Clay’s voice came back on the radio. “I don’t see anything. What’s he… Oh shit, Kirk! There’s a mass of people and two buses coming down the road!”
“Goddammit!” Kirk shouted.
“What’s wrong?” Jimmy asked.
Kirk chastised himself for not having foreseen this. “That son of a bitch commander of theirs split his forces. The first attack was a diversion to make the west gate weak, and we took it, hook, line, and fucking sinker!” He grabbed the radio. “All reinforcements from the west gate get back to the inner defenses, now! Will? Will! Do you hear me? Get those guys into the interior defenses now! We have a larger attack coming from the west!”
“Roger that. I’ve sent someone after them. What’s going on at the West Gate?” Will came back over the radio.
Clay fired as the first bus filled with enemy soldiers barreled down the roadway. The second bus followed close behind. His shot missed the small slit in the makeshift armor secured over the windshield. His shot bounced off the armor as did the hundreds that joined it from the town’s riflemen. The bus swerved anyway and hit one of the rocks the supply guys had put on the road. Instead of stopping the bus, the rock just damaged it. The bus kept charging in, hitting and knocking the other rocks and small obstacles out of the way for the second bus. The right front wheel of the first bus suddenly detached and sent the bus slamming into and over the guard rail. Men inside the bus screamed as they fell to find their watery deaths in the Cumberland River.
The second bus swerved around the last rock obstacle and barreled for the gate. Clay knew they were screwed. Once that bus got through the outer gate, it would have no trouble making it past the wooden interior defenses. He could only hope that the hundred or so men they had left at the West Gate could hold off the swarms of people until their reinforcements came.
He watched as the bus impacted the gate and punched through the wall. Celina soldiers flew back from the impact as the bus came to a stop a few yards from the gaping hole in the wall. The riflemen behind the additional cover continued to fire at the hordes of savages that trailed the bus across the bridge. Clay saw several dozen enemy soldiers emerge from the bus. The guards below took out several of them as they exited the bus and began to fight. Clay knew they couldn’t keep that up for long before being pinned between the fighters from the bus and the oncoming mass of the enemy.
Clay jumped down from the watch tower and rolled as he fell. When he finally stopped, he had his pipe bomb out and lit the fuse. He threw it at the bus some thirty yards away and lay down to cover himself from the blast. His aim was true and sent the small, foot-long section of pipe rolling under the bus. The explosion ripped through the bus causing the fuel inside of it to explode. The enemy soldiers inside screamed as they found themselves ablaze.
Clay regained his feet. He saw several of the men and women he fought beside had been knocked down from the combined effects of the bus’s impact, the fire from the men in the bus, shrapnel from the bomb, and the bus explosion. Some of these injured or dead were members of the medical team assigned to the west gate. Clay peered through the gaping hole in the gate. Hundreds, if not thousands of men streamed across the bridge. They would make it to the gate soon. The only thing stopping them at that point would be largest number of people who could fit through the hole at one time. He scrambled toward the hole, shouting up for Leesha to hear. “Use the pipe bombs, Leesha! Blow the fuckers up!” He couldn’t tell if she heard him until he saw the small silvery object fly through the air, smoke trailing behind it. She had timed her shot perfectly. The bomb exploded some thirty-five yards in front of the gate just as the first wave of invaders approached it. The bodies of the first wave flew back, making a messy obstacle for the ones who followed. And follow they did.
Clay saw several men with guns. Others held shields and hand weapons such as axes, clubs, bats, and whatever else they could find. There were too many. He knew the wall was lost. He lit the fuse on his second and last pipe bomb and threw it through the gap in the wall. “Retreat!” He bellowed. “Fall back to the courthouse!” The second pipe bomb exploded just outside of the gate, slowing down the invaders and buying Clay and his men time.
The Celina soldiers abandoned their positions and began running back toward the center of town. The interior defenses were a little under a half mile away, a long distance to cover under fire. Clay grabbed eleven of the men closest to him. “You! Hold with me! Concentrate fire on that hole. Blow the shit out of anything that comes through!” He and his men backpedaled away from the gate and fired at the hole as the invaders began coming through. The other Celina soldiers made good time on their way back. As they retreated, Clay heard fire coming from his right. He looked over to see that Leesha had copied his strategy with twenty or so volunteers of her own. They were able to leapfrog back, each group taking turns covering for the other as they ran in thirty-yard increments. Once they got about two hundred yards from the gate, their fire became less effective. “Turn and run!” Clay shouted as he saw masses of enemy soldiers filing through the now useless gate. Gunshots rang out from behind them and sprays of mud exploded around them as the turned and ran. The man just ahead of Clay to his left fell as a bullet struck his left hamstring. Clay barely broke his stride as he grabbed the man by the back of the shirt, slung him over his shoulder, and continued to run through the wet grass and mud for the safety and cover of the interior defenses.
“Shit!” Kirk said as he watched Clay’s retreat and marveled at his and Leesha’s quick thinking in covering each other in their retreat. Kirk had his men broken up into ten groups of ten men. He turned and yelled. “Groups three and four stand ground! The rest of you with me! Advance to west flanking position!” He and Jimmy ran across the roof of the building and slid down the ladder. The men hit the ground running and charged toward the buildings closest to the southwestern corner of the interior defensive barriers.
Once the men were in position in and around the buildings, Kirk bellowed. “Hold fire until they are under one hundred and fifty yards out!” Kirk motioned for Jimmy and two of the men to come with him. One of the men carried the ladder from their previous position. Kirk motioned for him to set it up. Within seconds Kirk, Jimmy, and the other two men were on the roof of the building, looking out over the battlefield. Clay and his team were making good progress. Kirk could see the men returning from the east gate to take up positions in the interior defenses. He hoped that his group could hold off or distract the surging masses of people running in from the broken gate long enough for the reinforcements to take up useful positions in the inner sanctum of the city. He guessed that a thousand had already passed through, and through the scope on his rifle, he could see many more crossing the bridge.
Vicio stood in the back of his command pickup truck and watched his men charge the bridge. Hundreds more would make it through within minutes. His original plan had gone to shit when he saw one of his buses disabled and the other blown up. He wanted his troops to stop just inside the gate and prep for a unified surge to take the interior of the town, the buses making short work of the wooden barriers. Now his men ran across the bridge at will and chased the retreating townspeople. He had to act now or risk losing his men as they were picked off trying to breach the interior. He only had one vehicle left that was big enough to make short work of the barriers. He knew it was a gamble, but one necessary to take the town. If he lost the battle for Celina, he would lose everything anyway. His army would be broken, starving, and angry. Given the type of degenerates that he led, failure would be weakness; and weakness would mean death and swift replacement for him.
He motioned to the driver of the fuel truck, compelling him to pull up next to the command truck. Vicio yelled at the driver. “Take the lead and break those piles of wooden shit keeping us from the center of town!”
Ed spoke up from behind him. “Commander, do you think that’s a good idea? They might shoot the truck. It could blow up. That’s our only…” Vicio’s backhand cut
Ed off and sent him falling from the truck to land on his back in the mud.
Vicio looked back up to the driver of the tanker truck. He raised his pistol at the hesitant man. “I said drive that big fucker across the bridge and make a hole for our men!” As the truck revved its engine and began to drive over the bridge, Vicio yelled to the rest of his army. “Follow the tanker, you worthless bastards! Follow me to our promised land!” He slapped the top of the truck’s cab, signaling for the driver to follow the tanker. Vicio felt exhilarated. This move was crazy; it would take the town by surprise. Once he broke the barriers, the townspeople would lose hope, and he and his men would have their new home. With any luck, there would be several young girls for him to take as prizes. An evil grin spread across his face as the truck began moving to follow the tanker.
Will sat atop the roof of one of the buildings on the west side of the barricaded downtown area. Reports came in over the radio from the scouts positioned to the north and to the east of town. The invaders at the East Gate were retreating. The north scout radioed reports of thousands of people streaming into town from the West Gate. Will shouted orders and coordinated movements of the troops within the town center, assisting the sheriff in positioning men.
From his vantage point, he could see entire battle unfolding to the west. He saw enemy soldiers pouring through the west gate. He saw the sheriff on the front line of the inner defenses giving encouragement and directions to the scared townspeople. Men and women alike aimed guns and prepared their secondary weapons as the hordes approached. Will, could also see the vastness of the approaching horde. There were just too many of them. The only thing that would keep them from rushing in was the wooden barricade and earthen obstacles. Those would only hold as long as the town could provide fire to slow down the invaders. The horde moved quickly, running headlong toward the town. In a way, Will supposed that was almost lucky. If they had approached in a disciplined manner, each group covering the other as they ran, the town would have a harder time lessening their numbers by the time they reached the wooden fences. Even with reduced numbers, Will doubted that the town would be able to hold off the swarming mass of people. He wondered how long it would take the townspeople to break.
Gunfire erupted from the front line as Clay and his band of men retreating from the West Gate approached the inner fences. The townspeople were trying to provide cover for the group as the enemy gained on them. Within seconds, Clay and most of his men made it into town. The wooden gate closed behind them.
The townspeople cut down many of the invaders in the first few seconds of the rush, but the horde kept coming, shooting wildly into the town as they ran. A few reached the foot holes. They fell as they tripped into or broke a leg in the holes. The one’s behind them saw what was happening and condensed along the road. The first off these made their way to the barricades. Will looked up after firing three quick shots into the gathering mass of people trying to make their way over the barricades. Two men fell to his shots. He saw Kevin, one of their newest scout recruits next to Sheriff White. Kevin lit one of the pipe bombs Will had given him. Will thought it was too soon, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. He could only hope that the explosion would thin out the horde a little and make them hesitate before charging to the wall. Kevin stood up from behind the sandbag cover he was using and prepared to throw the bomb. As he reached the half-way point of his throw, Kevin fell back, struck by one of the enemy’s wild bullets. The pipe bomb slipped out of his hand and fell to lie beside him. Will watched in horror as the bomb exploded inside the barrier. When the smoke cleared, Will saw dozens of his friends and neighbors lying dead or wounded in a circle around the immediate blast. Joey, his supply team, and the medical staff rushed to the injured. The supply guys gathered salvageable weapons and ammo from the site and distributed it to the reinforcements that moved up to take the place of their fallen comrades. The medical team did what they could. Most of the tags they placed on the bodies were black.
“Big truck headed across the west bridge into town!” The voice called over the radio.
Will looked through his scope. He didn’t see anything yet, his view blocked by the remains of the West Gate. He reached for the radio and was about to ask for confirmation of the report when he saw the truck push aside some of the damaged gate and roll toward town. “Dear God!”
Kirk watched as the downtown barriers and the townspeople stopped the first wave of invaders. Some of them tripped and fell in the open ground as they stepped into the holes the town had dug. It didn’t take them long to learn. They began running down the road to make their charge at the town, making the fire from the townspeople more effective. He hoped that his side wasn’t taking many casualties. He saw the smoke rise from the explosion that had gone off by the front line. He hoped they all lived long enough to ask someone what the hell that was about.
“What the hell is that?” Jimmy asked, pointing toward the West Gate.
“Son of a bitch!” Kirk said as he saw the fuel truck push aside the damaged gate. The truck began speeding up, heading toward the town. Its horn blew to move the teeming masses of invaders from its path. Some got the message and scurried out of the way. Other did not. The truck didn’t wait for them. Several invaders were run over by the advancing truck. A pickup truck followed close behind the tanker as it gained speed. The hordes seemed to rally around the trucks, inspired and excited for some reason. Kirk raised his rifle and saw the thick Latin man standing in the bed of the truck. That must be the infamous Commander Vicio
The realization of what the enemy commander planned to do with the truck dawned on Kirk. If the defenses broke, Celina’s chances for survival would take a sharp nosedive. He knew what the truck would do to the town’s defenses and knew there was but one way to make sure that it didn’t. He doubted that bullets would be able to puncture the tank, the steel being too thick. No thoughts of heroism or grandeur ran through his mind as he handed his rifle to Jimmy. Someone needed to get one of the pipe bombs onto or under the truck. Kirk smiled at the young man. “Cover me, kid.” Kirk said as he tied a cloth around his upper left arm, slid over the lip of the roof, and lowered himself to drop on the ground below.
Jimmy shouted something that Kirk couldn’t hear. Kirk ran off at what he hoped would be an adequate intercept angle toward the moving truck. The rain began falling harder as he ran, the cool drops hitting his face as his feet threw up mud and wet grass. He reached down and pulled out his two handguns, his own forty caliber and the forty-five caliber that Tara had held on him that night not so long ago. Luck blessed him as he ran the first fifty yards. None of the invaders, caught up in the chaos of attacking the town, seemed to notice one man coming out toward their flank. Some of them took Kirk for one of their own, noticing the strip of cloth around his arm. They advanced toward the town in disorderly, open ranks, leaving yards of space between them.
As he approached the first group of a dozen enemy invaders running toward the town center, one of the invaders recognized Kirk wasn’t one of theirs. He was dressed to well and headed in the wrong direction. The man raised a shotgun at Kirk who was still some thirty yards out. Kirk never slowed as three shots rang out from Tara’s forty-five. The man collapsed to the mud.
The shots brought the attention of dozens of other invaders in the vicinity. Only about half of these carried guns. Kirk tried his best to zigzag and not slip in the mud as he ran into the oncoming enemy troops. He fired as he went. He turned and dashed, cut left, then spun back to his right, slipping in the mud but never losing the momentum he had built. Several of the invaders dropped. Some of the smarter ones knelt or tried to take cover. Others fired back. He was through the group before they knew what hit them.
He barreled on toward a much larger group. His right side hurt from the bullet that had struck him. He found it difficult to keep track of the truck. The constant sounding of the truck’s horn gave him his only clue. Kirk entered the larger group. When the forty-five ceased to bark in his hand
and made clicking sounds, Kirk dropped the weapon in the muddy field and raised the forty in his left hand. He never stopped as enemy bullets streaked past him or sent up sprays of mud around his feet. To stop was to die. He had to keep moving, making himself a harder target. He didn’t try to kill the men he ran past. They were just obstacles keeping him from the tanker truck that continued to gain speed toward the fortified town center. Regardless of intent, several died as he ran along.
The forty had just begun to click, when Kirk tried to sidestep a man blocking his path. He felt the burning tear in his left thigh as the bullet passed clean through. He fell, sliding in the mud. He turned to see the man who had been in front of him closing with a baseball bat. Kirk rolled, bringing out Scott’s little three eighty as he did. Three shots brought the man before him to a halt. Kirk scrambled to his feet as bullets tore into the wet ground where he had just been. Another sharp, thudding pain took him in the top side of his back but did not bring him back down. He raised the little gun and squeezed off some shots as he ran through the open crowd.
As Kirk raced on, he saw the man who had just shot him. The man had Kirk in his sights. There was nothing to do but keep going. Before the man could pull the trigger and finish Kirk, his face exploded. Kirk heard the shooting from behind him as he ran and knew that Jimmy and his men were trying to cover him. This was the first time he had been able to witness their work. He didn’t know how far out he was now, but was thankful the shot had been true. The three eighty began to click. Kirk let it fall.
As he charged though the invaders in his insane rush, Kirk retrieved the camping hatchet at his side with his right hand and the combat knife from behind his back with his left. He rushed past and sometimes toward the surprised invaders. His back and shoulder didn’t bother him. Neither did his leg. It just didn’t function as well as it should have. He knew that was a bad sign. He was slipping into shock from the wounds. He ran to the closest man, catching him as he turned toward Kirk. The blade of the hatchet opened the man’s skull. He spun and caught another with a slash across the face with the combat knife. He danced and bobbed and lashed out with all of the fury he had as he made his way through dozens of enemy soldiers. His arm swung, the hatchet catching a knee, or arm, or neck. His knife blurred beside it piercing organs and slashing throats. Exhaustion, amplified by the wounds he had sustained, caught up with him. His body went numb. It responded to his commands, its reflexes still relatively sharp, but all subtle sensations had been lost. He knew his injuries were bad, but he couldn’t let them stop him from reaching the truck.
Fifty Falling Stars Page 52
