Rob grabbed the man by the back of the neck, keeping the knife blade pressed tight against his throat. In this position, there was nothing for the traitor to do but follow Rob's lead. "You're the one who set this up, so you’ve had personal contact with these Chinese bastards. We both know they're here to kill me and my men. So if I'm going out, I'm taking your ass with me." Rob turned and forcibly marched the quisling straight through the open courthouse door.
Inside the darkened building, he could see a shadow at the far end of the wide hallway. "Rob! This way, man. We found the basement!"
Shouts from outside propelled Rob and his captive down the hallway at a jog. As Rob turned the corner at the far end of the dark hallway, he glanced towards the bright light of the open front doors. He could see silhouettes moving around out there. The Chinese had arrived. A heavy door slammed. The sound of gears slowing down accompanied the screech of air brakes, rolled down the corridor towards Rob. In a few moments, the building would be crawling with Chinese soldiers.
"Rob! What the hell?" cried Lance's voice over the radio. "You still with me, man? You got what looks like at least two platoons of Chinese on the North and East side of the courthouse. Hope you guys found a good hiding place."
Rob turned the corner and found the stairwell down to the basement of the courthouse. He could see the nuclear fallout shelter sign, an old rusted metal plaque that had been embedded into the wall 60 years before. He removed the knife from the Hallwood's neck and gave him a hard push which sent the man tumbling down the stairs with shouting in pain. One of the Regulators laughed and caught him at the bottom. At a nod from Rob, he threw Hallwood into the darkness beyond to the satisfying sound of cursing.
Rob keyed his radio from the top of the stairs and said: "We’re all right. What's it look like outside?"
"You got a shit-ton of ground troops circling around the building. They got the place surrounded now." Rob could hear the resignation his friend’s voice.
Rob closed his eyes and sighed. He leaned against the doorway to the stairwell and looked up at the darkened ceiling before keying the mic on the radio. "Well, we had a good run, didn't we?" He leaned around the corner and peered carefully down the hallway. Lance’s reply was too static-filled to understand.
Hollow footsteps echoed in the empty building. More than one Chinese soldier had entered already. They were checking rooms, working their way toward the far end of the hallway of the building. Ed Franks jogged up the steps behind Rob. He knelt next to the doorway, and started fiddling with something in his hands. Rob squatted next to him.
"What's that?"
In the darkness, he couldn't see the expression on Ed's face, but he could hear the smile in the man's voice. “Oh, just a little surprise for our visitors. Found some of this shit in one of the ammo dumps that we took. Never really had a use for it until now."
Rob stepped back as Ed set up a green box attached to the door frame on the other side of the stairwell. He strung a wire between both and then attached a smaller box to the wall with a soft metallic click. He turned and looked up at Rob. "Okay, she's all set. First man who touches this wire is gotta be blown into Kingdom Come. With any luck, it'll bring the ceiling down on top of anybody who's right behind them. Maybe it'll seal us in?"
Rob put his hand on Ed's shoulder. "It's a good idea. Let's see how many of these sons of bitches we can take with us, right?"
"Fuck’n A, Bubba."
"One, you got a group of guys standing around the front of the courthouse now. Looks like officers." The clear transmission echoed down the hallway and startled Rob.
As he descended the stairwell into the darkness of the basement, Rob keyed his radio "Copy that Overwatch, we got a few of them inside the building with us. Ed just rigged up a little surprise for ‘em."
Rob took a position behind an overturned desk with a clear line of sight toward the end of the stairwell. "Overwatch, make sure you get word back to camp—rustle everybody up and get them the hell out of here. You're in charge now."
Rob didn't realize how those words would affect him. The mantle of leadership was suddenly lifted off his shoulders. All the Regulators he had been worrying about, all the families—everything—it was all Lance's problem now. He figured he only had a few more minutes left of life anyway. No sense in worrying about things he couldn't change.
The only thing Rob Gunn had to focus on now was killing as many Chinese as possible soldiers before he died. It was a rather liberating thought. His entire life had been boiled down to one purpose.
In the darkness of the courthouse basement, he could not see any faces. All he could see were dark shapes against a darker background. He could only hear the movement of his men: the rustle of supplies, the shifting of heavy furniture and boxes as they tried to create some cover for themselves. He could hear weapons primed, magazines slammed home, and ammo checks called out.
The last stand of the Regulators.
Rob smiled in the darkness. He liked the sound of that. For a brief moment, he wondered if General Custer was up there somewhere looking down on him—or perhaps looking up, he thought with a chuckle—urging him on to glory.
"Men," he said quietly. He waited for the rustling noises to dissipate. He wasn't the best at making speeches, but he figured this was about the time for making one. When overpowering silence had enveloped him like a death shroud, he started to speak again.
"You all know me, you know I don't give long speeches. But I want to say…” he cleared his throat. “I want to tell you that it has been an honor protecting our country with you. And whatever happens in the next few minutes, I want you to forget about all of your worries. Everything you ever worried about in your entire life, all the stress, all the anxiety. Just let it go. The only thing that matters to each and every one of us in the next few minutes is how we are going to leave this world.” He paused to collect his thoughts.
“I suppose I don’t need to tell you there’s no hope of escape. Building’s surrounded—you all heard Lance. The only thing we can do now is stand like men, defend our homes and our land to the very last breath, and take a few of them with us." Rob’s words were met with grim silence. “All right then.”
Rob settled into his position and rested his rifle across the top of a desk. He aimed at the light patch of darkness in front of him that denoted the stairwell.
"Think this is how those boys felt at the Alamo?" somebody said quietly in the darkness.
A few chuckles rippled around him and more than one man grunted his agreement.
"Yeah," Rob said. "I reckon so. There's no small comfort in that, boys. If Davy Crockett and Jim Bowie can go out in a blaze of glory, then so can the Regulators."
The men cheered as one.
A sharp voice from the top of the stairwell got everyone's attention. The basement became deathly quiet. The few regulators who had laser sights switched them on and red dots appeared on the wall at the base of the stairs.
Rob could barely make out some indistinct noises from the top of the stairwell. It almost sounded like two people discussing something. They weren’t speaking English—that much was clear.
Rob adjusted his grip on his sweat-slick rifle. More than ever, he wished that he had his old lever-action with him. A sadness enveloped him suddenly with the thought that he’d never hold that old friend in his hands again. He shifted the safety off and smiled at the metallic click that let him know his AR-15 was now live.
"Good hunting, Regulators!" he called out.
Before anyone could respond, there was a terrible explosion at the top of the stairs and a blinding white flash poured down into the basement. For a split second, the light was enough to illuminate the faces of the men around him. The world quickly collapsed into blackness, lit only by the afterimage of the explosion in Rob’s eyes. The only sound he could hear was the ringing in his ears. He shook his head and began to hear screams. He squinted in the darkness and spotted movement—then realized that it was just smoke rolling
down the stairs.
He smiled. The Chinese had discovered Ed’s welcome mat.
LANCE PEERED AROUND ONE of the large pine trees that he’d sat next to all afternoon and used his binoculars to scan the scene in the valley below. He was not in a good mood. Lance hadn't been able to raise Rob on the radio since he’d announced that they were heading down to the basement of the courthouse. Now, the Chinese swarmed over the building. There were men on the roof, the sides, and men behind it—they were everywhere. Unless there was some sort of secret tunnel under the building, Lance knew that Rob and the Regulators trapped inside were doomed. There would be no getting out of this one.
The last stand of the Regulators.
Lance ground his teeth and punched at the soft loamy dirt in frustration. It had all happened so quickly. It had to have been Hallwood. Rob had mentioned he’d been nervous about the whole thing from the beginning—so did Lance for that matter, but he didn’t protest the decision. Damn it all. I should have stopped the mission…I should have spoken up…
Lance leaned back against the tree and stared at the sky, trying to think what to do next. No matter which way he went, he always ended up at square one. There was no easy way out of the mess Rob had walked into.
Rob's last orders had been to rally the Regulators and escape to the north. Seeking shelter wherever they could, they would become just another group of vagrants. Well-armed vagrants, but homeless wanderers nonetheless. Lance closed his eyes and tried to think. What could he do?
If he called out all the Regulators, including the Rapid Action Forces that were patrolling the woods on the edge of town, he could only muster perhaps 25 men. If Agent Levin was willing to help out, that number would be bolstered up closer to 50 or 60. He looked down into what was left of Pine Bluff and counted the number of Chinese that were milling about.
There were at least 15 vehicles down there and as far as he could tell, close to a hundred men. A small gaggle of what had to be officers were standing near the steps of the courthouse, behind one of the larger APCs that sprouted clusters of sensors and antennae. That had to be the command vehicle.
Oh, what I wouldn't give for a few RPG's right about now, Lance thought darkly.
He picked up the radio, an idea forming in his head. If there was no way for Rob to get out, maybe there was a way for Lance to get in. He cued the mic on his radio, "Base, Overwatch."
After a few seconds, a static-filled reply came back: "Overwatch, Base. Go ahead."
"Did you catch any of that last transmission from One?"
"Catch any of what?"
"You didn't hear any of Rob’s last transmission?"
"Negative, Overwatch. His usual radio is being recharged. I'm looking at it right here. He took one of the backups—it’s off-the-shelf, FRS only—I don't think it gets more than a half mile. There's no way we could pick up a signal from here."
Lance cursed under his breath. "All right, well the shit has officially hit the fan." He spent the next few minutes explaining what had happened, his thoughts about the traitor in town, and the number of Chinese now surrounding Rob and the trapped Regulators.
"Jesus," replied Jerry Baersfeld. "What you want us to do?"
"Rob gave me orders to round everybody up and hightail it to the north—anywhere to the north, just away from here."
"I don't like that option," replied the voice over the radio, "and neither do a lot of people standing around me."
"I was hoping you'd say that," Lance replied, not bothering to hide a smile on his face. "All right, here's what I want you to do. First, get a hold of Agent Levine. We can't mount a rescue without his help..."
ROB WAITED UNTIL THE smoke had cleared from the dimly-lit stairwell. Instead of a dark gloom, he saw a greenish haze. It looked like one of the Chinese soldiers at the top of the stairs had tossed down a glow-stick. The green glow cast an eerie light around the corner and made the lingering smoke look like some sort of ghost. The cries of the injured at the top of the stairs slowly faded. Either they had died or they had been dragged off—Rob couldn't care less which.
There was a body at the bottom of the stairs, facing the wall. His arm was lay on the floor a few feet away. A pool of inky-black blood was just visible in the dim light cast by the glow-stick. Rob noticed the Chinese soldier was fully loaded with ammunition pouches and a big pack full of God only knew what.
Rob waited until he could hear absolutely nothing from the top of the stairs. He waited an additional five minutes just to be safe before he spoke.
"Nate, you still with me?"
In the darkness to his left, a nervous–sounding voice answered, "Yeah, man. I'm still here."
"Can you see me?"
"Barely… You look like a shadow. But I think I know where you’re at."
"Okay, cover me while I move around this desk and see what’s going on."
"Okay," Nate whispered, “ready when you are, Boss."
"Here we go. Everybody stay sharp." Rob gently leaned his AR against the side of the desk and slipped around the corner. He crouch-walked as quickly and quietly as he could the 20 feet or so to the bottom of the stairs. He tried to ignore the severed arm in its pool of blood. He reached forward and gently touched the body at the base of the stairs. There was no movement. Rob could smell cooked hamburger. His stomach roiled at the thought, but he forced himself to go on.
Rob grabbed a fistful of the man's pants and gently pulled until the body rolled off the bottom step and landed unceremoniously in the pool of blood. By the dim, green light of the glow stick, Rob could see debris and rocks gracing the staircase all the way to the top. Just as Ed Franks had hoped, the wall opposite the door had collapsed. If anyone wanted to use the stairs, they would have to excavate it first.
He could see a hole at the top of the rubble towards the ceiling and that gave him pause. It was plenty enough space for someone to drop a grenade or other explosive through. That would be priority number one. He turned back to the darkness of the basement.
"Ed, get up here and plug the hole up at the top of the stairs. Your little trick looks like it's caved in most of the wall up top, but there’s still space for somebody to throw a grenade or something down the stairwell."
"You got it, Rob."
"Alright people, listen up. I think the Chinese backed off for now. Anybody with a flashlight, turn it on now so we can see what the hell were dealing with." In reply, a light clicked on in the darkness, quickly followed by three or four more. Rob fished out his own small penlight from his chest pocket and twisted it on. He was grateful for the tiny beam of blue-white light that sliced open the murky gloom of the basement.
"Tommy," Rob said.
"Yeah?" was the deep reply from the back of the basement.
"Grab somebody and go around the exterior walls. I need you to look for any way to get out of here or any way for them to get in. Look for windows—this looks like some sort of storage room, so I don't think that there's going to be any—but we need to be sure."
“On it!”
Rob turned back and looked down at the body at his feet. The man's face was a charred ruin. He swallowed and tried to ignore the still smoking wreck that had been the soldier's chest. Ed's little surprise had done its job well.
Rob quickly rifled through the soldier's pockets, pulling out AK-47 magazines, ration bars, and a racy picture of a Chinese woman in lingerie. She looked slightly embarrassed, but Rob could easily see the love in her eyes. He sat back on his heels and sniffed, trying to get the smell of hamburger out of his nose. He was suddenly very thirsty.
“Somebody help me dig through this stuff. Might find something useful in here.”
He looked at the woman’s picture and felt a momentary pang of sympathy before he put the photo back where he found it with as much dignity as he could muster.
This basement will be the cause of so much pain and grief, he thought sadly. On both sides.
CHAPTER 16
Dragonfire
PO SI
N, DEFENSE MINISTER for the People’s Republic of China, took a long drag on his cigarette. He drummed his fingers on his expensive hardwood desk. He wafted smoke away from his face as he glared at a blank monitor. He had been given notice of successful completion of the capture of the leaders of the Regulators—but the video had yet to come through. He could hardly wait to see the secretive American rebels strung up to hang for costing his expeditionary force so much personnel and materiel. Or maybe we should torture them first…hmmm…
The local commander was 15 minutes late reporting in and Po Sin had learned that lateness usually meant something bad had happened. Something he was not going to like. Po Sin took another drag on his cigarette and noticed with some irritation that it had already burned down to a stub. He glanced at the ashtray and the six crumpled butts already at rest. He reminded himself that he needed to slow down with his cigarette consumption, now that the American economy had all but collapsed. Cigarettes were becoming a precious commodity. He was by no means poor, but Po Sin was practical if nothing else. No sense wasting resources.
As he debated whether or not to light up another cigarette, Po Sin noticed the monitor on his desk came to life. The computer beeped, letting him know that it was receiving an incoming signal.
“At last!” he muttered around an unlit cigarette.
Programmer’s gibberish scrolled across the screen, informing him that a secure up-link was being established. Since the American satellite fleet had been neutralized at the outset of the conflict, China could no longer rely on using Western hardware to transmit their own signals. China’s fleet of satellites, both commercial and military, was growing but it was nowhere near as effective or convenient as the massive American contingent in orbit had been. He scribbled a note on a pad of paper to request increased budget funding for maintaining and improving China’s satellite fleet.
The screen finally flickered to life and displayed a grainy image of the local commander’s face. Po Sin sighed in satisfaction and leaned back in his chair. Now he was getting somewhere.
Sic Semper Tyrannis Page 22
