Courage seemed to flow back into him. “Yeah…” he cleared his throat. “Yeah, sounds good, man. Let’s do it.”
Erik led the way around the back of the building and up the fire escape ladder to the roof, his newfound partner close on his heels. In the distance, the sound of a stiffening firefight crackled and echoed all around them. There were short bursts from what to Erik’s ear sounded like M-4s or ARs, followed by some sharper rat-tat-tat-tats that had to AKs. Every now and then a single loud crash—he figured that had to be the heavy weapons on the vehicles—would silence everything for a moment.
When they were safely ensconced behind an air conditioner, hidden in shadows with a clear line of fire down the wide four lane road that would lead the Russians right to them, Erik clapped his partner on the back and said, “Okay, we’re all set. I’m going to lay down here and take a nap. Wake me when the Russians show up.”
The teenager’s eyes looked ready to pop out of his head. “W-what?”
Erik flashed a grin through his beard, red as the hair on his head. “Just kidding, man. I’ll be right here on the other side of this air conditioner. I’ll call out the shots and you start poppin’, okay? You got a longer range with that thing than I do with this.” He held up his government issue M-4.
“Yeah, sure,” said the kid.
Erik settled himself and pulled out his binoculars. He scanned to the south, looking for movement that would give away the location of the firefight. There was smoke starting to roll up into the sky to the southwest. Another plume suddenly emerged, a little closer. A tremendous noise, louder than a clap of thunder suddenly hit them.
“The hell was that?” asked the teenager. He adjusted the grip on his rifle and peeked through the scope again.
Erik checked the focus on his binoculars. “Explosion…looks almost due south of us. Either we took out one of their vehicles or they just blew up something big.”
“Stay frosty, boys,” advised Ted’s voice. “Just got word from a runner that the Russians have breached the line. They’re still rolling north. Should be in sight any minute. Weapons-free.”
“Hooah,” replied Pinner’s voice.
“Roger that,” said Erik. He relayed the message to his partner. The teenager wiped sweat from his brow and swallowed audibly.
“Hey,” he said, “you ever kill someone?”
Erik didn’t lower his binoculars. “Yeah, a few.” He watched a palm tree to the south, its top sticking up over a flat topped building, swaying back and forth. The tree toppled over. “Have you?”
“Ah…”
Erik pulled back from the binoculars. “How old are you?” he asked.
“I’m almost 16. My birthday’s another month away.”
Jesus. Is that all we have left? Kids? Erik turned his attention back to the south. He saw movement and raised the binoculars. Bingo.
“I got visual!” Erik reported into his radio. “I see three BTRs, a couple transports…”
“Oh shit, there they are,” said the teenager. “Look at ‘em all!”
“Roger that, we’re moving to secondary positions,” replied Pinner’s voice.
“Stay on, ‘em!” said Ted. “I’m shifting the militia to hit them on their left flank. Lot more than I expected…”<
br />
“What do I do?” squeaked Erik’s sniper.
“Look through your scope there, line up the cross hairs on a target, squeeze the trigger. Easy.” Erik rolled his eyes at the young man’s nervousness. “Okay—this helped with me. Pretend it’s a video game.”
“A video game? Those are real Russians down there!”
“Trust me—this is just like Modern Combat, you ever play that?”
“Hell yeah, I was head of my clan before the power went out. I sure miss that game.”
“Well, there you go—pretend it’s just another mission in the game. Now hurry up before they get too close!”
“Viking,” called out Ted’s voice. “See that third APC?”
Erik adjusted his binoculars. “Roger that, Bulldog.”
A plume of white smoke shot out of the trees that lined the street. Erik caught a glimpse of a flash of light and then a brilliant explosion consume the front half of the third Russian APC. The lead vehicles peeled out to the left and right trying to go into evasive action. Another missile shot out between two buildings on the other side of the road, narrowly missing the weaving armored vehicles. A building absorbed the missile with a cloud of smoke and fire.
“Got one!” yelled Ted.
“Nice shooting!” said Pinner.
“Uh,” Erik said, “They’re not stopping…”
“I see it, I see it!” replied Ted’s voice. The gunfire continued unabated but was now accompanied by the thunderous blasts from the Russian heavy vehicles.
“There’s so many of them!” Erik’s partner wailed. A bullet ricocheted off the air conditioner next to the young man and he cringed, nearly dropping his rifle.
“Hey, calm down, it was just a lucky—” Erik ducked when another round impacted the rooftop nearby. “Okay, maybe they spotted us.” Three more rounds kicked up pebbles and bits of masonry. “Yeah, they definitely spotted us! Come on,” he said, grabbing the kid’s shoulder. “We gotta go—now!”
The boy-sniper jumped up and scrambled for the emergency ladder.
“Hey, don’t forget your rifle!”
Erik sighed. It was no use—the kid had already scaled the side and was on the ground by the time Erik snatched up the long gun. “Viking is on the move—we’re compromised. Got a Russian patrol closing on our location!”
“Get out of there! They’re running over all of us. Looks like the militia is falling back, too.”
“Roger that!” Erik said as he got himself over the edge of the roof in a shower of incoming rounds. When he had his feet safely on the ground he immediately took off running north, for the safety of the treeline behind his building. Without warning, he saw everything go white and was thrown through the air.
When he was able to kick-start his lungs again and suck down enough air to cough, he rolled over onto his back and felt pebbles and debris slide off his body in the process. He raised a shaky hand and shielded his eyes as he looked at the remains of the building he had fled.
“Jesus,” he coughed, “that was close.”
“Viking! Viking, come in! You still there?” shrieked Ted’s voice over the radio, now some ten feet away in the dirt.
Erik struggled to his hands and knees, still shaky from the effects of…whatever the hell had destroyed his sniper position. He eventually made his way through the abandoned lot to his radio. He slumped down on his back again, gasping for breath.
“Yeah,” he said. After another cough to clear his lungs of dust, he wiped the grime from his forehead and brought the radio to his lips again. “Viking’s here. The hell was that?”
“Hell if I know…looked like a missile came out of the blue. I didn’t see it launch.”
“I think Ivan’s got himself a drone, sir,” said Pinner’s voice. It sounded like he was running.
“Christ. All right—fall back to the bridge. We gotta get north of them and cut off their access to the rest of the island. Let’s haul the mail, boys!”
“Hooah,” replied Pinner’s deep voice. “I’m almost there.”
Erik coughed again and got to his feet. “I’m on the move.” As he turned to begin his run north, he saw a glint in the sky to the south.
“They do have a drone…” As he watched, a missile was deployed, the white exhaust trail snaking down to the ground on the other side of the ambush area. The ground trembled beneath his feet and a plume of smoke and dust erupted over the treetops to the south. A thunderclap drowned out the sounds of the skirmish. He sprinted north and warned his squad-mates of the drone as he entered the treeline.
The North Courtenay Parkway Bridge, just north of A-1A, was the only reasonable access point for the Russians to reach KSC. It was only a few blocks north of the ambush site, but Ted had guessed that the local militia would slow down the invaders just enough for the three soldiers to set a booby-trap.
Erik hoped they had enough time. He sprinted across a McDonald’s parking lot and straight up the middle of Courtenay, relishing the shade as he crossed under A-1A’s overpass. Ted waved at him from the north side of the Courtenay Bridge.
“Hurry up, sir,” warned Pinner’s voice in Erik’s ear. “I see some Russian foot-mobiles at the McDonald’s behind you. I think they’re trying to secure the bridge for the rest of the column.”
Erik didn’t bother to reply but put all his energy into getting his ass across the drawbridge. He did his best to ignore the burning in his chest and focus on the hollow sounds his boots made as he galloped across the steel middle section of the two-lane northbound drawbridge. A rifle shot behind him told him that the Russians had a visual.
Go, go, don’t look back, just run! A round exploded one of the windows of the bridge control tower in the middle of the river. Erik ducked the falling glass and ran for his life across the second half of the bridge.
“Just keep moving, man—we’ve got you covered. Light ‘em up, Pinner!”
Erik flinched again as twin rifle shots rang out—this time from in front. Another ricochet sounded behind him, way too close for comfort. He continued his mad dash across the bridge and didn’t stop running until he passed the end of the guardrails on the north shore and collapsed into a dense copse of trees.
Pinner leaned out around the largest tree and pulled Erik behind better cover. Then he carefully raised his M4 and fired off another shot. He looked down at Erik and grinned. “I got Viking, Bulldog. Bridge is clear.”
“Good—All right, here goes nothing. I hope these locals know what the hell they’re doing. Blowing the bridge in three, two, one…”
“Open your mouth!” Pinner said as he turned away from the bridge and cupped his ears.
Erik closed his eyes and opened his mouth. The next thing he knew, it felt like he was flying. Then he was on his back and the world was reduced to a high-pitched ringing. He coughed some more and cracked an eye open.
Sergeant Pinner was on his knees, coughing, but gave him the thumbs-up. A massive cloud of dust was drifting north and billowing up into the sky. It blotted out the afternoon sun ushering in an early twilight. Erik could see bits of debris falling from the sky all around them, splashing into the calm Canaveral Barge Canal.
“Good Lord,” Erik said, coughing. He rolled over to his hands and knees and tried to get up.
“Well,” said Pinner, leaning against the tree. “I think that shut down the bridge for a while.”
“Oorah!” roared Ted’s voice over their radios. He laughed and coughed. “These rednecks know how to party! Holy shit, that was awesome! I never expected a home-brew to go up like that!”
Erik shook his head to clear his thoughts. He started to feel a bit light-headed and his hands shook. The last time he’d felt so out of sorts had been in the parking lot back home at the Freehold, when he’d killed the escaped prisoner that had tried to attack Brin and Susan…
He ignored the excited chatter that was going back and forth between Ted and Pinner. His mind was telling him he still wasn’t safe, despite the fact that the Russians mi
lling around on the south back of the canal could do nothing at the moment to reach them other than take pot-shots with their rifles. God I just want to leave…run north with Brin…
The drone.
Those two little words shot through his spinning mind like lightning and he was suddenly on high-alert.
“Where’s the Matvee, Pinner? They got a drone in the air—I spotted it before we beat feet here. We gotta get the hell out of here before that thing takes us out. They’ll be looking for blood, now.” Ted’s voice had a distinct urgency to it.
Pinner’s smile vanished. “I stashed it over that hill there.” He turned to Erik and helped him to his feet. “Let’s go get the Major.”
CHAPTER 4
Wolverines!
ROB GUNN WIPED SWEAT from his forehead with the back of his hand and exhaled. He adjusted the hat on his head and said, “All right boys, one last heave ought to do it. On three.” He took one more look at his work crew. “Ready?”
“Let’s do this, I’m hungry,” said Nate Godfrey.
Rob grunted. “One…two…three!” The six-man team groaned and strained as one and the heavy pine log they had man-handled all afternoon finally settled into place at the top of Redoubt #4 and nestled tight. Most of the team dropped to the ground and gave weak cheers.
Rob leaned against the stout wall, now a good two feet higher than his head and tried to catch his breath. I’m getting too old for this shit, he told himself. He sighed and knuckled his aching lower back. The coolness of the fresh-fallen wood was a welcome relief to his forehead.
Makes a nice patch of shade too. He stood back and thumped the wall with his gloved fist. The sound was dense and firm. Ought to be. Each log was at least two feet thick, good strong Arizona Scots Pines.
He nodded to himself. His eyes roamed the length of the redoubt, as it appeared to grow from the side of the mountain, curved south and again to the west. Put a walkway along the back of the wall and a man could stand up and shoot over the top, drop down to the ground and he’s invisible. He slapped the wall again. It’d take a tank to bust through these logs.
Sic Semper Tyrannis Page 5