One of Art’s snipers hovered the reticule of his high-power scope over the officer’s shoulder blades and squeezed off a round that sent the man to his knees in an eerie kind of slow motion. The soldiers, clearly shocked by the execution of their commander right in front of them, broke into smaller groups. A sergeant bellowed instructions as they made for the wall.
“Have them pull back,” Lucas said, watching from the second story of the building in which he’d taken cover.
Art relayed the order, and the militia emptied their magazines through the gate. He tossed a few more grenades and retreated, running in disorganized fashion toward the intersection from which they’d come.
“Come on…come on…” Lucas whispered, watching the action in the pale green of his NV scope.
The last of Art’s gunmen were almost to the nearest building when the Chinese threw open the gate and hundreds of them poured through, urged forward by their squad leaders. They spread out like a plague of ants darkening the street, firing as they ran. Two soldiers pushed the dead guards in the machine gun nest aside and began spraying the buildings with large-caliber rounds, covering for the running troops.
Lucas ducked and crawled to the stairs behind him, and then bolted down and outside, where he kept to the shadows in a back alley, his boots splashing in puddles from the continuing drizzle. When he’d made it a block, he entered another doorway and climbed to the flat roof of a three-story brownstone and lay by the rim to watch the action below.
He estimated roughly two hundred Chinese had emerged from the arena to chase the advance group, which was fewer than he’d hoped, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it now. He watched as the Chinese troops fell into the trap the militia had laid, and waited for the second phase of the assault to launch.
He didn’t have to wait long. Gunfire roared from the building across from him as one of the Brownings they’d brought rained death on the Chinese infantrymen. Some tried to retreat to the arena, but more militia cut them off, boxing them in as still more of Art’s gunmen appeared in the building windows and picked them off from above. Snipers took out the pair of soldiers in the machine gun nest, leaving the Chinese completely cut off from their headquarters and fighting for their lives.
The battle became a slaughter, with the Chinese suffering staggering casualties, the survivors with little cover and fewer options. When it was nothing more than a mop-up operation, the gunmen who had closed off the route to the arena turned and directed their fire at the gate, where another wave of Chinese was blasting away at them.
“Tell Henry to start dropping bombs,” Lucas said into the radio, and picked off a few of the soldiers closest to the gate while he waited for the shelling to commence.
The first mortar round fell short of the arena and exploded in the midst of the second wave of Chinese troops.
Lucas toggled the transmit button. “That first shell is on target for the staging area. Shift the other mortars farther toward the building, but keep that one for whenever they poke their heads out.”
“Roger that,” Art said.
More shells exploded closer to the arena, and by the time the fifth one had landed, they were exploding directly on its roof. Lucas watched as troops came running out of the edifice, and called in another of Henry’s shorter-ranged shells to keep them occupied.
Explosions from the street where the militia was finishing off the soldiers drew his attention, and he scanned the area for the source. He recognized the rhythmic thud of a grenade launcher like the Mk 19s they’d brought to the fight, but couldn’t find the nest anywhere at the arena. He frowned as the grenades killed a dozen of his fighters in as many seconds, and then realization widened his eyes at the likely source.
To place the grenades that precisely, the launcher had to be firing from above.
And there was only one place that fit that description.
He confirmed his hunch through his scope and then lifted the radio to his lips. “I’ll be over to you in a minute. Get one of the grenade launchers ready.”
“They are. You want us to start hitting the arena? Remember, we’ve got limited ammo.”
“No. They’ve got one in the Space Needle.”
Lucas raced down the stairs and broke into a run toward the hotel Art was using as his command center – close enough to see the fighting through binoculars, but at a safe enough distance that he didn’t have to worry about rifle fire. Lucas dodged and zigzagged as rounds blew chunks of asphalt from around him, and didn’t slow when he’d turned the corner and left the fighting behind.
Art was on the third floor. Lucas appeared in the doorway. “Where are the launchers?”
“On the roof. They’re using the elevator shaft for cover.”
“Okay.”
Lucas took the stairs two at a time and burst onto the roof, where Terry and a helper had the Mk 19 ready, with a belt of grenades loaded.
“What’s the range on that thing?” Lucas asked.
“Couple of thousand yards. But it depends. Accurate? Maybe a thousand.”
“How far away is the Space Needle?”
Terry squinted at it. “Damn. I don’t know.”
“Take a shot at the middle of the tower and see what happens. The drop will tell you the range, right?”
“Should. But the rain isn’t going to help.”
“Just do it.”
Terry adjusted the launcher’s graduated rear sight, leveled it on the tower, and squeezed the trigger. The launcher lobbed a handful of grenades at the needle.
They waited for the impact, and when it came, the area halfway to the top lit up with orange explosions.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Terry said. “Pretty much dead-on.”
“Great. Put a can of rounds into the observation deck.”
“You got it.”
Terry shifted his aim, and the launcher blasted repeatedly for a solid minute. The area beneath the deck exploded with blasts, and then the observation area burst into flames as scores of 40mm grenades detonated inside.
When the ammo can was empty, Lucas peered through his NV scope to survey the damage. The observation deck was in ruins, with fires burning, and the explosions from the militia position near the arena had stopped.
“Holy…” Terry blurted, and Lucas lowered his rifle. The tower was leaning where the steel support structure had been damaged by the grenades that had hit it. The observation deck yawed over in slow motion as though debating whether to give in to the pull of gravity, and then dropped to the ground below, trailing flames and debris.
“Woohoo!” Terry yelled, and high-fived Lucas, bringing a smile to his face.
“Good shooting,” Lucas said.
“Thanks. Want me to go to work on the arena?”
Lucas shook his head. “No. We’ve got a lot more mortars than grenades. Save them for something special.”
“Like?”
Lucas looked off into the distance. “Harbor Island.”
The arena became a killing zone as the mortars destroyed any place the troops could hide, and when the Chinese tried a desperate sortie through the gates, they were cut down by the Browning and rifle fire from the militia. After an hour of devastation, the troops retreated to the far side of the grounds, and Art ordered three hundred of his men to rush the gate while another Browning, situated on the third story of a building across the street from the gate, laid down cover.
The fighters did as ordered, and the majority made it inside, where they used the numerous craters created by the mortar shells for cover, as well as the bodies of the fallen. Art instructed Henry to concentrate his shelling on the far side of the arena now that the building was a smoking crater, and the battle continued for twenty more minutes, with the militia decimating the Chinese, who had nowhere to go, another hundred gunmen having flanked them and cut off their escape over the wall.
When it was over, Lucas and Art waited for a report on casualties with grim expressions. The lieutenants called in one b
y one, and by the time they had a full count, they’d lost nearly a hundred of their men, with another forty-three wounded.
“Brave, every one of them,” Art said.
“Dead’s still dead,” Lucas replied.
“But we still have four hundred fifty able-bodied fighters. You see any reason not to finish this tonight?”
“Absolutely none.”
Chapter 47
Lucas led the men through the streets. He knew when they began taking incoming rounds four blocks from the Harbor Island Bridge that the remaining Chinese troops weren’t going to go easily. Sam and Henry were at the head of another group a block to the east, and Lucas’s radio crackled as the men scattered and he took cover.
“We’re getting hit hard over here, Lucas,” Sam said.
“I can hear from where I’m at. We’re taking a lot of fire, too.”
“They’re in the buildings.”
“Yep. Going to be ugly from here.”
Lucas called one of the fighters with a rocket tube strapped to his back to where he was crouched, and pointed at a muzzle flash eighty yards away. “Think you can put that thing through that window?”
The man gave a grim smile and slipped the launcher free. “I can sure try.”
“Do it.”
The man sighted the rocket at the window, and then a round took the top of his head off and he fell against Lucas. Lucas pushed him away and squeezed off a couple of three-round bursts at the shooter, and then reached for the rocket launcher, sighted it, and fired. The projectile streaked toward the building and blew half the second-floor façade away, destroying the area where the sniper had been.
Another sniper opened up farther down the street, and Lucas pinpointed him with his M4 and put a bullet through his throat.
The fighting from Sam’s street was far more intense than what Lucas’s squad was experiencing, where after several more rocket launches, the street appeared clear for at least that block.
Lucas radioed Sam. “You need a hand?”
“Negative. We’re about done. But, Lucas? Bill…he didn’t make it.”
Lucas exhaled heavily. “Damn. You sure?”
“No doubt. Sorry.”
“Make them pay.”
“We’re working on it.”
Lucas called for Terry and his loader to join him, and when they were at his side, he frowned as he looked through the rain at the base of the bridge three blocks away. “See that rubble? I’m betting there’s a nest there. Can you put a few grenades down their throat without destroying the bridge?”
“I’ll do my best.”
The Mk 19 was heavy, and it took both of them to set it on the tripod and load the ammo belt into the feeder. Another man waited behind them with their last ammo can of grenades, each container weighing sixty pounds and requiring its own hauler.
The launcher barked four times, and the grenades detonated at the rubble pile, sending chunks of concrete into the air with each explosion. A .50-caliber heavy machine gun opened up from the building alongside it, and the pavement around Lucas sprayed divots of asphalt on them.
“Move!” Lucas barked, and ran for a doorway on his right as the others followed with the launcher and ammo.
Mortar rounds exploded down the street, and Lucas radioed Art. “They brought out the heavy artillery.”
“I can hear it. I’ll have Henry set up wherever he can and start shelling the island.”
“Sooner the better. Sam’s group is getting hit hard. Bill bought it.”
“Hell.”
Art gave the order for Henry to find high ground and blow the bridge on the far side of the island as his first priority target, thereby making it impossible for the occupying force to escape.
“Once you’ve cut them off, take out all but one of the bridges on this side. Worst case, we’ll wait them out.”
“Will do,” Henry said.
The firefight from Sam’s street died down as more rockets found their targets, and Lucas’s men continued toward the bridge, fighting tooth and nail each block as the area around them exploded with mortar rounds. The rain intensified as the blasts continued, and Lucas’s group lost another seven men before they reached the base of the bridge.
Sam’s fighters joined them and they did a quick count – crossing town and making it to Harbor Island had cost them sixty men, an expensive trek no matter how they looked at it.
After blowing the bridges, Henry’s crew had shifted their fire to the buildings on the island that were the likeliest shelters for the remaining troops. The answering mortar fire stopped when a lucky round had taken out the Chinese squad. Lucas had Terry’s men set up the Mk 19 at the base of the bridge, and positioned the two Brownings high in buildings where they could hit anything on the island.
The Chinese were smart and didn’t give the militia any opportunities to neutralize them, but by the time the rain had stopped and the sun was rising, the war of attrition was taking its toll. Henry’s shelling and the judicious use of the launcher and Brownings had whittled down the remaining two hundred soldiers to no more than a hundred.
Once it was light out, that number quickly got cut down to fifty, but the Chinese survivors seemed determined to fight to the last man. The militia obliged them, surging over the bridge in waves and searching building by building to eradicate the rest. By the time the sun was high in the sky, the shooting had stopped, and Seattle was officially free of invaders.
Lucas stood with Art at the bridge, surveying the damage, and shook his head. “Lot of dead.”
Art shrugged. “That’s war.”
“Was it worth it? You know there’s more where they came from.”
“Only the locals can decide that. All we can do is arm them and teach them to fight. In the end it’s their city, and they have to do the heavy lifting.”
“Be a shame if this was all for nothing.”
“It wasn’t for nothing, Lucas. We did it because it had to be done, and we were the only ones who could do it.”
Lucas stood silent for a moment, considering. “If you say so. Right now, it seems…pointless.”
“I know. But it isn’t. We’re taking our country back. There’s going to be a lot of blood shed doing it, but damned if we aren’t going to.”
“You think they want it back? Seems like most aren’t willing to fight for it. Maybe it’s better to let someone else rule over them if that’s how they want to live.”
“Well, there’s only one way to know for sure. This will be our test case. If they want, they’ve got freedom. What they do with it’s their choice.”
Lucas exhaled forcefully. “You’re right. I’m just beat.”
“Same here. Let’s find somewhere safe and get some sleep. It’ll all be clearer in a few hours.”
When Lucas awoke, it was late afternoon, and Art was nowhere to be seen. Lucas rose and took a sip from his canteen, and then walked to the window of the abandoned home they’d commandeered. Sam and Henry were outside, talking excitedly. Lucas approached them and tipped his hat. “Gents.”
“You’re up! Good. You need to come see. It’s amazing,” Henry said.
“What is?”
“We’ve had over two thousand men sign on with us since this morning. They’re coming out of the woodwork.”
“Two…thousand?”
“That’s right. And there’s more on the way. Looks like we have a real army now.”
“Depends on what you mean by real. Or army.”
“Art’s going to make a speech to them in a little while. He sent us to wait for you to wake up. He wants you to talk, too.”
Lucas shook his head. “Not my thing.”
“Just a few words. That’s all. You’re one of the leaders. You can’t pull a no-show.”
“Watch me.” He sighed. “I need to find a shortwave radio. I want to let Ruby know we’re okay, and talk to my family.”
“That can wait. You’ve got thousands of people waiting to hear from you.”
&nbs
p; Lucas adjusted his hat, and the corner of his mouth tugged with the start of a grin. “Then waiting a little longer won’t kill them.”
Chapter 48
Amber Hot Springs, Colorado
Arnold stared down at the valley, Eve clinging to him and Julie by his side, and then coaxed his horse along the last of the trail to Shangri-La. The guards at the valley mouth waved them through, and the townspeople stopped working to rush to them.
Elliot arrived with Sierra and Tim. Sierra let out a cry of relief and ran to Eve. Arnold hoisted her and held her out to Sierra, who took her in an embrace. Tears streamed down their faces as Sierra smothered the little girl in a bear hug. Elliot watched with a sympathetic gaze, and Arnold’s party dismounted and handed their reins to the stable hands who’d come running.
“So you were successful,” Elliot said. “Congratulations.”
“Yes and no.” Arnold gave him a short report on their escape. Duke’s face fell at the mention of Ellen having lost her life, and he stepped away, his expression clouded.
“You had to kill this preacher fellow?” Elliot asked.
Arnold looked slightly apologetic. “He was a part of the riders who were chasing us. But, Elliot…he was nuts. I mean, stark raving. He was planning to gas everyone in his church that night.”
“What!”
Arnold recounted what Eve had told them, and Elliot stared off at the tree line. “Madness.”
“That it is. But it also means we have a serious problem. Ellen knew our location. We have to assume she told them. Which means we aren’t safe here.”
“You think they’re hot on your heels?”
“I don’t know. But we can’t assume they aren’t.”
The Day After Never (Book 7): Havoc Page 24