by David Lucin
Jenn enjoyed the banter; it helped her forget about all the ways that Liam’s plan to defend Flagstaff could go wrong. He meant to ambush the horde on the interstate and Route 66, but what if the Khan didn’t fall for the ruse? What if he pushed all his forces down Route 66 and overwhelmed the defenders there? Or what if he anticipated an ambush and hung back, choosing to advance on foot instead of in vehicles? Out in the open, the Militia didn’t stand a chance against the White Horde’s superior numbers. The Khan could even bypass the ambush site altogether by taking the horde south, through the golf course. Snow would cover the roads there, making them impassable to most vehicles, but the Khan had a snowplow. Could he use it to clear a path?
The part that frightened her the most, though? She had no control over any of these outcomes. The battle might be won or lost before she had a chance to fire her weapon.
She continued ruminating on all of this until, twenty minutes later, Courtney descended the stairs from the second floor, rifle in hand, backpack on.
“All right, people, listen up,” she announced. Dylan had assigned her to lead First and Third Squads while he led the Second and Fourth. “Call just came in. The horde’s on its way. Latest drone flight spotted it a few miles this side of Winslow. ETA two hours.”
A shocked silence followed. Jenn had known this moment was coming, but that didn’t make the news easier to stomach. She wanted a few more hours to prepare. No, a few more days. Hell, a week or two. Enough time to train another four companies of troops.
Courtney clapped her gloved hands together with a muffled thwack. “Commander wants us in position and ready in case the Khan decides to send out an advance guard.”
Nobody moved. Jenn didn’t want to, either, but someone needed to stand up and become a leader here. It might as well be her. “You heard the lady,” she said, trying her best to sound confident. “Time to get to work.” She plucked her M4 from its place against the wall and rose to her feet.
Everyone watched her now, even Courtney. Waiting for her to say something else? She wasn’t sure what they wanted to hear, so she decided to tell them what they needed to hear.
“Look, I don’t know what you’ve heard or what the rumors are saying, but it’s true: the horde is big. I saw it myself. Over a hundred vehicles and a thousand men.” There was a gasp, and heads hung low, so she hastened to add, “But it’s not invincible. Me and Dylan, we killed two of the Great Khan’s bodyguards in Window Rock and we roughed up his convoy in Holbrook. If we do this ambush right, we can stop him right here.”
She didn’t really believe herself. In the aftermath of Holbrook, with her adrenaline peaked, she felt unstoppable and knew for certain the White Horde would fall. But now that the real battle for Flagstaff loomed, she’d begun to question whether the Militia could overcome the Great Khan’s numbers. Victory today depended on this ambush unfolding exactly as Liam had envisioned, a highly unlikely scenario. As a squad leader, Jenn had learned enough about war to know that no plan survived first contact with the enemy.
“She’s right,” Quinn said and jumped up from her spot on the floor. “So let’s get out there and finish this.”
Some rumbles of agreement rolled through the townhouse, accompanied by a few nods. Soon, the soldiers of First and Third Squads were heading out the door, backpacks and rifles in hand. No one spoke. Most hadn’t seen a real battle. Compared to all but a few in the platoon, Jenn was a seasoned veteran. The rest must be terrified.
She grabbed her own backpack and hefted it over her shoulder. Inside were five of the homemade bombs the troops of Fifth Platoon were working on at the Skydome two nights ago. Over a hundred had been distributed among the four platoons assigned to the interstate. Yesterday, they were given instruction on how to ignite and throw them. The one used in the demonstration exploded as planned, but Jenn didn’t trust any weapon made from materials found in a Home Depot. Statistically speaking, a few of them would have to be faulty. Hopefully none of hers. She’d rather take an enemy bullet than accidentally blow herself up with a shoddy pipe bomb.
Courtney led the squads outside. Across a short street stood a line of parking stalls with canopies covered in snow. Beyond them, a waist-high concrete wall ran parallel to the interstate’s eastbound lanes. The troops of First Platoon took up positions behind it, where they would be invisible from the road below. Jenn had driven this segment of highway more times than she could count, and she had never seen this wall or the townhouse complex; before today, she wasn’t even aware they existed. If nothing else, Liam had chosen a good spot for the ambush, but decent cover wouldn’t make up for being outnumbered three to one.
Farther to the right, Fourth Street bridged the interstate. There, the two legged combat drones waited in sleep mode, ready to unleash a torrent of heavy machine-gun rounds into the horde once it passed. To the left, Dhaliwal’s Second Platoon would be taking cover among the trees. On the north side of the interstate, Third and Fourth Platoons mirrored the positions of the First and Second, while the Fifth and Sixth guarded Route 66. Finally, a pair of trucks with double-axle trailers were parked nearby. If Liam ordered a withdrawal, they’d be used to drive the fifty-something troopers of First Platoon to safety. Jenn had a sinking feeling that this fight would end with her in one of those trucks.
At the wall, she dropped her backpack in the snow and unzipped it, revealing the bombs within. In her pocket was a thumb-sized e-lighter. She pulled it out and switched it on. Four blue lights lit up. Fully charged. Too bad. If the lighter was dead, she wouldn’t have to throw these Home Depot bombs. Briefly, she considered sabotaging it. Could she take out the battery and plead ignorance? Did these things even have a removable battery? She turned it over in her hand, searching for a way inside, but only found a tiny charging port.
Get real, Jenn. You’re not going to fake a lighter malfunction.
Quinn poked her head over the wall.
“You see anything?” Jenn asked.
“There’s some trees,” Quinn said, pushing herself up for a better view, “but I can barely see the road. If we want to use our rifles, we’ll need to climb over.”
Maybe Liam hadn’t picked the best spot for this ambush, after all. The defenders should be able to engage the enemy from cover, shouldn’t they? Was this not a lesson in Military Tactics 101? “Hopefully these bombs work and we don’t have to.”
Quinn ducked behind the wall. “Yeah, I guess. I don’t think anyone can climb out from down there. The bank’s pretty steep. If they try, they’ll be easy targets.” She nodded toward Jenn’s backpack. “So how do you want to do this? You should throw, since you’re the baseball player and all.”
No, you throw, Jenn almost said, then felt like a coward. She should assume the risk here, not pass it off to Quinn. In the end, who threw probably made no difference. If a bomb did malfunction and explode early, it would likely kill them both.
Wow, that’s morbid.
“Sure.” Jenn handed Quinn the e-lighter. “You pull one out, light the fuse, and hand it to me. Then I’ll throw.”
“Works for me.” Quinn tested the lighter herself before securing it in her pocket.
Jenn glanced down the line. Freddie’s team huddled around him and his backpack, listening intently as he explained something and gestured toward the interstate. “I’m going to talk to Freddie and Aiden.”
“Good idea. I’ll give my guys a quick pep talk, too.”
Crouch-walking, Jenn checked in on Freddie first, then Aiden. Both were nervous, but Jenn had confidence in her team leaders and her grunts. They’d come a long way since Sunset Point, and she wouldn’t trade them for anyone in the Militia, not even ex-Guard troops who attended boot camp and received formal military training. These were her people.
She felt herself smiling with pride. Whatever happened next, whether the ambush developed as intended or went completely off the rails, she took comfort in knowing she’d face it with the best the Militia had to offer.
The doubt
from earlier faded, stripped away by determination. What the Militia lacked in manpower it made up for in quality. The Khan commanded an army of petty raiders, not professional, well-trained, and disciplined soldiers. He might have triple the number of fighters, but Jenn was certain that one Militia troop would be worth a minimum of three White Horde thugs. The Militia also had the advantage of fighting on the defensive, not to mention the element of surprise.
Maybe she had been too critical. Maybe the Militia could pull this off and put a stop to the Great Khan’s genocidal rampage today, right here on this highway.
“Something funny?” Aiden asked her.
“Funny?” Jenn blinked. Aiden was staring at her, glasses on the end of his nose. “No, nothing’s funny. I’m just thinking.”
“About what?”
“About how the Great Khan’s gonna wish he never messed with Flag.” She slapped him on the back and made her way toward Courtney, who crouched with one knee in the snow, a hand over the radio mic clipped to her jacket. Jenn heard a muffled voice but couldn’t make out what was being said.
When the voice quieted, Courtney translated, “Drones are following the horde, but they aren’t close enough to send a live feed yet. Lookouts farther up the interstate see no sign of scouts. Looks like the whole convoy’s moving together.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.”
“It’s probably neither,” Courtney said with an exaggerated shrug. “How are your people?”
“They’re good. We’re ready.” I’m ready.
“Cool. Hang tight, grab a bite to eat, get some water if you’re thirsty. We’ve got a bit of time to kill.”
“Copy that.” Jenn returned to her unit’s place on the wall, then waited, checking her watch. Despite her unexpected burst of confidence, an uncomfortable bubble had formed behind her sternum, and with every passing minute, it grew, pushing against her rib cage from the inside. After an hour, she could hardly breathe. Her toes were frozen, too, and she thought her ears might fall off, regardless of her beanie—her tuque.
The troops were silent now, anticipating word of the horde’s arrival. A few times, Jenn watched Courtney say something into her radio. She nearly switched her own to the company channel and listened in, but if she heard the chatter among the platoon leaders and Captain Townsend, she might start questioning the plan again. Instead, she imagined it unfolding perfectly, with the White Horde rolling straight into the trap. In her mind’s eye, Alpha Company showered the interstate with bombs, wiping out half of the Khan’s numbers in a few minutes. The LCDs and a timely flanking maneuver by Bravo Company finished off the rest. Flagstaff was saved, and the Militia didn’t suffer a single casualty.
She ran this scenario through her head a hundred times until, finally, the inevitable happened. “We have incoming,” Dylan said calmly over the platoon channel. “ETA thirty minutes.”
Jenn and Quinn exchanged glances. Quinn’s mouth hung open until she pressed her lips into a flat line. That bubble in Jenn’s chest was ready to burst as she opened her backpack as wide as it would go. She hated not being able to see the White Horde’s movements; during the scouting mission to the Navajo Nation and into New Mexico, she got used to having access to a drone’s camera feed. She wanted to poke her head over the wall and look down the interstate, but she reined in that temptation as well. Focus on what you can control, Jenn.
About forty minutes later, gunfire erupted to the north. Rifles. It was far away, likely on Route 66. Had the Khan decided against taking the interstate into Flag? Liam had accounted for that in his plan, right? He must have. Then why hadn’t she heard about any plan B? She clenched her toes in frustration. Shouldn’t she, someone in charge of twelve troops, have been told what to do in that scenario?
The gunfire continued, louder now.
“The horde’s sending trucks down Route 66,” Dylan said, confirming her fears. “The rest is parked a few klicks away on the interstate.”
Quinn’s ear was pressed tight to the mic on her jacket. “Does the Khan know we’re here?” she whispered to Jenn. “He can’t, can he?”
“How would he? He obviously doesn’t have drones. If he did, he would’ve seen us in Holbrook.”
“Spies?”
“I doubt it. How would they report back to him?”
Quinn bit her lip as the gunfire grew in volume. Dylan would keep Jenn and the other squad leaders apprised of developments as far as they concerned the platoon, yet she couldn’t help but wonder about the bigger picture. She also feared for the troopers in Fifth and Sixth Platoons. Sergeant Murphy was over there, as was Captain Morgan.
“The convoy’s on the move,” Dylan said through the radio. He began to speak faster, with more urgency. “Sixteen vehicles coming down the interstate, eight in the eastbound lanes, eight in the west.”
Sixteen vehicles? That was all? There were over a hundred in the horde. Had the rest gone down Route 66? Or was the Khan holding some in reserve to test the defenses along the interstate?
The bubble in her chest burst, and she froze in terror. Had the Militia underestimated him? Had she underestimated him? He drove straight into the sneak attack in Holbrook, but only a moron would make the same mistake twice. God, the delaying action could end up backfiring. If the Khan hadn’t faced any resistance on the way to Flagstaff, he might not have suspected an ambush today. The Militia hadn’t doomed itself to failure before the battle even began, had it?
She wondered if these vehicles should be allowed to pass so the Militia didn’t give away its position. The Khan would need more than sixteen trucks to take on the Skydome. But over a third of Flagstaff’s population remained in their homes. If sixty or seventy armed raiders were given free rein in town, hundreds could die.
Dylan added, “This is it. Hold your fire until my mark.”
Quinn reached into the backpack and pulled out the first bomb, a piece of white plastic pipe filled with gunpowder and nails. It wouldn’t pack the same explosive punch as a mortar shell or grenade, but the nails could maim, kill, and puncture tires—assuming the bomb didn’t blow up prematurely. Jenn still didn’t have much faith in these things.
A boom rippled through the air from the direction of Route 66. An explosion. One of the Militia’s bombs? A lull in the gunfire ensued, but soon, it continued and grew in intensity. Over it all, Jenn heard Dylan whisper into the radio, “First vehicle is passing beneath the Fourth Street bridge. Ready bombs.”
With her index finger and thumb, Quinn straightened the fuse attached to one end of the PVC piping, then readied the e-lighter.
Jenn flexed her fingers to warm them. As she prepared to throw, a flare of panic washed over her. Even if these bombs worked, she hadn’t played baseball since high school. What if she was off target? What if she missed? What if the bomb slipped from her grasp and fell between her and Quinn and they couldn’t—
“On my mark,” Dylan said.
She sucked in air, held it deep in her lungs, and listened for the scrape of tires or the hum of motors. All she heard was her pulse thundering in her ears and the cacophony of battle to the north.
“Now!”
Dylan hardly finished the word before the harsh, throaty bark of the drones’ .50-caliber machine guns erupted from the bridge.
Quinn sparked the lighter, and a stream of electricity ignited the fuse.
Instinctively, Jenn shut her eyes and turned her head to the side, shielding her face. Please don’t explode. Please don’t explode. Please don’t explode.
She cracked open an eyelid. The fuse burned steadily, so she reached out and snatched away the bomb. Holding it tightly by the end, not by the middle, as per Courtney’s instructions, she grunted and threw it over the wall. The pipe tumbled and spun awkwardly through the air, joined by several others, some black, some white, a few gray.
The first explosion rang out. It was close, loud, almost like a piece of dry wood popping in the fireplace. Jenn felt it in her gut. A heartbeat later, t
here was a second, a third, a fourth, then so many she couldn’t tell them apart. Next came the telltale crunch of metal on metal, followed by panicked shouts, terrified screams, and the squeaks of doors being flung open. All the while, the staccato from the drones continued, echoing off the townhouses behind her.
“Jenn!”
Quinn held out another bomb, the fuse already lit. Jenn grabbed it and threw. Before it landed, a fresh wave of explosions shook the earth. There was gunfire now, too, likely from the Khan’s people in the kill zone. Jenn gave the concrete wall a gentle pat with her hand, if only to reassure herself it was bulletproof. You’re safe up here.
As Quinn prepped a third bomb, Jenn saw Freddie’s team climbing the wall. She was confused at first, as she hadn’t given the order, but then Courtney said through the radio, “Up and over! Let’s put them down!”
So much for safe. Jenn hated the idea of leaving cover, but she couldn’t deny how badly she wanted to fight the Khan’s followers up close and personal, to see them gunned down like rabid animals.
The fuse on the third bomb had already burned halfway down, so she hurled it onto the highway, slung her rifle, and planted her hands on top of the concrete wall. Her bomb exploded as she pushed herself up, throwing debris into the air like a geyser. Along the westbound lanes, the troops of Fourth Platoon knelt or stood on the edge of the rock face and poured fire into the interstate below. The median was the same height as the banks on either side, so she couldn’t see what they were shooting at.
She landed in the snow with a crunch, then selected automatic on her M4. Between Quinn on her left and Tanis on her right, she crept forward and peered over the lip of the bank.
To the west, a pickup, its paint chipped and blackened from exploding bombs, sat jackknifed across both eastbound lanes. Its rear bumper had come loose and fallen off. A sedan, the hood crumpled inward, rested a few yards away. Behind it, four more trucks and two vans were strung out through the crevice in the rock. Sunlight glistened off a sea of broken glass, and blood colored the snow on the road, as though someone had dipped a giant brush in red paint and flicked it toward a blank canvas. Fifteen, maybe twenty bodies were strewn about between and around the vehicles. Several lay atop each other, motionless. Others writhed, squirmed, and moaned. A woman in a yellow jacket, her leg a mess of mangled flesh, tried crawling to safety beneath a white van. She wailed in pain but went silent when Jenn dumped a three-round burst into her back.
