Renegade - 13

by Joe Nobody

  The Texan quickly did the calculations. Sheriff Watts had said the panhandle robbery had occurred a couple of weeks prior to the night Bishop had lost four of his security team. Checking the date against Terri’s list, he saw that indeed, Cyrus had been in Amarillo, virtually right down the road, during that same period.

  Now, it was Bishop’s turn to seek additional evidence. While Pug had been spying on Cyrus’s militia, Nick had provided a copy of SAINT Six’s records. Rifling through the cardboard box, the Texan pulled out a folder labeled, “Mission History.”

  It took him less than a minute to confirm that yes, Captain K and his boys had been operating in the Panhandle that very week. The dots were connecting.

  Smiling for the first time in several days, Bishop turned to his wife and said, “You’re beautiful and a genius.”

  “God knows there is nothing I love more than a perceptive man,” Terri cooed seductively. “I will be sending you a bill for services rendered.”

  Bishop perked at Terri’s comment. “And just how much is that gonna cost me? I haven’t gotten my first check yet, and I’m a little light on cash.”

  Terri leaned over like she was going to kiss him, but stopped. “Hmmmm. I could help you out with some payment terms, if you were to show a girl a good time.”

  Nick examined Bishop’s plan and said, “Makes sense. I always said Terri was the brains of your outfit; now we know for sure.”

  Chuckling, Bishop replied, “I think I liked it better when you didn’t feel so good.”

  Ignoring the jab, Nick turned to a large wall map of Texas. “According to the documents Pug delivered, Cyrus and his rogue generals are planning a pincher movement against Alpha. They have gathered a force of roughly 10,000 in Dallas and are mustering three times that number from Houston, San Antonio, and Austin.”

  “Wow,” Bishop replied. “This truly is turning into a war of urban versus rural, big city against small town.”

  Using his finger, Nick traced a line along the map. “The smaller force plans to move directly across the state on the I-20 corridor, while the larger group will move west using Texas Highway 90. Alpha will be crushed between them.”

  “Classic maneuver,” Bishop nodded, gazing at the map. “They probably know we don’t have enough manpower to fight both at the same time.”

  “Exactly,” Nick answered. “At least not yet.”

  “Oh? You sound a bit optimistic, my old friend. What do you have up your sleeve?”

  “Diana carried El Paso by a slim margin. I have people there right now, trying to organize at least two divisions of irregulars. It is slow going. In addition to that, volunteers from all over Texas are arriving every day. Our key to victory is slowing down the Army moving from Fort Worth. If we can delay them long enough, we’ll have sufficient forces to defend Alpha.”

  Bishop’s eyes returned to the map, tracing the route Cyrus’s militia would have to travel. There were a lot of towns along the way. If they all took a small bite of the elephant, would there be enough pachyderm left to trample Alpha?

  Nick was reading his thoughts. “We’re spreading the word all over that region. The Alamo of this war is going to be right here,” he said, poking the map at Abilene. “We’re asking every community, village, and crossroads to send their people there. We’re scraping together every spare rifle and bullet, and praying it's enough.”

  “But?” Bishop asked, knowing there was still a substantial issue with the plan.

  “Cyrus has a huge advantage. His high-density population centers allow him to recruit, organize, and deploy faster than we can. We must wait for our people to spread the word, then idle by while volunteers drive in from who knows where.”

  “So, you need to buy time,” Bishop sighed.

  “Yes. If Mineral Wells and a few other towns slow those forces coming from Fort Worth, we will be able to mount a worthy defense in Abilene. That action, in turn, should allow us ample opportunity to address the second Army moving from San Antonio.”

  Bishop understood, but also could see 100 things that might go wrong. “Pug said that Mineral Wells isn’t going to be able to hold for very long.”

  Nick sighed, “And I think your man called that one correctly. We don’t need Mineral Wells to win, just to slow them down and inflict as much damage as possible. Keep in mind, there are hundreds of thousands of men all over Texas who are sitting this out. Of those, a large number might be simply riding the fence, waiting to see which side seems to be winning. If the farmers up there put a serious hurt on Cyrus’s advance, it might keep more people from joining his cause.”

  “And the Alliance’s real Army, too?” Bishop asked, already knowing the answer.

  “They keep maintaining they’re sitting this one out, but I’m not buying it. One way or the other, I hope General Owens makes up his mind before the entire nation tears itself apart.”

  “What if he sides with Cyrus?”

  “Then it’s over. We surrender and go home.”

  Bishop smiled, despite the melancholy premise. “Actually, my friend, I’m glad to hear you say that.”

  They continued to discuss the situation for another 10 minutes before Grim appeared. “We’re ready, sir,” the seasoned trooper announced.

  “Before you go, I have something for you,” Nick smiled. “It might help you gain a little trust from the folks at Mineral Wells.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s out back,” Nick said. “Come on; I’ll show you.”

  Bishop and Grim followed, the Alliance honcho leading them to large delivery van sitting behind the grocery. “It is full of as much ordnance as I could scrape together on short notice. Most of the weapons came from the men who died at Horsehead Gulch. Sheriff Watts contributed another two dozen rifles from his old evidence lockers. There are about 20,000 rounds of various calibers in there as well.”

  Grim seemed happy, “Santa Claus is coming to Mineral Wells early this year. Let’s hope those farm boys can put this to good use.”

  “Good luck, men. Godspeed.”

  Chapter 22

  Bishop wasn’t surprised to see the level of activity at Mineral Wells. What he did find a bit shocking was how easily his small convoy managed to drive right into the heart of the town.

  “We came from the west,” Pug noted. “They’re only worried about the east at the moment.”

  Since the Korean already had some local relationships, Bishop let him take the lead. It seemed Pug was looking for someone named Abe.

  “He’s down by the interstate with Jacob and his bulldozer,” someone said.

  The SAINT team found the gent Pug was looking for, standing alongside I-20 and watching a huge earth-mover pushing a series of abandoned cars and trucks into a formidable barrier. Bishop thought it was one hell of a good idea.

  Noticing Pug, Abe waved the Asian over, and a round of introductions began. “We can use all the help we can get,” the old grower stated upon hearing of Nick’s van. “I’ll go back into town and see to it that your goodies are distributed.”

  Back into Mineral Wells they drove. All the while, Bishop and Grim were intensely sizing up the small hamlet with a mind toward the upcoming skirmish.

  Half an hour later, a line of men had formed behind the van, each walking away with a handful of ammo or rifles, or both. “We’ve had people arriving all morning,” Abe noted with pride. “We estimate we’ll contribute at least 1300 hundred men into the fight. With God’s help, we’ll be able to turn those city slickers around and send them back to the metro area with their tails between their legs.”

  Bishop pulled the farmer aside. “I don’t want to piss on your parade, sir, but do you have plans to retreat if things don’t go your way?”

  Abe sighed and stared down, kicking a bit of earth with his boot. “Yes, young man, we do. No one wants to talk about it much, but Jacob insisted.” Then bending to pick up a nearby stick, the farmer began to draw in the dust. “We’re going to use Old Man Spade’s orchard which
is right here,” he said, scratching a mark. “The wounded will be carted there by the women who don’t think they can fight. We have pickup-ambulances as ready as we can make them. If those devils from Fort Worth break through, everyone will fall back to this spot, and we’ll hightail it for Abilene.”

  “Are there any other side roads into town? Can they flank you?”

  “Only two,” Abe nodded, pointing to the dirt map. “Here and here. We blew this bridge yesterday. No way any vehicle is crossing Pine Creek with all the rain we’ve had lately. Not only did it give me a bumper crop of tomatoes, but now it’s going to act as a barrier to the invading Army.”

  “And the other thoroughfare?” Bishop asked.

  “It’s an old county road, barely two lanes in most places. It winds through a wooded area, and I doubt half of its bridges would hold a heavy truck. Regardless, a crew with chainsaws cut down over 40 trees there yesterday, and they did a good job erecting a series of barriers. I’ve assigned 30 men with hunting rifles to make sure removing those logs from the road would be a monumental task. If they try that tactic, we can get reinforcements up that way if necessary.”

  Bishop nodded, “It’s as good a plan as most generals I know could have put together. You’ve given your people the best odds possible to defend your town. Excellent work, sir.”

  “Thank you, but I can’t take credit for it. Jacob was an officer during the first Gulf War. He offered a lot of valuable advice in putting together this strategy. He did most of the heavy lifting.”

  Bishop then put his hand on the old farmer’s shoulder. “I want to give you one more serious piece of advice. As you lead your people, keep in mind one very important thought – live to fight another day.”

  Abe frowned, not sure what Bishop was trying to say.

  “Houses, farms, barns, and even towns can be rebuilt, sir. Your people, no matter how proud or brave, cannot. Fight like hell. Give better than you take. But in the end, you’re outnumbered 12 to 1 … and outgunned even more. Get your people out, Abe. Go to Abilene and help them turn the tide. Mineral Wells, or any other town for that matter, isn’t worth a mass grave.”

  For a moment, Bishop thought the old-timer was going to get angry over the advice. “You’re asking us to let them destroy our lives here,” the depressed man responded.

  “No, I’m not,” Bishop corrected. “If it comes to a point where your town if going to fall no matter how many of you die, then it’s time to get out. You and Jacob will know. Make your people leave if their deaths no longer have meaning. A year from now, when this is all over, you’ll be glad you did. Trust me, I have been there.”

  Abe eyed the Texan for a long while, finally nodding. “I think I understand. I’ll do my best.”

  On the way back into Mineral Wells, Bishop told his men to conduct an exercise. “Pretend I’m Cyrus, and you’re SAINT Six. I’m demanding to come here and see the results of our great victory. The town is burning and being looted. Your job is to protect me. How would you do it?”

  Grim scratching his chin, said, “That’s a tough one, boss. In a war zone, you never know when some remnant is going to pop up and take a shot.”

  “You’ve got no choice, Grim. I’m Cyrus P. Young, and come hell or high water, I want to see this town. How will you protect me?”

  Bailey cut in, “First thing I’d do is put some body armor on your stubborn ass.”

  Grim, after flashing the new guy a dirty look, had to agree that they’d have to take extreme safety measures. “He’s got a point. I’d keep Bailey, Butter and his oversized carcass, as well as myself, right next to you at all times. I’d send Kevin ahead on the route to scout as much as possible. Two rings of security, three if I have the manpower.”

  Bishop said, “That’s one of our primary issues at the moment. We don’t know if Captain K has access to additional headcount to protect Cyrus. Given that the good governor is a known egotistical asshole, my guess is that even if he did have qualified personnel handy, he wouldn't utilize them.”

  Grim seemed distracted for a bit, then responded, “He didn’t have a particularly large detail at Moss Ridge. As I recall, it was just SAINT Six protecting him. They deployed just like I described earlier, three surrounding him all the time, the fourth roving freeform.”

  “And at the first sign of trouble?” Bishop asked.

  “Oh, they had Cyrus back into their SUVs and out of Moss Ridge within 10 seconds of the first gunshot. No doubt they would do the same here.”

  Bishop smirked, “That’s exactly what we would do if protecting a VIP. We know the playbook. We should be able to break them down. Just keep in mind, we’re after SAINT Six, not Cyrus.”

  “First thing I’d do is take out their SUVs,” Butter stated. “If they can’t run away, that gives us more time to take them apart.”

  Grim, glancing around the small downtown, observed, “This is still urban. If we force them into these buildings, we’re looking at house-to-house fighting. If we have to pursue them through these structures to eradicate them, we’re going to lose people.”

  They spent the new two hours pacing and revisiting each street and avenue of the downtown area. All the while, the team was seeking any advantage that might give them the edge on SAINT Six. “We outnumber them six to four,” Bishop kept reminding his guys. “And we’re going to have the element of surprise on our side. We can do this.”

  They were still walking the area when night fell. All around them, preparations were taking place for the morning’s anticipated battle. “There’s a part of me that wants to help these people,” Grim noted at one point. “Gets my blood boiling that a lot of these innocent folks are going to die, just because some asshole wants Diana’s job.”

  “I hear ya, Grim,” Bishop replied. “But we have higher work to do than to get ourselves shot to hell in a pitched battle. We have to take SAINT Six out of the history books.”

  “Amen to that,” nodded the grizzled old vet. “Like the Marines say, death before dishonor. I always thought that was crap, but today I’m feeling it.”

  “And let’s not forget,” Bishop continued, “in taking out Six, we expose Cyrus and position ourselves cut off the head of this snake.”

  It was well after dusk when Bishop, Pug, and SAINT One were ready to turn in for the night. In the morning, they would all tour each other’s hides and positions – just to make double sure in the daylight.

  Still, Bishop was on edge. Pending firefights tended to do that.

  Wandering around the town to unwind, he took in the sights, sounds, and smells of a community that was preparing for war.

  He strolled past a group of nervous young men who were sharing a small bucket of black paint, taking turns writing their names on their legs, backs, and chests. The forces about to fight for Mineral Wells didn’t have dog tags or even a black marker. “Should I write my name on my dick?” one of the younger asked, the comment eliciting a hearty round of laughter.

  “We don’t have a paint brush that small,” joked another. “Besides, you never get to use it anyway!”

  The Texan then wandered by a group of older men and women working tirelessly, stirring a large cauldron of stew. Baskets of vegetables were stacked nearby the open-air kitchen, a folding card table providing the cook’s countertop. Their faces were just as serious as the men, boys, and women getting ready to carry a rifle into the fight. “Hurry up, folks, spouted a hustling grandmother type, “We want these boys and girls to have hot stew in their bellies tomorrow morning. It’s always best to meet the devil and his hounds with a full stomach.”

  Given his marriage to Terri, it came as no surprise to Bishop that a significant number of females were carrying arms. Texas women had always been known as a hardy lot, and after surviving an apocalypse that included years without the rule of law, they had either become as tough as the men or perished. “Pioneer women,” he whispered, watching one gal tucking her children into sleeping bags for the night, an AK47 strapped across her back.<
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  All in all, Mineral Wells was a camp preparing for war. Bishop had seen it before, and noted that it didn’t matter if the combatants were Green Berets, British SAS, or a humble group of farmers, it was always the same. “Probably always will be as long as we keep killing each other,” he mumbled, turning toward his bivouac, finally ready to turn in.

  Chapter 23

  Abe had expected the lead elements to hit them around 9AM. The rising sun found the entire defensive force of Mineral Wells at their posts by that hour. Abe’s prediction was off by 38 minutes. Perhaps Cyrus had a little difficulty getting his columns organized; maybe he underestimated the 3-hour travel time, or it could have been the rain.

  Grey clouds and a constant drizzle added to the foreboding atmosphere of the defenders. It seemed it was always that way when men were preparing to die.