There were MPs stationed at the closest saloon, but when they moved to stop the Captain, the cavernous bore of his drawn revolver made them hesitate. He stared them down as the exhausted group of veterans and rangers filed into the dark barroom. Once his charges were safely deposited, he ducked his head in and shouted to the barkeep with a grin, “The first two rounds are on me! If they want more they pay for it themselves!”
The troops gave a ragged cheer as he ducked back out. He walked back up the street, heading for the big saloon where he thought he might find the Colonel. Sheepish men crowded around him, offering excuses for their panicked flight. The press of bodies grew until he had to stop and address them.
“It’s all right boys, it’s all right. No one is calling you yellow. Some of you took more punishment than anyone could have expected on that hill. I don’t blame any of you for running. In my eyes the blame rests on just one man. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go and discuss it with him.” He patted his holstered revolver and winked at the men. They laughed, still ashamed but glad the salty old ranger wasn’t rubbing it in.
The scene was much the same as it had been two nights before. The mostly empty room was still filled with a smoky haze. The Colonel was stuffed into the same corner booth, his officers squeezed onto the bench on either side. They looked up in astonishment when he burst through the door.
He didn’t play games this time. He stomped straight up to them, drew his revolver, and slammed it down on the table.
“Here! Use mine!”
The Colonel flinched at the violence of the act, his jowls jiggled. Major Price began to speak in outrage at his rude approach.
“Captain McLelland! What do you…” he trailed off, silenced by a murderous glance from the Captain.
McLelland turned back to the Colonel, his voice dripped with bile, “I thought maybe yours was broken in the fight.”
“Wha..what?” The Colonel stammered, barely able to form words in his sudden terror.
“Your sidearm. It must have been damaged in the fight. It’s the only reason that I can come up with for why you haven’t blown your own brains out in shame!”
“Captain, you are out of line!” Garza found sudden courage. “If you are somehow implying that our defeat was my fault, you are sadly mistaken! The enemy had anti-tank weapons! We couldn’t risk the armor, it is much too valuable to throw away fighting mere bandits! And I can hardly be blamed for the fact that the men turned and ran instead of doing their duty and pressing the attack home! If you insist on accusing me of cowardice or incompetence I will have you arrested! I will not abide insubordination in my army!
“Now, if you are quite through flinging wild accusations, I’d like to get back to discussing our next move. Before we were so rudely interrupted, Major Price was reporting on his latest intelligence. Major, please continue.”
The Captain was shocked into silence by Garza’s sudden display of authority. He listened, fuming, as the Major gave his report.
“Right, as I was saying, the enemy has moved to capture Hempstead. The town surrendered without a fight late this morning. Werner constructed defenses on the overpass and left two hundred men to hold them. The rest of his force has returned to their main camp to resupply.”
“Outstanding,” the Colonel was beaming now, “We can repay them for their insult yesterday. Two hundred men! We’ll walk right over them! We can wipe out a third of his army! Major, draw up the orders, we will march in the morning.”
“Is that wise, Colonel?” McLelland could no longer hold back. “I suggest we confirm the Major’s intel. I could have my scouts down to the enemy camp and back by tomorrow afternoon.”
“That won’t be necessary Captain, Major Price assures me of the accuracy of his reports.”
Price gave the Captain a snide look. “A prudent decision, Colonel, there is just one problem. Many of the men lost their weapons in the retreat. I’m afraid we will have to wait for resupply from Campus. And, of course, there is the matter of the missing supply trucks…”
The Captain laughed at this. “You mean the trucks you left in the road when you ran? Don’t worry, we collected them, along with the wounded men you left behind, or at least as many as we could. The rest are probably being served on Werner’s dinner table tonight. Maybe if you hadn’t…” He stopped. He could tell he was wasting his time. He was outnumbered by cowards who had spent the better part of a day and a half justifying their actions. He sighed and dragged the big pistol off the table and slid it back into his holster. “I’ll see you in the morning, gentlemen.” He turned to go, conveniently forgetting to salute again.
Collier was just riding through the gate with his company when the McLelland emerged from the officers’ bar. He rode over and nodded at the door, “The Colonel comfortable?”
“Very. He and his cronies are drinking the Mayor dry and dreaming up excuses for yesterday. What’s this I hear about Hempstead falling?”
Collier looked surprised for a moment. “The Major’s man already reported huh? I’m going to go ahead and guess he left out the part about the four hundred men Werner hid in the bushes on a hilltop, ready to ambush us?”
The Captain chuckled, oddly satisfied with the development. “The Major’s intelligence has a way of coming up short doesn’t it? Come on, I’ve got a plan brewing. Let me buy you a drink and we can mull it over.”
“That depends, where do I fit in this little plan?”
“It’ll be an easy day for you. Think you can keep those boys from running again?” He gestured at the nervous troops who still milled about in the street.
“An easy day huh?”
****
McLelland’s rangers left before dawn. The sentries at the south gate, sluggish at the end of a long watch, slowly swung the heavy log doors shut as the three UTV's sped into the waning night. They shook their heads, joking with each other, glad they had not been fated to join in the coming fight.
All night, while the ranger companies drank and gambled, The Captain, Deb, and Collier had worked on the plan. They only had a few short hours now to get everything in place. He knew the troop was tired, and more than a little hung over, but that was life. He had no mercy for pounding heads and sour bellies this morning. They had work to do; the young rangers would just have to suffer.
Ten miles south, halfway to Hempstead, the rear UTV split off, heading west away from the lightening sky. Spare fuel cans were strapped tightly to the frame. McLelland knew he could trust the two scouts to find a good spot to drop the twins. They had a lot of ground to cover, he hoped the stealthy vehicle was fast enough. His whole plan hinged on their success. The remaining vehicles ground to a halt a few minutes later. As they had drawn closer to the town where the enemy waited, a glow on the southern horizon had emerged, bright enough to rival the one in the east. Now that they had crested a final hill they could see its source. Hempstead was burning.
The jumble of shacks was ablaze in the dim morning light. There were still a few refugees stumbling north away from their smoldering homes. Their clothes were singed and filthy. They leveled accusatory glances at the rangers as they herded their children and struggled with their belongings.
The Captain didn't bother hiding his troops as he surveyed the area. He wanted the enemy to know that justice was coming for them. He could plainly see the raggedly dressed men huddling behind breastworks of fat sandbags on the high curving sweep of the eastbound interchange. Many of them appeared to be sleeping in the roadway. He could see that anyone who wished to push those men off that overpass would have to funnel into the narrow road and climb the gentle, curving slope into heavy fire. There were at least three heavy machine guns on tripods in the sandbagged fighting positions.
Any force which was committed to assaulting up the narrow, confined roadway would be under withering fire from above and terribly vulnerable to an enemy force coming in surprise from the rear. The attacking force would be sandwiched between two enemies and corralled by concrete w
alls and a thirty foot drop. All that the trap would require would be a convenient place to hide some troops.
He risked a glance to his right. The high ground on the west side of the highway was dense with the ragged scrub brush which had grown to dominate this part of the region. Once, these gently rolling hills had been home to shady live-oaks and tall, stately pecans. The new mixture of dense bushes and stunted mesquite was less pleasant to look at, but ideal for hiding troops. He had to give Werner credit. If the ambush worked it would annihilate the Republic troops. It was exactly what the Captain himself would have done if the situation had been reversed.
He gave the low hill another quick glance before he returned to his vehicle and signaled his wife to head back north. He smiled to himself as they sped back over the crest of the hill: maybe it was just the lack of sleep, but he told himself he had seen the faintest sparkle in the dense and dusty green tangle that lined the low ridge. A flash of orange light; flames reflected off of glass. Maybe Werner himself, peering at his foe through some old battered pair of binoculars.
****
When they rolled back through the south gate, they found the army standing idle in their column of march, impatient and sweating in the humid morning. They had risen early, as ordered. Their officers had paraded them for inspection, they had assembled in their companies in the order of march, and then they had waited. The Colonel had yet to emerge from his lavish billet. The finest brothel in town had been reserved for the senior officers. The head of the column stood waiting in full view of the thickly draped windows, growing resentful as the minutes and then hours ticked by.
By ten o'clock, the junior officers, not privileged enough to have been granted the luxury of the brothel's feather beds and satin sheets, released their men to shed their packs and sit in the ash. The men found what comfort they could while they waited for their leader to appear. The Captains and Lieutenants gathered together in the street before the silent brothel and argued over who would risk knocking on the elaborately painted iron door. Finally a young lieutenant took it upon himself to swallow his anger and grasp the ring of the great cast iron knocker. He hammered it down three times in succession. He was about to deliver another series of blows when the latch clicked and the heavy door opened slowly inward, silent on its well-greased hinges.
The establishment's Madame, a handsome middle aged woman elegantly attired in a flowing blue gown, stood tall in the doorway. Without a word she glanced at the crowd of irritated men in the street. She raised an eyebrow at the flustered lieutenant.
"Can I help you? It's a bit early for a poke isn't it Lieutenant?"
The man blushed. "Is the Colonel awake?"
"I highly doubt it. The fat bastard and his sniveling friends went through every drop of liquor I had, and then some." Her normally kind and welcoming manner had been stripped away by the irritating customers who had taken over her house the evening before. The drunken officers had thoroughly sampled the wares, swilled her wine, and wrecked her furniture, and had then insisted she bill the Republic for the damages.
"Come on in, they're upstairs, last room on the right."
The Lieutenant glanced over his shoulder for support from his brother officers, and, finding none, squared his shoulders and slipped into the dim lobby.
The Madame slammed the huge door and waved him to the ornate staircase in the center of the room. With his first step he nearly tripped over a pretty young whore who was on her knees scrubbing a huge wine stain from the lobby's elaborate rug. He mumbled an apology and hurried to the stairs, taking them two at a time. He drew courage from a knot of anger that began to seethe within him. He had left his family behind to fight, and so had the men sitting in the dusty street. If all the Colonel wanted to do was to drink wine and molest whores, he could have saved everyone the trouble and gone to Waco or Bastrop.
With deep breath, he calmed his rage and knocked sharply on the door at the end of the hall. There was no response. With his ear to the hollow door he could hear jagged snoring. The anger welled up again and he cursed, turning the knob and throwing the door open. The sudden rush of light and noise did nothing to disturb the drunken slumber of the occupants, who lay in various states of undress and indecency around the lavish room. Majors and Captains lay intertwined with prostitutes; bottles littered the floor. The Colonel lay on his back, a mound of flab, alone in the huge bed, thankfully still in possession of his shorts. The thunderous snores came from his open mouth.
Uncertain again, the lieutenant cleared his throat, loudly. He tried calling out, "Colonel, sir!"
Behind him a loud voice, "Let me try, Lieutenant." He whirled around in surprise.
Captain McLelland walked past him into the room, shaking his head at the sight. The grizzled veteran paused, then in one smooth motion, drew, cocked, and fired his big revolver into the ceiling three times. He sidestepped the loosened plaster which fell to the carpet like ash. There were moans from around the room. At the third shot, the Colonel's snore choked to a sudden halt. He lifted his head, squinted his eyes at the harsh light filtering in from the open door. When his befuddled gaze found McLelland, he grunted in sudden recognition. The recognition slowly turned to confusion, and then fear. He began to emit a petulant wine.
"McLelland! What's going on? Are we under attack? Was that a shot? Turn off that damned light! Where are my clothes! God, my head!"
McLelland kept his anger in check, somehow managing to speak without growling, "Colonel Garza, with respect, it's damn near noon. The men have been ready to march for hours."
The Colonel squinted even harder, grimacing as he fought the pounding thunder behind his eyes. "Men...march? What the hell are you babbling about? Lower your voice. I'm not sure I like your tone." He said this last without much conviction. Memories were beginning to flood back. The sight of pale, pimpled limbs in indecent tangles on the floor around his bed made his stomach turn.
"If you will recall sir, the enemy is in Hempstead? You ordered a march at dawn? If we don't leave soon the bastards will die of old age and cheat us of a good fight."
The Colonel uttered a drawn out moan, the facts continued to flood back. "Major Price!"
The Captain saw one of the pale, pantsless figures roll over at the sound of his name.
"Sir?" Price slurred. He stood up too quickly for his fragile stomach. He bent suddenly at the waist to retch on the stained rug.
"Find my pants!"
McLelland turned at this, not bothering to wait for dismissal. He waved the shocked infantry Lieutenant back through the door and followed him down the stairs. He smiled at the girl scrubbing at the carpet, and on his way out the door shouted to the Madame, whom he knew quite well, "Liza, if it's not too much trouble, a bucket of water and a bottle of aspirin for the good Colonel and his men?" She laughed at him.
Out in the street the Captain took it upon himself to order the officers to prepare for the march. He took a few minutes to walk down the column, sharing some idle chatter with the bored and irritated men. He could tell their morale was already dipping. Their leader was proving to be not only pompous and insulting, but useless as well.
At an outbreak of angry muttering, he turned to look back at the brothel. The gallant Colonel had finally emerged, blinking and unkempt, into the grey, mid-morning light. Without a word to the angry men lining the street, he began waddling toward his command vehicle, flanked by his equally groggy and disheveled staff. On his approach, his driver climbed down from his lazy perch atop the machine gun turret and slipped into his hatch. A moment later, the beast roared to life.
McLelland met them at the rear hatch. The Colonel raised an annoyed eyebrow at his presence and offered a inquisitive grunt.
"I took it upon myself to scout the enemy position this morning, sir, we’ve just now returned."
Garza nodded, rubbed his aching eyes, and waved him to continue.
"Only two hundred in sight sir, they've taken up defensive positions on the interchange. They’ve got their
machine guns dug in. Sir, it is my duty to warn you that it is my professional opinion that this is just a token force, meant to distract us while the real muscle maneuvers behind us. We should acquire more intelligence before we attack blindly."
The Colonel only dimly recalled that the Captain had said something similar the night before. He tried to fit his fragmented memories together. He knew he had decided to attack the small force in Hempstead, but he could not remember exactly why. The pounding in his head discouraged further thought. He was in no condition to be changing his mind at the moment, so he waved the Captain off and began to climb the short ramp into the Stryker.
"We will proceed as planned. Good God Price!" The Major had vomited again when he had bent over to squeeze into the low ceilinged crew compartment. The stinking puddle he left on the ramp would doubtless slide onto the Colonel's shoes if the hatch were closed. "Goodwin! Breiner! Take Major Price to one of the Bradleys. The three of you can ride to battle in a puddle of your own vomit if you like, but I won't have it in my vehicle!"
The two staff Captains, singled out because they were, like the Major, bent double at the base of the ramp, retching the night's victuals into the ash at their feet. Shaking their heads in misery, the three of them stumbled toward one of the other waiting APC's.
The Colonel leaned over to peer out at the column of soldiers across the street. "Sergeant!" He beckoned at a middle aged man with triple chevrons on his shoulders. The sergeant walked nervously over, unsure what was expected of him.
"Clean that up." The command was given arrogantly, eyes closed against the pain in his head, with a flippant wave at the offending puddle of wine and bile.
Ash: Rise of the Republic Page 17