Fire From the Sky: Firestorm

by N. C. Reed

  “Bossman, Bossman, come back,” his radio crackled, interrupting him. Tandi Maseo's voice sounded strained.

  “Go for Bossman,” he replied.

  “We have incoming,” Tandi Maseo told him. “Drone flight shows multiple vehicles moving on the road, three miles from map point. Foot mobiles are present and moving off road. Approaching from east, toward Jordan.” Map point meant Building Two. Multiple meant four or more.

  “Sound the alarm, full alert. Civies to their stations. We need eyes on.”

  “Copy all,” Tandi replied as the alarm began to sound on devices around the farm. Clay took a deep breath and looked at his mother.

  “I think that will conclude our discussion for the moment.”

  –

  Clay arrived at Building Two in time to see his nephew launching another drone.

  “Looking around the rest of the farm?” he asked.

  “Yep,” Deuce nodded. “Making sure this isn't just a diversion Sorry, I gotta concentrate on this.”

  “No problem,” Clay assured him. He stepped inside to find Tandi replacing the handset to the phone.

  “Civvies are all moving to position,” he told Clay. “Each position will report manned when everyone is in place.” The bunkers and shelters had lists of people who were supposed to be there and would report if anyone was missing. Coordinating those reports would find people who were forced to shelter somewhere else. It was the best way to account for everyone in an emergency.

  “Roger that,” Clay nodded.

  “Nate and Titus were on watch in the OP. I told them to observe and report back. They're going to try and get a count and see what the vehicles look like. We couldn't get much detail from the drone video. Take it lower and we alert them we know they're coming.”

  “Good deal. Let's make sure everyone is in place and ready,” Clay ordered. “Have Gordy and Mitchell man the Hummer and stand by in Building Three. If we get into a bind, the Hummer moving out with the Ma Deuce might make the difference.”

  “Got it,” Tandi nodded and was on the move. Clay hurried on to get his back-up gear on. While his normal outfit was at home, he had anticipated a time just like this when he would not be able spare the time to get it. He kept a locker in the building with a full set of gear including a combat harness. Everything he had at home, he also had here.

  As he quickly dressed he hoped that Lainie had gotten the message and moved to the relative safety of the bunker. Having gone through Greg's training course and then Nate's as well, she was assigned to the forward position in the bunker between their place and his parents. She should be there soon if she wasn't already. She was as safe there as he could make her and he had to be satisfied with that. He had known this was coming and so had she. So had everyone else, too. Right now, Christina Caudell, Samantha Walters, Ellen Kargay and Beverly Jackson should be shepherding the children at the Troy farm down into the basement and barring the door. The women would be the last line of defense for the children should the door be taken down.

  The Duo would be handling the communications as JJ would be headed for the basement and Janice would be watching over Leon. The occupants of the second-floor apartments that weren't assigned fighting positions would be hunkered down on the first floor to protect the radio room and the clinic.

  These and a dozen more defensive measures went through his mind as Clay quickly geared up. Grabbing is rifle he headed out with a thumb’s up to his niece and nephew and a wave to Greg Holloway and Jake Sidell. Greg wasn't thrilled to be here rather than outside in a foxhole but he had to admit he was still not yet back to one hundred percent.

  Outside, Clay keyed his radio.

  “Report,” he said simply.

  “Scope reports four technicals inbound,” Nate's voice was soft. “Lead technical has a jury-rigged armor plating across the front and sides, windshield appears to be covered with sheet metal and chain link with view port cut-outs. Follow on techs have some plating along the doors and bed. No heavy weapons visible at this time. We have minimum of nineteen-foot mobiles moving on north side of the road, but we have seen movement across the road as well. No visual on who or how many, just movement.”

  “Technicals are carrying more people, lead vehicle is carrying at least four and we estimate the others are the same if not more. Foot mobiles are armed with a variety of weaponry including AR and AK style rifles. No uniformity in armament that we can see. No obvious chain of command or organization.”

  “Roger that,” Clay replied. “Begin falling back. Maintain contact if possible. Report any new intel.”

  “On the move,” Nate replied.

  Clay reviewed his options, unhappy with what he had heard. Technical was an abbreviated term for a non-standard tactical vehicle, also known as an Improvised Fighting Vehicle. The term was a catch-all and could mean anything from a truck with a sheet metal covered windshield to a truck carrying a heavy machine gun or recoilless rifle to a bulldozer with steel welded around it with gun ports cut into it. They were common in most war torn Third World countries where militias or rebels or any other force did not have access to real armored vehicles.

  Holman either had someone working for him that knew something or had a good imagination. Maybe it was Holman himself. Either way this would add a degree of difficulty to their defense.

  “Bossman, this is Deuce,” his radio whispered in his ear.

  “Go for Bossman.”

  “Flight shows compass clear,” his nephew reported. The drone had found nothing else other than the attack they were facing.

  “Roger that. Good work.”

  So...this was it apparently. It was still possible that small teams could be moving around them, but he would have to trust the others to be watching for such attacks. He had all he could deal with in front of him.

  “Bossman for Whisper,” he called Heath Kelly.

  “Go,” was the soft, one-word reply.

  “When the lead technical reaches the drive at the Troy house, hit the windshield about where the driver should be. Make your second shot the engine. See how well protected it is.”

  “Copy,” Heath gave another soft, one-word answer. 'Whisper' had been a good name for him.

  “Bossman for Tommy,” was his next call.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Once the ball drops, you're free to target remaining technicals and then go after targets of opportunity.”

  “Copy all.”

  “Ram, Ray,” he Called Kade and Corey next.

  “Go,” Kade answered for both teens as they were sharing the foxhole at the edge of the Troy farm facing the road.

  “Once Heath opens up, you are cleared to engage targets in sight. Aimed fire, short bursts or single shots. I want to eat these guys up, not run them off. Keep them away from the house.”

  “Copy that,” Kade replied.

  “Gunner.” Zach Willis was his next call.

  “Go,” Zach replied. He was in the foxhole between the two farms.

  “You are also free for targets in sight once the ball is dropped. Prevent movement past your position.”

  “Will do.”

  “Vee, how copy?”

  “Five by,” Vicki Tully answered at once.

  “Take your toy and join on Gunner's posit. We may need the firepower.”

  “On the way,” her voice might have sounded a little more eager.

  “Pancho, are you in position?”

  “Roger that,” his second in command replied. “Waiting on two more but they're on the way. We're ready.” Jose Juarez, Ronny Tillman, Abigail and Robert Sanders would cover the rear approaches. While nothing had shown up on the drone flight, that didn't mean no one would try to make it in through the back way once the battle was joined. Jose and his team would make sure that didn't happen.

  “Copy that. Doc, say posit,” he called for Tandi Maseo.

  “Front of pad,” Tandi answered. He was in the fighting position built between the concrete and pavement pad that ran
in front of the three main buildings, facing the road.

  “Roger that. Inbound.” Clay started moving to Tandi's location.

  “Copy.”

  Clay hustled over to the covered and camouflaged hole and slid down into the entrance tunnel. He duck-walked forward until he was inside and able to stand.

  “See anything?” he asked.

  “Slight movement through the trees but not enough to target,” Tandi replied. “They're moving slow. I caught a flash of black against the sage brush a few seconds ago that I think was probably Nate or Titus. Nate didn't report anything about any kind of uniforms with the foot mobiles.”

  “We're facing light weapons so far, but there may be heavier stuff in those trucks,” Clay mused. “I hope Holman is in there. I'd like to stamp paid on his ass.”

  “Works for me,” Tandi nodded.

  All they could do now was wait. More intel would help if they could get it but otherwise they had to be patient and wait for their enemy to move into the kill zone.

  “Bossman from Scope. We have just passed the OP, moving your way. Foot mobile count on this side of the road is now twenty-three, repeat twenty-three. Their line extends about twenty yards off the road onto the farm.”

  “Roger that,” Clay replied. “Charlie Mike.” Continue Mission.

  “Copy.”

  What Clay really wanted to do was have Nate lay a pair of Claymores along the path of the men approaching on foot and try to whittle their number down a bit but doing so would alert the enemy too early and probably keep them from moving fully into the kill box. If they could get Holman's forces into that box before they knew what was waiting for them, Clay and his men could cut them to pieces.

  “Vee is in place,” he heard Victoria Tully call and acknowledged with two clicks of his mike. If they needed the Squad Automatic Weapon she was now in position for it to be the most effective.

  “I'm going to place a Claymore out front,” he told Tandi softly.

  “I thought we were saving that,” the medic looked at him, puzzled.

  “Just insurance,” Clay replied. “Sounds like there are a lot of them.” With that he wiggled back out of the hole and hustled forward of their position by about fifty feet, roughly the half way point between the foxhole and the road.

  Once there he pulled an M18 from a pouch on his gear and quickly set and armed it. Pulling some grass from the ground to cover it, Clay quickly camouflaged the mine then returned to the hole, playing out wire as he went and trying to make sure the green wire disappeared into the grass as much as possible. Once back to the foxhole he tossed the wire and the firing clacker to Tandi, then ran behind to reenter the position. By the time he was inside Tandi had attached the wire to the firing device and placed it on the wall to their front.

  “Better be sure and remember where that is,” Tandi whispered.

  “Assuming we don't use it,” Clay nodded. “Scope, report,” he called on the radio.

  “Rate of advance unchanged. Disposition and formation unchanged.”

  “Roger that. I want you two to take wide flanking positions to the north before you run out of cover. Don't try to return here in the open. Let them pass you by, then hit from the flank and rear once things get rolling.”

  “Copy that. Moving.”

  “We're not in too bad a position at the moment,” Tandi observed. “We may have to use a LAW on that lead truck though.”

  “I don't think so,” Clay shook his head. “Heath and Jody both have Barretts and anti-material rounds. They should be able to penetrate something that rudimentary. If not then we’ll use the LAW.” Tandi nodded his acknowledgment without taking his eyes away from the direction of the enemy advance.

  “Bossman from Samurai,” a female voice was in his ear.

  “Samurai?” Clay frowned. “Who the hell is Samurai?”

  “Leanne,” Tandi chuckled. “Been teaching her to use a sword,” he explained.

  “Swell,” Clay nodded. “Go for Bossman.”

  “All shelters and civilian fighting positions report manned and ready,” Leanne told him. “All are accounted for.”

  “Roger that. Remind all civilian stations, no shooting until we open fire. Repeat, fire only in self-defense to immediate threat until we open fire.”

  “Roger that. Will advise.”

  “Why 'Samurai'?” Clay asked Tandi.

  “Probably because it's shorter than Onna-bugeisha,” Tandi laughed quietly.

  “And what would that be?”

  “A female Samurai,” Tandi explained. “I told her a few days back during her lessons that at the rate she was advancing she'd be an Onna-bugeisha in no time. I guess when she needed a call sign, she took it from that.”

  “She really doing that well at it?” Clay asked, intrigued.

  “She really is,” Tandi nodded. “Surprised me to be honest. Starting so late in life I expected her to have difficulty mastering bad habits but she hasn't. She takes every lesson to heart and applies it far quicker than I would have expected before we started.”

  “Late in life?” Clay's eyebrows rose. “She's sixteen!” Had he realized how much that sounded like the twins usual protest when being treated like kids it would have given him a good laugh. His surprise at Tandi's words kept him from noticing.

  “I started at the age of four,” Tandi nodded. “She had twelve extra years to develop bad habits, plus she had been trying to learn on her own. In the old world no one would have tried to teach her.”

  “Why did you?” Clay wanted to know. This was an old tactic that all of them shared. Small talk, unconnected to their mission, while waiting for the balloon to go up. A distraction.

  “She offered to do my laundry duty,” Tandi shrugged, then turned serious. “She was determined to learn and had the right attitude. Said she was going to survive and was going to learn with or without my help. I admire that kind of determination.”

  Clay nodded at that. Tandi would be the one to look at the diminutive Leanne Tillman and see a kindred spirit. Tandi had endured a great deal in his years in service because of his slight stature, but as he time and again put bullies on the ground or in the infirmary, he had gained a grudging respect from those around him. No friends, just a wide berth. It was that sort of ostracizing that had eventually led him to Group 31.

  “She's kind of right, you know,” Tandi said suddenly. “One day we won't have ammunition for the weapons even if they're still functional. Might be decades before we can see a return to that kind of manufacturing. That means things like archery and swordsmanship are going to be a big thing again. Maybe we should have gotten more bows and arrows than we did missiles and guns.”

  “Most everyone that can use a bow has one,” Clay informed him. “And the twins and I managed to make a last-minute order and pick up a few more. Even got three crossbows, I think,” he remembered suddenly. “I think they wanted them just to say they had them at the time, but they will come in handy.”

  “We need to learn to make our own bows, and our own arrows,” Tandi decreed. In the background they could hear the sound of engines. The enemy was drawing closer.

  “The kids probably have a book about it, or else downloaded something from the internet,” Clay told him, sliding his rifle through the slit of the foxhole and into the open air. “When this is over and things have settled down, maybe we need to start having classes in things like that for all the kids running around here.”

  “Good idea,” Tandi nodded, his own rifle sliding into place. “When they come of age, they’ll already have the skills they need.”

  “Scope and T-Square are in position, about fifty yards east of Troy,” Nate reported. “Foot mobile count is now twenty-nine, I say again, twenty-nine. We've seen a few armed with shotguns, but still no heavy or crew weapons. We can't see any sign of crew weapons on the technicals, either, but our view isn't the best. Be advised, lead vehicle should be approaching your position. Scope is clear and awaiting orders.”

  “Ro
ger,” Clay replied. “We have them.”

  Twenty-nine dismounted, and that was just on his side of the road. Four technicals with an unknown number of riders. If there were enemy troops on the far side of the road, they had yet to move where they could be seen other than just shadows of movement.

  “I say we figure a minimum of fifty,” Clay told Tandi finally. “And we use it strictly as a minimum and not a hard number. We have no idea what's on the other side of the road. For all we know they have crew served weapons over there and we can't see them.”

  “True,” Tandi nodded. “But if I were them and I had crew served heavy weapons, I'd have them on the trucks. Mobile.”

  “Thug, how copy?” Clay called Mitchell Nolan. He and Gordy were sitting in the armored Hummer inside Building Three, waiting in case they were needed.

  “Up,” was Mitchell's simple reply.

  “We are figuring a loose number of fifty, plus four technicals. How loaded?” He wanted to know what kind of ammunition they had loaded in the big machine gun.

  “AP and FMJ alternating, one for three.” One armor piercing round for every three full metal jacketed round. That should be a good combo for this kind of enemy.

  “Roger that. We’ll try to keep you guys a trump for later but be ready just in case. We are seriously outnumbered here.”

  “We are locked and ready.”

  “Why are you so worked up over this?” Tandi asked suddenly. “We've faced much larger odds than this before.”

  “With the entire team,” Clay nodded. “And without so much at stake. Not to mention a shitload of civvies that we have to protect.”

  Tandi's face turned contemplative as that sunk in. He had not even thought that far. To him, there was just the battle.

  “That's why I would never make a good officer,” he murmured to himself.

  “What?” Clay turned to him.

  “I was just thinking out loud,” Tandi shook his head. “I'm sorry. I hadn't thought about any of that to be honest.”

  “It's all right,” Clay shrugged. “I wonder what Heath-”

  Whatever he was going to say was cut off by the booming report of a very heavy rifle and the battle was joined.