Redfall: Fight for Survival (American Prepper Series Book 1)
Page 19
Did they have a specific purpose in mind, or was this some type of end-of-the-world assault ride?
Before he could answer his own question, a blur of movement caught his eye from beyond the fleet of trucks. About a mile down the road, another convoy was approaching, only the vehicles coming his way were not white Ford trucks, nor did they look military. They were flatbed trucks—six to be exact—with what appeared to be tarp-covered cargo.
After they closed the distance, the lead truck broke away from the pack and pulled in behind the men who were dug in out front. The other flatbeds stopped short about five hundred yards away, while the closest vehicle circled around, then backed up, aiming its rear bumper at the front gate.
Its tarp was a pale gray color with red splotches from the falling rain. Something tall with an irregular shape was hiding underneath, but Wyatt didn’t recognize it. There was one high point toward the rear and another in the middle.
The men behind the F350s spread apart in the middle, huddling to either side of the flatbed and its cargo. Then they raised their weapons in unison and began to unleash a hail of lead at Jericho. The silent countryside came to life when the thundering barrage of supersonic rounds crossed the distance between the trucks and the farmhouse in milliseconds.
Wyatt ducked for cover, hoping his men below did the same.
A few seconds later, the gunfire intensified, sounding as though his men were returning fire. Metal clanked, wood splintered, and glass broke, but not anywhere around him. He realized nobody was shooting at him, so he brought his head up, planning to bring his rifle to bear.
Before he could select a target, he saw the driver of the flatbed open his door and swing his feet and body around the back of the cab. Then he slipped in behind the cargo and bent over at the waist, just before he moved to his left and disappeared from view. A few seconds later, the straps holding the cargo in place snapped loose and the cover was pulled off toward the cab in one quick motion.
Wyatt’s jaw dropped when he realized what the driver had just unveiled. Jericho’s men must have seen it too, because their return fire stopped in an instant.
Their compound was now facing a mobile artillery howitzer, painted camo green and sitting on a pair of flat tires. Its long barrel had a wide bore and was aimed in the direction of the main house.
Wyatt recognized it from his grandfather’s teachings—a 105mm Howitzer, model M2A1—a high explosive mobile weapon with a distinctive recoil mechanism mounted above its cannon barrel.
The men behind the white trucks continued shooting, probably to provide cover fire for the driver. There was a flurry of arm movement behind the mammoth gun, then its barrel began to move in a slow, methodical manner, inching its way down and into a firing position.
Wyatt brought his rifle up to take out the driver before he could finish adjusting the trajectory, but he couldn’t get a clean shot at his head or chest. The operator area at the rear of the howitzer was protected by a metal shield. All he could see was the lower part of one leg.
It would have to do.
He moved the crosshairs of the Vortex scope down to the man’s left knee, let out a slow exhale to steady his hands, then squeezed the trigger gently until the sear engaged. The AR recoiled as it sent a single round downrange with supersonic intent.
It hit the man’s leg precisely where he’d aimed, ripping his kneecap apart. Blood and tissue flew from the man’s body, sending the driver onto the bed of the truck. He landed on his belly, then began to crawl closer to the howitzer.
Wyatt assumed the driver was working his way behind better cover, which meant he only had seconds to adjust his aim and fire again. He brought the scope down, lining up a precision head shot. However, before his finger could pull the trigger, the men behind the white trucks turned their attention to Wyatt’s location on the roof. They unleashed holy hell, sending hundreds of rounds his way.
He let go of his rifle and ducked when the first of the rounds ripped up the roofing shingles around his position. He could hear the wall next to him tear apart as the firestorm obliterated everything in his vicinity. He pressed his chest and legs hard against the observation deck, hoping to give them nothing to shoot at as he inched his way in retreat.
The onslaught continued until he heard a powerful, deafening boom.
At that moment, two things happened simultaneously: he realized the driver fired the M2A1 cannon, and the roofing deck below him gave way.
Wyatt’s body dropped through the air and landed with a sudden thud on the second floor of the house, knocking the wind out of him. His face was buried in a pile of debris as his lungs gasped for air, feeling as though his chest had been flattened by a runaway train.
He took a few seconds to evaluate his condition while the rapid intake of air continued. Other than being stunned from the impact, he felt okay. The crushing pain across his chest was easing with each new breath; however, his ears were ringing from the blast making it difficult to think straight. He rolled over, pushing pieces of wood and roofing material from his body.
He stood up out of instinct, planning to turn and run for the door, but then another artillery shell made impact. This time the lower part of the wall in front of him exploded, sending a shockwave of pressure, splinters and two-by-fours his way. Something smacked him hard in the gut and sent him flying to the rear.
It felt as though he was airborne for hours, waiting for his body hit something. It finally did, catching the floor with the back of his heels. Inertia sent him toppling backwards, flipping over and over until he eventually came to rest on his belly near the wooden post at the top of the stairs.
He coughed and winced, needing a few seconds to focus his thoughts again. Then he heard it—a series of loud creaks and pops—the sound of wood breaking.
“Shit!” he said right before the landing gave way, sending him further into the depths of the house. He let out a sharp grunt when his back smacked into something hard on the way down.
When he finally hit bottom, he came to rest on his right side with his arm trapped beneath his body. Wyatt opened his eyes to find his vision filled with blurry flecks and blobs. His head was pounding and there was a considerable amount of weight pressing on his knees.
He craned his neck to take a peek at his legs, but then a wicked spin of dizziness came, turning everything black.
TO BE CONTINUED
Get Book 2, Redfall: Freedom Fighters, here.
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AMERICAN PREPPER SERIES
Book1: Redfall: Fight for Survival
Book 2: Redfall: Freedom Fighters
Book 3: Re
dfall: Shadow Realm (available in 2016)
THE EMILY HEART TIME JUMPER SERIES
There are several Glassford Girl books in the Emily Heart Time Jumper Series - scheduled for release in 2015 and 2016.
Click here to order now.
THE NARROWS OF TIME SERIES
Linkage: Book 1
Incursion: Book 2
Reversion: Book 3
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jay J. Falconer is an independent author, survivalist, prepper, engineer, and Sci-Fi junkie who lives in the mountains of northern Arizona where the brisk, clean air and stunning mountain views inspire his day.
When he's not busy paying the bills with his regular, full time engineering job, he's either trying to steal a few hours at night or on weekends to work on his next novel, or he's out training, shooting, hunting, or preparing for whatever comes next.
He makes his on-line home at www.JayFalconer.com and is the author of the critically acclaimed Narrows of Time Series, Emily Heart Time Jumper Series, and the American Prepper Series.
If the mood strikes you, please use the Contact the Author form on his website to connect with him, or send email directly to his email address below. Mr. Falconer would love to hear from you. He personally reads and responds to all inquiries.
You may also connect with him on Facebook at the following address: www.facebook.com/NarrowsOfTime
Twitter: @JayJFalconer
Email: books@jayfalconer.com
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