“I’m not just sitting here moping, you know,” Erik said, trying hard to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
Ted grinned. “I know, man.” He flipped a switch on the control unit and after a series of green lights lit up, Ted pronounced the drone ready. “All right, let’s launch this thing.” He grabbed the radio on his belt. “You got a signal?”
After a brief pause, Pinner’s voice replied, “Hooah.”
“Okay,” responded Ted. “We’re launching.” He turned to Erik. “Let ‘er rip.”
Erik stood and cocked his arm, feeling for all the world like a quarterback ready to throw the game winning touchdown. He threw the little plane forward into the wind and it shot into the sky, its electric motor whining as it quickly gained altitude.
Erik took cover behind the plaster covered steel facade of the building they occupied. He felt naked out on the crushed gravel roof. Situated on the southeast corner of Lake Eola Park, the apartment building was ten stories tall and provided a commanding view of the eastern extreme of Orlando proper. They would have no trouble monitoring the Russian advance. He could easily see both Colonial Drive and the Holland Expressway, the two main east-west highways nearby.
Ted crouched behind an air conditioning unit and focused on the controls in his hand as he flew the little drone east. “You know, I never said it, but I’m sorry I dragged you into this mess,” he said quietly.
Erik sighed and reached for his binoculars. “You didn’t drag me into this,” he replied. “I made up my own mind. Besides, both of us were just trying to make sure our families are safe.”
“I know, but still.” Erik heard the rustle of Ted’s clothing as the Marine turned and shrugged. “Joining the Army—or any service—is a huge step. And you were dumped into the middle of a war on top of everything else. I just wanted you to know—”
“In case we die?” asked Erik, this time, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. He frowned, looking through the binoculars. “Jesus, Ted, I’ve got enough on my mind without you reminding me we’re probably sealing our own fate out here.”
“We’re not on our own, man, the other teams are—”
“Yeah, I know,” said Erik. “The other three- and four-man teams scattered all over this side of Orlando. Doesn’t make me feel more secure.”
“Would you prefer a tank?” Ted asked in a quiet voice.
Erik laughed. “Yeah, actually, a tank would make me feel pretty damn secure.”
“Well, I got one for you, but it ain’t ours.”
Erik turned and looked over his shoulder at Ted. He suddenly found his throat was too dry to speak. It felt like a hand had just wrapped around his heart and began to squeeze. Blood rushed in his ears and created a roar that threatened to drown out the world for a second or two. He swallowed and tried to speak again, “Is it them?”
Ted glanced at Erik and in that one look, Erik knew they were doomed. The Russians had arrived. There would be no hide-and-seek this time, no ‘run away’ orders as soon as the fighting started. Erik looked back to the east over the edge of the rooftop and tried to keep his hands from shaking.
Dear God, please let me see my wife again…
Erik suddenly felt foolish that in all his fears, he was wasn’t really afraid of dying or some horrible wound—he was afraid he’d never get to look at his wife’s face, see her smile, fall into her captivating almond-shaped eyes, or hear her honest laugh again. He closed his eyes tight and gritted his teeth in an attempt to regain his composure.
“It’s okay, man,” said Ted’s voice. “Everybody goes through it the first time.”
“It’s not my first time,” Erik growled, sounding to himself more like a petulant teenager than an officer. You survived the attack at the gate back at the Freehold, he told himself. You rescued the soldiers from the marina. You organized and led the people of the Freehold. You can do this!
He roughly wiped his face and tried to clear his eyes enough to look through the binoculars. “I’ll be fine,” he muttered. He continued scanning the horizon with his binoculars. A flash due east in the sunlight caught his attention. Jesus Christ, look at them all. We must’ve only met the tip of their forces back at Cocoa…
“Uh,” he said, his voice cracking. “There’s a lot of them coming this way…”
“Yeah,” was Ted’s faint response. “I’m putting the drone into auto-pilot. We need to get the hell out of here.”
Erik focused on the column of boxy vehicles as they trundled toward him on the Holland Expressway. For the most part, they were dark-green, almost black. He recognized the angular shape of the BTRs from their earlier skirmish. The others, low, squat, wide things that looked like tanks without turrets, were a mystery to him. There were supply trucks, a few things that looked like delivery vans, and even a gaggle of civilian cars. It was quite the convoy.
“Got a drone in the air. Make that two,” said Pinner’s voice over Erik’s radio. “Keep your heads down, sirs.”
“We’re the only ones out here,” said Ted. “I don’t see any civvies—they won’t waste a missile on just the two of us. Just hold still.”
Erik rolled his eyes. Just hold still. There’s a goddamn army heading straight for us and you tell me to hold still…I never should have joined up. I should have said goodbye to Ted and Susan and the kids and taken Brin and just headed north. What was I thinking?
“I know you’re having second thoughts about all this,” Ted said softly. “Everyone does when they go into combat for the first time. I know—you think the skirmish yesterday was the first time. Well, it wasn’t. That was nothing. I’m telling you, what you’re feeling is normal. And it will pass. Just take a deep breath and focus on the mission.”
“Focus on dying, you mean?” Erik regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.
Ted was silent for a moment. “If that’s what it takes to make sure our families are safe—that they have enough time to get to safety, then yes, God damn it, focus on making your death count. Focus on taking out as many of those Russian sons of bitches as you can, on slowing them down as much as possible. Focus on any fucking thing you want, but don’t focus on how much your hands are shaking or how much you’d like to throw up.” Ted moved up to the edge of the roof and crouched next to Erik behind the facade. He looked at Erik in the face, his eyes burning.
“Grab those feelings by the balls and shove ‘em deep down and bury ‘em, Erik. I’m telling you, man, that’s the only way you’re going to have a clear head. And the only way you’re going to survive this is if you have a clear head.”
Erik swallowed. “Okay,” he said weakly. The constant nervous chatter on the radio didn’t help Erik’s mood. The other scouts were starting to report Russian sightings and were spreading the word about the large force advancing toward Orlando.
Ted frowned. “Don’t give me that ‘okay’ shit. They called you the Duke back at the Freehold—and for good reason, too! I watched you walk right into a horde of drugged-out gang-bangers with nothing but a fucking sword. And you cut a path through them like death itself. There is no difference between those gang-bangers and these Russians—except the weapons and training. But don’t forget,” Ted said with a smile. “You got better weapons this time, too.”
Erik mulled this over doubtfully and glanced down at the trash-strewn street ten floors below. The bricked cul-de-sac in front of the apartment building they were perched on top of was lined with the garbage of those who had remained in their dwellings since the summer began.
“Don’t you think we need to warn the people around here that the war is coming?”
Ted was quiet for a second. “Dude, there’s no time. There’s only a handful of us out here anyway. You heard the Captain…”
The radio broke squelch as if on cue: “Chisel 2-1, this is Actual, over.”
Ted picked up the radio and said, “2-1, Actual, go ahead.”
“Toolchest reports reinforcements on site in ten, repeat, back-up will be
on site in ten.”
“Chisel 2-1, copies all,” replied Ted. The radio began to squawk through other call signs as word spread through the American line.
“Still,” said Erik. “Feels like we ought to do something to warn anyone who might be left…”
Ted glassed the incoming Russian host. “If anyone is still here, it’s too late, man.” He pointed. “Missiles in the air.” He grabbed the radio again. “Osceola, we got inbound missiles—keep your head down.”
“Roger that,” was Pinner’s terse reply.
Erik felt his heart quicken, the hammering in his chest was almost audible—at least that’s what it felt like. A cold sweat trickled down his spine despite the warm and humid Florida autumn afternoon. A thought from another life trickled through his brain: We haven’t had a hurricane yet this year…that’s odd…
Then he saw the white trails snake up into the sky from close to the horizon. Off to the north and south of the Holland, the Russians had set up missile launchers. Erik watched in silence, through shaking binoculars as the missiles reached the peak of their arc and began to curve down toward the ground. Toward them.
“Ted…” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I know…”
“Those things are getting real close, man…”
When Ted didn’t reply, Erik tore his gaze from the incoming missiles and looked over his shoulder. Ted was staring up at the sky, mouth set in a grim line, as if he were daring the incoming munitions to mess with him. He looked like a recruiting poster, the defiant American, ready to defend his country and face death with a smile.
“Shouldn’t we get off the roof—I mean, we know where they are now…”
Ted still said nothing. He just stared at the sky. “They’re going over us.” He looked down at Erik. The radio squealed. Someone from HQ screamed orders for units to help put counter-fire into the Russian flanks or some such nonsense. Erik ignored it. Now that there were honest-to-God missiles flying in the air, orders and commands didn’t mean much to him. Getting off the damn roof was everything.
“What are we doing just standing here?” he asked in a shaky voice.
A handful of jets—fighters Erik assumed—roared overhead coming from the south. For a heartbeat Erik thought they were American. Maybe the Florida Air National Guard had survived the mauling he’d heard about down south. But when they fired missiles into areas to the north that he knew were occupied by other scout units, he realized they were Russian jets.
“They’re targeting Toolchest!” the radio squawked. “All units this net, get to your—”
The transmission cut out in time with an explosion in the distance. A skyscraper was on fire, pouring black smoke into the sun-kissed sky. More and more plumes of smoke began to add to the darkness forming over Orlando as the Russian missiles found their targets.
“Toolchest is down, repeat, Toolchest is—” another voice said before it too was silenced. More explosions boomed in the distance as the jets appeared to turn, the sound of their engines circling all around Erik. It was maddening.
“Yeah, we need to move. I didn’t count on them having mobile missile launchers—or close air support. This is getting nastier by the second. HQ is gone, man. Let’s roll.”
“You don’t gotta tell me twice!” said Erik. He jumped up and grabbed his pack and rifle. He made sure that his gladius was strapped securely to the pack, then followed Ted across the baking hot rooftop. Overhead, he began to hear a whine-whistle as the first missiles streaked across the sky and disappeared into downtown Orlando behind them.
As Erik skidded to a stop by the emergency roof access hatch, he heard the first thudding booms echo around the buildings clustered at their corner of the Eola Lake park. A few car alarms wailed in the distance. Someone screamed from the ground. More missiles tore through the sky overhead.
“Come on!” said Ted from inside the hatch. “They’re getting closer! We got to move! It’s over, man. We need to get to the girls and get the hell out of Dodge!”
Erik tossed his pack into the hatch opening and began to climb down. His last look east found the Russian forces still streaming towards town across the Holland. They were much closer now. He could see dozens of vehicles and civilian trucks all rumbling along at a sedate speed. More missiles took flight behind them in the distance.
“Jesus,” cried Ted from below. “They’ll run right over us when that main force from Miami gets here.”
“What about our reinforcements?” asked Erik as he dropped to the floor inside the darkened hallway. He stood up and waited for his eyes to adjust to the near pitch blackness. Ted thrust a bundle at him and urged him to keep up.
“Get your shit together, man. We got to get out of this place. Our reinforcements are going to get here too late to do any damn good. These Russians mean business. We’d need a fucking division to hold this place, now—not the battalion that we’ve got.”
The building shook as they ran through deserted hallways littered with the refuse of a panicked population that had fled weeks ago. Erik tripped and fell headlong into the rotting garbage and discarded possessions that became land mines in the dark. With each roar of the jets they heard through broken windows, another explosion threatened to throw them to the floor in teeth-jarring violence.
At last, gasping for breath and staggering from near-blindness, Erik and Ted stumbled into the daylight on the ground floor at the rear the apartment building. Ted braced himself against the side of the building in the shade and spoke into his radio: “Osceola, get your ass over here on the double—bring the wheels, we are Oscar Mike!”
“Copy that, Devil Dog.”
“Come on, we got to get the hell away from this building—it’s got a big bull’s-eye on it—though they might find us by the smell. You reek, dude.”
“Ha, ha.”
Erik gathered his gear and raced off, ducking involuntarily every time a jet roared overhead or he heard that eerie whistle-whine of the Russian missiles. The explosions were getting louder and closer. Bits of brick and mortar, plaster, and glass rained down on them when a building across the street took a direct hit. The explosion nearly deafened Erik, but it was high enough up, about six floors, that he remained on his feet and kept running after Ted.
The Marine ducked and twisted into an alley heading down towards the lake, so Erik followed. As they exited the trash-strewn alley, Erik froze. Across the lake on the northern shore, one of the ugly BTRs emerged from the foliage and accelerated west, followed by a three pickups full of soldiers.
The unmuffled roar of a diesel engine announced Pinner’s arrival with their M-ATV. He came to a stop a few feet away and yelled out the window, “Hurry up, sirs! Ivan’s on my ass!”
Erik shrugged out of his pack and tossed it through the suicide door before he climbed aboard. Incoming rounds kicked up dust and pebbles around them. One ricocheted off the tan armor of the M-ATV. Erik cursed and jumped in. Pinner hit the gas before the passenger doors closed and they rumbled west. Erik strapped himself into the seat with some difficulty as Pinner juked and weaved through the trees on a walking path, trying to stay under cover as long as possible.
“HQ got whacked—” Ted said. He slammed into his door as Pinner jerked the wheel. A tree ahead of them exploded into countless toothpicks. The roar was tremendous.
“Christ!” screamed Erik.
“BTR’s got a bead on us,” said Pinner. “Almost waited too long,” he said. The Indian shot a disapproving glance at his CO before focusing on the driving again.
“Just get us the hell out of here!” replied Ted, one hand on his helmet, the other braced against his door.
“Hang on, here’s the edge of the park,” Pinner called out as the M-ATV hit a curb and jumped into the air at 30 MPH. Erik noticed absently how the engine roared as the wheels came off the ground. He could almost hear ‘Dixie’ as the big truck soared over the ground.
He adjusted his helmet after the bone-jarring landing and tried
to keep himself upright in his jump-seat while Pinner put the heavy vehicle into a slide around a hairpin corner. Suddenly, they were on a street and gaining speed.
“Where to?” asked Pinner. A building a few blocks away erupted into a giant fireball.
“Holy shit,” Erik whispered as he watched the debris fly through the air. He could see desks and office furniture—on fire—soaring through the space between buildings.
“North—we need to get to the civilian camps—”
“Watch out!” Erik screamed. A civilian had run into the road—staggered more like it—right into their path. Pinner cursed and torqued the steering wheel to the right. The big truck swerved, but the left rear tire clipped the stunned man and sent him flying back onto the sidewalk with a shriek of pain.
“Oops,” said Pinner.
Erik gaped out his tiny, armored window. “I think we killed him!”
“Maybe it’s a blessing,” Ted replied. “Can’t help that now.”
Pinner took another corner and narrowly avoided a man and woman scurrying across the road. More and more civilians were emerging from the buildings as the Russians poured fire into eastern Orlando. Explosions tore the air and smoke was beginning to make the afternoon look more like dusk.
“Damn civvies…” muttered Pinner. “Get the hell out of the way!” he yelled as a woman, dressed in ragged red clothes staggered into the street with wild eyes. As they flew past Erik got a better glimpse of her: she wasn’t wearing red, she was covered in blood.
He looked behind them and watched her fall in the middle of the street. Four more people rushed past, screaming at their bumper for help. There was a crowd growing in the distance, heading everywhere but east. A chilling thought occurred to him.
“They’re driving the civilians like cattle.”
“What?” asked Pinner as he swerved to avoid more people. “We’re losing speed here.”
Ted sighed and rubbed his face. “Shit, Erik’s right. They’re attacking soft targets, driving any survivors right into our lines. Those reinforcements will never get through this mess coming from the west. We’re more screwed than I thought.”
Sic Semper Tyrannis Page 11