Bloody Eden (Soldiers of New Eden Book 2)

by T. L. Knighton

  The two exchanged glances, then slowly shook their heads.

  "I've got jack," Latham said.

  "Same here," answered Holliman.

  "Okay, then the plan is to stay put. We're a stone wall. Just one thing."

  "Yeah?" Holliman asked.

  "Don't get shot." Jason smiled.

  "Sounds like a plan, then," Latham joked.

  ** ** **

  The preparations had all been made. Latham's mad bomber had rigged some surprises to cover their flanks. Jason didn't know how much dynamite the man had carried but he'd already blown up a few of Conklin's men as it was. The only stipulation he'd given the man this time was to use it all.

  Latham checked his watch. Conklin's men should be there soon. Jason had scouts out front to keep an eye out just to be sure.

  "How much longer?" Jason asked.

  "Well, if they're trying to be punctual, about ten minutes," he asked.

  "Somehow, I suspect they won't be. So rude," Jason said.

  Latham nodded. "No manners anymore. That's the problem with people these days."

  "I swear, it's enough to make a man violent."

  "Tsk, tsk. You know, violence isn't the answer."

  Jason smiled. "I know. I'm going to get that question wrong on purpose."

  "Coming in," someone down the line shouted.

  Jason focused down range. Two men ran toward them at an all out sprint. He recognized them as the two forward scouts.

  "They're comin'," the scout said, jumping over their cover and sliding to a stop. "A whole pile of 'em."

  "How far?"

  The man shook his head. "A whole lot closer than I'd like 'em to be. Probably just a few minutes."

  Jason nodded and sent the men back to their unit.

  "You know," Latham said, "it's so nice to deal with gentlemen these days. I mean, sure he's a sick, sadistic bastard tyrant, but at least he isn't uncouth."

  "Of course. It's the little things, don't you think?" Jason couldn't help but picture Jess, shaking her head at the conversation, her red hair swinging behind her, but a smile stretched across her face. Unfortunately, the bastard responsible for her not being around was coming.

  Jason rested his rifle on the fallen tree. Considering the little time they had, and how tired everyone was, they'd put together a respectable fighting position. Hasty foxholes, supported by logs, formed the first line of defense. Directly behind them were larger logs that served as cover for the second line. Small gaps had been left between the logs to pull the wounded back.

  The ammo runners were gone. Mark Hernandez didn't like it, and Jason could respect that. The man might not be a fighter in his core, but he damn sure wasn't a coward either. For a decade, he'd been convinced there were only two kinds of people. Hernandez showed him just how wrong he'd been.

  The first black uniform wove through the trees. Probably scouts. At least, that's what I'd do.

  Jason aimed and fired twice, both rounds hitting the scout.

  Around him, men looked at him in surprise. "What?" he asked as he looked at the incredulously. "Did you really think he wasn't going to find us?"

  A round of nervous laughter broke out.

  "Alright, everyone. Hold your fire until I give the order. Take aim, shoot to kill, all that stuff." He looked around. "Gentlemen, it's been a pleasure."

  A black suited soldier in a white flag approached. "I have orders to meet with Jason Calvin, if he's still alive."

  "What do you want?" Jason called back.

  "Mr. Calvin?"

  "Yeah. So, what do you want?"

  "It's traditional for you to meet in the middle of the field under a flag of truce."

  "If Conklin ain't there, I'm not coming. You'll understand if I'm less than trusting of the asshole."

  The man stood tall, apparently proud to wear that black uniform and apparently feeling insulted on his commander's behalf. "General Conklin asked me to tell you that this would be a hell of a time for a surrender."

  Jason seemed to consider for a moment. "Tell the General he's right. We accept, but you're going to have to put your weapons down and march about two miles in the other direction."

  "You know that's not what he's talking about," the messenger said, clearly getting aggravated.

  "Yeah, I know, it's an old joke, but so is Conklin, so all of you black shirts can kiss my lily white ass!"

  A round of whoops and catcalls met his declaration. Jason didn't like to admit it, but he was enjoying the attention.

  The soldier turned and stormed off.

  "I'd say he didn't like your words," Latham said.

  Jason shrugged. "Why? I mean, they were all from the heart. That's got to count for something." He smiled. He knew he was hiding his fear behind false bravado, but the men around him didn't, and that might make a difference down the road.

  The black shirts got closer. They were taking their time. Of course, there was no reason they should, either. As far as they knew, they had all the time in the world. Of course, Jason figured they did anyways.

  Two hundred yards now, as best as he could tell. They were trying to stay off the roads, which wasn't surprising. They filed down the sparse forest that lined the abandoned highway.

  For four days, they'd bled Conklin and his men, and now it all came down to this. One hundred fifty yards now. Come on, you bastards. Just a little closer.

  Jason selected his target and rested his sites on the man as he moved through the trees. One hundred twenty-five yards, and moving closer. Jason focused on his breathing.

  One hundred yards. Say goodnight, asshole. Jason squeezed the trigger. The man dropped a split second later.

  The woods erupted once again as the shooting ripped through the brush and brambles.

  Chapter 19

  Conklin was beyond sick of this crap. His troops had been eaten alive for four days. Morale was non-existent. Supplies were getting low, though more should be coming any time now - he was damned pissed at the delay.

  Now, Calvin's troops looked like they were dug in between two fairly steep slopes. For half a hour, they'd thrown men at them, trying to pry them out.

  Previous patterns said they'd have pulled back by now, but that wasn't happening. Conklin looked at the map unfolded on the ground in front of where he knelt. We're getting close to home.

  As furious as Conklin was, he also recognized that he'd finally found someone who could give him a fight. He'd always wanted a challenge on the battlefield, but there wasn't one. Nowhere he'd been, none of the would-be warlords he'd crushed, none of them could give him a challenge.

  Now, right in front of him was the first worthy adversary he'd ever had. Part of him knew he should have been thankful. Instead, he was just pissed and wanted to crucify this man.

  Conklin took a deep breath. He recognized the rage taking him over. It happened more and more these days, and he couldn't afford it. Command required a cool head. If only I had that little bitch still. I'd be feeling a whole lot better.

  He looked at the map, and old topographical map of the region. He looked to the two men with him. "Barry, take your unit up and try and hit their left flank. Steve, you take the right."

  Both men acknowledged their orders and went off to carry them out.

  Conklin tried to see if they were having any impact on Calvin's lines. He stood up, pulled out his binoculars, and looked. Nothing. The trees that provided cover to Calvin's men also made it nearly impossible to see any dead or wounded.

  Trails of his own men, wounded by the deadly fire. Many others were stacked to the side. Damn son of a bitch is bleeding us to death. Too bad for him I've got a lot more blood to lose.

  For all that the Army taught him, they'd been wrong about men. They were a resource, renewable and expendable. He didn't mind dead men. What he minded was that he wasn't already through their line and on the way to that town.

  Really could have used those mortars, he thought, then immediately regretted it as the rage threatened to
explode once again.

  "Where the hell is Ramirez?" he asked. He hadn't seen his second in command for some time. All around him, men shrugged or shook their head. No one had a clue where he was.

  Suddenly, the ground shook as a massive explosion rocked the area, followed by the echoing legion of trees collapsing. Conklin immediately looked toward the noise. It was one of the slopes beside the road.

  Moments later, another explosion came from the opposite slope.

  "Son of a bitch!" he screamed. "Will someone get me that worthless son of a bitch's head?"

  ** ** **

  "How long?" Jason asked.

  "Hour and a half," Latham replied.

  Jason nodded, then keyed the throat mic. "Eden One to Eden Two."

  Silence.

  "Well, so much for that," he muttered. Then, into the throat mic again, "Eden One to Eden Two."

  "Eden Two, go ahead."

  "I hope to God you guys are getting close. There aren't a whole lot of us left."

  "Copy that. We're making best time. Don't worry, Pop. We'll be there."

  "I just hope I am," he said, then turned his attention toward the onslaught. Another explosion erupted on the side of the mountain. They'd all grown used to those. At least a dozen more since the first pair went off. The plan had worked though. Their flank hadn't been touched.

  He aimed and fired, dropping another soldier. He didn't know how much longer they'd last. Based on the estimate from before the battle, Rick would be here in half an hour. Unfortunately, they'd gone from almost two hundred men to just seventy-five still combat effective. They were holding, but damned if he knew how.

  "So…um…any plans?" Latham asked, a hopeful tone in his voice.

  "Well, I'm not sure that the whole 'not dying' thing is going to be really practical right now."

  "Well shit. I made an appointment for a pedicure," Latham said as he fired. Jason saw the impact on the black shirt's face, dropping him immediately.

  Jason began firing, letting his subconscious do most of the heavy lifting. He picked a target, he fired at the target. Time and time again, he found himself thanking his father's ghost for all those hours at the range. Luckily, he'd loved it. Still, his father demanded perfection with his technique, and it was saving his life right now.

  This battle wasn't a chess match. The last four days might have been to some extent, but not this. This was a slugfest. The only hope they had was either. to make Conklin bleed more than he was willing to, or pray for a miracle.

  "Eden Two to Eden One."

  Jason steadied himself for bad news. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst, all that jazz. "Go ahead," he said.

  "Tell your boys to keep your heads down."

  Jason keyed the mic, ready to ask why. Before the words could escape his mouth, he heard thunder behind him. The sky was as blue as could be.

  His eyes shot wide in sudden realization. "EVERYONE DOWN!" he shouted, then dropped behind the log an instant before the pounding hoofs came into view.

  The newly arrived cavalry leapt over their fighting position, whooping and hollering. Gunfire blasted from the horde now charging Conklin's position.

  The flood of horses finally gave way toward a mass of infantry flowing out of the same trees. A familiar man walked up to him, calmly.

  "Told you we'd be here," Rick said, holding his hand down.

  Jason smiled. "You could have clued me in on the surprise." He took the offered hand and stood up.

  He turned and surveyed the battlefield. Conklin's men had turned in and run.

  "Don't worry," Rick said. "They won't get far."

  "Oh?"

  The younger man nodded. "We've got cavalry on the move to cut them off. Too bad the bastard is all infantry right now."

  Jason smiled, wearily.

  "Come on," Rick said. "Let's get your guys heading back toward town."

  Shaking his head, Jason said, "No. Not yet."

  Rick nodded.

  Chapter 20

  Lines of black shirted men walked single file, their hands on their heads. Surrounding them were men in an odd mix of clothing, nothing matching except their demeanor.

  "So," Jason said, "you want to clue me in on what the hell happened?"

  "It was Sully's idea. While we were gone, they reached out to the other settlements. Told them about you, what all happened, all that. Said we needed to unite against this new threat, yadda yadda yadda."

  "And it worked?"

  Rick looked around, then back at his father. "Obviously."

  "A onetime alliance?"

  The younger man shook his head. "Probably not. Simon apparently pointed out to them that people like Conklin were out there, and uniting together as one entity gave us a much better chance at fighting them off. Pretty much everyone else agreed, so welcome to the all new TVA."

  "Really?"

  "The Tennessee Valley Alliance."

  "Well, that's better than what I thought you were going to say. Never been real good with authority."

  "Runs in the family."

  Jason laughed briefly, then looked around at all the dead and wounded. Doctors and other trained personnel were rendering aid where they could, though many were beyond help. Many on both sides.

  "Damn shame we keep having to do this kind of thing."

  Rick nodded.

  "Why don't we find the son of a bitch responsible?"

  "Sounds like a fantastic idea," Rick said, a feral grin taking shape.

  The two men found Terry Conklin sitting on the ground, his legs crossed in front of him, his hands tied behind his back.

  Al Holliman stood in front of his former commander, his arms crossed as the man railed against him. "You're a damn traitor, you know that? You really think you're going to get away with this?"

  "Actually," Rick said as they walked closer, "they did."

  Conklin craned his neck around, trying to look at the younger man.

  "What's the word?" Holliman asked.

  "Milton's been on the horn with Somerton. The resistance's plan actually worked. Most places at least. Somerton is completely in their hands. So are most other towns"

  "Impossible!" Conklin barked.

  "Where's Ramirez," Jason asked.

  Holliman shook his head. "Best we can tell, he took some people loyal to him and bolted. I guess he didn't like this piece of shit too much either."

  Conklin laughed. "He's loyal to me. He'll get me, and then we'll start laying waste to your little project here."

  Jason and Rick pulled their side arms simultaneously, leveling the weapons at Conklin's face. "No, you won't," Jason said.

  A half dozen people had assembled around Conklin. They all took a step back.

  "What…? You can't!" Conklin stammered, his eyes wide, the pupils dilated until they looked black.

  "We can't what? Kill you? Why the hell not?" Jason asked.

  "After all, you targeted our home. Killed my mother. Could have killed my little sister. Did you even care?"

  "But…collateral damage. It happens in war!"

  Jason laughed. "War? Is that really the way you want to go with this? You attacked us. We responded, but there were no declarations of war. You know that. You murdered innocent people, and now you're trying to get out of it by saying it happens in war?"

  He lowered his weapon. Jason said, "I'm not going to kill you."

  Relief flooded Conklin's face.

  "Oh, I wouldn't get too excited if I were you. You see, Somerton probably has a list of charges a mile long for you. Scott?"

  Scott Latham nodded. "I'm partial to starting with the murder of Mindy Latham"

  "Ouch," Jason said. "And I'm willing to bet that the good people of Somerton are likely to be fans of capital punishment."

  Latham nodded.

  "So, you see, you're a dead man either way," Jason said. He turned and saw that Rick's pistol was still pointed at the man. "Rick…"

  "I want this piece of shit dead," the younger man whispe
red.

  Jason nodded. "I know. I do too. But, I think Reverend Hardesty might have been right. This isn't the way to do it."

  "I don't care."

  "Then how about for Somerton?"

  Rick glanced at his father for a moment, then back at Conklin. "What?"

  "They need him. They need to try him. They need to convict him. Otherwise, there's always going to be an emptiness in them."

  "They going to try him for Mom? Huh?" Rick said, his voice rising.

  "Yes," Latham answered. "He will be. He'll be tried for a lot of dead people. He's got a lot of blood on his hands."

  Rick nodded. Slowly, the pistol lowered. As he holstered the weapon, Rick leaned forward. "You'd better hope they execute you. You see, they'll be quick. If you walk? I won't be."

  Jason smiled at the condemned man. "One thing I raised my kid to be is honest. I'd bet on it if I were you."

  Rick swung his weapon up in an instant, the report of his Glock as deafening as it was sudden. Conklin cried out in pain, his legs bleeding profusely.

  The younger man looked around at the stunned crowd. "What? I didn't say I was going to make it easy to try and get away, now did I?"

  ** ** **

  Jason slapped another hunk of mud against the form. His new home was taking shape. They'd opted to keep the same footprint, but the shape was a bit different. The odd domes were difficult to achieve, and he need a roof over his head as quickly as possible.

  A dozen people followed his lead, slapping mud on the form. The rough walls were done, and now it was just a matter of prettying the house up a bit.

  It wasn't the house he and Jess had shared, but he wondered if that was for the best. She'd been dead for several months, but it still felt like yesterday to him. He suspected it would for some time, but that was alright.

  Rick walked through the vacant doorway, building a door one of a million other things he had left to do.

  "So," Jason said, "you hear yet?"

  His son smiled and nodded.

  "You're in?"

  "You're looking at the newest TVA Ranger."

  "Alright!" Jason exclaimed. The new Ranger service was a hybrid law enforcement agency for the area between towns and military cadre. The perfect place for a hardened veteran like him.