Jess wondered when this was going to happen. Jason told her about how their son stood up to an angry mob, defending the girl. She wasn't sure quite how she felt, but she also knew it wasn't her decision.
"Well, his favorite food is Jason's spaghetti sauce, but that's a family secret," she said, with a smile. "Next would probably be fried pork chops."
The other woman smiled. "Any sides he likes…or doesn't like, maybe?"
"Steer clear of peas. It's not that he doesn't like 'em. He's allergic. It's not fatal or anything, but unpleasant for him."
Katie nodded. "No peas. Got it," she said, then spun on her heels. After a few steps away, she turned part way and said, "Are we still having class tomorrow?"
Jess nodded. "Absolutely."
"Good. I appreciate what Rick did and all, but I'm not crazy about needing help."
She stepped forward and put her hand on the younger woman's shoulder. "Darling, in case you missed it, Ricky needed a little help too. No shame in it from time to time. Just don't be needing it on a regular basis."
She nodded. "Yes, ma'am. I understand that. Unfortunately, it's the second time he's done it. Helped me that is."
Jess nodded again. "I heard. The thing is, you're not interested in being a victim, right?"
The younger woman nodded.
"Good. Ask Ricky to teach you how to shoot if you don't know already. Keep coming to class. Learn everything you can. Everyone needs protecting at some point in their lives. Maybe next time, you'll be protecting him."
Katie nodded, a broad smile stretched across her face. "Yes, ma'am. I like the sounds of that pretty good."
** ** **
Days had worn on as the militia made its way through the Tennessee mountains. Somerton was finally in sight.
Anxiety flooded through Jason as he looked down at what had once supposedly been a tiny community at the foot of the mountains. Now, it sprawled out in all directions.
In the core of the town were the pre-war buildings. Brick and wood sided structures sat side by side along carefully laid out streets. A small park appeared to still be well maintained.
Outside of the core, however, was a whole different world. Whereas New Eden had learned how to build houses without the supporting infrastructure of the pre-war world, Somerton had instead resorted to what could charitably be called shacks.
Mismatched pieces of plywood, nailed to old pallets or anything else that could give them structure, formed the bulk of the walls for these outer buildings. The roofs had once been car hoods, now overlapping one another like shingles. Rusted sheet metal ran along the peaks of the roofs, trying to bridge the gap between the two sides.
Slowly, the "army" made its way down through the thick vegetation. Fields of wheat butted up to the tree line and ran the entire quarter mile to the edge of town with a single "road" running through the middle of it.
Jason stood his position, trying to hide the sense of dread that had only grown since his talk with McDaniel.
The militia commander hadn't indicated any hard feelings, and been downright amiable every time Jason had talked to him. However, he also hadn't included Jason in on any of the planning for his operation.
Probably shouldn't have blown up like that at the briefing, Jason thought. Then again, it's not like I had a lot of choice. Someone had to say something.
Jason's job was to command the reserves. He'd been instructed to only deploy them with explicit orders, and he'd acknowledge those orders.
McDaniel and the cavalry burst out of the tree line on a dead run, pushing their animals as hard as they could toward Somerton.
So far, so good, Jason thought. He wanted to be wrong about all this, and prayed that McDaniel was right. The distinct lack of gunfire was a good sign.
In the middle of town, a church bell clanged its warning. Something like this had been expected, so none of the militia was concerned.
Suddenly, a roll of thundering gunfire erupted from the wheat fields on either side of the charge. Dozens of men fell from their horses. Another half dozen or so did their best to keep from being crushed as their horses collapsed beneath them.
Shit!
"All elements, stand by for orders," Jason called out as the roar of the enemy guns continued. Where the hell are you, you little bastards, he thought, scanning the wheat to get an idea of where the Somerton troops were. Oh, he knew they were on the flanks, but there was still nothing to shoot at.
Jason watched as McDaniel wheeled this cavalry to face the oncoming threat, forming one line each facing the side. Come on, Daryl. Get the hell out of there.
The cavalry troops fired down on the Somerton infantry. Jason prayed they had a better view of the enemy than he did, because otherwise they were just shooting wheat.
More and more of the New Eden cavalry fell. Men he'd known for years dropped like flies.
Infantry began pouring out of the fields, their focus on the cavalry. Dozens of men clogged the narrow road. At least I have something to fight!
"Infantry, open fire!" he bellowed. In an instant, he was rewarded with the booming reports of New Eden rifles.
The first wave of shots slammed into the Somerton troops like a hammer smashing a porcelain vase, leaving only a thin line between the cavalry and the safety of the tree line.
Come on! Punch through! Jason couldn't believe what he was watching as still more of his friends and neighbors fell to enemy gunfire. Somerton troops filled in where his men had opened up the possibility of retreat. Worse still, they knew the reserves were there and were shooting back now.
Fuck orders.
He turned to find the Cavalry reserve commander a few feet away. "Max? Take your men and hit them from the North. Punch a hole through to our guys. Meet up at rally point delta."
Max nodded and sprinted toward his horse, mounting it with inhuman speed. Jason knew that the man had heard not to deploy without orders, but only an idiot would follow that order now.
Jason quickly assessed the lay of the land, trying to formulate a plan. Somerton troops were now peeking up from the wheat, their black uniforms striking against the golden crop. His quick estimate was there were a butt load of them, and this was not going to end well.
"First and third squads!"
The commanders of those squads nodded. "Ben, take your men North as far as you can and still see these assholes on the road. Then lay on fire as hard as you can. Sam, you go South and do the same."
Both men nodded, then spun on their heels and ran back to their men. Jason watched for just a moment to make sure his orders were being followed, then swung his attention back to the chaos in front.
The Somerton troops were catching the worst end of the deal with their current exchange, but they also had a lot more people.
Jason's, on the other hand, at least had some cover and plenty of concealment from which to fire on the black-clad enemy. Not enough, as his own men were dropping far more often than he was comfortable with, but some.
He brought his own rifle up and joined his own fire to that of his men. "Just another day in the park, boys!" he yelled, an evil grin crossing his face. His voice held more confidence than he actually felt, but that was another of those facts he knew about leadership.
Now, if he could just get enough of his troops out alive.
** ** **
Conklin watched the battle through binoculars. Ramirez was calling the shots down below, and from what Conklin could tell, doing a hell of a job.
He looked at the enemy, finally dropping off their horses and using the big animals as cover. He checked each face, desperate to find one person in particular.
A chubby looking man with thinning hair seemed to be the one giving the orders, not Calvin. What the fuck? Where the fuck is Calvin? Conklin wasn't used to disappointed these days.
He continued to scan the battlefield. Some of his men were firing toward the trees. Casualties along that front were much higher as well. There's the bastard. Hiding in the trees. And to th
ink I considered you worthy.
The group in the midst of the ambush was dwindling quickly. They'd soon be wiped out, then Ramirez could turn his attention toward the tree line. Then I'll own you, he thought as an evil smile crossed his face.
"Sir?" a voice asked. Conklin sighed.
"What?"
"I'm sorry to interrupt, but these need your signatures right away." Conklin turned and studied the intruder. Short, skinny with a bulging Adam's apple, and beady eyes, he was the kind of guy Conklin would have dragged into a bathroom and flushed his head in a toilet back in high school. Unfortunately, people like that had their uses, and he'd learned to use them just fine.
He considered a moment. His first impulse was to send the man out, probably throw something just for the hell of it. Then again, it looked like Ramirez had everything well in hand.
"Put 'em on the desk. I'll get to them in a minute."
The man nodded a split second before Conklin turned his attention back to the battle. It was annoying that, of all the things to be lost in the war that bureaucracy wasn't one of them.
A flicker of motion out of the corner of Conklin's eye caught his attention. He brought his binoculars up and watched. Heh. I guess Ramirez should have seen that one coming.
** ** **
A chorus of ear piercing screams cut through the gunfire, jerking Jason's attention away from the enemy in front. Accompanying the screams was the rolling thunder of horse hooves ripping up the ground beneath them.
"Watch your shots," Jason shouted.
The cavalry reserves fired their pistols into the mostly unaware infantry in the northernmost field, their bullets like scythes reaping the dead. Those not killed by bullets were soon trampled by the four legged onslaught thundering down upon them.
Jason turned his attention back toward the infantry in front of him. The fight was almost monotonous at this point. He'd done everything he could think to do. Now, it was just killing. He'd found out through the years he was good at that.
From man to man, he settled the front site of the AK on a black uniform and squeezed the trigger. Adrenaline coursing through him, washing away the fear that should have consumed each man present.
Horses darted into his field of vision, staying his trigger finger. Enough of his people were dead as it was. The last thing they needed was blue on blue to top a perfectly bad day.
He shifted to a target south of where his relief force had smashed into the enemy. It was still a target rich environment, after all.
Round after round rocked the AK against his shoulder. Methodically he hunted down the men in black, ending them without remorse. No matter how many he and his people killed, however, there seemed to be more of the black-clad bastards to take their place.
Reluctantly, he lowered his rifle just a bit, enough so he could focus on the relief force. Max was in the saddle, helping men up on their. Others were being pulled onto already occupied horses.
"Keep 'em focused on us!" he bellowed, bringing the ancient rifle back up and firing again.
Mere moments. That's all it really took for Max's men to break through, gather the survivors, and begin their breakout. Jason knew it had just been moments with every piece of intellect he could muster.
It didn't matter.
Those mere moments stretched on for an eternity. Jason held his breath until Max and his men had completed the maneuver and were heading well away from harm.
"Alright," he muttered. Too many littered the field beyond the enemy, but a lot more were still alive. He grabbed a man by the shirt, pulling the other man closer. "Tell First Squad to pull back one hundred yards and hold."
The man nodded and ran toward First Squad in the north. Jason grabbed another. "Send Second Squad three hundred yards back." The militiaman seemed confused. "Go!" Jason ordered. He didn't need the man to understand the whys of the order, he just had to repeat it.
Fire from the north slowly trickled off a few minutes before the gunfire slacked from the south.
"Alright, here's the plan," he said as loudly as he dared. "We're done, but I'll be damned if these bastards run us all the way back to New Eden. When I give the order, we roll back. No one runs for it. We pull back, but we fight our way back. Everyone got it?"
Men nodded between shots, determined to keep the pressure up on the enemy. Easier said than done now that they had only one threat to worry about.
Fire in their direction intensified exponentially. Enough of this shit. "Okay, pull back," he called out.
Slowly, methodically, the militia moved back, firing at the battered enemy. Wounded men limped back as best they could, or found themselves being carried by their brethren. Unfortunately, there was no options for the dead.
Jason hated it. He hated the idea of leaving anyone behind. It wasn't in his nature, it was damn sure not what his father had practically beaten into him. However, no one lived this long in this world without having a strong pragmatic streak. Carrying the dead would get more people killed. No way around it. Especially since most of them were surrounded by the enemy.
When the retreating force hit the hundred yard mark, First Squad held the line. "Hold here until we're all past, then fall back another four hundred yards, got it?"
The First Squad commander nodded.
The militia slowly wove their way through the thick underbrush. Pursuit seemed to be slowing, but Jason wasn't taking any chances.
Walking in the woods is relaxing for some people, but those folks have never had to deal with an army intent on wiping you off of the face of the Earth also occupying the forest. Instead, the ragtag survivors jumped at every sound like skittish game.
For whatever reason, the pursuit had stopped.
Chapter 9
Conklin sat at his desk. Across from him, Ramirez stood, ramrod straight. The younger man's anxiety could be felt in the air.
"So, you failed to account for additional forces," Conklin said.
Ramirez nodded. "Yes, sir. I did. No excuse, sir."
"Body count?"
"Eighty-three, sir."
"Wounded?"
"Forty-six, sir."
"Enemy dead?"
Ramirez stood a little taller as he spoke, "Four hundred seventeen."
"Make no mistake, major. You fucked up," said, enjoying the other man's discomfort like a connoisseur with a fine Pinot Noir. "However," he continued, "you successfully defended the city and defeated the enemy in detail. Your mistake was the only hiccup in an otherwise excellent job."
"Thank you, sir," Ramirez.
"How many survived?"
"Unknown, sir. We didn't get a clear indication of how many held in reserves, so any estimate I give will be simply a guess." That was why Conklin liked the man. No bullshit, just a straight forward, honest answer.
"They pulled their own wounded?"
"Yes, sir."
"Commendable."
Ramirez said nothing. Conklin may have give his subordinate a vote of confidence, but he also knew that he'd trained the younger man well.
"I think we need to prepare a message for our friends in New Eden. Let's make sure Zulu Company is part of the festivities this time."
A malicious smile crossed the subordinate's face. "Yes, sir. It'll be my pleasure."
** ** **
Jason looked at the troops, the sullen faces looking back at him. They'd had their asses handed to them, and no one enjoyed that. It was a sharp contrast to the group that headed out just under a week ago.
He'd chosen this rally point because it was where the supply wagons had been left, along with a small compliment of men to guard them. Those men, confident of a successful mission, looked more dumbfounded than the survivors did.
Daryl McDaniel wasn't among the survivors.
"Sir?" a voice said, tearing him away from his own thoughts and bringing him back to the small clearing near an old state highway along the eastern side of a mountain.
Jason looked at Ben Richards, who'd commanded First Squad. "Sorr
y," he said.
Ben nodded. Jason knew they were all taken aback by what had happened to some extent or another.
"Alright, here's the deal. We've got wounded, and we're still too damn close to the enemy. We're going to have to load them up in the wagons and get moving."
Ben nodded again, this time more sullenly. Jason wasn't surprised, and couldn't say he blamed the other man either. They were tired and the sun was inching closer toward the horizon. That meant moving through the night.
Jason understood that, and really wanted nothing more than a good night's sleep, though he was sure sleep wasn't remotely possible. Unfortunately, what they wanted happened to be irrelevant.
Carefully, men began placing the dismounted wounded in the wagons where ever they could find space. Those wounded who could ride or walk, did.
A third, if that. That's all we've got left. His mind wandered home, already dreading the reception when they got back.
Once the wounded were fully loaded, they began the long, winding journey home. For the first twenty-four hours, they moved for as long as the infantry could manage, then stopped for only as long as necessary.
Jason sent mounted scouts forward as well as behind him, anything he could do to warn of any possible ambush. One per week was plenty for him.
After the first twenty-four hours, there were still no signs of pursuit. Jason called a halt and ordered the infantry to rest. The cavalry, he put on the first watch, but on foot.
Ben Richards approached him as he sat on a tree stump. "We got a plan?"
Jason shrugged. "Get home. Alive"
Richard squatted down, resting his forearms on his knees as he fiddled with a pinecone. "That sounds like one we can live with."
"That's the plan."
"I've got to ask though. What the hell happened?"
Jason looked around. He saw no one in earshot.
"I could tell you, but frankly I'd rather not speak ill of the dead until I don't have a choice."
Bloody Eden (Soldiers of New Eden Book 2) Page 8
