by Nathan Jones
It was exactly what he'd expected, but that didn't make it easier to see. A wounded Gold Bloc soldier had dragged himself into hiding, and somehow managed to avoid the Army scouts who'd scoured this area. He was clearly dead, sitting unnaturally still propped up against a tree trunk. Just a kid, possibly even younger than Pete.
Trev approached a bit quicker, although still cautiously in case the enemy hadn't been alone. Once he reached the soldier he confirmed he was dead, then with mixed feelings stripped the body of anything useful.
He felt like he should bury the blockhead. It was the decent thing to do. At the same time there were a lot more pragmatic things he had to take care of that were vital to his squad's survival and defending this area. And if the situations were reversed he doubted the enemy would afford him the same courtesy, other than maybe disposing of his body for hygienic purposes.
But looking at the young, deathly pale face, it was hard to see him as an enemy. What country had he come from, volunteering or drafted to leave his home and attack a country half the world away? He'd probably left behind family and friends, who might not even still be alive after the Retaliation.
Trev called Mason over, and with his squad mate's help scratched out a shallow grave by the tree that they covered with as many rocks as they could find in a few minutes' time. He also carved a mark into the trunk above the grave in place of a headstone.
Then, lugging the captured gear, he and Mason continued on their patrol.
* * * * *
Over the next six days, Trev managed to sort out a patrol route and sentry rotation that would defend their mile long stretch as well as possible, while still giving twelve people the opportunity to get the rest they needed.
It meant they didn't have much in the way of off duty. They patrolled, they manned the sentry posts, or they slept. He'd planned the routes to keep everyone towards the center of the area as much as possible, so if there was trouble everyone could quickly join up and go wherever they needed to defend. Hopefully getting there before the blockheads.
The hunting wasn't great around here, but he had his people keep their eyes open. He also passed on what Lewis had taught him of how to make snares, and they found a few trails to set them on. They even caught a few jackrabbits and some other critters; nowhere near what they needed, but enough for a bit of fresh meat.
His worries about trouble with Vernon proved unnecessary. The former sheriff and his men kept to themselves in Cedar Creek Canyon, and although Trev's squad spotted their sentries up on the ridge just north of the canyon that was as close to contact as they got.
Aside from with Trent, who Trev ended up visiting a few times. He explained the entire situation with the theft of his family's truck in Newtown, and then taking Vernon and his men prisoner in the very canyon he was now guarding. And he learned from his new friend that, while the former sheriff told basically the same tale, he twisted key details to put Trev in a bad light.
He was also putting Trev in a bad light by spreading the story of the fight in Westman's bar, making it seem like Trev was the one who'd started it by seriously injuring an innocent man. To add to that he was claiming Trev's family had stolen the truck, which was technically true, but being vague on where they'd stolen it from. According to Trent the unspoken implication was that they'd taken it from a neighboring town. That didn't justify Vernon's own theft of the vehicle, but as he put it at least he'd taken it from a thief.
It took most of Trev's self control not to fly off the hook at that blatant defamation, and Trent always hurriedly changed the subject to something else at that point. That was fine with Trev, since it kept his visits with his new friend more pleasant, and he looked forward to what little time he could spare away from his duties.
As for the enemy, things were quiet there. They caught sight of a few patrols and passing convoys down in the valley and marked them closely, but the enemy didn't come within five hundred yards of the foothills.
Trev wasn't about to extend out that far, just to take potshots of the moving targets that his people would probably miss. Not only was it a risk but Davis had ordered them to avoid engaging the enemy, unless the blockheads tried to push up into the mountains or presented a real opportunity to do some damage. Besides, attempting that kind of foray would interfere with his squad's duty to guard the area.
On the morning of the fifth day after the helicopter attack, Trev was startled to hear the national anthem being played over the radio. He hadn't been keeping track of the days, so he hadn't even realized it was the 4th of July until that point.
To celebrate Davis offered everyone double rations, for one day at least ignoring the fact that supplies were becoming a problem. And he handed out the good food, a proper meal and even some chocolate bars. There were no fireworks, but the sergeant handed out flags and invited squads to fly them atop the tallest ridges and hills, all along the stretch of mountains they were guarding.
Trev wasn't sure how much was left of the United States of America, or what the country would look like in a year even if they did manage to beat the Gold Bloc and send them packing. But for one day at least it was nice to remember the parades and fireworks of childhood Independence Days, and town picnics and neighborhood block parties and burning his mouth on hot dogs straight off the grill.
And, more importantly, what all those things had celebrated. Still celebrated. What they were fighting for, beyond just their lives. That reminder and the chance to celebrate something raised all their spirits, which was always important.
The next day the blockheads got out of their trucks and began prowling the valley below, making their way closer and closer to the foothills. Trev wasn't sure if this new behavior was part of some larger plan, or if it was a response to them flying the flags yesterday. A show of force in the face of their defiance?
Either way, when he called it in Davis wasn't surprised by the news. “They're scouring the land below the foothills all up and down these mountains,” he replied. “They seem to have abandoned going for the roads, and we turned back their attempt to break through in a large scale attack. Command seems to think they'll try for a creeping advance, pushing their way forward cautiously on all sides. They'll either press us until they tire us out and run us out of ammunition, or they'll push us back until we expose a weakness they can exploit.”
Trev didn't like the sound of that. An outright attack they could beat back and be done with. Constant pressure day in and day out would wear out his squad and run them ragged. “Do you have new orders for us?”
There was a long pause. “No, keep doing what you're doing. Avoid engaging them unless they attack or provide an opportunity too good to pass up. We'll see what they do over the next few days before we decide to change anything.”
“All right. Any news from the fighting in other areas? It's always nice to hear about a victory.”
Davis snorted. “Precious few of those these days. There is some good news, though. The Chinese soldiers fighting General Erickson along the Wasatch Front to the north are showing signs of radiation sickness. Visible signs, so it must be pretty bad for them.”
Trev supposed that made sense, since they were so close to the fallout zone around Hill Air Force Base. “Are our people in the area getting exposed?”
“A bit. The mountains seem to be redirecting the prevailing winds away from the General's positions, but his soldiers are starting to show minor symptoms. There's talk of pulling farther up into the Wasatch Range and letting the blockheads fry, but that would open our northwest front.”
The sergeant had been sounding impatient, and he abruptly changed topics. “Listen, Smith, it's been nice chatting but I've got a lot to do. Best of luck out there, and call in if you need anything.”
Trev glanced at his team, who'd paused to rest while he reported in. “We're backing up to the westernmost foothills.”
“We're letting them have the foothills without a fight?” Rick protested. “We've done a lot of work here.”
“I did
n't say we wouldn't fight.” Trev scooted up enough to glance over the hill they were sitting on. It was one of the taller ones, and from it he could see the blockheads moving in the valley below. They were nowhere near the foothills. Yet. “Let's see how close they want to come. If they see us patrolling farther down they might decide to stop, and once they stop their next move will be finding a way to hit us. I'd rather they saunter into an ambush and we be the ones to hit them.”
That, or pulling back would buy them the few days Davis wanted before deciding what to do next. Trev didn't like being reactive, since it meant the enemy got to control the fight. So he'd spend the time making his own plans just in case.
Motioning, he led the way down the hill and back towards their camp.
* * * * *
Lewis had quieted down his attacks over the last six days.
Part of it was that he didn't want to provoke another retaliation against the Aspen Hill townspeople. They were better hidden now, even the remaining truck, although aside from the helicopter strike the blockheads hadn't tried to hit them that night. The enemy had saved attacking in force for the region farther south.
That aside, the main reason he'd quieted his attacks was because the enemy kept changing things up to discourage him trying anything major. He doubted he'd get off any really damaging missile or truck-mounted M2 attacks, at least without exposing his people to greater risks than he was prepared to take at the moment. Not to mention that they only had so much .50 BMG ammo and their missiles were almost gone.
Instead, after a lot of discussion with the town's defenders and his growing group of volunteers, he'd settled on sporadic sniper attacks. There were plenty of targets below, even careful as the enemy had become. It was a lot easier to sneak up close enough to take a few shots, then either go to ground or flee to safety before the blockheads could respond.
Since it was something they could do in small groups, or even with just one person, they managed seven attacks in the first three days since the helicopter strike. Of those only five had confirmed kills, only one with multiple enemies dead. It was a long term strategy, one meant to slowly grind the enemy down and destroy their morale while exposing his people to as little risk as possible.
And Lewis wasn't taking any chances. He carefully planned even those minor attacks before the team went out, and had another team cover them just in case. They spent agonizing hours at night sneaking to their planned positions, and always struck from a different spot and did their best to avoid establishing any predictable patterns. And the defender patrols and sentries on duty watched the valley below like hawks so the enemy couldn't surprise them.
Although the blockheads certainly tried. On the fourth day his dad radioed in to warn that small teams of enemy soldiers were doing their best to sneak up into the foothills and lower slopes to set up their own hidden sniper posts. It was obvious they wanted to punish any future attacks, and it was a threat Lewis took seriously.
He tried sniping one of the new posts, bringing Jane, Tam, and Carl along a concealed path they'd used before. But as careful as they were the enemy proved more dangerous than expected, and they found themselves under fire the moment they popped up to begin searching for targets. There was no choice but to flee back to safety, Lewis sporting a wicked graze on his hip from a near miss to remind him of the incident.
After that he reluctantly decided to call off the sniping attacks for a while. Instead he had his volunteers sneak down to protected positions, where they could cover the area in case the blockhead snipers tried to sneak even closer. Those positions were well out of range and sight of the enemy teams below, but well situated to cover the ground between.
The blockheads seemed content with just stopping Lewis's sniper attacks, so for the next three days it was a bit of a standoff. That gave the Aspen Hill refugees a bit of breathing room to properly celebrate the 4th of July, and from the sounds of things it was something to remember. Lewis wished he could've been there to enjoy it too, but he wasn't about to let his guard down.
Instead he spent the time going over plans to have his people circle far around, maybe help Colonel Grimes's soldiers to the north or Davis's volunteers to the south by hitting at the blockheads in those areas.
It would mean traveling a lot farther for each attack, but the enemies there might not be expecting it and wouldn't be quite as prepared to defend against it. It might also take pressure off the Aspen Hill area and encourage the enemy to divert some of the troops there to other locations.
Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one who had the idea of circling far around. As he discovered just after midnight of the seventh day since the helicopter attack.
Chapter Seven
Night Terrors
Lewis and Jane had taken up a spot far north of Aspen Hill Canyon, almost to where Colonel Grimes's soldiers patrolled in their own defense against major enemy attacks along Highway 6. It was the remotest of the ten concealed positions he and his volunteers had set up, splitting into pairs to swap eight hour shifts.
It wasn't exactly fun duty, but at least it didn't require anything but sitting around watching for the enemy snipers to make a move. That kind of vigilance certainly took its toll, but after days of hiking or crawling to and from different sniper positions, in tense anticipation of the enemy finally getting the drop on them and putting a bullet through their heads, it was almost restful.
He was even thinking of having the sentries farther up the slopes start spelling his volunteers, since there was no reason for them to be taking shifts when someone else was already guarding the area below. But that thinking felt a bit sloppy, when it was possible an enemy might somehow sneak past them and the redundancy of double sentries could save lives.
Although it would free up his people to start planning and executing attacks again.
Lewis had the night's ten to six shift while Jane slept within arm's reach. He was huddled up in a blanket against the chill, although he tried to tell himself that was a result of being at a high elevation, not the increasingly dire signs of nuclear winter on the horizon.
As usual he spent his shifts planning, inspecting every nook and cranny of the slopes below and the valley beyond them with his scope and binoculars. Wild plans, practical plans, cautious plans, elaborate plans. Everything from having all the defenders sneak in and begin sniping from all sides, slowly tightening the noose around the enemy occupying their town, to going in alone and trying to take out officers in Aspen Hill itself where they thought they were safe.
Hopeless plans, even stupid plans. He should stick with his idea of circling his volunteers far around to snipe blockheads in other places. More risky, since they wouldn't know the terrain as well, but there were plenty of enemies to go around.
It was almost a relief to be distracted by the voice squawking through his radio headset. At least until he realized what it was.
“This is Brenton Tanner, patrolling along the northwestern-most route.” The older man sounded out of breath. Exertion, or panic? Both? “We've got enemies coming here. Lots of them.”
Lewis did his best to push down his surge of fear. Brenton wasn't one of their best, which was why he was on that route. It was pretty much directly north of the refuge, close to due west of where he and Jane kept watch. Not to mention there was a defender sentry position and patrol between here and there, too. Nobody should be in Brenton's area, certainly not enemies. “Are you sure it's blockheads? It could be some of Grimes's soldiers.”
If anything Brenton sounded even more anxious. “I tried radioing on the channels the military gave us. I'm not getting any replies!”
“Chauncey?” Lewis asked. “You hearing this?”
There was a long delay, but it was Wes Watson's youthful voice, not his father's, that blared in Lewis's eardrums, slightly distorted by range and static. “I'm on it.”
“While you're at it I need you to relay orders.” Lewis leaned over to shake Jane awake, although his wife had already started to sit u
p. “Get word to the Mayor to gather as many defenders as she can, even if she has to strip the refuge's defenses. Brenton, I need you to carefully talk me through where you are and the terrain around you. I don't know that area very well. And try to get a count on the enemy while you're at it.”
“O-okay,” the older man stammered nervously.
Jane came up beside him, breath tickling his ear as she whispered. “Bad?”
“I don't know.” Lewis snagged his pack, thumbing his headset's mic so he could talk to his wife and the defenders both. “I'm close by, Brenton. I'm heading your way.”
“I've got this,” Jane said, settling into his spot as he vacated it and reaching for her rifle with its night vision scope. He nodded gratefully and gave her a quick kiss, made awkward by the goggles he wore, then began carefully picking his way up the slope away from their position.
He hurried as fast as he safely could, considering the possibility of snipers below, and as he moved he talked. With his careful guiding of the chatter over the radio, the chaos of the situation gradually resolved into a clear picture. Wes had gotten word back from Grimes's people that they didn't have anyone in the area, and Brenton had made a tentative count.
At least forty blockheads were circling far around northwest of them, trying to get in behind where the Aspen Hill defenders patrolled to come at them from the rear. Lewis was certain they hadn't gotten past him, and the sentry and patrol just above his and Jane's position were equally emphatic. That likely meant the enemy soldiers had come from farther north, somehow sneaking around Grimes's soldiers.
The blockheads knew what they were doing, from the way Brenton described them. They were moving fast but with surprising stealth, in spite of the fact that only a couple of them had night vision gear.
A few hundred yards up the slope Lewis broke into a run, judging he was far enough away from any enemy below to be safe, especially as a moving target. He had a few miles to go and the enemy wasn't too far away, so he angled his run southwest, to a spot where he'd meet up with the defenders Catherine was leading north from the refuge.
