The Road Home

by Robert Boren

  “Damn, that was close,” Francis said, sitting next to White Eagle on a flatbed.

  “You got that right, brother,” White Eagle said. “We did a good job, though. Screwed that route up good.”

  The main caravan was already on the move by the time they got back, all of them taking Route 66 to Highway 117.

  Chapter 12 – Trinity River

  “I can’t believe how many cars there are,” Kitten said, looking around the wide park with the Trinity River flowing down the center channel. “Glad this grass is dry enough to drive over.”

  “Yeah,” Alex said. “Hope there aren’t any fences to climb when we get there. I’m too old and fat.”

  Kitten giggled. “Will you stop with that, dad?”

  He shot her a grin as they kept on, the cars in many loose, uneven rows, at least ten abreast on the grass, the lighter-duty cars on the two dirt roads, stretching back beyond the driveway from Irving Boulevard. Off-roaders streamed forward on the uneven ground between the northernmost dirt road and the industrial buildings and walls.

  “We’re stopping,” Alex said. “That next bridge must be Westmoreland, up about four hundred yards.”

  “Geez, there must be five hundred vehicles in front of us, and a lot more behind,” Kitten said.

  “Look, everybody’s following instructions. Closing their car doors quietly and such.”

  “Why wouldn’t they?” Kitten asked.

  “People aren’t always careful.”

  Kitten chuckled. “The more noise, the more chance we’ll get shot at before we’re ready.”

  “Good point, honey bunch.”

  They got out of the car and grabbed their weapons, Kitten putting on a back pack.

  “What’s in there?” Doug asked as he walked to them.

  “Water and my first-aid kit from school,” she said. “In case anybody needs a medic.”

  “Oh, that’s right, you’ve had some training,” Alex said. “Hopefully not just enough to be dangerous,”

  “Dad!”

  “I’m messing with you,” Alex said. “C’mon. Let’s get into a good position, where we have a little cover.”

  Doug nodded. Kitten checked her gun, and they followed the multitude forward, spreading out as wide as they could once they got past the first row of cars, a few yards before Westmoreland.

  “They’re in the buildings on either side of Sharp Street,” Doug said, looking at his phone app, “but we’ll have to go past that a little. Then there are several wide paths to get through.”

  The off-roaders fired up and rolled forward.

  “Won’t be long now,” Alex said. He glanced at Kitten, who was looking more and more nervous. “It’ll be okay, honey, just keep your head down.”

  “I know,” Kitten said.

  They watched the four-wheeled off-roaders with M19 grenade launchers on gimbals rolling by, some single seat, others double, mixed in with armed Jeep Wranglers, passengers holding machine guns.

  “That’s a lot of firepower, but they look vulnerable,” Alex said.

  “Yeah, I’d rather be on foot,” Doug said.

  There were several loud booms, and machine gun fire started.

  “It’s on!” Alex said. The off-roaders were moving through several openings into the industrial area now, much faster, as the sound of explosions and gunfire increased.

  “Look, people are running through in a couple of spots now,” Doug said. “They should wait until the off-roaders are all through those openings.”

  “National Guard troops just rolled up there in some Humvees, and are holding the pedestrians back,” Alex said. “Look, they’re also getting out mortars and setting them up.”

  “Hope they don’t hit our people,” Kitten said.

  “They’re going to lob shells onto the roofs of those huge buildings,” Alex said, “not at the lots surrounding them.”

  “At least not yet,” Doug said, watching still more off-roaders driving through, the roar of gunfire getting much louder as they bunched up closer to the access points. The pop of mortar fire began, several going off almost at once, explosions rocking the industrial area, thick black smoke rising high enough for the people on foot to see.

  “We’re going in!” Alex said, as the stream of off-roaders slowed down, more mortar teams arriving at the same time in National Guard Humvees.

  “Yahooooo!” yelled somebody towards the front as armed citizens rushed through from several points. The gunfire ramped up. The mortars continued to pound the buildings, some rounds setting off secondary explosions.

  “Here we go,” Doug said as they got onto the access road, crossing over the barriers there and rushing around the buildings.

  “There they are,” Alex said, pointing towards the rush of Islamists flooding out of several burning buildings, their faces in shocked horror as they saw the multitude of patriots coming at them in vehicles and on foot. The Islamists opened fire, killing some citizens, other citizens diving into the battle behind them, firing everything from M60s to Winchesters and bolt-action rifles. Some Islamists broke and ran for their lives, getting to the far side of the building complex when they were met by patriots rushing in from the north, hit with lead so thick you couldn’t see clearly. The smell of gunpowder and smoke filled the air, the mortars still hitting the buildings, at least twenty of them firing round after round.

  Alex and Kitten rushed up from behind some shot-up cars, avoiding bodies as they got to the front line and opened fire, with Doug right behind them. Others forced their way up so they could see the enemy and fire at them. The Islamists had given up any chance of winning the battle now, and were just trying to find safety from the hail of gunfire as thousands more citizens ran in.

  “There’s some of our wounded,” Kitten said, pointing at several who were leaned up against the wall of a building, across Quebec Street from the enemy base. They watched warily as they bled. Kitten got up and ran towards them in a crouch, her Mini 14 still in her hand, getting next to them and ripping off her backpack. The first man had a huge chunk of his right thigh missing, his blood running down into the gutter at the edge of the parking lot.

  “You a doctor?” the man asked, eyes barely open.

  “Nurse in training,” Kitten said softly. “Let’s stop this bleeding.” She pulled a roll of heavy gauze out of her backpack and used it as a tourniquet, then quickly sprayed disinfectant in the wound and covered it. She moved on to the next person, seeing that he was dead, then to the next, who was missing his left arm below the elbow, putting a tourniquet on him as well, looking into his empty eyes, hoping shock wouldn’t kill him before help could arrive.

  “I’m okay, help Jack,” the next man said, nodding to his friend who was unconscious, a bloody gash on his abdomen. Kitten looked at the wound, then at the other man.

  “Is he gonna be all right?” the man asked.

  “He’s losing too much blood. Think you can apply pressure on the wound with this bandage?” She pulled out a good-sized package of gauze pads.

  “Yeah, I’m not hurt that bad,” the man said. “Got shot in the ankle. It’s not bleeding much, but I can’t walk.”

  “Okay, you hold this against your friend while I check your ankle.” She placed his hand on it. “Push firmly.”

  The man nodded, and Kitten got down to his ankle, rolling his pant leg up carefully. There was a bullet wound, but it was barely bleeding.

  “Is it bad?” he asked.

  “Looks like the bullet shattered some bones,” Kitten said. “You’ll probably be okay, but you’ll need surgery down there. You okay to keep up the pressure on Jack?”

  “I can handle it,” he said, smiling at her. “You’re an angel.”

  She smiled and moved onto the next man.

  Alex and Doug saw a group of Islamists trying to escape down Calvert street, and got up to join many others who ran after them.

  “They’re gonna take cover behind those semi-trailers,” Doug said as the group ran that way.
“Don’t just rush out into the open when you get there.”

  “Seriously,” Alex said. “I’m too big a target.”

  “You and me both,” Doug said. They got on the ground and crawled up behind some parked cars as others rushed across Calvert, trying to get a bead on the Islamists. Shots rang out, some of the citizens taking hits, one man in the head.

  “Chauncy!” one of the men yelled, rushing back to help his friend, when he was hit with several shots to the torso.

  “Dammit,” Doug said, watching the carnage in horror.

  “Hey, man, I can see their feet,” Alex said. “There, under the trailers.” He was lying on his belly and fired, strafing the legs with his AK-47, Doug joining in, then killing several of them as they fell to the ground, their torsos now in view.

  “That worked,” Doug said, shooting him a grin, which dropped when several shots hit the cars they were laying next to. “Over there, see?”

  Alex already had, and fired, hitting two Islamists who were firing at them before Doug could aim.

  “Iced them both,” Alex said.

  “You’re pretty good with that thing.”

  “Look, more Islamists coming to help the enemy behind those semi-trailers,” Alex said, waiting until several more rushed in and then opening fire again, the Islamists screaming as they fell, only to be blown away by Doug and Alex when more than their legs were in view.

  “Where’s Kitten?” Doug asked as he reloaded.

  “She went to help some wounded citizens,” Alex said. “I think she’s behind our lines, on the other side of Quebec Street. At least I hope so.”

  “Look, the Islamists are in a flat-out run now, see them?” Doug asked.

  “Yeah,” Alex said. “You reloaded?”

  Doug shook his head yes.

  “Good, then cover me while I reload, and let’s go shoot some more of these thugs.”

  “Go for it, man,” Doug said.

  They got up when he was done, following a big group of citizens down Quebec street. Gunfire erupted from the grass area between two buildings, before Woodall Street. Several citizens fell.

  “Hold it!” Alex said, stopping in his tracks and then heading for the wall of the building. He was getting ready to sneak to the corner and return fire when several off-roaders roared up, pelting the grassy area with grenade fire.

  Doug made eye contact with one of the off-roader pilots, who nodded yes. “Let’s go,” he said, rushing to the corner and peering around, catching several Islamists running away. He fired, Alex getting next to him and firing as well, dropping half of the running men.

  “Want to chase them down?” Alex asked, trying to catch his breath. Then gunfire started up from the north end of the building, some of the Islamists dropping dead, the rest turning and running back towards him and Doug.

  “Guess we don’t have to,” Doug said, opening fire, killing the rest of the running men.

  The gunfire and explosions slowed down, Doug and Alex sitting against the building, checking their magazines, breathing hard.

  “I need to be in better shape,” Alex said. He grinned at Doug, who nodded in agreement.

  “How was this compared to the battle you were in on I-40?” Doug asked.

  “This was a lot scarier,” he said.

  “Why?”

  Alex shoved his magazine back into the AK. “The enemy is much more up-close and personal in this battle.”

  “That’s how Dallas is going to be,” said another man, sitting down next to them. “I’m Casey.”

  “Doug and Alex,” Doug said.

  “First battle?” Alex asked.

  “No, I was at San Antonio for the water battle,” the man said. “This is worse. I mostly shot at people from the roof in that one.”

  “Yeah, I was just telling Doug that this was worse than the I-40 battle.”

  “Same thing, huh?” Casey asked. “Distance was greater?”

  “Yep,” Alex said.

  There was a volley of gunfire. Both Alex and Doug put their hands on their guns.

  “Relax, they’re just shooting prisoners,” Casey said.

  “I thought that was against the Geneva Convention,” Doug said.

  Casey laughed. “These are terrorists who don’t follow the rules of warfare, and we don’t have the space or the manpower to keep them around. Hell, they’ll just find a way to get back here if we end up letting them go. You know how these nutcases are.”

  “I’m not sure I like this,” Doug said.

  “War is all hell,” Alex said. “Sherman was right. Maybe as we get the upper hand we can start taking prisoners, but like Casey here said, they don’t follow the Geneva Convention.”

  “Dad!” Kitten yelled.

  “Over here,” Alex shouted. She found her way to their side and sat down.

  “You’re okay?” Doug asked.

  “Not a scratch,” she said. “They’re setting up a field hospital, and one of the nurses asked me to go help them. You mind?”

  “Hell no, go do your thing,” Alex said.

  “You two are both okay?” she asked.

  “Never been better, honey.”

  “I’m fine too,” Doug said, “and this is Casey. Casey, this is Alex’s daughter Kitten.”

  “Nice to meet you,” he said, smiling at her. “I think it’s time to go find my friends.”

  “Good talking with you,” Alex said as he walked away.

  “They really shooting prisoners over there?” Doug asked Kitten.

  “Yep, and I have no problem with it,” Kitten said. “These are terrorists. Don’t ever forget that. I’ve seen what they do to people.”

  “Internet?” Doug asked.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “We’re gonna see worse before this is over,” Alex said.

  Somebody fired up a loudspeaker. “Attention!”

  “That sounds like Gallagher,” Doug said. “Wonder what’s up?”

  “Attention. Pass the word. The force that was about half a mile to the east is on their way here. It’s larger than this force, but we have another big group of folks coming in from the south. They might not make it until the enemy gets here, so check your weapons and find some good cover. We’ve got about twenty-five minutes, give or take.”

  “Well there you have it,” Alex said. “Better go to your hospital, but keep your gun handy.”

  Kitten nodded and took off with her backpack and her rifle.

  Chapter 13 – Carrier Group

  Governor Nelson and Kip Hendrix sat in the living room, watching TV coverage of the action in Dallas. Maria came in with Dr. Schultz and Ramsey, carrying a tray of ice cream in bowls.

  “You’re not helping my waistline, you guys,” Nelson said.

  “I can take it back to the freezer,” Maria said.

  “No!” he said quickly, raising a laugh from the others.

  “Looks like we won the first battle in Dallas,” Ramsey said.

  “So it would appear,” Hendrix said. “News coverage is not the greatest.”

  “We hamstrung them quite a bit,” Nelson said. “Don’t need to give the enemy free surveillance, so we grounded their news choppers. Hated to do that.”

  “No choice, really,” Ramsey said.

  “I understand,” Hendrix said, “as long as we respect the press when the crisis is over.”

  “That’s my intention,” Nelson said.

  They sat quietly as they ate their ice cream, watching reporters trying to discuss the operation with very little real info. The console buzzed.

  “Call coming in,” Maria said, getting up, setting her empty bowl back on the tray. “I’ll get us connected. You want to take it here or out there?”

  “Out there, so we can use the other monitor with the high-res app,” Nelson said.

  They followed Maria into the console room. The picture came up, Wallis sitting at the table, cup of coffee next to him.

  “Where’s Gallagher?” Nelson asked.

  “
Changing his clothes,” Wallis said.

  “Was he out in the middle of the Dallas operation?” Nelson asked.

  Gallagher appeared in a fresh uniform, beaming. “Yes, boss, I was out there to rally the troops.”

  “Dammit, Gallagher, I can’t afford to lose you,” Nelson said.

  “It was worth the risk,” he said. “That battle is far from over, but we made a nice splash to start with.”

  “How many people did we lose?” Hendrix asked.

  “Not that many,” Gallagher said. “We caught the enemy flat-footed, but that larger group is on the way there now.”

  “Our folks gonna be able to handle them?” Ramsey asked.

  “Yeah, they’ll handle them,” Gallagher said, “but I did mention that the enemy would get there before another large group of citizens arrive.”

  “Why?” Hendrix asked.

  “I told them to find good cover to fight from,” Gallagher said. “Wanted to make sure they took that seriously. It’ll be close, in any event.”

  “How much do we outnumber the enemy by?” Hendrix asked.

  “In that location? Two to one currently, closer to three to one when the others arrive.”

  “How about the rest of Dallas?” Nelson asked.

  “We’ve got people in place at all of the main concentrations of enemy fighters, but I want to beef things up more. The group on the southeast side of the city is nearly three-hundred thousand strong now. When they finish here, there’s several other enemy hideouts that we can roll through in a hurry.”

  “Some of these enemy fighters are gonna flee,” Ramsey said.

  “Yep, and we need to channel them exactly where we want them. Get them into a good kill zone.”

  “What are we doing with prisoners?” Hendrix asked.

  “Shooting them right now,” Gallagher said. “We’ll lighten up on that as time goes on, of course, but we don’t want a situation where we have thousands of these folks in custody. They’ll eventually get released back to the middle east and elsewhere, and we’ll be right in the middle of problems again.”

  “I agree with what you’re doing right now,” Nelson said, “but be careful not to make it too savage, or we’ll run the risk of foreign intervention.”