Southlands

by D. J. Molles

  Lee ran north because he couldn’t think of anything else to do in that moment, and it had to be better than standing still. Maybe he could help carry some wounded…

  The first of the infantry skidded around the corner.

  An Apache chain gun burped, and the massive rounds beat the concrete to pieces in a cluster, ripping two of the soldiers to shreds. Lee cried out involuntarily when he saw it, but kept running.

  Both gunships roared over top of the fleeing soldiers, low enough that the downdrafts whipped up a mist of water from the wet concrete.

  Lee watched their black shapes against the black sky, saw them bank to come around for another pass, and then lost them in the wind and the darkness.

  Ahead of him, the few soldiers turned into a flood of them—all forty of them tumbling around the corner at a flat sprint.

  “The land bridge!” Lee shouted as the first soldiers reached him, pointing behind him. “Go straight across! Straight across!”

  The machine gunners that had set up the bases of fire on the shore line now hit the corner of the thick cement wall and turned, hefting their machine guns if they were smaller, or with the help of a buddy in the case of an M2, and oriented them to the sky while their comrades continued to pull back.

  They weren’t the best tools against gunships in the dark, but they were the only tools they had for the job.

  The two soldiers with the M2 took the corner of the concrete wall, standing. One of the M240s slid prone at their feet, and the other, not having any place else to go, simply planted his feet in the center of the tide of his escaping comrades, like a rock in the middle of a river, and aimed for the sky, waiting for a target to appear out of the darkness.

  Lee’s eyes tore away from them as he stamped his feet to a stop, cutting left towards the concrete wall to let the retreating men get past him. His eyes coursed over the round domes of helmets and faces and fear, but he didn’t see what he was looking for.

  Julia.

  Cheech came around the corner last—distinguishable by being a head taller than everyone else.

  A familiar shape hustled along beside him.

  Lee felt relief, mixed with a stab of panic—why had she stayed in the back of the pack?

  But Lee knew why.

  So she could help any wounded she came across.

  The sound of the rotors began to rise again.

  Cheech stopped with the machine gunners.

  Julia stopped with him.

  Lee clawed his way up the wall towards them, yelling at Julia to keep running.

  Lee didn’t know if Cheech heard him or not, but he seemed to suddenly realize she was there at his side. He turned and shoved her away from him.

  She started running again.

  Cheech turned back, faced the sky, and raised his rifle.

  The machine guns blazed, their muzzles strobing the night sky, each flash catching a thousand raindrops like they were frozen in midair.

  Lee saw the hint of the two black shapes in the sky, roaring straight at them.

  He had the distinct thought: This is going to hurt…

  He spun, seizing Julia as she ran into him, and pushed her ahead of him, as though his body might be a barricade to a 30mm projectile.

  Ahead of them, the troops were just now reaching the land bridge. They’d be caught on it. Easy pickings for the Apaches, but maybe they could make a dive for the waters…

  A black slot in the wall, just ahead of Lee.

  The rotors roared behind them, like charging bulls.

  Lee fixated on the slot in the wall—a man-sized entrance. Lee knew it would be covered by pill boxes, but he didn’t think they were occupied. He had to take the risk. It was better than just letting the Apaches chew him to shreds.

  Lee caught up with Julia just as she was about to pass the opening in the wall. He seized her by the arm, dug his heels in as the opening yawned to his right, and hauled her into the space—

  —the chain guns thundered—

  —an eruption of concrete dust billowed over them—

  —the sound of a metoric impact behind him—

  —something smacked him in the hip.

  He jolted forward, losing his balance, and toppled onto Julia.

  He rolled, then scrambled to his feet. He tasted concrete in his mouth. Felt fire in his hip, but he couldn’t think about that now. Julia was on the ground, coughing. He must’ve knocked the wind out of her when they’d landed.

  “Come on!” Lee urged, reaching out and grabbing a hold of her arm. “We gotta go!”

  He realized she wasn’t coughing—they were short, sharp gasps of pain.

  He felt an ice pick jab at the bottom of his heart.

  “What’s wrong?” he went to his knees. “Did you get hit?”

  “I dunno,” she managed. “I think I’m okay. I think it just grazed me. Shit. What was it?”

  “Shrapnel from that round right behind us. I think it bit me too. Can you stand up?”

  She nodded, though her mouth still hung open, sucking air, and she looked bewildered. Lee didn’t like that expression.

  He got her arm again and hauled her up. Her eyes widened and she let out another noise of pain. Lee’s own hip flared with the movement, but he was almost certain that it wasn’t debilitating.

  He propped Julia against the wall, and checked his hip. He couldn’t see past all the gear on his torso, but he felt it with his fingertips—a ragged hole at the top of his pants, moist with blood. But it felt like a graze. Whatever piece of nasty metal had hit him had passed right on through.

  “I’m okay,” Lee said. “Are you okay?”

  Julia looked lost. Lee didn’t think he’d ever seen her like this. Something was wrong. Was it just the shock of the moment?

  But she nodded again. “Yes. Let’s go.”

  Lee took one look to his left—out towards the fleeing soldiers—and knew that wasn’t where he was going. A jab of guilt hit him—could he have made a better decision? Was it because of him that all of those soldiers were going to die in strafing runs across the land bridge?

  He looked to their right, inside the walled compound. They were exposed to the pill boxes, but they hadn’t received any incoming fire. He couldn’t see it from his current vantage point, but based on studying the satellite images, he knew there was a sluiceway about a hundred yards from him. The water from the lake was sucked in, used to cool the reactors, and then jetted out the sluiceway back into the lake.

  When the reactors were operational, the sluiceway moved like man-made rapids. But now, without the pumps, the water simply sat there.

  It was the only way out that Lee could think of.

  “Come on,” Lee shouldered his rifle with one arm, ignored the fiery pain in his hip, and pulled Julia off the wall with his other hand.

  The opening of the man-entrance through the wall stretched out in front of him. He scanned over the fortifications—the pill boxes and the catwalks and the windows that glared down at him in the rainy darkness.

  Outside their momentary safety, Lee heard the gunships coming back around again.

  The grating sound of men dying.

  Julia let out a groan that might’ve had words somewhere in it, but Lee couldn’t tell.

  Lee cleared the corner. First right, then left. Then he ducked back in. Julia leaned on the wall, her rifle hanging in her grip.

  “You ready?” he asked her.

  She looked at him, her eyes still wide, almost confused. “No. I’m sorry. Hold on.”

  Shit.

  The tactical and the personal made a head-on collision in his mind.

  They were both exposed.

  Twenty-five yards ahead of them, though, there was another structure behind which they could hide.

  Lee made a split-second decision. He grabbed Julia’s arm again. “Hang on, Jules! We gotta get to cover!”

  She grunted something and pulled back against him for a second, but then followed as best she could. Why couldn’
t she keep up? Why was she dragging her feet like that?

  Lee could hardly think passed the imperative of the angles and unknown threat positions that were arrayed out in front of him as he ran for the structure that would give them some momentary cover.

  He heard the gunships, coming in again.

  Had the rest of the soldiers gotten across the land bridge?

  Had Cheech?

  Lee hit the corner of the structure. A squat, single story concrete box in the dimensions of a trailer.

  He yanked Julia behind it, just as the sound of the gunships rose to a pitch, and the chain guns rattled again, and as the noise died for a third time, Lee heard the sound of carnage, and it felt like ice in his gut.

  Lee ripped his attention away and looked at Julia.

  She gulped air, staring at Lee.

  “What’s wrong?” Lee’s voice trembled, and he told himself it was from the effort of running.

  Julia arched her back, pulling at the bottom corner of her plate carrier. “It’s…right in there…something got me right there…”

  The bottom of the canvas plate carrier was stained dark.

  Lee’s heart and stomach tripped over each other.

  “You said it was a graze,” Lee said. “It’s just a graze, right?”

  “I dunno,” Julia said, her voice tightening. “It keeps feeling worse and worse. I think something’s broken…”

  “Broken? Like a bone?”

  “I don’t know…”

  “Hold on,” Lee said, and pushed his rifle back over his right hip to get it out of the way, and then slipped his hand underneath her plate carrier.

  A ragged hole in the fabric. Just like his.

  Except that, underneath that fabric, he could feel warm blood pulsing.

  And the position of the wound…

  This wasn’t a graze. This had gone straight into her gut, just beneath the armor plate.

  “Okay,” Lee said, his voice quieter, less sure than he had intended. “It’s okay. I got you.” He looked her in the eye. “You took some shrapnel to the stomach, okay? I can feel blood coming out at a steady pulse, but it’s not spurting. You don’t have an arterial bleed…” he trailed off.

  Julia watched him, her eyes frowning now. Like she didn’t believe him.

  “Should I be telling you this?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Do I…” she bared her teeth through a wave of pain, then marshalled herself. “Do I have an exit wound?”

  Lee reached around and felt along the small of her back, opposite where the shrapnel had gouged into her. He didn’t know whether he was hoping for an exit wound or not. An exit meant it hit more tissue, but at least the piece was out…

  He couldn’t find another hole.

  “I don’t…” his hand scrambled over the surface of her back again. “I don’t feel anything else.”

  “Okay. Fuck.” Julia sounded like she was puzzling out someone else’s predicament. Cold and clinical. Even for herself. “Evaluate the bleed. Do I have time?”

  That was a big question to ask.

  Lee blinked once, staring at her.

  Don’t see Julia. See your teammate.

  This isn’t the woman you love.

  This is a wounded buddy.

  “Yes,” Lee said. “I think you have time.”

  “How long until we get out of here?” she asked.

  “Five minutes? Maybe ten?”

  Julia nodded. “Make it five, Lee. I’ll help the best I can, but we need to get out of here or we’re both gonna die.”

  “No one’s gonna die.” Lee had to say it out loud.

  Or perhaps that was tempting fate.

  He hauled Julia to her feet, pulled her arm under his. “Hook your fingers inside my plate. There. Good. Just keep your feet moving, okay? That’s all you gotta do. Just pick up your feet.”

  She is a wounded buddy.

  They moved in a straight line.

  Leaving the safety of the concrete structure behind.

  Another seventy-five yards of open space lay ahead of them. There were small positions here and there that might provide cover, but Lee wasn’t stopping. He was going for the big square hole in the ground that he knew was the start of the sluiceway.

  Beyond that hole in the ground, he saw the mangled remains of the fence that they’d hit with the 40mm grenades. It was a secondary exit plan, but then he would be back to going across the land bridge. The sluiceway would keep them low, and hidden in the water.

  It wasn’t safety, but it was concealment. And that was their best defense at that moment.

  As the hole that marked the entrance of the sluiceway approached, Lee realized he had no idea how deep that water was going to be.

  And they both wore armor and ammo and rifles.

  He thought about taking them off before jumping in.

  But they were ten yards from the opening. And the gunships were coming back around again.

  There wasn’t time.

  “Almost there,” Lee breathed, then pulled to a stop at the lip of the entrance.

  “Fuck. Lee.” Julia groaned. “I don’t…”

  Lee peered over the edge. Black water moved, but it seemed like it might be shallow. Lee wasn’t sure why he thought that—maybe he was seeing what he wanted to see.

  “Jules, I’m gonna ease you down in there, okay? We gotta move quick.”

  “Okay.”

  If it turned out to be too deep, he could haul her back up and try to figure out another plan. If the choppers didn’t mow them down first.

  Julia managed to sit herself on the edge of the concrete, her feet dangling over the dark water inside the sluiceway and Lee helped her begin easing her way in. She grit her teeth and hissed, but didn’t cry out as she had to hang from his hands, twisting her wounded torso.

  Her feet hit the water. He kept easing her down, the pain of his own wound in his hip nagging at him, but he refused to even acknowledge it when Julia was worse off than him.

  “Can you touch the bottom yet?” Lee asked.

  Behind him, the Apaches spit fire and death.

  Suspended from Lee’s hands, Julia kicked her feet, knee deep in the water. “I can’t. I can’t touch it yet.”

  Lee eased himself into a kneeling position, having to take his breaths in sharp chunks, his core locked to stabilize him under load.

  Julia was waist deep now.

  Her wound in the water.

  Then a little more. Almost chest deep.

  Lee was hunched over his knees.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’m standing.”

  The weight came off his arms. Lee took a deep, relieving breath and then slid over the edge of the concrete and into the water with a clumsy splash. His boots slipped on a layer of scum that clung to the concrete floor of the sluiceway. The water undulated against his chest, but it wasn’t flowing.

  He regained his footing, then flattened his back against the wall of the sluiceway, and looked to his left, down the long, straight length of it. After about fifty yards, it passed under the ruined wires of the fence, and then it dipped out of sight.

  That section wouldn’t have any water in it. But at the end of that section, there would be the lake. The portion of the lake that stood, separated from the rest of the reservoir by the land bridge.

  If Lee could get them there, they could move through the shallows, back to the peninsula they’d started from, and maybe regroup with the others.

  If there were any of them left.

  Lee looked back to Julia. “How are you feeling?”

  “It hurts,” she said, her respiration elevated. “But…” She seemed to re-evaluate what she was going to say, and then shook her head. “Let’s go Lee. Come on. Get us out of here.”

  Just a wounded buddy.

  Lee pulled her arm over his shoulders again and the two of them began to move through the chest-deep murk, towards the lake.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  ─▬▬▬─

  OBLIT
ERATION

  It had been a trap.

  And the people that had laid it obviously had no intention of letting anyone walk away from it.

  Tex crawled through mud and leaves along the forest floor.

  The gunships had hit the bridge. Tex couldn’t see it anymore—he couldn’t see shit except tree trunks and brush and leaves, all around him—but he could still picture the bursting 30mm shells slamming through his men, obliterating their bodies, or shredding them with shrapnel when they impacted nearby.

  The land bridge was scattered with broken bodies.

  Moaning wounded.

  He could still hear them out there. And all through the woods.

  The second Tex’s retreating forces had entered the woods, a withering barrage of machine gun fire had lanced through the forest. As Lee had suspected, there’d been a force positioned here in these woods to catch those that retreated.

  Now, only sporadic gunfire reached Tex’s ears.

  Small arms fire, taking out stragglers.

  There were enemies on foot, combing through the woods, and wiping out the last of Tex’s survivors.

  A close run by one of the Apaches had sent Tex and Abe in separate directions. Now he had no idea where Abe was, or if he was even still alive. It was possible Abe had been shot up in that run.

  What had happened to them?

  Tex still couldn’t wrap his brain around it, and yet he knew who was responsible.

  Fucking Bellamy. You backstabbing piece of shit!

  Tex didn’t know for sure if this had been orchestrated by Bellamy, or whether he’d been hoodwinked himself. But it didn’t matter. Bellamy was still at fault, either way. It was Bellamy’s fault that there was a land bridge covered in chunks of Tex’s guys…

  Tex could feel the noose tightening.

  He could feel the end point of his life approaching. He’d kick and scream and spit in the face of death, but no matter what happened, if it was the last goddamn thing that he did, he was going to hear John Bellamy’s voice, and Bellamy was going to hear his. And both of them were going to know where the other stood.

  Suppressed rifle shots spat throughout the woods, and the barks of unsuppressed rifles answered. Men cried out. Tex’s men.