by Ryan King
"What the hell are they doing?" Givens asked one of his soldiers.
The soldier shook his head. "She says the acorns are edible. More than that, she said they are filled with nutrients and tons of calories."
"Then why aren't they eating them?" asked Givens feeling his mouth water at the thought of food.
"The acorns have acid in them, making them inedible to humans in their present form," the soldier recited. "Soaking the acorns in water for a day will leach out the acid. Then they can be crushed and cooked into a mash."
"You think she knows what she's talking about?"
The soldier shrugged. "She sounds convincing. Figure it's worth a shot if it works. Hell, there are tons of acorns all over the forest floor."
Givens surveyed the ground and saw it was true. The churned up snow revealed a wide bed of small acorns from the oaks above them. He halted the column and told everyone to spread the word and do as the old lady said.
Now, three days later, they were warm and full. The acorn mash probably tasted horrible to those who weren't staving, yet Givens thought the gruel was divine. The huge mass of people rested around fires and makeshift shelters and ate a steady diet of acorn mash. No one even bothered with trying to hunt the game around them. What came out of the makeshift pots over fires was like manna from heaven.
The welcome rest also freed Givens from many of his responsibilities. People weren't bringing him all their problems. They were content, at least for now. He took to walking a distance away from the people, building a small fire of his own, and just thinking. The first real relaxation he had done since the fall of Paducah.
How are we going to get across the river?he asked himself not for the first time.The next bridges are up near Evansville. Not only is it a long way, but who knows what we'll have to encounter along the way.
He tossed a twig in the fire and wondered how the war was going on and if Beau Myers had managed to escape.Hell, New Harvest may be a memory by the time we get back over there. Maybe we should just settle down somewhere on the way and make a new life.
Inspecting the woods, he started to imagine them living here. They could build shelters in the ground for protection. The acorns and water weren't likely to run out any time soon. And this appeared to be the one place on Earth where no one was trying to kill or take from them.
This could be home, he thought turning the idea over in his head.
Wiping ash off the pants of his uniform, the camouflage pattern reminded him of his obligation, which made him angry.I executed my mission, he thought.I'm looking after my men and all these other people that I didn't count on. What the hell am I supposed to do? It's not like we'll be able to get across the Ohio anyway.
His thoughts were interrupted by someone crashing through the snow and dead leaves from the direction of the camp. Soon Givens could make out Sergeant Booker. He carried a cloth sack filled with something heavy. There was a broad grin on his face.
"Let me guess," Givens said. "You got a coon in that bag."
"Better than that," said Booker who dumped the sack out on the ground. Irregular black lumps fell to the ground in a heap. The man looked at Givens expectantly. "You know all the trouble we've been having getting enough dry wood? Well, that problem is over."
"Where the heck did you find coal?" asked Givens. "This isn't coal country."
Booker beckoned him to follow. "Come on, I'll show you. You'll never believe this."
Givens almost declined. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts. The solitude of the forest and warm fire were the best he could get and it was satisfying. Then he picked up one of the pieces of coal. It was good quality, not cheap slag. He sighed, tossed the lump into his fire, and slowly rose to his feet.
"Okay," Givens told him, "lead away."
Booker walked fast. They first skirted several masses and clumps of people sleeping or talking and eating. Children ran and played between trees nearby. Their happy cries and screams of delight contrasted with their circumstances. He saw the contented looks on parents' faces.
They would stay here, Givens thought.I wouldn't have to fight them on this. This could be a new community.
"Come on," said Booker to the man lagging behind him.
Givens picked up his step and followed his sergeant away from the people. Soon the ground sloped downward and the trees became thinner. They carefully picked their way down a deer path and within a couple hundred yards of the playing children they began to see the Ohio River through breaks in the tree line.
"I don't think you found coal in the river," Givens said.
"Shows how much you know," said Booker in his excitement and then caught himself looking at Givens cautiously. "No disrespect intended, boss."
"None taken," Givens answered. "Just as long as you aren't leading me on a wild goose chase. I was pretty content there by my fire 'til you interrupted me."
"You'll be glad I did. Just wait and see."
They walked a little further and then emerged from the trees onto a small knoll overlooking a tight bend in the river. A sand bank was below them filled with the debris.
"Well, I'll be damned," said Givens in wonder. A huge barge was stuck in the sand near their bank. It blocked most of the river's water flow, extending out lengthwise toward the opposite shore. The barge was wedged in tight onto the sand bank by the continued force of the water. The small channel that remained was only about fifty feet wide and the water there was now foaming and fast moving.
"Didn't I tell you?" Booker said. "That barge is near filled with coal. We won't have any trouble cooking the mash or keeping people warm. Everyone can just walk down here and get what they want. The fires will burn longer and hotter."
"Indeed they will," said Givens, but something in the back of his mind made him tune the sergeant out. He walked down the hill and out onto the sand bank until he stood beside the edge of the barge.
"There's a ladder right there," said Booker pointing to Givens' right. "You have to climb up there to get the coal, but we could probably put someone up there to shovel it down onto the bank. Be easier for people to get to."
Grasping the worn metal rungs, Givens climbed up onto the surface of the barge. The wheelhouse and forecastle were at the opposite end from him. He walked carefully in that direction on the slightly slanted surface. Huge mounds of coal lay in giant metal beds.
"It would take us forever to use all of this up," Booker said after climbing up himself.
"Indeed it would," answered Givens while he continued to walk toward the barge's far end. He climbed up a set of stairs and looked up at the tall windows above them.
"I already checked it out," Booker said. "Not a soul on board. Not even any bodies. Damnedest thing I've seen. Must have just abandoned ship, or boat, at some point."
"Could have broken loose sometime after N-Day," Givens said.
"True," Booker looked meaningfully at the giant piles of coal as if he thought Givens was missing the whole point.
Walking around the wheelhouse area, Givens made his way to the rear of the barge. He leaned against the rail and looked at the far shore. Kentucky. Right there. Not more than fifty feet away.
"Be careful you don't fall in," said Booker. "That water is flowing so fast it would suck you right under."
Givens looked down at the water and made a mental calculation of how fast the water flowed. As a combat engineer, he'd built plenty of bridges before, but never under these conditions.Can it be done? he asked himself.
He looked back at the piles of coal and then at the water again.
"There any tools in the ship?" he asked.
"Sure," answered Booker. "There's a whole machinist shop down there. Can probably make anything you want."
"Any saws or axes?"
Booker started to shake his head, then his eyes lit up. "Actually I saw several fireman's axes bolted to the walls at various spots. If you're going down there you better take a torch or something, I nearly broke my neck on those stairs."
"Want me to go tell everyone about the coal?" Booker asked. "They can start using it for the fires."
"Not yet," answered Givens. "I might be on to something."
"Not yet?" asked Booker obviously on the verge of being offended. "Boss, this is going to help a lot of people. We can stay warm all winter. Between the coal and the acorns, we're set until spring."
Givens looked at Booker and smiled. He shook his head. "We're not going to be here that long."
Chapter 11 - Panic and Resolve
Conrad McKraven was dreaming of hunting with his grandfather Jack when the explosion jerked him roughly from the happy scene. He sat up suddenly and listened. There was machine gun fire close by and lots of it. Gunfire in the middle of the night by sentries wasn't uncommon, but this was concentrated and all seemed to be incoming.
"Everyone up!" Conrad roared at the top of his voice into the dark tent. "Grab your weapons and get to your positions. We're under attack!"
Jack threw on his pants and boots without bothering to lace them up. He grabbed his rifle, ammunition bandolier, and helmet before stepping outside.
Dawn was just breaking on the eastern horizon, however there was no need for its light. Bright flares hung in the sky and descended lazily. A huge fireball burned at one section of what used to be a tall barricade stretching across the Trace Road. Now it was a gaping hole of smoke and bodies.
A bullet whizzed by his ear. Conrad threw on his helmet and rushed to a position behind a pile of logs. He could see two columns of enemy rushing through the new breach and establishing defense positions there.
Breach teams, he thought.They'll secure the hole in our defenses so we can't plug that hole. Assault teams will come next to exploit the breach.
As if on cue, another column of men burst inside and rushed through the hole, shooting at anyone in their path. Several New harvest soldiers returned fire, but as outlying individuals, not as part of an organized defense. Most were running to the rear and to perceived safety.
Conrad had seen a few mad retreats and this had the makings of one. It had only been a few months since the armored attack on the Missouri Alliance camp. Resistance had crumbled and Conrad took that opportunity to flee with his family. Those who fled usually lived, granted they could flee fast enough. He looked to the north. It was still sufficiently dark that he could vanish into the thick underbrush. Then all he would need to do was evade capture for a few miles. Plenty of his comrades would not be so lucky and would distract the pursuit from Conrad.
Then he thought of his wife and two children. They were less than twenty-five miles north at Camp New harvest. If the rout continued, it would roll over the camp and anyone who was in it. There would be nothing Conrad could do to help them.
Conrad put his rifle to his shoulder and began to fire. He quickly killed three men, but they were replaced faster than he could shoot. He needed something better to stop the flow. Conrad saw a pickup truck about thirty meters to the north with an old M60 machine gun seated on a pivotal mount in the bed, so that someone standing behind the cab could fire toward the truck's front.
Racing toward the vehicle through the smoke and noise, he nearly ran into several wounded or dazed soldiers stumbling aimlessly around. Others appeared unhurt and ran with a mad abandon. Conrad climbed into the bed of the truck and popped open the top latch of the machine gun and locked the bolt to the rear. He pulled the end of the ammunition belt out of the ammo can attached to the weapon's mount and fed the first round into the tray. Next he closed the latch tray cover. Only then did he dare look up.
He saw dozens of soldiers rushing through the breach. Leaders were directing their troops calmly.They can afford to be calm, Conrad thought.They're getting no resistance. Let's see if I can change that.
Placing the butt of the weapon against his shoulder, he sighted on what looked like a huddle on men near the hole in their defenses and then squeezed the trigger.
Tracer fire leaped from the end of the weapon and Conrad walked it in on the men. They crumpled suddenly into bloody heaps. He slowly turned the weapon to kill the men crouching against the inside of the barricades and then back around to any pockets of resistance he saw.
Bullets ricocheted around him now as he received return fire. Enemy continued to pour through the hole in the perimeter and he had to concentrate his fire as new troops flooded through to keep from getting overwhelmed.
The machine gun ran empty with frightening suddenness.
"Oh hell," said Conrad looking around and finding a stack of ammunition boxes strapped down near his feet. He pulled one loose and loaded the machine gun again.
Hot fire tore through his left shoulder and he realized that he was lying on his back and looking at the sky. Conrad wasn't sure how he had gotten there or how long he'd lain in the bed of the truck. Reaching up with his right hand he felt the wound in his shoulder, testing for blood flow. It oozed out slowly, but didn't spurt. That was a good sign.
He forced himself to climb to his feet and place his shoulder against the machine gun again. More men were inside the wall and some were too close for Conrad's comfort. He opened up on them and then walked the fire in toward the breach again.
The rear of the truck dipped suddenly as a weight was applied. Conrad released the machine gun and turned reaching for his knife, but knew it was too late. Whoever had gotten behind him was going to kill him now. Conrad grasped the man by the front of his shirt, but curiously Conrad realized he wasn't getting shot or stabbed at all.
"It's me, Sarge," said the man. "I came to help. Looks like you got your hands full."
Conrad laughed hysterically and then remembered the men rushing through the gap. He returned to his weapon. "Link all this ammunition together," he told the man. "Make sure it doesn't tangle as it feeds. I don't want you to let me run dry again, got it?"
"Sure thing," said the man and he began to break open ammunition boxes and link the independent ammunition belts into one long chain and then fold it carefully on the bed of the truck so it would feed properly.
Afraid that the notoriously temperamental M60 might jam if he stopped firing, Conrad kept his finger on the trigger and put a steady stream of rounds into the gap and surrounding area. Piles of dead men started to grow in the dim morning dawn. A curious sound from the weapon made him look down the barrel as he was firing.
The barrel was glowing red. Conrad could actually see the bright light of the bullets traversing through the barrel from the outside. He let off the trigger and looked around.
"Where's the barrel bag?" he asked.
"The what?" the man beside him said his fingers still in his ears.
Conrad slapped his hands away. "The damn barrel bag! I need to change barrels. This one is melting."
The man held his hands out to his side and then fell over dead as a bullet struck him in the temple.
Rummaging frantically through the piles of discarded ammo boxes in the bed, Conrad finally spotted the heavy bag. He unzipped the end and grasped the cool new barrel, then he hesitated. Dropping the barrel, he grabbed the asbestos mitten and put it on his left hand. Then he went back to the M60, which smoked with heat.
Conrad reached out and grasped the base of the barrel and then flipped the barrel release lever on the right side. He pulled the hot barrel out and dropped it to the ground before retrieving the new barrel, slammed it into the receiver, and locked it down with the securing lever.
When he looked back up, the enemy was nearly upon him again. He fired the machine gun, starting with men who were within a few yards of the front of the truck. Swinging the weapon wildly he took out those closest to him and then worked back toward the breach again. He continued firing, not daring to let the weapon or enemy rest.
Soon he realized that there were men on his flanks firing the same direction he was. Not lo
ng after, he saw that enemy were no longer streaming through the breach or hiding behind the piles of dead bodies. Still he couldn't seem to stop firing.
"Stop it! That's enough," said a man from right beside Conrad in the bed of the truck. He pulled on Conrad's left shoulder forcefully and the sudden pain knifed through the fog. Conrad let out a scream and released the trigger. He stood for a moment and realized his legs were shaking. Looking down, he saw they were covered in blood, with pieces of glass from the blown front and rear windows of the truck sticking out.
The man caught Conrad as he collapsed on his back.
"Did we stop them?" he managed to ask.
"Looks like it," answered the soldier who might have been an officer.
Conrad wet his lips and fought to stay awake. "Tell my family that I love them."
The man slapped his cheek a few times, not unkindly. "You're not going to die. That shoulder wound is a through and through and the glass in your legs is just superficial."
"You sound like a doctor," Conrad said.
"Used to be a nurse," the man answered. "Still patch people up when there's a need."
Someone else ran up to the edge of the truck and looked over the side. "Hey, it's that Missouri Alliance guy. Can you believe that?"
"Would have never thought it," answered another.
"I never trusted him, but he sure saved our asses. I'll give him that much," said someone else from near Conrad's head.
The nurse was probing at Conrad's injuries. "Looks like you made some friends. Pretty damn brave if you don't mind me saying so. Must have a death wish."
"No," Conrad sought words to explain, but he slipped out of consciousness and returned to hunting with Jack McKraven.
Chapter 12 - The Bridge
