“Our tires are almost gone!” Allen shouted as Ethan lobbed more grenades down range of the Mk19. There were fires all around them and plenty of smoke. If they were going to leave, now was the best time.
“Damn the Torpedoes! Full speed ahead!” Ethan roared over the intercom. The driver obliged and despite the nearly deflated tires the machine ran down a FEMA handout station and barreled, albeit a bit off center, toward the airfield. They hadn’t seen any of Lee’s tanks yet, but the fires over the tree line were a good sign.
A poorly aimed anti-tank rocket that had been meant for them obliterated the foundation of a billboard. It had been used to display only rules and regulations by the Federals, and was a rather important symbol of the Occupation to have come crashing down like the statue of Saddam Hussein. The six story sign groaned and listed dramatically before the entire structure came crashing to the ground with the ASV rumbling beneath it. Through the periscopes Ethan saw the fires in town grow more intense. New plumes of smoke rose in the direction of City Hall. They skidded around a corner and bludgeoned their way through a hedgerow onto the airfield. The ASV protested, the transmission whining, engine sputtering and gears grinding, nearing the end of its life. Ethan pushed the men and machine harder, longer, knowing right was on their side because time certainly wasn’t. Allen spotted activity at the end of the airfield, men in stupid looking uniforms trying to run away through an open field or jump into helicopters that had come to evacuate them.
Colonel Sharp and his personal security detail were trying to board a twin rotor Chinook while others crammed into two Blackhawks. They’d already abandoned the fight, even if their men fighting in the town had no idea. “COWARDS!” Ethan shouted, turning the .50 caliber on the choppers. The men scattered, the pilots included, just before their birds were blown to smoldering ruins. Ethan could feel the heat from the blasts through the truck’s thick armor. Another rocket’s red glare lit up the windows and periscopes, glancing off the tapered hull of the APC and blowing apart a storage shed behind them. This storage shed contained empty propane tanks that had once upon a time been ready for pickup. Now, even with what little gas remained in them they exploded with enough force to disable the APC completely. The shockwave shoved their armored vehicle several meters across the tarmac, the wheels barking and grinding sideways. With the turret working only on hand crank motion, Ethan continued to lay down fire while the others bailed out into the acrid smoke of the firefight. The ASV’s driver took two rounds to the side, dropping instantly. Major Branson stood and took half a dozen rounds, but shielded the men inside with his unexpected sacrifice. He died sitting up, trying to cover the already dead driver. Jimmy was hit in the leg and fell, Allen trying desperately to drag him to cover as the .50 caliber ran through its last belt.
Unable to breathe and out of ammunition for anything but his sidearm, Ethan jumped from the ASV too and helped drag Jimmy behind an overturned GM Green Truck. While Allen continued triage on his brother’s leg Ethan picked up an M4 carbine and started picking off troops. Caring about who they’d been and what they’d done before joining with men like Colonel Sharp never entered his mind. Ethan was defending his home, defending his friends, his and family. He was defending his child from a future in bonds, beholden to evil men.
Click.
The M4 was out. Before Ethan could reach for his sidearm the brown leather combat boot of a Federal roundhouse kicked him in the face. His head spun and he saw stars, the taste of blood replacing burning oil when he spat teeth onto the asphalt.
“You caused quite a mess here…Sheriff.” Colonel Sharp stood over Ethan, blocking out the already overcast sun as it came up over the horizon. From his super high-speed leg holster with pouches and Velcro and unnecessary straps all in perfectly matching ACU pattern, to his neatly cleaned and pressed uniform, Colonel Sharp was a poster child for the oppressors. He drew his M9 and dragged the hammer back as if they were in a movie. Some people were too stupid to know their double action firearms from the cowboy guns Ethan sported for fun. The attempt at drama was more comical than it was supposed to be, and Ethan’s smirk pissed Sharp off rather profoundly.
Ethan laughed, “You have a real flare for the dramatic, Colonel.” He spat blood on Sharp’s ridiculously clean boots. The metrosexual bastard had treated them with some sort of water repelling chemical and the snot rocket beaded off. “But I think if you had any ammo left you’d have shot me.”
“Maybe I want to make an example of you.” Sharp reached down and hauled Ethan to his feet, gut punching him before the exchange could continue. “Or maybe I’ll just kill you now and pile your body in a ditch with your brother’s!” Colonel Sharp dropped the useless M9 and flicked open a pocket knife, intent upon gutting Ethan. The satisfaction of knowing he was right about Sharp being out of ammo would have wait.
Ethan had already reached for his own knife, a Smith & Wesson ExtremeOps Keith had lent him the day before his death, the only heirloom Ethan still had of his friend. He snapped it open and swung upwards, catching Sharp’s raised arm just below the elbow and swung back down hard, relieving Sharp of his left eye and splitting his cheek open. The eye-jelly and blood spewed from Sharp’s face. He screamed and staggered backwards, tripping over a pile of debris. Explosions rocked the buildings nearby, the whistling of bombs and the roar of rockets was the last thing Sharp heard…
Silence.
Ash fell like snow in July, the mushroom cloud of fire and smoke that had once been the Midwest American Social Education Center rose into pink and orange early morning sky. The ringing in his ears let him know he was still alive, but only just. Colonel Jeffry Sharp rolled from his stomach to his back, leaning against what was left of a food distribution cart. The weight of his body armor, the shattered ceramic plates shifting inside, was unbearable. His breath returned a little, but it tasted of cordite and the unmistakable stench of charred flesh and the sickly sweet, but salty smell of blood. His depth perception was gone as well as his left eye. Who knew if it was still in the socket, he couldn’t think straight enough to raise his hand to find out. To the left were dead soldiers. To the right were dead soldiers. The ground had stopped shaking, a ceasefire had been called. The outcome was final.
More explosions shook the ground as Federal installations in the distance were hit. The small arms fire had completely ended and shouts for Federal Soldiers to lay down their weapons replaced the sharp staccato of gunfire. The explosions, including the one that had ended the knife fight at the airfield, had been too powerful for a tank round. As if on queue the unmistakable BRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAATT sound of a GAU-8 Avenger “Gatling Gun” and the powerful scream of the low flying A-10 Warthog attached to it sent up a cheer from the victorious Rebels. The low and slow A-10, marked with a giant Texas flag under one wind, and Old Glory painted on the other, rocked its wings and another did a victory roll for the men below.
Chinooks, Hueys and Cobra gunships followed the A-10’s and began clearing fleeing Federal units and outposts around the town. The medevac choppers dropped down and landed Texan troops in old style BDU’s, red white and blue Gonzalez flags on their helmets and sleeves. Ethan, however, wasn’t watching the victory celebration. He continued to stare at Colonel Sharp, who’s one eye stared back. In a flash of anger he reached down and grabbed Sharp by the throat.
“Why?” Ethan hissed from between his bloodied teeth.
Sharp seemed taken aback. “Why what?” He coughed, drool and blood oozing from his face. That Sharp would even pretend he didn’t understand the question enraged Ethan even more. “If you’re going to ask questions, Private Cally, maybe you should ask yourself…” Sharp coughed blood. “Do these people know who you are? Do they know what you are?” Ethan knew Sharp had an audience beyond himself. Others had gathered behind them. “A drunkard… A drug addict… A washout! You couldn’t even handle one tour in Iraq before you went Section Eight.” Sharp started laughing maniacally. “You fight me, because you think you’re a better man because you�
��re some kind of… Libertarian Humanist… But it’s all a lie, Private Cally. You’re just as weak, and useless as your friend who offed herself in Iraq. You’re not a great man, you’re nothing! You can’t even recognize the New Social Order when it slaps you in the face!”
There was a long silence but for the noise of the helicopters and planes. “Yeah… I’m a real piece a’ shit alright… I think though, Colonel, I’m okay with that.” Ethan turned around, Cavalrymen and citizens had gathered around to watch. Allen was holding his little brother, rocking back and forth on his already bad knees. The boy was limp in his arms. Allen screamed aloud, unable to come to grips with the loss of his little brother. He could face the end of the world, but not without Jimmy. Without a second thought Ethan dropped Sharp, picked up a broken brick and bludgeoned his enemy with the stone shard until he was unrecognizable, a lump of dead flesh caved into a throat. Whoever said revenge wouldn’t fill the hole in your heart lied, it fills the void with infectious bile and covers it with bedrock stone, leaving the mess for someone else to try to piece back together.
The bloody task done, Ethan sat next to Allen while he grieved. There was a lot of blood, the round possibly having hit an artery in Jimmy’s leg. The men and women who’d seen the end of Colonel Sharp went their separate aways, knowing they’d seen the end of it and not wanting to watch Allen cry over the body of his only anchor to this world and life itself.
Something possessed Ethan to check Jimmy’s pulse, maybe habit from watching movies, maybe a voice in his head that sounded like Keith said he couldn’t just act like Dr. Crusher and not check a pulse before pronouncing someone dead. He didn’t feel one in the boy’s neck, but on his wrist a weak pulse was still palpable. “Allen, help me get him into the open, he’s still got a pulse.” Ethan leaned down and felt for breathing. He couldn’t feel it but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. He opened Jimmy’s jaw and checked for debris and the boy coughed soot colored snot and blood. Ethan tore Jimmy’s shirt off and found half a dozen smaller wounds, some still oozing, but none that compromised his breathing.
A Texan medic ran through the smoke like a hero on Baywatch and slid in the blood next to Jimmy. An angel who had known he was needed just as the perfect time. “What can you tell me?” The medic shouted as a Chinook took off overhead, already evacuating other wounded.
“Probable GSW or shrapnel to the right abdomen, ancillary wounds to lower extremities with potential arterial bleeding. Patient is cyanotic and breathing is minimal.” Ethan rattled off, remembering some of his Combat Life Saver’s course.
“Got it.” The medic worked quickly, taking his helmet off and dropping to his knees, his black spiked hair and shaved face a stark contrast to the everyday of frontier life. “Keep this mask on him. One breath every five seconds.” The medic ordered, handing Ethan a bag-valve-mask. “I’m starting an IV, get pressure on those wounds there.” The medic slapped Allen, waking him from his panic. He instinctively tore open the bandages and made a picture perfect bandage over his brother’s leg wound.
More medics and stretcher bearers arrived and carted Jimmy off to a waiting Chinook. Allen went with, the medic okaying it with the pilots. The giant helicopter lumbered into the sky and was gone into the clouds only minutes later, leaving the burning airfield far behind and nearly silent. Ethan looked over at the medic that had probably just saved Jimmy’s life. He was covered in blood now too and was looking for a clean patch of cloth to wipe his face on. There didn’t seem to be one.
Ethan handed the medic a handkerchief. It was dirty, but not as bad as the rest of him. “I got used to carrying extras.”
“Thanks. I’m Thompson.” The medic said, pointing to his First Sergeant, who was on the other side of a distant row of sandbags beating the shit out of a Federal Jumpsuit with brass knuckles. “I think Top’s looking for you, Sheriff, but are you okay?” Thompson seemed suddenly concerned about Ethan. “That’s a lot of blood.”
“Oh... It’s not mine.” Ethan pointed to what was left of Colonel Sharp.
“Jesus…” Thompson cringed. “You do that?”
“Some people just have it comin’.” Ethan was unapologetic.
“I’m sure. I’ve probably shot as many of those pricks as I’ve patched up. Little bastards like to surrender to whoever’ll treat ‘em like royalty and let ‘em rot in a prison. Texas, though, we put them fuckers to work on chain gangs. I hope you guys do the same up here.”
Ethan almost laughed. “We’re not keeping them. They’ll be lucky if we don’t hang them.”
“You sure you’re the law around here?” Thompson asked.
“Maybe. Depends who’s asking.” Ethan sat on the tarmac, someplace where his view wasn’t all blood and gore. As luck would have it a crate of Diet Coke had been used as someone’s cover. It now lay spilled all over the blacktop, whoever was behind it had somehow gotten away. Ethan grabbed a can and popped it open, the foam spraying all over. It was cold outside, so the soda was cold too. “I was a Pepsi man, personally. This stuff tastes… bitter.”
Sergeant Thompson sat next to Ethan and popped open a can for himself. “Been a long time since I’ve even had a pop. It all tastes good to me.”
Ethan smirked, “Did you just say pop? I thought all good Southerners called every soft drink Coke.”
“I’m from Detroit.” Thompson savored the cola.
“Ah. I should have seen the Joker’s Card on your bandana there.”
“Fuck Slim Anus.” Thompson laughed, reciting a stanza from the song. Someone on the other side of the burned-out hangar responded with the next stanza. The unseen Texan soldier with equally bulky gear came around the corner to finish the third part with his buddy. “Yo.” Thompson bro-fisted his friend.
“Who’s this?” The soldier asked, motioning to Ethan with a toothy smile.
“He’s the John Law, so behave.” Thompson handed his friend a Diet Coke.
“Sweet.” The other sergeant popped his can open and guzzled the soda. “Man I missed that. You guys… You got lucky.” He said, pointing at Ethan.
“What are you talking about?” Ethan was getting annoyed at the redhead in a hurry.
“You can’t see it from here, but there’s a full blown battle going on over Kansas City as we speak, ma man. We caught their entire Southern Army with their pants down on the west side of the city. We were gonna go help fuck ‘em up, but then we heard these Federal assclowns calling for air support over an open channel. Seems they didn’t expect anyone to fight for this town.”
“…yeah…” Ethan was beginning to accept the horror of the day, certain it wasn’t over. The medication dulled the pain, but hundreds of scenarios and alternative endings ran through his head, so many What Ifs that could have gone one way or the other. It had taken more than four years for the shock and horror of what had happened in Iraq to really sink in. This time it was quicker, but no less painful. He just handled it better. “Either of you got a cigarette?”
“No, but I got a joint.” The redheaded sergeant said, handing an expertly rolled joint to Ethan. “Found em in the hangar marked Federal Compliance Evidence.” His smirk was enormous.
Ethan lit it and inhaled. “Damn. Allen sure can grow it.” He said before erupting in a violent coughing fit. “You guys even allowed to have this shit?”
“The rules are ambiguous on the front, but civilians can have it down South. Government couldn’t enforce prohibition, not that the VP would have stood for that anyhow. They just said fuck it and started regulating and taxing the shit. Took all the money and guns directly from the Messican Cartel’s pockets.
That warm fuzzy feeling coming over him, and Ethan started laughing. They smoked and joked as more people came to the airfield, searching for lost loved ones and loading the injured onto Texan medevac choppers. The two sergeants parted ways with Ethan, leaving him with his thoughts, alone at the airfield where his friend’s little brother had probably just died. Who else was dead? He didn’t have that many frien
ds left to lose. There was a familiar tugging at his pants, the instinctual reaction was to reach for his knife to stab the zombie grabbing for him, but Ethan knew it was Bogey. The dog had found him despite the insanity around him. The beagle was wagging his tail furiously, overjoyed to find his alpha.
“Hey, boy.” Ethan reached down and scooped up his dog. The beagle piddled a little bit he was so excited, but Ethan’s uniform was already gross with blood. “You get you a Federal today too?”
“He sure did.” Mary was standing in a cloud of smoke, looking like a warrior goddess from the cover of Heavy Metal Magazine with loose battle-rattle clinging to her ample curves. Sabrina stood next to her, both the worse for ware and covered in soot and blood. Ethan jumped up and embraced his wife. Mary let him squeeze her until she couldn’t breathe, overwhelmed that she could still feel love in the middle of all the hate. “I’m okay, baby. I’m okay.”
“Have you seen Lee?” Ethan asked, unsure if he could let go. “Where’s our baby?”
“They’re fine…” Mary let go and motioned to Sabrina. “But not everybody.”
Ethan felt his heart drop. “Sabrina?” He asked, scanning the area for her beloved Tammy. The stubborn, self-reliant, loving woman he’d rescued from the abandoned armory broke down into tears. She was barely able to compose herself enough to nod to Ethan that Tammy hadn’t made it. Ethan let go of his wife and embraced his friend as well. She stood and cried into his chest. “I’m so sorry.” Ethan repeated, but it was useless. No amount of remorse or revenge could bring Tammy back.
From the first day Colonel Sharp and his men arrived to the end of the battle of Sullivan over a thousand citizens were dead or missing. Another two thousand sustained injuries of some sort. Of the fifteen hundred people the Federals brought with them, including soldiers, only seventy had survived the Rebellion. The Texans begrudgingly took those who had surrendered with them as POWs, knowing the townspeople weren’t likely to let them live. Almost no one had come out of the fight unscathed, dozens of children had been killed or badly wounded, trapped in houses the Federals burned on their way out or caught up trying to defend their homes as well. Ethan was in shock as they drove to the police station. He didn’t speak, just sat there and took stock of the devastation visited upon his home.
World of Ashes Page 48
