“And I don’t feel so great, either.”
Another cackle. “Doesn’t get any better from here, boys.”
Clovis walked into the dining room and rolled a rug to the side, revealing a trapdoor in the floor. He grunted with effort and lifted it wide, and then reached for an LED flashlight on a side table. “Right this way, gents.”
They took a flight of wooden stairs down to a large basement stacked floor to ceiling with wooden crates. Clovis tapped on a three-foot-long green steel box a few paces away from the bottom of the stairs. “60mm mortars. Six crates of high-explosive shells right over there. Perfect condition. Wrapped in oilcloth.” He continued to another box. “Mk 19 Mod 3 grenade launcher. Ten cans of grenade belts, forty-eight to a belt.” He paused again by still another longer one. “M30. Heavier than lead, but packs a wallop. Fires a 120mm round. Got four crates of those. Took a portable crane to get it down here through the other door.” He pointed into the depths. “And I got two Brownings with a building full of .50 cal, but I’d only sell one, and it won’t be cheap.”
“I’ll take the mortars and all six crates of shells, and if you can sell me any horses to carry them, the Mk 19 and three cans of ammo.” Lucas paused. “And the Browning with ten thousand rounds. If everything works as advertised, I’ll be back to buy all the rest.”
Clovis eyed him skeptically. “Browning, mortars, Mk 19, projectiles and shells…that’s gonna cost.”
“Give me a number. We’re on a tight schedule.”
Clovis did a quick mental calculation and named a weight in gold. Lucas countered, and after some dickering, they had a bargain.
Lucas climbed the steps, went to his saddlebags, and returned with the gold. He counted out sixteen Maple Leafs and handed them over. Clovis inspected each with the flashlight and then balanced one on the tip of his finger and struck the edge with another. A high-pitched ringing resonated from the coin, and he repeated the process with each before he nodded in satisfaction.
“I’m too old to haul this crap upstairs,” he said. “But you fellas look more than capable. I’ll go get a couple of ponies fixed with a harness and cart to carry this, assuming you promise to return it when you’re done.”
Lucas nodded. “Deal.”
Lucas began heaving crates of shells up the steps, and Sam followed him unsteadily, grimacing occasionally when he put weight on his injured ankle. They had everything piled at the back door by the time Clovis showed up again with a pair of chestnut mares and a wheeled cart with a motorcycle tire at each corner.
“Built it myself. Everything you saw came in on that thing, so it’ll work for you. Pretty decent on terrain, too, if you want to stay off the roads.”
“Perfect,” Sam said.
Lucas opened each crate and inspected the shells, and then did the same with the three mortars and the grenade launcher. When he was finished, they piled the boxes on the cart and were breathing heavily by the time they were done.
“How long till sunup?” Sam asked.
“What do I look like, an almanac?” Clovis replied, and laughed. “I reckon maybe four, five hours.”
Lucas nodded. “Then we can still make it.”
“How many men you say you have?” Clovis asked. “Heard there’s maybe a couple of hundred bikers.”
“Enough,” Lucas replied.
“Hundreds,” Sam finished for him.
“Any of ’em used to be in the military? If so, they’ll know how to use the mortars, although it’ll take some practice to get your ranges right.”
“A few.”
“Then you’re set. Horses are Sue and Molly.”
“They look fit.”
“Take good care of ’em. They’re like my daughters. They’re good girls.”
“If you hear a bunch of explosions, stay in bed,” Sam said.
Clovis eyed the cart. “Wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that.”
“That’s the general idea,” Sam confirmed. “Though I don’t think anyone will be brokenhearted that they get what’s coming to them, do you?”
“I stay out of this stuff. War’s a young man’s game. I just sell the miners picks and shovels and wish ’em well.”
They saddled up, and Clovis handed Sam the reins to the pair of mares. “They’ll follow without giving you any trouble.”
Sam took the reins and grinned. “Thanks for everything, Clove.”
“Hope it works out for you. I’d love to sell the rest and retire for good. Not a lot of market for heavy stuff like that, and everyone and their brother has a rifle or three.” He regarded Lucas. “You think you’ll need any 5.56? The basement’s lousy with it.”
“We might. I’ll let you know later.”
They left Clovis’s compound and turned up the main road, and Lucas slowed. “You know the way back to the camp better than I do, Sam, and can lead the men to the university. I’ll take the cart to the hospital and wait for you there. Tell Art about the stuff I got, and have his best ex-marines meet me there. The rest of the men should stage in that deserted neighborhood so we don’t hit them while we’re setting our range on the mortars.”
“It’ll take me at least an hour to get back without being spotted.”
“That should work. As long as the men can be in position well before sunup, we’ll be fine. I want to start lobbing shells an hour before. Once we have our range, tell Art I want the men to ring the place so anyone trying to escape gets taken out. And when everything starts, come to the hospital. I may need you to go back to Clovis’s if we need more mortar rounds.”
“You thinking of just bombing them out?”
Lucas nodded. “If we can avoid any of our people getting hurt, that’s a win. If we turn the school into a crater, that should get the job done.”
“I almost feel sorry for the bikers.”
“Don’t. They’ve ridden roughshod over Portland for years. They’re predators. Anything they get, they’ve done worse to others.”
Sam smiled. “I said almost.”
“How’s the ankle?”
“Throbbing, but I’ll live.”
“Good. Tell Art I also have the grenade launcher. Have him find someone who knows how to work it. If we can haul it up to the roof, it should do some real damage.”
Sam regarded Lucas. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
“This is strictly business. I promised I’d help, and I’m doing so. But the fewer casualties we take in the process, the happier I’ll be.”
“Got it. Figure we’ll be back in…three hours or so, best case.”
“Ride hard and see if you can cut that by a half hour.”
“I will. You able to find the hospital from here?”
“North, and then to the right. Easy.”
Sam nodded. “See you in a few.”
“Hope so.”
Sam rode off, and Lucas gave the cart horse reins a flap. “Come on, girls. Just you and me now. Let’s see if we can find someplace safe you can rest while we get down to business.”
The mares started forward. Lucas studied the skyline and spotted the hospital a mile away, and after wrapping the cart reins around his saddle horn, he freed his M4 and pointed Tango at the building. The cart rolled behind them on well-greased wheels, its load of death and destruction about to be put to lethal use.
Chapter 22
Lucas shifted the aim of his rifle at the sound of running boots below his perch on the second floor of the hospital. The cart was inside what had once been the main lobby, and he’d left the horses in a grove of trees far enough from the building that they wouldn’t be hurt if the bikers targeted it with heavy weapons of their own.
Six men came at a run, and Lucas recognized Henry from the squatters. He lowered his rifle and hailed them.
“Up here. Stuff’s through the double doors. Grab a crate and come on up.”
He’d moved the mortars into the patient room he was occupying, but had left the heavier shells for the men. Henry and h
is group reached him a couple of minutes later, sweating in spite of the cool temperature.
Lucas showed them the three mortars and addressed Henry. “You know how to work these?”
Henry nodded. “We all do. But we’ll need someone to spot for us unless we’re high enough to see where the shells are landing.”
“We’ll shoot from the roof. That do it?”
Henry grinned. “Sure will.”
“How about this thing?” Lucas asked, patting the container with the Mk 19.
“I’ve used one before,” one of the men said.
“Good. Then you’re our man. What’s your name?”
“Terry.”
“Okay, Terry. Last but not least, we have a new .50-cal Browning.”
“Jesus. That’ll annihilate anything that gets in its way.”
“That’s the general idea. Who’s fired one?”
Four of the men, including Henry, nodded.
“Perfect. Whoever’s a better shot gets first dibs. I’ve got four cases of ammo belts on the cart, so once we’re in position, go down and bring up the rest.”
“Will do.”
They climbed the service stairs to the roof six stories above the street and carried their loads to the lip. The university was across the boulevard, its buildings clearly defined even in the darkness.
Sam appeared from the stairwell a minute later carrying an ammo can loaded with a .50-cal belt.
“Everyone’s in position. Art had some of the men take over the state capitol building across the street from the university on the far side. It’s a good position to fire from and built out of concrete, so it’ll stop anything they throw at it.”
“What about the perimeter?”
“We got shooters every ten yards in the surrounding buildings.” Sam held up a radio. “Art’s got the other one. He’s sitting at the capitol with runners if you have any change of orders. They’re under instructions to only fire if the bikers try to make a break for it.”
“Good work,” Lucas said.
“So how we gonna do this?” Henry asked.
“Set up the Browning. We’ll bomb them until they start scattering, and then use the Browning to take down any that make it out of the buildings.” He pointed to where torches were burning. “What’s that?”
“Baxter Hall. Looks like that’s what they’re using as headquarters, doesn’t it?”
“How many yards from here you think it is?”
Sam did a calculation. “Maybe…four hundred yards?”
Henry shook his head. “I make it more like five.”
Sam shrugged. “Maybe. I’m not the best with distances.”
Lucas nodded. “Set the mortar up at four-fifty. Don’t want to overshoot and hit the capitol building.”
Henry went to work while Lucas and one of the men set the Browning on its tripod and Terry loaded a belt. Lucas watched him work and, when he was finished, walked to the edge of the roof and peered at the campus. “Not too bright to light up their headquarters like that.”
“Assuming it isn’t a feint,” Sam said.
“Doubt it. For all they know, it was just a couple of scavengers back at the creek.”
“Maybe. But they have to be shaken.”
“We’ll know in a few.” Lucas turned to Henry. “You ready?”
“Yup. I’ll use one tube for now, and then once we have the range, we can bring the other two into play. Alan, you’re the best shot of all of us. You work the Browning.”
“Perfect.” Lucas held out his hand to Sam for the radio, which Sam passed to him, and he depressed the transmit button. “We’re going to start in a minute. Hold your fire until they try to run for it. Over.”
He released the button, and Art’s voice droned from the small speaker. “Roger that. Good hunting.”
Lucas stepped away from the roof edge and nodded to Henry, who dropped a shell into the tube. It exploded skyward with a crack, and they held their breaths as they waited to see where it fell.
An orange fireball blasted from the roof of a building to the southwest of the hall, and Henry grunted and adjusted the mortar, sliding the base to the left and lowering it a small amount. When he was satisfied with the new positioning, one of the men handed him another projectile and he dropped it into the tube. It shot out with a whump and then a moment later detonated on the right wing of the hall.
“Bingo,” Henry said, and called for another mortar. He set it up in under a minute and had one of the men fire it after he’d taken another shot with his.
More explosions rocked the building, and Terry called out, “I got men coming through the front entrance.”
“Have at it,” Lucas said, and Alan began firing the Browning in short bursts of twenty to thirty rounds at a time. Lucas raised his rifle and switched on the scope, and saw the brick behind the approximately twenty men on the steps disintegrate from the big slugs. He wished they had NV goggles for Alan to use, but settled for yelling guidance. “You’re shooting over their heads. Drop your aim a hair.”
Alan did as instructed, and the tall grass in the courtyard in front of the building sprayed dirt before several of the bikers dropped, hit by the rounds.
“Got a couple. I’d put a few hundred into the entry for good measure.”
More explosions echoed across the campus as Henry’s mortars continued to rain down on the building, blasting showers of brick and roof through the air and onto the surrounding grounds. Sam limped over to Lucas’s side and nudged him. “Can I get a look through your scope?”
“Sure.”
Lucas handed the M4 to him, and Sam raised it and surveyed the area. An instant later he lowered it and turned to Lucas with an alarmed expression.
“They’ve got a Browning on the roof of the–”
His warning was cut off by the stutter of the other machine gun. A moment later the glass façade on the floor beneath them shattered and sprayed into the night, and everyone threw themselves flat on the roof to avoid being hit.
Alan screamed in pain and fell backward, and the Browning’s barrel rose to point at the stars. Lucas dog-crawled to him and saw instantly that the damage caused by two of the .50-caliber rounds was fatal. He hissed at Henry, who was lying with his hands over his head.
“Drop everything you can on that shooter. He’s got us pinned down. Must have tracked us from the muzzle flash of our Browning.”
Henry called to one of the men to slide a crate of shells to him, and once he had them, he dropped one into the first mortar and then another into the second. He continued until the entire crate was empty, nudging the base each time so it shifted the targeting minutely.
Lucas eyed the enemy nest through his scope, and the shooter was still there. The area around the building looked like the sky had rained death, but the sniper was still intact for all the damage.
Lucas made an adjustment on his scope and switched the firing selector to single fire, and then propped the barrel against the roof lip. At five hundred yards, he was near the rifle’s maximum effective range, but with little wind and a ton of luck, he might manage a kill shot. He sighted the reticule squarely on the biker’s torso as the man continued to blast at them, and exhaled as he squeezed the trigger.
The round sent a fountain of roof gravel into the air two feet to the shooter’s left and a good ten feet short. Lucas painstakingly made more adjustments, then leveled the weapon again and fired. This time the round struck a foot to the biker’s right, but at roughly the same latitude.
Another tweak, and he tried again, ignoring the high-velocity rounds snapping overhead as the biker shredded the rooftop with .50-cal rounds. Lucas settled the scope on the man’s chest and squeezed off another shot. A second later, the biker jerked and grabbed at his shoulder as he ducked beneath the cinderblocks that surrounded the nest.
The low-battery warning intruded on Lucas’s thoughts, blinking urgently, and then the scope went black.
“Damn,” Lucas muttered, and crawled back from the
roof edge over to where Alan was lying by the Browning.
Lucas pushed his corpse aside and proceeded to fire hundreds of rounds at the machine gun nest. Even if most of the shots went wide, if any found home, it was better than none, and hopefully the steady deluge would discourage any other bikers from trying to become heroes.
“Keep lobbing shells at them, Henry,” he called.
“You got it,” Henry answered, and ran in a crouch to get another case of projectiles as Terry set up the grenade launcher and fed a belt into it.
When he had it loaded, Terry targeted the nest and burned through twenty grenades in as many seconds. The entire roof where the Browning had been vaporized in a series of explosions that lit the night, and Henry let out a whoop at the sight.
Lucas’s radio crackled and he gestured to Henry to pause the mortar and grenade assault. Art’s voice came over the air.
“We have a guy with a sheet tied to a flagpole. How do you want to handle it? Over.”
“Up to you,” Lucas said. “Maybe see what they want.”
“Roger. Stay tuned.”
Lucas turned to Henry and Terry. “Great job. Got a surrender flag showing. Ease up until we find out what the deal is.”
“Aw, hell. Just when this is getting good,” Henry said. “How do you like that Mk 19?”
“Thing’s a monster.”
“Yeah. Give me a dozen of those and I could take on anything.”
“Made short work of the machine gun.”
“They probably figured out that it isn’t a bunch of civilians coming at them. I mean, we are, but this is serious ordnance. They’re used to pushing a bunch of old ladies around. Typical criminals. Face off with them with real force and they buckle.”
“We’ll see.”
The radio squawked and Lucas raised it to his lips. “So?”
“They want a truce.”
“You mean surrender, don’t you?”
“They said truce.”
“Hold on. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Tell them anyone shoots at me, any talk’s done and they’ll take their medicine to the last man.”
“Roger that.”
The Day After Never (Book 7): Havoc Page 11