“Look,” Jeremy said. “I would order you not to go if I thought it would do any good. But like I said, if you’ve made up your mind, there’s nothing I can do to stop you. But if you haven’t made up your mind, if there’s a seed of doubt, know that you will fare better invading Hightown with the full force of our soldiers once we take down and kill Karl Metzger and his invading army while they’re camped by the waterside.” He unclasped his watch and tossed it on the desk. “Go think. Meditate. Sleep for an hour, which is what I’m planning to do. I promise you this; when the time is right to reclaim Hightown, you can personally lead a brigade to find and rescue Brian. Scout’s honor.”
Simon nodded but didn’t reply. After a pause, he said, “Get some rest,” and closed the door after him.
***
Winston greeted Simon at the door, his tail in its usual fervor. Carolanne was there, awake, and so was Connor, both on the couch under blankets.
“Beth still sleeping?” Simon asked them.
“I think so,” Carolanne said. They stared back at him. “Is this it?”
Simon reluctantly nodded.
She sat up on the couch, her eyes puffy slits. “I’m ready. I can’t just sit here, waiting. I’m going with you.”
He couldn’t tell if Carolanne’s hoarse voice was excited or terrified. On one hand, Brian might be saved. On the other hand, in doing so, a battle would be fought that would see many of their friends die.
“Carolanne,” he said. “You’re needed here, tending to the wounded that will come pouring in.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think I can help anyone. I can’t think straight, knowing Brian is out there, somewhere”—she swallowed visibly—“probably dead.”
“We don’t know that. We don’t know anything. No one will blame you if you can’t help the wounded, but you’re in no shape to fight. Get to the fire station before dawn with the other medics, children, and elderly. They’re setting up a transmitter on the stage, and information from the front line will be relayed. The army is marching as soon as Louisiana’s ships arrive, and Albuquerque will be here any minute now. The battle will begin early in the morning.”
“I have to do more. I should be out there fighting for Alice. For Brian.”
“Me too,” Connor said. “I can fight.” He looked terrified just saying the words.
Simon and Carolanne exchanged glances, and their expressions seemed to reach a mutual understanding.
“Connor,” Simon said and rubbed the boy’s shoulder. “I know you can fight. I have no doubt about it. But I need you to do something for me. Something important, more important than fighting.”
Connor looked at him, his face half-covered under a blanket, his eyes huge, hair growing out from the short monk’s crop. He was curled up against Carolanne’s side, his body less than half her length. Back when Simon had first met him, all that time ago in the woods, the boy seemed so much older than he was. Wise beyond his years. But it was evident that despite the treacheries the world threw at him, the terrible ordeals he faced, he was, after all, still a child.
“I need you to look after Winston while I’m gone.”
Connor’s lip wavered, and he said, “Will you be okay?”
Questions like this, Simon thought, shouldn’t have to be asked by a kid.
“From what I’m told, with the colonies fighting together, the Red Hands are vastly outnumbered. By this time tomorrow, the Red Hands will be gone for good. Finished.”
The boy nodded.
“But I’m not going to lie to you … I don’t know. If things go badly, the three of you need to leave—immediately. Don’t wait around. Be ready to leave at a moment’s notice.”
“I’m already packed,” Carolanne said. “I have a duffel bag with some supplies and clothing for Connor and myself.”
“Good,” Simon said. “That’s good. If Alice is about to … well, collapse, the fallback colony is a long journey, all the way to Albuquerque. So be prepared. And please, get Winston there safely.”
No one answered, but Connor nodded and Carolanne rubbed her eyes. All out of tears, Simon thought.
He got up from the couch and went to his room, gripping the door handle gently, not wanting to wake Bethany. But as he entered, the light of the study lamp greeted him. Bethany sat before the desk, her assault rifle half-assembled, a grease-stained cloth and brushes beside it. “Simon,” she said with a thin smile. “How much time do we have?”
“We’re out of time.”
She nodded and turned back to the rifle, continuing the reassembly. He had a flashback of the first time he’d met her, when she was injured in the woods, and he came to her aid. Yet, she cursed him out, not wanting any help. Her dedication and persistence was inspiring, even in the face of pain and exhaustion. It was in that moment, watching her assemble her rifle, that all plans on leaving her behind to fight in the battle so he could make a desperate attempt to save Brian vanished. He would fight by her side, and later, when the bullets slowed, they would march into Hightown together and discover the fate of her cousin.
Across the room, Simon opened his bedside drawer and removed his Colt .45. It felt cold and comfortable in his hand. He holstered the pistol and swung his M1A rifle over his shoulder. Bethany put the magazine in the port of her assault rifle and stood.
For a moment they remained speechless, looking at each other across the room. Then they met in the center and embraced. She rested her head on his shoulder, and they were quiet. A million words tried to escape the tip of his tongue, but there was no need to say any of them.
Holding hands, they left the room.
Chapter Twenty-Six
United
Six Hummers rode into a clearing outside of Alice’s perimeter and came to a halt. The doors opened and anxious-looking soldiers stepped out, scanning the bordering wilderness and calling communications in over their radios. A tall man emerged and removed his helmet. He slicked back his graying hair and walked to meet the delegates from Alice. Simon stood at Jeremy’s right side, Casey Edmonds on the other.
“Jeremy Winters, I presume?” He smiled and extended a hand.
Jeremy reached out and shook. “General Nelson Barnett. It’s an honor to finally make your acquaintance.” They were of similar age and stature. Years of warfare and survival under dismal circumstances had hardened them both and embedded lines of worry among the scars.
“Likewise. I would like to offer my condolences over the loss of Tom Byrnes. I had the pleasure of meeting him on several occasions. He was a born leader and a great man.”
“He is missed every day. I believe you already know General Casey Edmunds.” Jeremy motioned to Casey standing beside him. “He is the ranking officer from Hightown after the loss of General Driscoll.”
“Yes,” Nelson said. “Of course.” They shook hands. “We’ve met, many lifetimes ago. It’s a terrible loss, what they did to Albert. He was the greatest military man I’ve ever had the privilege of serving alongside.”
“Thank you,” Casey said. “He thought highly of you as well. He would have been elated to know the colonies have not failed, and that we stand together, united.”
“I couldn’t agree more. With the collapse of Colorado, Maine, and Montana, our old bonds need to be strengthened. To that extent, has there been word from Louisiana?”
Jeremy nodded. “They’re out at sea, waiting on our command. Their vessels are manned, and a landing zone has been established. They’ll flank the Red Hands from the rear while we face them head-on.”
“So here we are,” Nelson said, scanning the faces of the officers and soldiers from his colonies and the others, “together, at long last. In hours, we will celebrate victory, friendship, and renew our bonds. My men are eager to ride into battle and see this band of criminals turned to ash.”
The gathering nodded, and a few said, “Hear-hear.”
Simon didn’t budge.
“Jeremy,” Nelson continued. “This is your land, and your show
. We’ve been over strategy on the journey, but please catch us up on any new developments.”
Jeremy motioned to his side and said, “General, no one in Alice knows the lay of the land better than this man, Simon Kalispell, the head of our Ranger division.” He exchanged a quick glance with Simon. “We’re lucky he’s with us.”
The general looked up and nodded. The officers asked Simon questions about the terrain outside Alice, the bridges and wooded areas. Maps were unfolded and laid out on the hoods of the Hummers. The officers studied the markings and paths, and copies were given to Albuquerque’s ranking officers. Not a half hour went by before the soldiers rolled up the maps and shook hands. Jeremy said, “This is it. We’ll radio Louisiana. To a swift victory.”
***
A brigade set up on the bank beside Elmhurst Bridge with long-range mortars, ten miles west of the destroyed Benton Bridge where the bulk of the Red Hand army remained, just in case the enemy gained an upper hand and pushed the advancing army back in retreat. Scouts related that efforts were being made to remove the debris fallen in the river so that the stalled armada could pass.
Jeremy took a final drag of his cigarette and flicked it out the open window of the Hummer as it crossed Elmhurst Bridge, where it spun to the water in a twisting descent. He had no delusion that the Red Hands would be caught unaware by their attack. This war, which began with deception all that time ago when Karl slithered his way into Alice, had become all-out open hostility.
He often wished that Tom Byrnes was still alive to head this terrible new dawn of their continued survival. The old man never faltered, never missed a step. He’d envisioned Alice’s formation before the war and disease reduced the world to rubble. This battle would be a cakewalk for Tom Byrnes. But for Jeremy, it was his first major action as general in charge. He wasn’t taking orders; he was writing his own.
If it weren’t for the colonies coming to his aid, victory would have been near impossible. Somehow, the Red Hands had grown in numbers and acquired a navy. They were strong, but now with Louisiana’s fleet, the tide of war would change. The Red Hands’ fleet of smaller landing crafts were sitting ducks for medium-range ordnances, while they were still held up in the river. They would be wiped out in a matter of minutes, just as Louisiana’s own landing crafts anchored their army ashore. The Red Hands would be squeezed like a grape.
As the last of the army now crossed the bridge, the assault was officially under way. Jeremy found his pack of cigarettes. One more. Just one more before his hands would be needed for the trigger.
He flicked his Zippo open and shielded the flame from the wind of the open window. The vehicles were picking up speed as the army went into tactical formation. The bulk would strike east, following the river. Casey Edmunds and Nelson Barnett were branching off with a large portion of the armored wing. As the main army targeted the front line, they would attack to the north, and Louisiana’s soldiers would take up the rear. Cruise missiles would be called in from the armada to precise locations, and the Red Hands’ force along the riverbank would be set ablaze in record time. And then, the army would proceed north to free Hightown and eliminate the vermin who infested its walls.
Jeremy flicked his cigarette butt into the wind and took a deep breath of fresh air before closing the window. The operator in the back seat manning the CROWS remote-controlled M240 machine gun atop the roof said, “Movement reported.”
Jeremy rechecked the chamber of his machine gun and peered to the horizon, trying to see past the several rows of armored vehicles preceding him. His hand was on the radio, waiting to give and receive communications. Bullet fire erupted, mixed with the booming of tank shells. He was glad that Simon was sitting beside him, although he could feel the trembling from his leg as they were packed in the back seat. Jeremy knew the boy could fight; he just had to tap into that animalistic portion of his brain once again and become the warrior he was born to be.
Jeremy looked out over the horizon as best he could see and hit the receiver, calling to the armada to begin the assault.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Offering the World
Shallow trenches and large-caliber machine guns sat behind sandbag fortifications. Mortars and artillery were in the rear, along with the helicopters that were roaring to life.
“Here they come,” Liam said, looking through binoculars.
Karl checked the chamber of his rifle and looked out over the horizon. From his slight vantage point, he could see past the defensive line to the straight road ahead and the wooded sections at either side. Farther up the line, his men had infested the dilapidated homes in a residential section to gain high ground.
“Artillery, sir?” Liam asked, and spat a dark trail of tobacco juice to the brush.
“Hold,” Karl instructed as he listened to the helicopter blades grow louder. “Ground explosives first. Wait until their vehicles are past the mark, and then unload the artillery on what’s left of the advancing party.”
“Yes, sir.” Liam shouted orders into a radio.
A twinkle appeared on the road ahead, moving toward them, and a crunching noise came from the distant woods. Reports over the radio described brush and small trees toppling in the far thicket. The first pop of gunfire was followed by another and another. Which side had fired first, no one could tell. Explosions followed, some close to Karl’s position, many distant. Reports came in from various sections. “Shots fired! Shots fired!”
“They’re coming right at us,” Liam said.
“Yes, Mister Briggs, they are.” The twinkle on the road came to full fruition, and through the binoculars, Karl made out a line of Hummers and what looked to be a tank leading the advance, coming fast, right at them. Machine guns atop their roofs flashed, unleashing torrents of high-caliber rounds. His defensive line was getting peppered, with debris of all kind ricocheting wildly. Bullets were finding their way farther ahead, striking the leaves and branches over Karl’s head. The officers crouched, using the side of a fallen tree for cover. “Ground explosives,” Karl issued.
Liam called in the order. All at once, a line of fire shot upward in a semicircular formation, as the hastily planted C-4 detonated beside trees, boulders, and on either side of the road. The approaching vehicles were cut off from the reserves as a blinding wall of smoking flames consumed the horizon.
“Short range,” Karl commanded.
The order was repeated, and the artillery in the rear of their position opened fire. Dozens of shells fell in unison. Karl watched a tank take a direct hit yet keep its approach with the top on fire, shooting a shell into the side of a tree on the line, exploding a torrent of splinters and shrapnel. Three of his men evaporated into mists of red. More artillery fell, and the tank took two more hits until it crashed into the side of a massive oak and remained motionless. More Hummers and transports exploded, adding to the hellish landscape, with troops trying to escape their fiery incinerators. Machine gun fire riddled the colonists not consumed in the blazes.
From behind the wall of flames, Alice’s reinforcements bounded through, crashing into the stalled vehicles and proceeding onward into the melee. Reports came in from across the line that The Red Hands’ positions were falling. Alice’s army was gaining ground, and a second battalion was attacking their northern fortification in force, attempting to cut off their route back to Hightown in the case of retreat, and further push them toward the sea.
“Position two,” Karl said, and turned, not checking if Liam and the officers were following, but knowing they were. The front line was issued the command, and many tried to fall back as the bulk of Alice’s armored wing crashed through the defenses, and their troop transports began unloading. Swarms of the enemy were in short-range combat with the forwarding Red Hands. The houses to the north were either blown to rubble or flooded with troops, and the fighting spread from room to room.
“Release the rest of the air support, and radio for long range, on my mark,” Karl said, running for cover to their second
line of defense. He showed no sign of emotion, worry, fear, or exaltation.
***
The tanks and armored transports tore past the wall of flames, and as Simon’s Hummer accelerated into the inferno, the air became stifling, singeing his throat. They burst through to the other side and into a smoky landscape, their lead vehicles burning in craters, and their troops running from the back of the transports, many consumed in fire.
“Christ,” Simon said out loud. Jeremy had the radio to his ear, shouting orders and listening for reports. The rattling from the remotely controlled turret overhead shook the entire cabin. Bethany sat beside him, her knuckles white as she squeezed her rifle. Her other hand remained on the door handle, ready to run into battle, or escape the Hummer if it became damaged.
I’ll never be as brave as her, Simon thought.
A dozen armored vehicles preceded their Hummer, fanning out in either direction, and firing into the Red Hands’ defenses. They were breaking the line. As they approached the fighting, they passed demolished remains of the enemy’s machine gun nests and fortifications. Their own short-range artillery was raining down, and tracer rounds exchanged fire with a helicopter above. Any minute now and Louisiana’s armada would unleash as the enemy clustered close together while falling back.
The Hummer came to a halt and Jeremy said, “Why are you stopping? Move!”
“Sir,” the driver said, “I was ordered to keep you behind the front line.”
Jeremy opened his door to run into the melee ahead, before a heavy hand grabbed his shoulder.
“I’m ordered to keep you safe,” the driver said, reaching to the back seat.
“We’re sure as hell not safe sitting idle—a perfect target for their helicopters. And I can’t call in orders if I’m away from the front! Move us into position—that’s an order!”
The driver remained motionless, his hand still on Jeremy’s shoulder, then he turned around and put the vehicle in drive. “Yes, sir,” he said, and maneuvered with the rest of the fast-approaching reserves. Simon jolted back and forth as the truck rebounded over bumps. It was hot enough without the uniform and gear, and Simon wished he had gone with his first instinct—to scout the land alone to sneak into Hightown—and wasn’t squeezed into the back seat of a truck while dressed in a bulky flak jacket, thick boots, and cumbersome helmet. He’d undergone drills and training with the gear, but he’d never liked it. Dexterity was impossible to maintain.
Someday Soon Page 13
