The day after: An apocalyptic morning

by Jessy Cruise

  "We're really going to win this thing," he said to Jack and Sherrie. "We're really going to."

  "You think so?" Sherrie, who was still winding in the napalm rope, asked hopefully.

  "I know so," Skip said. "They can't take another advance that costly. They simply can't. I'm amazed that they're still pushing forward as it is. They have to know that's it's useless."

  "Maybe they think they've gone too far to stop now," Jack suggested.

  Skip nodded thoughtfully. "Maybe," he agreed. "If so, they're making a very big mistake."

  With his philosophical musings now out of the way, Skip turned his attention to the other side of the battle, where Mick's group was still locked into an ongoing gunfight with the leapfrogging attackers. Over there the going had been even rougher, the advance even more costly, but amazingly enough, they were still pushing forward as well. They were now, with more than half of their number dead or incapacitated, approaching the 150-yard range as well.

  "Mick," Skip said into the radio, "are you still with me?"

  As it had been with Paula's, the transmission was filled with the background noise of gunfire. "I'm still here," he said. "I've got one dead and two wounded that need to be taken out. The enemy is making short hops but they're starting to get kind of close to us."

  "Understood," Skip said, watching as one group hit the mud and another began to rush forward. "I think it's time to pull back before you get any more casualties. I want you to withdraw to trenches..." he consulted his map for a moment, "33, 34, and 36. Start as soon as you can."

  "Copy that," Mick answered, unmistakable relief in his tone. "We'll be on the move in less than a minute."

  " Christine," Skip said next, "are you down there?"

  "Right here," she said immediately.

  "Have the squads on the right side of your deployment pull back to trenches 40 and 42. Keep the squads on the left side in place and help cover the withdrawal of Mick's platoon. As soon as they're all out of there, take the rest of your people over to trench 46."

  "Copy," she said.

  "Any wounded on your side?" he asked her next.

  "Negative," she said, obviously pleased by this. "We have zero casualties of any kind."

  "That's what I like to hear," he said. "There's a good chance you're gonna be on your own for a bit after this. It sounds like some of the wounded from the other sides are going to need medivac to EDH. I'll make it as quick as I can."

  "Squad two and three," Christine ordered over the tactical radio. "Prime directive time. Two to 40, three to 42. Plan B, now!"

  Plan B was the code for an immediate withdrawal, without the benefit of covering fire. It had been intended for a grave situation such as the militia advancing quicker than could be dealt with, but in this case, with those squads absent of any enemy contact, it seemed appropriate as well.

  The squad leaders of two and three both acknowledged her order and then went about initiating it. They slipped out of their trenches and headed towards the next complex.

  "Everybody else," Christine said to the remaining eight people in her own trench. "Keep plastering that group. Mick's platoon is withdrawing."

  The battered group of militia that was attempting to leapfrog its way up to Mick's position was about three hundred yards away on average. Far enough so that fire was not terribly accurate but close enough so that it did cause casualties. Christine and her people aimed out over the edge of their position at an angle and shot at anything that moved down there. There was a lot of movement.

  "What about us?" Kathy Smith, one of Christine's people, wanted to know.

  "We're pulling back to 46 as soon as Mick's out of there," she answered, giving her trigger a squeeze and sending four bullets down range.

  "How long?" Kathy asked. "They're gonna be awfully close to us if they take that trench before we can get out of here!"

  "As long as it takes," Christine said, watching as another dash began among the enemy. "And if you'd stop talking and start shooting, maybe we could slow them down a little bit more. Come on!"

  Kathy gave a nervous, sour look at the young girl that was in command of their fate but did as she was told. She aimed her semi-automatic AK-47 down towards the aggressors and squeezed off three quick shots.

  "Get around there!" Stinson yelled as the front group closed to within fifty yards of the trench. "Goddammit, flank them on that left side and get up on top of that position!" He leapt to his feet and waved his own men forward as he yelled this, feeling genuine excitement for once. They had not lost a single man on the last three charges. Not even one. In fact, it almost seemed as if the Garden Hill defenders had stopped firing altogether. It seemed that their covering fire was getting very accurate indeed.

  The front group scrambled around to the left side of the hill, their weapons ready. A few of them were firing upward towards the shredded sandbags that they could now see.

  "Come on, guys," Stinson yelled to his own half. "Move around to the right! Let's get the fuck up there and get this over with!"

  The enthusiasm was contagious. The fourteen men of his team rushed around to the flank of the nearer hill and then started up the steep slope, several of them falling down when they lost traction but quickly getting to their feet again. It was almost strange to not have bullets whizzing at them as they moved, to not hear the meaty thud of some unfortunate getting hit, to not hear the screams that followed. Above them and to the south, the helicopter was still hovering, watching over the events.

  Both groups reached the top of the hill at almost the same time. Once up there they closed in on the first of the trenches from the sides, their guns pointed at it, fingers tightened on triggers. Stinson wished for some hand grenades to help clear the way but that simply had not been in the Auburn inventory. They had had some of those tear gas guns and flash-bangs from the Sheriff's department but they had not carried them with them on this particular campaign.

  Stinson and the rest of them waited for the barrage of bullets to come flying at them as the terrified defenders in the trench made a final stand. They waited, but it never came. At last they were standing over the trench itself, twenty-eight men who had survived hell.

  "Son of a bitch," Stinson said, looking down at what was revealed.

  There was a dead body in the trench, that of a woman. There were hundreds of empty shell casings of various caliber. There were dozens of empty boxes that had once contained ammunition. There was a canteen that had a bullet hole in it. There were a few puddles of watery blood. Other than that, there was nothing, nothing at all but a bunch of muddy footprints. On the backside of the trench were more footprints and some slide marks. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the occupants had scrambled out the back a few minutes before.

  "Get over to those other two hills they were shooting from," Stinson ordered half of his men. "Check those trenches as well."

  Two of his squads, shaking their head in disgust, began to move unenthusiastically in that direction.

  "Stinson," Stu's voice demanded over the radio. "Answer me! Give me a fuckin report!"

  Stinson sighed, pulling out his radio. He had finally updated Stu just after the napalm attack, just before the final charge to the trench. Stu had agreed with his plan of action and had ordered him to carry it out. He keyed up now. "We're on the hill," he said softly. "No casualties taken in the advance. The enemy forces have pulled back."

  "You mean they ran away?" Stu said.

  "I mean they're not here," Stinson said. "Call it whatever you want. We have one body in this trench, no wounded, no weapons, no supplies. I have people checking the trenches on the other hills now as well."

  "Trenches?" Stu asked. "Did you say trenches?"

  "You heard me right," he replied. "They've got fucking trenches dug in these hills, complete with sandbags and a shitload of ammunition. And they aren't makeshift trenches either, they're almost as solid as the ones we have back in Auburn. That's why we had such a hard time hitting them."
>
  "Understood," Stu said, his voice sounding strangely gleeful. "And now that we've chased them out of their trenches, the going should be a lot easier now."

  Stinson didn't even bother answering that one.

  On the other side of the battle, Mick's last group was just leaving their trench to head for their new position. Their situation was just a little more perilous because John Whitcoff, one of Mick's men, had been hit just after the second third of the platoon had made their getaway. A bullet had come drilling through one of the firing ports and into his back, dropping him to the bottom of the trench.

  "Go, go," Mick ordered, firing his M-16 down at the advancing militia, the closest of whom were now approaching one hundred yards. "Get him down there with the others. Get a move on!"

  They hauled him out of the trench, not bothering to waste time putting him on a litter, and bodily dragged him down the hill. Mick kept firing down, thankful that Christine and her group were still in position on the next group of hills over. If not for them, they would've been overrun a minute or so ago.

  "Mick," Christine's voice said over the radio, "are you out of there yet? They're getting a little too close for comfort."

  "Pulling out now," he said. "We have another wounded man from the withdraw. Our last group is gonna be a little slow getting out."

  "Copy," Christine said. "We'll stay here and keep shooting at them as long as we can. But you need to go, now!"

  "Consider me gone," Mick said. He stowed his radio, fired the remainder of his magazine down at the advancing men, and then scrambled out the back of the trench. Five seconds later he was sliding down the back side of the hill on his butt.

  " Christine, what the hell are you doing?" Skip's voice asked over the VHF. "Get your ass out of there!"

  Christine fired a long burst before she picked up her radio. She keyed it up. "Mick's last group has a wounded man," she told him. "We need to keep them delayed as long as we can so they have a chance to get away!"

  "If you stay there much longer," Skip answered, "you are not going to be able to get away. You'll be in plain view of Mick's trench when you withdraw. If they go after you they'll be able to slip around in front of you."

  "No choice, Skip," Christine said. "We'll move out when Mick is clear."

  "Pull out now, Christine," Skip said. "That's an order!"

  "Just a few more minutes," she said. "Don't worry. We'll be all right."

  She continued to fire, ignoring further hails from him.

  "Goddammit!" Skip yelled. "What the fuck is she doing? This isn't the time for fucking heroics!"

  "She's always been kind of stubborn," Jack offered, watching as the attacking militia closed in on the empty trenches below.

  "Too stubborn for her own good. She's gonna have trouble when she pulls out of there. If she doesn't leave before they get to the top of that hill, there's gonna be no way they won't see her when she leaves."

  "It's her choice," Sherrie said, feeling the need to defend her.

  "Her choice yes," Skip agreed, "but she's risking her squad along with her." He keyed up the radio again. " Christine, get the hell out of there. Now!" No answer, just more flashes from her position. "Shit."

  The fire coming from the hill at their ten o'clock did have one significant effect on Lima's group of twenty-two attackers. It forced them to climb the hill from the right side only instead of attacking the trench from both sides as Stinson's group had done. They combined their two groups into one and made an end-run around that side, scrambling up through the mud and around the trees on the hillside.

  Like Stinson and company had before them they found nothing on the top but a trench full of expended shell casings, empty boxes, blood, and one dead body. But unlike Stinson's group, they had a good view of at least some of their tormentors when they reached the summit.

  Christine waited until the group they were firing at actually went out of sight on the far side of the hill before she ordered a cease-fire.

  "I hope we gave them enough time," she said. She turned to her people. "Let's go. Pull back to trench 46, as fast as our little legs will go."

  There was no dispute with this plan. They climbed out of the trench and started down the hill.

  "Shit on a shingle," Skip said, looking at the figures of Christine and her team moving south from the top of the hill. "I hope those fuckers on Mick's hill are tired of the chase by now. If they're not, there's no way that Christine's gonna get away without shooting it out with them."

  "They're probably tired," Jack said, watching them to see what they would do. They seemed to be checking out the trench at the moment, ignoring the trenches on the adjoining hills where Mick's other squads had been stationed. "And they need to clear all of those hills first, don't they?"

  "They don't have to do anything," Skip said, taking a quick glance at his instruments and then continuing to watch the events unfold far below.

  "Sir, over there!" one of Lima's men yelled, pointing at the downside of a hill about 350 yards away. "The bitches that were shooting at us are moving down that hill!"

  "Shoot at them," Lima said instantly.

  A second later twenty-two guns were firing at the muddy figures that were moving to the south. Lima himself expended an entire clip at them, knowing that the range was quite extreme for these weapons, but also knowing that with that much lead flying there was a better than even chance that at least one slug would find one body. It was a good gamble.

  The unlucky person was Rhonda Bellingham, one of the town's many single women. She had once been part of Jessica's inner circle back in the old days, a blue-blooded lawyer's wife. After the first battle of Garden Hill she had converted to one of the most fervent supporters of Skip's reforms in security and had been one of the first to go through his advanced training class when it was offered. She had fought bravely and well in the second battle of Garden Hill and she had been just starting to think that everything was going to be all right when two bullets slammed into the high part of her back, just to the right of the spine.

  She squealed in pain, feeling a burning spread throughout her chest and suddenly her legs would no longer hold her up. She went down, face-first into the mud. "I'm hit," she yelled. "Oh God, I'm hit!"

  "Shit," Christine barked, stopping in her tracks. She looked down and saw the bright red flowers of blood spreading out on Rhonda's rain gear. She kneeled down next to her and rolled her up, hoping that the wounds weren't fatal. "Rhonda? How bad?" she asked.

  Rhonda's face was a mask of misery and fear. Tears were running down her eyes. "I can go on," she panted. "Just help me to my feet."

  Christine looked at the rest of her troops and saw that they had all stopped with her. They had stopped and bullets from the enemy were still plinking into the ground and whizzing by all around them. "Barb," she yelled at Barbara Hennesy, one of her better soldiers, "help me with her. The rest of you, get the hell out. Keep going as fast as you can!"

  Barb came over to help pull Rhonda to her feet but the rest of her team hesitated, clearly not wanting to abandon anyone.

  "GO!" Christine yelled, reaching down and grabbing Rhonda by the armpit. "Go before you get your asses shot off!"

  They went, most of them giving one last glance behind, but not lingering any longer. Within twenty seconds they were all out of sight behind the next rise.

  "Come on, Rhonda," Christine said, pulling her up. With the assistance of Barbara, they got her to her feet. Before they could turn to run however, another bullet found a mark. There was a wet thud and suddenly Barbara's head rocked violently back. Blood and brains sprayed all over Christine and Rhonda, splattering their faces, stinging their eyes. Barbara slumped ungracefully to the ground.

  "Oh God, Barb!" Christine cried in horror. It was easy to see that there was nothing to be done for her.

  "Barb?" Rhonda squeaked, her breath getting shorter by the moment. "Oh Jesus. Can we help her?"

  "There's nothing to be done," Christine said, feeling tears
in her eyes. "Come on. We need to get out of here before they cut us off."

  Without so much as a glance at their fallen companion, Christine and Rhonda started heading for the next set of trenches. Christine was practically dragging the wounded girl and they weren't moving very fast at all.

  The main group of Garden Hill people had already passed beyond the first hill but the two stragglers in the rear, one of them obviously helping a wounded companion, were still in range and visible. As such, Lima's group, encouraged by the downing of one of the others, continued to shoot at them. They staggered onward defiantly, moving at a snail's pace, but somehow, almost miraculously, they weren't being hit by the dozens of bullets that were being fired at them every second. It was only as they passed around the barrier of the first hill and out of sight that Lima realized that a mistake had been made on his part.

  While they had been plunking away at the two women in the rear, they had missed their golden chance to hook around to the front and cut off the main group as they retreated. By now, that group would be well beyond their reach.

  "Shit," Lima said, lowering his weapon and cursing himself for his tunnel vision. He had just blown a chance to make a major ding in the enemy.

  "What now, sarge?" one of his men asked him. "Should we go clear those other trenches?"

  Lima licked his lips a little bit. "First squad can do that," he said, coming to a snap decision. "Second squad, come with me. We're gonna go capture those two bitches that we were just shooting at. Come on, they can't get too far moving as slow as they are."

  For once nobody argued or whined about their assignment. Everyone was up for capturing a few of the enemy. Especially when they were females.

  Lima personally led the group as they scrambled down the far side of the hill and cut to the right to hook around in front of them.