He went prone, lined up his shots and dropped a half dozen enemy soldiers guarding the slaves, then faded into the darkness before the lone Bradley and the skirmishers that accompanied it could root him out.
*
Down among the slaves Otha Gladson saw the guards falling, grabbed Dikeme, and yelled, “Hit them now! It’s your only chance.” And the desperate, starving slaves, though their hands were bound and though they were tied together, seized their chance and swarmed their guards though dozens died in the attempt. Soon knives taken from dead guards were being passed down the lines so the prisoners could cut themselves free. Some grabbed guns from the downed guards and fired at Viper’s army to keep heads down while the rest fled.
Otha and Dikeme, guns in hand, led several escapees toward the front lines, hoping the Freeholders would be able to tell friend from foe. “Grab something white and tie it around your left arm,” Dikeme screamed. She remembered Michael saying white would be the new color of the day.
*
“Something’s up, Ellen.” Randy McKinley said.
She cocked her head, hearing small arms fire, yelling and screaming from behind enemy lines. Predawn darkness was fading as the light grew and suddenly she saw a mass break through the enemy lines and head for her barricades.
“Look sharp,” she yelled as she cocked her AR-15 and scoped the oncoming crowd. She saw unarmed, skeletal people dressed in tattered rags, stumbling toward her lines. Behind them the Bradley’s roared to life and started forward along with the bulk of Viper’s army.
My God, They’re using the slaves as human shields. She hesitated, unable to give the order to fire.
“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” she heard and suddenly a panting Michael was there beside her.
“It’s a slave revolt,” he gasped. “Look! Some of them are armed and they’re shooting at Viper’s men. “Open the barricades.”
“But Viper’s army and his Bradley’s are right on their tail,” she protested. “If we open the barricades…” She paused for a second and said, “Oh, hell. Let them through.”
She stood on tiptoes and kissed Michael’s cheek. “If we’re going to die, we might as well die doing the right thing,” she said, as some cars were rolled out of the way and the slaves poured through.
“We’re not dead yet,” Michael said giving her a one-armed hug. “Pull everyone back behind the land dam at Bluebird Hill. Lieutenant Osaka and his cadets will help me delay Viper.”
Dan Osaka trotted up and said, “There’s a line of makeshift claymores out there, sir. If these folks haven’t trampled them all.” He waved a hand at the slaves and held out the detonator. “Guess all we can do is try it and see.”
Scattered shots sounded as the last of the slaves dashed through the gap with more than a few of Viper’s men mixed in with them. Those few didn’t last long. Two tried to surrender but the escaped slaves had no mercy for their former masters.
Otha and Dikeme slid through the gap as Osaka’s cadets shoved the cars back in line. Viper’s army was closing fast and the volume of gunfire increased to a ceaseless roar. The 25 mm slugs from the Bradley’s chewed though the massed cars like locusts though a corn field and cadets fell screaming.
Michael closed the detonator and explosions shredded Viper’s front ranks and blew the treads off two Bradley’s. Mortar rounds began dropping into Viper’s army and the attack faltered. He waved the cadets back and they began a fighting retreat, stopping only to grab wounded comrades.
A crimson glow suffused the high, thin clouds east of the Rampart Range. A suitable color for a battlefield as sunrise became an added enemy for the Freeholders. Highlighting them as they retreated and making it hard to see their enemies who came at them out of the sun.
The redoubt at the base of Bluebird Hill, that massive pile of earth and broken concrete they called the land dam was their last hope.
Chapter 38: The Battle of Bluebird Hill
The men and women stood almost shoulder to shoulder in the trench that lined the summit of the land dam blocking Viper’s path. Their faces wore the battle-grimed, baggy-eyed and bloodshot expressions of those on their last legs. They’d beaten off three full on attacks and countless probes, suffered harassing fire and sniper fire, been raked by 7.62 mm and 25 mm rounds from enemy Bradley’s and suffered the occasional lucky hit from Viper’s sole remaining, and thankfully terribly inept, mortar crew. Bodies and parts of bodies littered the slopes below them and the stench of coppery, blood-soaked earth, voided bowels and cordite filled their nostrils.
“We’re running low on ammo again,” Michael said. He laid his hand against Ellen’s cheek and leaned in for a quick kiss.
“Any idea when we’ll get the rest of it?” Ellen asked, in her eyes a silent plea.
“Jim and Denise said they’d try to make it back before dark but we’ll see. Thank God they got here with the first half,” Michael said. “Without it we’d never have beaten off the first blitz. But as to the rest, it’ll get here when it does.”
Ellen nodded and sagged against him. “Sorry,” she said as she pushed herself erect. “So what do we have left.”
He shook his head slowly. “I have two magazines for my AR and a pocketful of rounds for the .357 and I doubt most of the others have that much. Then we’re down to bows, crossbows, machetes, knives and Molotov’s. Terrell and Don snagged some surgical tubing from Doc Lewis and came up with a super slingshot for the Molotov’s. We’re hoping we can bag the Bradley’s with them, maybe hit the massed troops before they charge.”
“Let’s hear it for the Molotov’s,” she said. Already a black, smoky pall from expended cocktails hung over the battlefield, stinging eyes and drying mouths.
Suddenly she nudged him and tilted her head toward Otha and Dikeme who stood solemnly between Leona Perry and Mariko McKinley. “Those two look like redwoods standing between stumps.”
“Glad they’re on our side,” Michael said, with a shallow grin. “Kind of sad they walked all the way from New York only to end up in this mess, though.”
“Amen to that,” then, changing the subject and pointing toward the enemy she said, “I think they’re gathering for another push.”
Michael heard the Bradley’s fire up and agreed, but he also heard something else--the distant drone of a lawnmower. He looked up and spotted the Pegasus high above moving toward Viper’s lines.
“I think Aaron’s making a bombing run,” he said.
Sparkling objects were tossed from the tiny ultralight.
“What the hell?” Ellen asked, raising a pair of field glasses to get a better look.
“Pipe bombs,” Randy McKinley said, coming up behind them as several bombs burst in mid-air over the assembled troops. “Man, that magnesium tape makes a great timed fuse.”
At their questioning looks he said, “Aaron flew back and intercepted Cantrell’s supply column, grabbed as many bombs as he could and...well, you see the results.”
*
Chaos reigned in the enemy camp as the men broke formation and dove for cover, When it was clear the attack was over several were dispatched to fight fires and care for the wounded.
Viper walked among them, a bandage on his head where a piece of shrapnel had nicked him, helping with the wounded, trying to restore morale. It wasn’t easy. He knew if he turned back now his dream of a black civilization would die, but as he stared up at that damned man-made mountain…
He felt as seizure coming on and managed to say, “God is speaking,” to his assembled men before the voice in his head consumed him.
“Your enemies are low on ammunition,” it bellowed. As usual his followers were stunned by the change in his voice when Satan spoke though him. Always powerful, it now hammered through them like hot steel on an anvil, stiffening their resolve.
“Their will to fight fails them even as ours grows stronger. Their strength leaves them. Their vision grows dim.”
He paced through them now as they reassembled in ranks, touch
ing them, bolstering them with his presence and charisma. He pointed to the top of the barrier and it no longer seemed so large, so intimidating.
“They cower in their trenches, trembling in fear as death comes for them, as we come for them. And they are the only thing standing between us and every dream of power and riches we ever had. They would love to run from us, but I am holding them there so we can finish this.”
He picked up his AR-15, charged it and said, “To prove this I will lead you up that hill, where we will kill them all. We must kill them all. Let me hear you say it.”
“Kill them all,” they said.
“Kill!” he yelled, stomping his foot.
“Kill!” they roared and stomped theirs.
He raised a closed fist and they screamed, “Kill!” and stomped even harder.
Without another word he turned and started for the enemy.
*
Up in the trench line Michael, Ellen and the rest of the Freeholders stiffened as the chant echoed from the surrounding hills. “Kill!” Stomp! “Kill!” Stomp!
Ellen looked up and down the line and saw heads and rifles drooping and knew she must do something to get them back. So she threw off Michael’s restraining hand as she climbed out of the trench and stood where they could all see her, stood where the Bradley’s could range her with both their M242 25 mm chain guns and M240C 7.62 mm machine guns.
Her golden hair was dirty and stringy, her hazel eyes bloodshot and she had a smear of gun oil along the side of her delicate nose. Michael’s heart swelled and his eyes watered. She’d never looked more magnificent.
“Well,” she said, pointing at the racket. “I guess we kicked their behinds so hard last time they needed to psych themselves up but good for this effort.” She chuckled and was relieved to see heads coming up with fire in their eyes.
“I say we can kick their butts again!” She thrust her AR into the air and her people cheered. 7.62 mm rounds split the air around her as she dropped back into the trench.
“Missed me!” she yelled in triumph, and was rewarded with laughter up and down the line.
Michael gave her a quick hug and said, “Nicely done, but don’t do that again.”
She winked at him before turning to face the enemy and said, “Now you know how it feels.”
The M242’s opened up chewing into the top of the trench, keeping the defender’s heads down as Viper’s army advanced. Smoke grenades from the Bradley’s launchers provided a smoke screen limiting the defender’s visibility to under two hundred yards.
Michael knew the only sure way to shatter a human wave attack was with massed fire, preferably artillery or machine guns, but they didn’t have either. Maybe, just maybe, they had enough ammunition to shock the charge to a halt if they fired it all at once.
“Hold your fire until they hit the green marker,” he yelled. They had placed range markers along the slope, red at 400 yards, yellow at 300, white at 200 and green at 100. “Then pour everything you have into them. If we can knock enough of them down we can break their momentum.”
Terrell Johnson ran up and said, “I think we can get between two and three hundred yards out of our slingshot.”
“Just kill those Bradley’s,” Ellen said. “Start launching as soon as you think they’re in range.” She could hear them clanking up the base of the land dam less than 300 yards away and gave thanks the face of the dam was too steep for them to mount.
*
This wasn’t at all like the previous attacks, Viper thought. During the others they’d had to claw their way up the hill against machine gun and rifle fire, Molotov’s and pipe bomb grenades. This time they weren’t shooting so, as Viper led his men up the slope he angled toward the position the blonde dropped into. From the descriptions he had of the Freeholds leader he guessed that was her and he fully intended to kill her himself. He heard his men shouting, “Kill” with every step and as they climbed higher and still the enemy didn’t fire. His conviction grew. They were out of ammo, or nearly so. He was going to win this battle and all of Colorado would be his.
A Molotov sailed by well over his head and he heard screams from behind where it hit. Another flew past and one of his Bradley’s fell silent. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the vehicle burning. Other cocktails whipped by but he and his men were so close now nothing could stop them.
Then all the bullets in the world slammed into them and his front lines disintegrated. But he was untouched so he screamed, “At them!” and charged. A few more rounds thudded into his soldiers but soon those stopped and his men were falling with arrows in them. And then they were at the enemy’s trench, vaulting or weaving between the sharpened stakes and the slaughter began.
*
We should have retreated, Ellen thought as she fired her last round into her opponent. They were in the trench now, gunning down her people.
Michael pushed her out of the way as a man fired at her and with a slash of his Kabar opened the man’s throat.
“Grab that gun and use it,” he said as he whirled into them, Kabar in each hand, enemy blood flying with each cut. In the close confines of the trench his knives and his lightning reflexes worked faster than their guns.
Ellen picked up the AR, dispatched two men who dropped into the trench beside her, then hammered rounds at the men firing down into her people. A violent blow from behind knocked her to the ground and sent the rifle spinning. She saw a black-eyed man with a bandage on his head standing above her grinning and heard Michael scream, “Ellen!” She tried to move but couldn’t even breathe. A terrible pain blossomed in her breast.
“I am Viper,” the man snarled, “and I will drink your blood.” He leveled his rifle at her and cursed as one of Michael’s Kabar’s slammed into it and knocked it from his hands.
He pulled a combat dagger but Michael lunged between him and Ellen and deflected the blow. Knives flashed in the fading light, slashing, slicing, parrying as they dueled. They lunged, leapt back, ducked, twisted away and blocked each other at every turn as they danced their deadly duet back and forth along a ten foot stretch of trench.
Blood flowed freely from shallow cuts and nicks on both men. Michael was cat quick but Viper was slightly faster. He was also younger and fresher. Michael’s sole advantage was greater combat experience, which had led him to tie his black, Harley bandanna around his head as a sweatband before the battle began. It served him well now, absorbing the sweat that ran down his forehead. Viper was forced to retreat twice simply to wipe the sweat from his eyes, and both times Michael pressed him hard.
The sound of combat on either side of them faded as both men focused solely on the other, the only sounds they heard were the clash of their blades and their own labored breathing.
They thrust at each other then froze, as for an instant they stood face to face, each gripping the other’s knife hand. Muscles straining, beads of sweat popping out on their faces, unable to gain leverage in the blood soaked, slippery muck of the trench floor.
Viper stared into Michael’s golden eyes and ignored the tickle of fear in his belly. “You’re good,” he hissed through clenched teeth, “but I’m better, for Satan lives within me.” Power flowed into him and slowly his knife inched closer to Michael’s chest.
“Then you can join him in hell,” Michael gasped as he jerked Viper’s knife hand toward him, tugging Viper off balance and weakening the man’s grip on his right arm. He twisted his arm free and, even as Viper’s blade sliced along his ribs, plunged his Kabar deep into Viper’s guts. He ripped the razor sharp knife upwards through viscera and organs until the tip of the blade nicked Viper’s heart.
*
Farther along the trench, Dan Osaka and Dorsey McLeod fought back to back, armed with weapons taken from their enemies. Dan emptied a magazine and as he swapped it out a bullet ricochetted off the AR into his face and he crumpled. Dorsey stood over his commander firing two Beretta 9 mm’s as fast as he could pull the triggers until bullets riddled him
Otha Gladson stood rock solid, never panicking, even when their position in the trench was overrun. He gutted a man with his machete, snatched the man’s rifle and started firing. But it was Dikeme who cleared a space around them. Butcher knife in one hand and hatchet in the other, her sheer ferocity drove them back. She twisted and dove among them, her movements so fluid, supple and deadly they couldn’t draw a bead on her.
Tiny Mariko McKinley kicked her opponent’s knee cap and stabbed her last arrow in his temple as he tumbled past. She saw her husband Randy fall, shot through, then a blow to her head tumbled her into darkness. Before the soldier who shot her could finish her off Otha crushed his skull with a butt stroke.
*
Jim Cantrell galloped toward the sounds of battle, fearing he was too late when he saw Freeholders running.
“Stop them,” he commanded the men and women with him and they spread out and checked the Freeholder’s panicked flight. At least most still had their guns. He cut the lashings and flung the panniers from the first horse so violently the animal snorted and sidestepped away from him.
He smashed open a container and began passing out ammunition and pipe bombs as others in his supply column did likewise. Once they were rearmed he waved his arm forward and they raced toward the front lines.
*
Chad Bailey was being strangled to death when Dikeme snapped a kick to his opponent’s head that broke the man’s neck.
“Martial arts?” he croaked through his damaged throat.
“Ballet,” she replied, bending to help him up, “and modern dance.”
The Dying Time (Book 1): Impact Page 41
