by Nathan Jones
Sure, much of that peace of mind was an illusion, a threat that was out of sight, out of mind. And he always had to carry the silent guilt that he'd left his friends to face it without him. But even so it was hard not to cherish the chance to hold his wife in his arms, to feel his child kick beneath his hand, to watch his nephews run and play or help however they were able.
Although that was another burden. When Faraday learned that Aspen Hill's doctor had experience treating wounds and performing surgeries, even amputations, he'd requested Terry come join the military where he could do far more good. Matt's brother-in-law had reluctantly agreed, leaving his wife and children in the care of Matt and their dad.
So perhaps that wasn't a burden, since Matt being at the valley refuge had freed someone who could do more good for the war to go and help out. In the meantime April and Sam were doing their best to take over for Terry, treating any illnesses or injuries the townspeople came to them with as best they could. Their work could be distressing, but for the most part it was also fairly light. Which for their sake Matt was grateful for.
His own was anything but, since his main job was seeing to housing for hundreds of people.
Most of the town was resorting to stick-and-mud houses for shelter. Specifically a shallow hole up to four feet deep with a short ramp leading down into it, covered by a dome framework of sticks bound together with strips of bark or any rope, wire, or cable to be found. For the final touches it was lined with tarp on the inside then plastered with mud, with a trench dug around it for drainage.
For the door many made do with a tarp or blanket, although eventually most of those took the time to create another framework of sticks plastered in mud to cover the ramp, which could be lifted aside completely to enter or leave.
A few families actually wanted the houses built around their tents, so they'd get the benefit of sleeping in a tent but with enough insulation for the coming cold. Not the worst idea, if slightly impractical, but most preferred to have a log support pole holding up the center of the dome for extra stability. When winter came the snows would pile up on the structure, on the bright side adding extra insulation, but nobody wanted to risk having their roof collapse on them under the weight of it.
The structures were crude, cramped, and uncomfortable, but they had the benefit of being fairly quick to build, without the need for many tools. Those tools were available, although not as many as the town needed, and the hands to wield them could also be found, if with more difficulty. What the valley refuge lacked was time.
People needed shelter now, and even with everyone working together log houses couldn't be built quickly. That wasn't even taking into consideration giving the lumber time to season, which was ideal. Every scrap of deadfall within a mile had already been gathered, either for firewood or for construction, and a lot of the trees the men were harvesting, as quickly as they could bring them down, were intended for firewood.
In fact there was a constant debate over whether the wood would be more valuable for shelter or to feed the fires. Some argued that the stick-and-mud shelters were actually warmer than log cabins, even with the best chinking, and the smaller space made them easier to heat. On the other side the argument was that fireplaces and chimneys could be built in log cabins, to which the rebuttal was that nobody was stopping anyone from building those in a stick-and-mud structure, either.
Ultimately the three biggest differences between the two were in effort, appearance, and security. The stick-and-mud shelters were easy and functional, but they looked like they'd been built in the Stone Age and anyone could kick their way in with little effort. The log cabins were more difficult to build but also functional, and they looked more like a proper home and a would-be attacker would have a harder time getting inside.
All arguments aside, those who did have the tools and manpower to build a cabin usually built one. And the log cabins Matt and his semi-retired defenders were building nonstop, and still far too slowly, were always filled beyond capacity as soon as they were completed. Usually even before then. Matt had started out the work building stick-and-mud structures. But since most families could handle building those on their own, and many were even without prompting, he'd put his men to work on more specialized and labor intensive construction instead.
Vital as building houses was, however, finding food had to take first priority for his defenders. Hunting, trapping, and gathering were tasks everyone in the valley refuge helped with where they could, and the town's animals were jealously guarded for their future value while hungrily eyed for their meat.
They had a few windfalls there. First of all Jim and Alvin had shown true enterprising spirit, going out and scouring every single wood copse and other potential spot looking for wild beehives. After days of searching they'd found two, which combined with the original one Lewis and Jane had found promised a good store of honey.
On Lucas's recommendation the two young men had smoked the hives, hacked them open, then taken every single bit of honeycomb they could find. Matt was a bit sad to hear it, since harvesting like that would almost certainly kill the hives, but the town's immediate need was greater than the future benefit of multiple smaller harvests.
Besides, they still had Lewis and Trev's captured hive to cultivate. Not to mention that where three hives could be found, more were out there. Ones that ideally they'd harvest more sustainably, once the town's circumstances had stabilized.
An even more unexpected windfall came from a group of hunters traveling a far ways down the valley's stream, when they stumbled across a small herd of goats. The animals obviously weren't native to the area and had probably been livestock, but how they'd escaped and ended up in the valley without being hunted or captured was anyone's guess. Lucas seemed to think that the animals, being natural escape artists, had gotten free of their pen after something happened to their owners, then wandered away into the mountains.
Either way the eight goats (five does, a buck, and twin doe and buck kids) were a welcome surprise. At least they were after they'd led the dozen men a merry chase for hours trying to catch them. Even better news came when the breed turned out to be excellent milkers, with the mother producing nearly three quarts of goat milk a day.
There was a lot of anticipation for when the rest of the does would kid and start producing. And although a lot of the valley refuge's construction tended to be hasty, the construction on the goat pen was very careful. Just in case the little jailbreakers wanted another taste of freedom.
The last windfall came from the military, although not in the form of food or clothes. In spite of having lost all their trucks the town still had a decent supply of diesel, while the military was running critically low on fuel and had a surplus of vehicles. Thanks to that Chauncey and Faraday collaborated to get a backhoe loader brought in, a “loan” that the lieutenant confessed would probably never be collected on.
Frankly, after everything else the military had taken Matt was a bit surprised they'd been allowed to keep their fuel. But the backhoe proved immensely helpful for construction, allowing them to save hours of backbreaking work digging in the stony mountain soil. They could also use it to knock down smaller trees, saving effort with logging as well.
Operating the tractor was something Chauncey could do even with his amputated leg, and the retired teacher quickly staked a claim to the vehicle for any job that required it. Thanks to his proficiency they were able to use less fuel to get tasks done, and the logging and construction work progressed immensely.
All in all, in the three weeks since moving to the valley refuge the town had made a lot of progress. Water from the stream was plentiful and relatively clean, food wasn't a complete emergency, and just about everyone had some sort of permanent structure to live in.
Matt just hoped they got to keep their new home, and whatever was happening in the outside world would pass them by.
* * * * *
Grant and Deb settled into Trev's squad fairly well over the next four da
ys. They got along with everyone, although Grant kept his tendency to keep to himself and Deb usually tried to stick close to either Trev or Alice.
Trev had his worries about how the brown-haired woman would do in combat, but in the two situations where they had to fight off blockhead probes Deb stayed calm. He couldn't be sure of her accuracy, but she was there with the rest of the squad firing at enemy targets. She had more reason to hate the blockheads than most, and it showed in her determination bordering on ferocity.
He also found that having her following him around wasn't as awkward as it could've been. She was gradually starting to come out of her shell, and he saw more and more hints of the woman he'd known in Newtown. She even participated in card games and other group activities, and he saw her smile more than once.
Understandably, at times what she'd suffered came crashing back, and she'd break down. Thankfully only when she was off duty, and so far he'd seen no sign of that vulnerability on patrol. Equally thankfully she'd found a real friend in Alice, and the blond young woman was usually there to comfort her through it.
It did make him wonder how the other recruits were doing. Ideally they might have fared better if their training squads had remained intact, working beside familiar faces who'd all experienced the same things and knew what they were going through. But most squads along the line needed at least one or two replacement members, and Davis couldn't really afford to throw an entire green squad out there against the enemy.
Besides, Deb and Grant were faring well and seemed content, as did the recruits who'd joined the other Aspen Hill squads. He could hope the others were equally fortunate.
Unfortunately the recruits didn't have long to get used to fighting: on August 10th, only the fourth day after they were assigned, the blockheads finally showed the plan behind their constant probes.
For two and a half weeks the enemy had used their superior numbers to relentlessly grind away at the US forces from all sides, exhausting them in body and spirit. Not to mention exhausting their supplies and ammunition. Everyone was on edge, worn out, and the attacks kept coming.
Early on during the probing attacks Lewis had predicted that the Gold Bloc's end goal was a final sweeping rush once they'd ground the fighters down enough. It wouldn't be completely out of character, considering their near suicidal rush on General Erikson's defenses along the Wasatch Front.
His cousin had begun seriously working the Aspen Hill volunteers to be ready, not just to drive off the probes but also to respond to that serious attack when it finally came. An attack that might last days, where they were heavily outnumbered and might run out of ammunition, but still needed to find a way to slow or stop the enemy.
And now his prediction had come true in a huge way.
Chapter Seventeen
Inferno
Lewis had never had trouble waking up without grogginess. Just the opposite sometimes, when some noise or sudden light would make him start upright clear-eyed and alert. Getting back to sleep was the problem after that.
Which was why he sat up immediately the moment Jane began shaking him, even though a quick look at the outline of the rising sun visible through the tent wall showed him he'd only been asleep for an hour or so. He and Jane had taken over night shifts almost immediately after their respective arrivals, since they had no problem working at night and even preferred it, so these days he was going to bed at dawn.
“What is it?” he asked as he grabbed his gear.
His wife was already completely kitted out, shoulder length red hair pulled back in its usual tight ponytail and tucked inside the collar of her uniform shirt. “Word just came from Harmon, passed on from the lookouts. The blockheads are massing for an attack. Along every front, as far as we can see.”
He sucked in an alarmed breath. An early morning attack was bad news: it suggested the enemy wanted to have the entire day to keep fighting, possibly even longer. Which meant this was probably the big push he'd been dreading. If he wasn't already wide awake, that realization would've done it.
“Are all our people up and mobilizing?” he asked, pulling on his combat vest and checking to make sure the spare magazines were loaded.
“They're getting started,” Jane gave him a tight smile. “I figured waking the leadership first off would probably be a good idea.”
“I'd better get my squad up, then. See you out there.” He hastily kissed his wife, and she gave him a last worried look as she ducked out of their tent to get her own squad up and organized. After she was gone he finished cinching his belt, pulled on his boots, grabbed his rifle, and ducked out in the slight morning chill.
The camp around him was devolving into chaos, as news spread and people prepared for what was coming while on the verge of panic. That panic wasn't helped by the racket coming over the radio.
Lewis had to fight down his own trepidation, fears for his wife and cousin clawing at the back of his thoughts. And the rest of his family, too, if Faraday couldn't hold up north and the blockheads pushed all the way through to the valley refuge. The enemy had already made it more than clear they weren't kind to civilians.
But he couldn't afford to think about that now. His duty was this slope, right here, and making sure no enemy reached the top. There were civilian camps west of here, too, that depended on him not failing.
His squad mates were stumbling out of their tents, none looking as alert even now as he'd been from the start. They splashed water on their faces, pinched themselves, and jumped up and down as Lewis strode over and called them to gather up.
“Everyone up?” He looked around. “We've prepared for this. Whatever happens we've done all we could to swing things our way. Let's trust it's enough.”
His headset's earphones crackled slightly. “Lewis, Jane, you up?”
Lewis tapped his mic. “We're up, Trev. What's it looking like?”
“Like a kicked anthill, and we're the ones that got them riled up.” His cousin paused. “We're getting things in place.”
“Good.” Lewis had always planned for his squad to be the ones to kick things off, but Trev's was the one up and where they needed to be. “Me and Jane have our squads good to go. We'll start moving the camp and preparing the finishing touches on the upper emplac-”
He was interrupted mid-word by Davis's voice booming over the main channel. “All right, boys, this is what we've been afraid of from the start! The blockheads are massing their troops just below the foothills, tens of thousands of soldiers strong just along the front we're holding with Lieutenant Faraday to the north and Sergeant Thompson to the south. It's pretty clear the enemy is going to try to push up every canyon, scale every mountain slope, and sneak through every cut, gap, and jag from here to Highway 6.”
Lewis expected that to cause an even bigger hubbub on the channel, but the only reaction was grim silence. Yeah, they'd all been afraid of this for a while now, and everyone was waiting to hear what happened next.
The sergeant continued. “It's not just us. From the looks of it the blockheads are moving in on the territory Generals Lassiter and Erikson hold from all sides: north, south, east, and west. They were saving this as a last resort because they knew it was going to cost them, since even with small arms we can take them out in waves wherever they come at us, and with heavy weaponry we can stop them completely. But they've got the numbers to press us on every front like they did to General Erikson, and frankly we don't have enough people to defend everywhere. This is going to get bad.”
“Can we expect some help?” one of the other volunteer leaders asked. “We're just a few hundred people, against the thousands and thousands they'll be sending against us.”
It was Harmon who answered. “For the moment we're on our own, and help might not be coming at all. General Lassiter is pulling back along I-70 to his most defensive positions, and he's diverting a few thousand soldiers to be ready to go wherever they're needed to shore up weaknesses, along with all the heavy weapons he can spare. But along our territory thi
s side of the mountains we've got a huge advantage, defending choke points or steep slopes the enemy'll have a hard time with, and everyone's expecting us to hold out.”
Davis continued where his fellow sergeant left off. “Make no mistake, this is going to be the hardest fighting we've seen since this war started. By the end of it we could be facing enemies attacking us from behind as they break through in places. We're going to have to massacre an army that outnumbers us twenty to one or better along this stretch, and we're going to lose people in the process.”
His tone firmed. “But this also means that the enemy is desperate. We've slogged through this fight for nearly two months. Summer is more than half over and a bitter winter is coming our way. We've bled the blockheads of supplies, and left them with no option but to win with one final push or withdraw. So take that one small bit of hope as we head out to do the impossible; if we can manage it, we've won.”
Lewis wasn't entirely sure of that. The blockheads probably had two or three major attacks left in them, with the soldiers and supplies they had. The question was whether they wanted to completely destroy themselves attempting them. From what he'd heard of the situation in Canada, and how it was affecting the enemy's ability to hold territories all over the country, the blockheads should've already withdrawn to try to keep what they had.
So Davis might be right that throwing them back now meant complete victory, but he might also be raising hopes about something that wouldn't happen.
Either way, his words produced the response his earlier announcement hadn't: soldiers and volunteers alike cheered the prospect over the radio. In spite of his reservations Lewis found himself cheering as well, as much for the sake of his and Jane's squads and their morale as anything else.
Although the prospect of an end to the fighting, an actual victory, was enough to momentarily block out the thought of a tide of blockheads washing over the mountains, with only a few brave fighters to hold them back.
