Best Laid Plans (Book 5): Determination

by Nathan Jones

  Trev nodded and started back to his squad, repeating Matt's order. The trail turned off towards the main camp not too far ahead, and at that point they veered off to deliver the meat.

  Fifteen minutes later they arrived at the main camp, and began picking their way down the slope through it to the mess tent. It was looking even more barren now, with the other two hubs to the north housing just as many of their fighters. Even the civilians had been split up between the three camps to help where they could, including taking sentry duty all along the line or hunting and gathering.

  To Trev's surprise Davis and 1st Squad were exiting the mess tent as he and his people passed, carrying the deer to the food preparation area. A few of the Marines waved, and the sergeant veered off to intercept them.

  Trev waved back. He'd been back to camp frequently when he had time off, to visit Rick and Mason, and from what he'd noticed it was rare to see Davis there these days. The sergeant was usually either setting up for an attack into the valley or carrying one out.

  “What've you got?” Davis asked.

  Before answering Trev set down his end of the sapling, undoing the ties on the bundle and pulling the tarp back to reveal the field dressed carcass. Then he motioned to the bundle Alice and Rob carried. “A buck and a doe.”

  “Nice. Glad you're not just twiddling your thumbs out on that slope.” Davis hesitated, then lowered his voice. “Listen. I was going to radio Larson, but since you're here it's probably better you deliver the message in person.”

  Trev gave him a wary look. “What is it?”

  The sergeant shook his head, swearing softly. “You know a dog that attacks its owner has to be put down. It's bitten the hand that feeds it, gotten a taste for human flesh. You can't trust it after that. Even if that owner has been beating the dog every day since it was a puppy, and the poor critter had good reason. Even if after that you give it to good owners who treat it well, doesn't matter. It'll snap at the hand that reaches to pet it, snarl at anyone who comes close.”

  “I'm not exactly sure what you're getting at,” Trev said cautiously, glancing at his squad mates. They all shrugged, equally lost.

  “I'm saying people get like that too if they get enough hurt in their lives, but there's no easy solution since of course you can't just put them down. Not unless they commit a crime warranting it, I suppose. But even if they're snarling and biting the right targets you can't ignore the hurt behind the behavior. What exactly do you do about it, when they start going out of control?”

  Trev shifted uncomfortably. “I'm not sure I like talking about people like they're dogs.”

  “We're all animals,” Davis said. “We react certain ways to certain things. We can reason and fight to change that behavior, and sometimes we succeed, but you have to accept the behavior's going to be there to need fighting. We can try to help someone, but it doesn't do much if they're not willing to help themselves.”

  “This is over my head, Sarge. Maybe you should just come out with it.”

  “That wild kid Larson left in camp, Childress,” the Marine snapped. “Boy needed a shrink, maybe even meds, but we don't have that luxury. Maybe we should've sent him home, but I'm not sure it would've mattered.”

  Trev fought a surge of anxiety. “What did he do?”

  Davis looked away. “He ran off with some stolen gear, including an AK-47 and an MP-443 Grach from the weapons we've captured from the blockheads. Along with enough ammo for both to fight a one man war. Nobody saw him go, and none of our patrols or sentries have seen him. I know, I've asked around.”

  Pete, deserting? Impossible. Nobody wanted to fight blockheads more than he did. “Are you sure?”

  “If he's not with you guys out there I'm not sure where he'd be. Unless he decided to go out and fight the enemy on his own.” The sergeant shook his head. “I tried to keep an eye on him for your friend, but I haven't had time in the last five days. And I had a feeling that boy needed watching.”

  Trev glanced over at Alice. The blond young woman's face had gone pale, her lips tightly pressed together. Pete had argued with her before they'd left for Matt's camp, which depending on how it ended might've severed one of the last ties that kept him here.

  “I've asked Harmon to tell everyone to keep an eye out for him,” the sergeant continued apologetically. “He might've disappeared for some other reason. Or he might've just decided to go home, up to your people. But wherever he is, I hope he's okay.”

  “Thanks,” Trev said, offering his hand. “I hear you're stirring up some real trouble for the enemy out there.”

  Davis shook it and smiled, obviously relieved to change the subject. “I won't lie, it's going well. We've managed to avoid the enemy and complete our objectives so far, at least.” He glanced back at his men. “Speaking of which, we should probably get back to it. Take care out there, irregulars.”

  As 1st Squad walked away Trev reached down and retied his bundle, then picked up his end of the sapling again. They took their deer the rest of the way to the food preparation area, and once there got to work finishing the job of hanging, skinning, and butchering the animals.

  The cooks accepted the various cuts right as they came off the carcasses, then immediately began preparing them. They'd reached the point where there just wasn't enough food in camp to store anything, which worried Trev more than he cared to admit. Everyone else was eating meal to meal too, if they were lucky.

  While they were working they heard a commotion from inside the mess hall, where a few squads of volunteers were having dinner. That commotion quickly spread to the rest of the camp, people moving more urgently and seeking out friends to whisper in a huddle.

  “Any idea what's going on?” Trev asked the cooks. The handful of men and women just shrugged. Trev glanced at his squad, then left the last few cuts undone and started for the command tent. He noticed more than a few people drifting in that direction, including the rest of his squad as they also abandoned their work and followed him.

  Halfway there the flap was tossed aside and Sergeant Harmon stepped out. Trev had gone in for a brief interview with the tall, dark-haired man. Mostly a symbolic meeting, to reinforce that he'd taken over the reins from Davis, but Trev had to admit he admired the man's head for organization.

  Harmon looked as if he'd just heard his grandmother died, although he did his best to blank his features when he realized he had an audience. As a few people called out questions he held up his hands for quiet. The quiet came quickly, and he took a breath as if preparing for a storm.

  “For those of you who weren't aware, the Gold Bloc forces in the north began a major offensive against General Erikson's positions in the Wasatch Mountains early this morning. The Chinese to the northwest and the Russians to the northeast attacked in tandem, and the fighting has been some of the fiercest we've seen so far.”

  The sergeant closed his eyes, like a doctor preparing to give news of a terminal illness, then continued. “As of an hour ago, General Erikson officially announced that his positions along the Wasatch Front to the west have crumbled. The Chinese have broken through all along the line, from Salt Lake City to Spanish Fork. They've begun a final push to take Spanish Fork Canyon before full dark.”

  Trev felt the news like a blow to the gut. That was almost half of the territory the military was trying to hold. More importantly, if the blockheads were in a position to take Spanish Fork Canyon that put them in place to wipe out Grimes along Highway 6. If that happened they'd have even easier access to Sanpete and Carbon counties. They'd be right on Aspen Hill's doorstep, with no more military buffer between them and his friends and family at the refuge.

  Harmon was still going. “With the Wasatch Front gone, the eastern front has been forced to withdraw as well. General Erikson has desperately held the enemy back for as long as he could, to buy time for his troops and the civilian refugees under his protection to flee to safety. If there even is such a thing.”

  The small crowd had been dead quiet throughou
t the sergeant's announcement, and when he paused the air felt heavy with the silence. “Any questions?” Harmon finally asked.

  After a short pause to look around Trev raised his hand. “I thought the Chinese up there were all dying of radiation poisoning.”

  Harmon's eyes tightened. “As it turns out, people who know they're dying can be convinced to throw their lives away. The blockheads were climbing over hills of their own dead to get at General Erikson's forces. He ran out of bullets in several areas. The loss of life on the enemy's side is horrendous, but even so now that they've broken through they're managing to tip the scales. To the point where we're still taking more casualties than we can afford in the exchange.”

  The grim silence settled again. “What does that mean for us?” a civilian finally called.

  The sergeant sucked in a sharp breath. “It means that the General will have to abandon the Wasatch Range. As early as tomorrow afternoon, assuming he's managed to hold it, Colonel Grimes's position along Highway 6 will be our northernmost foothold. As for us, we've been advised to be prepared for an influx of people within the next day, and have orders to make every effort to prepare to accommodate them.”

  His voice dropped to the point that Trev could barely hear it. “It means we've been pushed into a corner, and what we have here is all we have.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Retribution

  “Well, at least with all of Erikson's troops joining us it'll be easier to defend what we have,” Uncle George offered.

  Lewis nodded vaguely. “Only because we have less to defend.”

  His uncle gave him a curious look. “What exactly did we get out of that extra territory? A bit more land to hunt and gather from, maybe. More square miles to spread ourselves thin defending. We're a tougher nut to crack now, and the blockheads don't have the kind of heavy weaponry needed to punish us for clumping up.”

  Lewis supposed he could appreciate his uncle looking on the bright side. But at the same time Erikson's retreat meant upwards of two hundred thousand people, some soldiers but mostly civilians, were headed their way. The southern area Lassiter held was modestly large, a good deal larger than what Erikson had lost, but they were already taking care of a large group of civilians of their own down here.

  Once Erikson's people arrived they'd have over half a million US citizens to accommodate. That was going to be some seriously dense clumping.

  Which was why Lewis had everyone he could spare out scouting the area around the refuge that morning. Grimes had radioed in to inform him that refugees would be coming his way in large numbers, and they needed to find places to put them. The military scouts had already located a few good possibilities, but with the need so great the colonel didn't want to leave any stone unturned.

  More importantly for the Aspen Hill townspeople, Grimes had informed them that they needed to prepare to assist the military in providing for the soldiers moving into the area, as well as any refugees relocated there. The slope they'd vacated after the helicopter attack was slated to become a major military camp, and Grimes was “asking” for Aspen Hill's supplies and housing.

  If even a heel of bread, a scrap of blanket, or enough space in a tent for a horizontal body could be spared, it was needed. Lewis and Jane were understandably upset about that, as was everyone else.

  The small silver lining was that the military was finally taking over the defense of Aspen Hill Canyon and the surrounding area. They'd also be including the refuge's current residents when it came to distributing whatever supplies they had available, including medicine. It wasn't enough to make up for what Aspen Hill would be losing in the deal, how their circumstances would suddenly be much, much worse, but it was something.

  And like it or not things were different from last time. This wasn't another case of a petty bureaucrat like Ferris coming in, taking their food, and leaving them to fend for themselves. This was the final bastion of an invaded but not defeated nation, putting everything it had against an enemy that wanted to wipe them off the face of the map.

  Lewis also had to acknowledge that, even if the shelter group had wanted to try to flee to the hideout with their supplies, it was far too late now. The military was already all over the area, and things would only get more crowded going forward. Besides, the shelter was far too close to Highway 31 to go undetected for long, especially with a large group living there.

  No, they were committed now. Like it or not they had to contribute everything they had to offer and hope it was enough. After that they could worry about finding a way to survive whatever came next.

  He didn't have much time to muse on the future, though, because he'd only been out scouting for an hour or so before his dad radioed in. “Lewis, I need you to pull everyone back here.”

  Lewis glanced over at Jane and Uncle George, who returned worried looks. His dad was leading the defenders guarding the mountain approaches this shift, which might very well be the last one before the military arrived to take over. So of course the trouble had to come now.

  “We're on our way,” he said, breaking into a trot across the meadow they'd been investigating. “What is it?”

  “The blockheads are gathering at the mouth of the canyon,” his dad replied, tone tight with worry. “Twenty trucks, hundreds of soldiers, even a tank. It looks like they're preparing a serious attack.”

  Lewis paused in spite of the urgency of the situation. “Up the canyon? No way.”

  “Yeah, I didn't think they were that stupid either. But it looks like they're planning to spread across the slopes and push at us in force.”

  Jane shook her head, raising her own radio. “They either forgot we have an M2 and missiles or they don't care. Either way we'll have to make sure they get the message this time. The canyon's ours.”

  “Yeah that's all well and good, but did you miss the part where they have a tank?” His dad abruptly changed his tone. “Chauncey, you there? We need to get ahold of Grimes and get help here now.”

  There was a painfully long wait for a response as Lewis pounded across the meadow towards the canyon road, closely followed by his wife and uncle. Then Chauncey answered. “The colonel and his men are all engaged holding Highway 6. They can't send anything.”

  Lewis blinked when his dad cursed. A rare break in composure for him. “You made sure to mention what's coming our way?”

  “Yeah. Grimes isn't too worried since we can always blow the canyon.”

  That was true. But at the same time the defenders weren't really equipped to push back a massive attack. Which had been painfully proven the night the blockheads snuck in and hit them from the north. Even Davis and his people to the south depended heavily on quick reinforcements, sending notice of attacks and holding out as best they could until relief came.

  But there was no relief. Not when Erikson's defenses in the Wasatch Range were crumpling, and he was doing his best to evacuate hundreds of thousands of civilians south while holding the blockheads off. Not when Grimes was getting hit from at least two sides by an enemy that desperately wanted to take his position.

  “What about Lassiter?” he asked. “Even Davis, or this Harmon guy who took over for him. Can anyone send help?”

  “We can ask,” the retired teacher said doubtfully. “But if the blockheads attack soon we'll probably be alone for a while even so. I'd start thinking about how you're going to welcome them.”

  Lewis picked up his pace some more. “Believe me, I am.”

  * * * * *

  Considering the threat they faced, Lewis was able to get together almost a hundred townspeople, defenders and civilians willing to pick up a gun to defend their families. He also had the M2, several missiles for the two missile launchers, and a dozen assorted grenades and Molotov cocktails.

  It didn't feel like much, when tank armaments could be accurate at over a mile. At least the missiles they had were antitank, for what that was worth.

  He left Uncle George, Jane, Tam, the Mayor, and most of the defenders up
top with the civilians to man the emplacements they'd prepared, start digging new ones in potentially vulnerable places just in case, and keep an eye on the enemy. Whatever else happened, he wanted them ready to defend wherever the blockheads decided to attack.

  That left the rest of his volunteers and a handful of his best defenders to hop in the truck and drive down the canyon. It was risky, but they had to try to take out that tank if they could. Besides, there were places in the canyon where they could really do some damage to an attacking force. They might not be able to hold any of them for long, or even at all, but the potential advantage couldn't be ignored.

  Lewis had his dad coast the truck down as silently as possible, just like that first ambush he'd done against the blockhead scouts coming up the canyon, when the enemy first arrived. His dad did his best to maneuver the truck to the less visible parts of the road, and hopefully he did a good enough job that they weren't seen by anyone below.

  “So I get the priority here is taking out the tank, son,” he said. “What then?”

  Lewis glanced past Carl, who was in the middle seat between him and his dad. Lewis had one of the missile launchers, he had the other. “The tank isn't the only threat. We also have a chance to get good use out of the M2, from better vantages than we'd ever get from up above.”

  “And get ourselves blown up.” His dad veered tight around the inside of a corner, and Lewis glanced worriedly out the passenger window. The edge of the road blocked his view of the valley below, but the cab's roof was higher than his head. It might've been visible for a moment. “Maybe we should consider ourselves lucky if we even manage to take out the tank,” his dad continued. “Call it good there.”

  His impulse was to insist, but instead he hesitated. He'd been insisting too much, lately, and his dad's advice was worth listening to. “Maybe.”

  Jane's voice abruptly came over the radio. “Hey guys? You've got a good vantage coming up around the next bend. I'd stop there for a look.”