by Nathan Jones
An hour? That was a long, long time to be hiding in an enemy camp. What was Davis planning, a picnic? “Maybe.” Lewis set the timer on the detonator, then motioned to Jane and stood. “The armory will blow in exactly 60 minutes.”
“Roger that. We'll do what we can.”
Along with the packs, he and his wife both slung two extra rifles on their backs. It wasn't much, but anything was better than nothing; even this weighed them down as much as they could handle. With Lewis in the lead they ducked out of the armory and shut the door behind them, then slipped towards the tents to the south.
Burdened with added weight, and conscious of the timer ticking down behind them that they didn't want to draw any attention to, they were even more slow and cautious heading to the barn.
Along the way Gutierrez radioed in to let them know that he and Trent had safely escaped the camp, and rejoined the volunteers hiding to the west of them. Lewis asked them if they'd be willing to set up there to cover the prisoners' escape as best they could, and the former soldier reluctantly agreed.
“We'll be falling back if our position gets compromised, though,” he warned.
In a way it was nice that the barn doors faced south, since most of the camp was to the north. It would make getting everyone out without being spotted slightly easier. But at the moment it also meant they had to hike all the way around to get inside. “We're almost to the doors,” Lewis told Rick well before they came around the corner.
“Good, the coast is clear for now. Hurry.”
Together he and his wife trotted along the front of the barn to where their friend waited, and Rick cracked the door open just long enough for them to slip inside.
Trev had all the prisoners freed from the cages and somewhat organized. Under his supervision they'd ransacked the supplies to find any food that didn't require preparation, as well as five-gallon jugs of water. While they'd been waiting they'd enjoyed an impromptu meal, their first good one in weeks judging by how gaunt they were. Some were even loading themselves up with food to take with them, as if they thought they'd be able to escape hauling a burden in their condition.
Lewis took one look at those emaciated forms and felt a moment of despair. They looked as if they could barely walk, let alone run the way they'd need to if they had any hope of getting to safety. But at least as Trev led a few dozen men forward, introducing them as those who'd at least handled a gun at some point in their lives, Lewis could see the determination burning in their eyes.
He and Jane started passing out the spare rifles, handguns, and grenades. “From what we can tell the soldiers sleep with their weapons,” he said as he produced the last of the 9mm Grachs and two spare magazines, handing them to a man in his teens who swayed with exhaustion.
Then, with great reluctance, he drew his 1911 and handed it to another prisoner, along with all the spare mags from his vest pocket. Jane and Trev did the same, and his cousin ran to grab Rick's sidearm to also arm a prisoner.
“Do you think we could raid some of the tents?” Trev said after he got back, passing Rick's pistol to a gaunt older woman who'd been hovering around him before he left. He'd introduced her as Deb, a friend he'd made in Newtown.
“You heard Davis,” Jane snapped. “He wants us to stay under the radar. If we try sneaking into blockhead tents and slitting their throats for their rifles we'll be caught within minutes.”
Trev held up his hands. “Fine. Then we hope to get out without a fight, and if we can't manage that we pick up the rifles of anyone we gun down in front of us.”
Lewis very much doubted it was going to be anywhere near that simple. He and Jane helped Trev finish organizing the prisoners into groups for more orderly movement, assigning each a leader from the armed men. As they did they all checked their watches, waiting as the time marched forward to the hour deadline.
After they were done eating about thirty of the prisoners shuffled back into a few cages, asking to be locked up again. Apparently the sight of weapons being handed out had driven home the price of freedom, which they would very likely pay if they left.
Lewis couldn't fault them for that, but to be safe he had them bound and gagged. Just in case they decided their captors would punish them less if they raised the alarm. It felt terrible to give the order, and Trev looked like he was on the verge of protesting, but Lewis wasn't about to take any chances.
With about fifteen minutes left on the countdown Davis finally called in. “Okay Halsson, here's the deal. We're hitting the rise now, with the aim of obliterating everyone on it. At which point we'll fan out and begin striking at patrols and sentry positions in the area.
“Even better, your friend Lieutenant Faraday up north says he's been getting harassed by blockhead commandos in camo bandannas. He's about had enough of it, so he's agreed to make a committed attack into the valley himself. He'll even hit at your old town if he gets an opening. Between those two we should get reinforcements scrambling out from Huntington, and maybe even your depot. It won't be enough to clear the place out completely, but it might create some confusion and give you an opening. Especially once the armory blows.”
That was more than he could've hoped for. It also explained why the sergeant had asked for so much time. “Thanks, Davis. We'll see you soon.”
“I sure hope so. I want to tear you a new one for going off half-cocked like this. Look to the south and you might see some fireworks.”
Lewis changed channels. “Rick, keep an eye on the camp. See how they respond to the attacks. Especially due west.” That was the direction they planned to go, a direct line between the barn and safety. There wasn't really any other option.
As his friend acknowledged the order Lewis gathered all the prisoners together. “All right, here's the deal,” he said just loudly enough for everyone to hear. “The military is going to create some distractions. We'll wait until we find the best opening we can, then we begin sneaking west through the tents. Stick to your groups, and try to stick with the larger group as well.”
There were nods all around, and Lewis continued. “If the enemy starts shooting at you we'll do our best to take them out if it's just a few. Keep heading west and trying not to be seen. If we're caught and the blockheads really come after us in large numbers, anyone with a grenade chucks them: either at the enemies shooting at them, at a tent, or lob it as far as you can and hope it creates some confusion. Then we bolt for the edge of camp and don't stop running until we hit mountains. We'll have people out there covering us, but don't expect any miracles.”
“How far?” Deb asked.
Lewis glanced over at her. “At least two miles.” There were despairing groans at that. “It's going to be a hard run, maybe the hardest you've ever done. But things get better at the finish line.”
They continued waiting in nervous silence. In the distance, just at the edge of hearing, Lewis thought he heard explosions. After a few minutes he began hearing shouts from closer, within the camp. Then a loudspeaker blared in a foreign language.
“That's done it,” Rick whispered. “Soldiers are stumbling out of their tents. They're looking to the south. Now they're heading back inside to get dressed and grab their weapons.” The loudspeaker blared again, more urgently, and his friend abruptly swore. “Now they're tearing the camp apart, searching the tents and along each row.”
“Why?” Lewis demanded.
“I don't know! Maybe they tried to drive off in their trucks and found out we sabotaged them.” Rick swore again. “Some are headed this way, Lewis!”
Lewis glanced at his watch. Four minutes until the detonator blew. Too long. “All right, people,” he said. “Hug the front wall, lie flat, and shut up! Rick, get inside!” The younger man stumbled in, expression panicked under his goggles, and Lewis slammed the door behind him. “Trev, get some people and make an opening on the western wall. Try not to be obvious about it.” His cousin nodded and grabbed a few dozen of the unarmed men.
Motioning to Jane, Rick, and the armed m
en clustered around them, Lewis set up next to the doors, G3 ready. “This wood won't stop a bullet from an AK-47,” he whispered. “Remember that they can shoot you through the walls.” Several of the prisoners moaned in fear.
“So what exactly is the plan here?” Rick demanded.
“Wait until they come in, try to take them out quietly, then wait until the armory blows.” Lewis produced a can of bear spray from his pocket. Rick and Jane gave starts of surprise and produced their cans as well, as if just remembering them.
What, had they thought Lewis intended for them to ambush and grapple with armed and wary enemy soldiers without getting shot? Even at the shelter they'd only managed to take down the sentries coming inside because those blockheads had been completely oblivious to the danger.
Not for the first time Lewis silently thanked Matt for his foresight in picking up the bear spray, way back near the beginning just after the Gulf burned. His friend had almost run out of the stock he'd gotten from the store, but Lewis had managed to snag the ones he still had left: enough for everyone but Trent to carry one on their person.
It wouldn't exactly be a silent takedown, but it was definitely quieter than a gunshot and with luck would choke off any warning shouts.
Only a few seconds later the door flew open and half a dozen armed men streamed in, flashlight attachments on their rifles waving wildly. They froze for just a second when they saw the empty cages, and Lewis used that time to spray a broad sweep at point blank range in the general direction of their heads. He dropped three before they even realized they were under attack, while between them Rick and Jane took out the other three and made sure all six had gotten a good faceful.
The blockheads had mostly dropped their weapons and were on the ground retching and gagging, trying to shout around the breaths they couldn't catch. Lewis kicked the rifle out of the hands of the one soldier who managed to keep hold of his and dropped down to put him in a choke hold, while the freed prisoners swarmed over the others and got to work clubbing them to death with the weapons he and Jane had brought them.
It was a savage display, but Lewis didn't exactly blame them. He slammed the door shut again, made sure all the blockheads were at least unconscious, then distributed the newly captured weapons to more unarmed prisoners.
Once all that was done he motioned to the prisoners watching him in tense anticipation. “Get to Trev at the new exit and be ready to go.” They'd pushed their luck hanging around for so long and then taking down that patrol, and there was no telling when it would finally run out.
Speaking of which . . . as the prisoners detached from the south wall and trickled over to the west one, Lewis cracked the door open and slipped outside to take over playing sentry for Rick.
At which point a few of the soldiers milling among the tents turned his way. Lewis didn't know whether it would've been less suspicious to just keep the door shut, hoping the lack of a sentry wouldn't rouse suspicion. But as soon as the blockheads among the tents started bolting his way, shouting and raising their weapons, Lewis knew the jig was up.
At least he had some warning. He raised his own G3 and opened fire, slamming his back against the door to open it behind him as he did. Jane joined him as he backed into the barn, also shooting at any targets that presented themselves.
“Trev, exit!” he shouted.
“Almost there!” his cousin yelled back. “It'll take a minute.”
“We don't have one!” Behind him Rick had rolled open the garage door and he and a dozen prisoners were shooting out, yelling for those who had grenades to use them. Several men pulled pins and threw.
Then the enemy returned fire, punching holes through the old wood of the barn like it was cardboard. A few prisoners went down screaming. “Drop and keep shooting!” Lewis shouted, following his own advice. “Trev?”
He heard grunts and the sound of splintering wood from the wall off to his right. “Got it!”
The roar of explosions came from outside as the grenades detonated, and he heard men screaming. “Everyone out!” Lewis shouted. “Start running and don't stop til you're dead!”
That probably wasn't the most motivating thing to say, but the prisoners clustered around the west wall began jamming themselves through the hole. Trev was already on the other side shooting.
Lewis kept firing into the night to the south, doing his best to pin down the blockheads there. This had turned out worse than he ever could've feared, alerting the camp while they were still in the barn and with enemies converging from all sides. But maybe it had been optimistic to hope for anything better.
Then luck finally turned their way. A deafening roar shook the barn from the north, and glancing over his shoulder he saw a red glow streaming through the cracks in the boards. The armory had finally blown.
He was on his feet even before the noise died out, sprinting for the opening Trev had made. “Out, out!” he screamed.
Behind him most of the armed prisoners followed him clutching their weapons, flanked by Jane and Rick still firing at the south wall, in the slightest chance they might hit anyone on the other side. But he saw to his irritation that some of the men behind him were actually fleeing out the front doors; either they realized that the hole Trev had made might draw enemy fire, or they saw the logjam there and were desperate to get out ahead of the press of people. Some went down, some didn't. A few might've even done some good, ducking between tents shooting into the night.
Lewis shoved through the prisoners bottlenecked at Trev's crude entrance, which he'd apparently created by breaking or tearing off enough splintery boards for three people to leave at once. Joining the flow of people streaming outside, he made it through the exit with his gun leveled over the heads of the prisoners in front of him, searching for the targets he knew were going to be there.
Walking right into the closest thing to Hell he could imagine.
* * * * *
“Out, out!” Trev yelled, firing wildly at every moving shape in front of him as he ducked through the tents.
A blockhead emerging from a tent just in front of him took one of his bullets almost immediately, and the man's rifle clattered to the ground as he fell. Trev stepped over the body, while one of the prisoners behind him scrambled to pick up the weapon and started firing.
Trev raised his voice even louder. “Everyone get out of the barn and spread out! Don't clump up, don't stop!”
Deb ran beside him, firing Rick's .45 at muzzle flashes coming from within tents. Too many muzzle flashes. They'd left the corpses of a dozen or so prisoners, the first who'd come through the hole after them, scattered on the ground somewhere behind, and more were dying by the minute.
This was a nightmare. If every second blockhead wasn't running north to do something about the pyrotechnics display from the armory, they'd probably all already be dead.
“Maybe I . . . should've . . . stayed in . . . cage,” Deb wheezed, every shot making the large caliber pistol buck wildly in her hands. He wondered if she was even coming close to hitting anything. The haggard woman stumbled, and Trev paused for a second to catch her elbow and haul her back up. She weighed practically nothing.
Dozens of voices were shouting around him, and several more in his earbuds. Gutierrez was one of those. “Keep going, guys! The sentries and patrols around the western perimeter have all turned your way, so we're hitting them from behind. And we're also gunning down any blockheads we see near the edge of camp. We'll carve you out an escape route if you can reach it.”
Trev slapped his radio's toggle. “You'll shoot as many of us as you will of them!” he panted, using the brief break to fumble a spare magazine into his M16's receiver.
“Give us some credit.” An explosion lit up the night ahead of them, a firebomb, and a tent went up in flames. “See that tent? Tell your people to leave camp in the lanes to either side. We'll shoot everywhere else, but even so we'll be taking care to only shoot at blockheads.”
Trev ducked down as a hail of gunfire ahead
ripped the tent beside him to shreds. Grabbing Deb, he pulled her between that tent and another one and dropped down for a second, fumbling for a grenade to throw at the blockheads who'd been shooting at them. The enemy seemed so intent on gunning them down that they didn't notice it sailing towards them.
A few seconds later it went off, accompanied by screams, and he felt a bit of satisfaction at his aim as answered the former soldier. “The burning tent, gotcha. Just remember that me, Rick, Lewis, and Jane are all wearing blockhead uniforms.”
Then he threw back his head and bellowed at the top of his lungs, grateful that few if any of the enemy spoke English. “Prisoners run to the burning tent!” He sucked in another breath. “That's our exit! Run for the burning tent at the west end of camp!”
He popped out from behind the tent, sprayed burst fire at the enemy soldiers he saw ahead, then glanced back and saw a stream of prisoners heading down the lane towards him. “Follow me!” he shouted, running.
The next few minutes were a nightmare of screams, explosions, and gunfire all around. He saw prisoners fall by the dozen, blockhead soldiers drop all around him, and even friendly fire from both sides. Secondary explosions from near the armory kept the chaos up there going, hopefully keeping most of the camp occupied with that disaster.
If the prisoners hadn't had the tents to run between none of them would've gotten thirty feet from the barn. But as it was the canvas maze provided just enough cover from enemy sight that the blockheads had to be practically on top of them before they could start shooting. And enough of the haggard men and women were armed that it wasn't a completely one-sided fight.
Trev finally reached the edge of the camp, passing the burning tent, and skidded to a halt. “If we run out from the cover of the tents we'll be instant targets for every blockhead on this side of the camp,” he told Gutierrez.
A familiar, but unexpected, voice replied. “They'll make themselves targets for us first, don't worry.”
