Hollering reverberated through the door, disturbing the men.
Rainey looked up at the others and said, “What the hell is going on? I’ll be right back.” He walked away and opened the door, allowing the commotion’s sound to envelop the room.
One of Rainey’s police officers ran down the hall and stopped in front of him. “Chief, we just got a report from the southern checkpoint.”
“What is it?”
“A man just showed up and reported that he survived an attack to the south.”
“What kind of attack? Come on, man, spit it out.”
“I didn’t ask, sir.”
“Where is he?”
“They’re bringing him here directly.”
“We need to activate the teams, we need to get people into the field now!” Gordon barked.
“I agree, we need to mobilize immediately, just in case this is Schmidt,” Gunny agreed.
Rainey just looked at Gordon and said, “You’re in charge of these types of operations; the ball is in your court.”
Gordon nodded and turned to Gunny. “You missed my training but you obviously don’t need it. Here is a list of the men in your rifle company,” he finished as he handed Gunny a list of one hundred and twenty names.
Gunny snatched the list and looked it over. “These men have their own arms and vehicles?”
“Yes, addresses are next to their name, the asterisks indicate your platoon commanders, and the double asterisks are your squad leaders. I did the best I could with what limited time I had to locate these men and organize them. I’ve given you a Hummer with an M240 machine gun and you have all the Javelins. I’ll keep the TOW up north of the bridge.”
Gunny smiled and looked up. “Roger that, Van Zandt. Ambushes are easy, and if all fails we’ll adapt and overcome, right?”
“Right,” Gordon answered.
Michael was looking over Gunny’s shoulder like a curious child. “What can I do?”
“You’ll stay with me at the bridge.”
Rainey then spoke up. “Me?”
“Chief, you need to stay in town, organize fortified road blocks at all the choke points north of Donnelly along the 55, West Mountain Road, and Farm to Market Road. You’re in charge of the town defenses,” Gordon said.
“I’m on it,” Rainey responded.
“Gunny, go gather your men and rally in Donnelly. From there we’ll go to the Rainbow Bridge, set the charges, and place the ambush sites.”
“Roger that, I’ll see you in Donnelly.”
“Correct. Say, in ninety minutes? And we’re on channel one—use the radio protocol I have listed on the second page.”
“Roger that, I’m out.” Gunny marched out of the room and disappeared.
Gordon turned to Michael and said, “Here is the list for the other company of men. Help me rally them. Let’s meet at the Lake Fork Merc in an hour fifteen.” Gordon tore off the bottom half of the list and handed it to Michael.
“And me?” Charles asked.
Gordon looked at Charles. He didn’t know the man, didn’t know his talents or skills, but didn’t want to turn him away, given his new title as defense minister within the party. “It’s best you stay with me and watch. You know how to handle a gun?”
“Yes,” Charles quickly answered.
“Good, we’ll get you set up. Michael, see to that,” Gordon ordered. He clapped his hands. “Everyone has their jobs, so let’s do it,” he barked.
• • •
A car raced down the street and swung into the parking lot of the police station. A panicked man jumped out, running inside.
“We need help, please!” the man begged.
“Sir, please calm down!” a young police officer requested.
“They killed everyone, they just killed everyone!” the man screamed hysterically.
Rainey was still at the station working with some of his officers and making arrangements to fortify their checkpoints. Upon hearing the man he rushed out to talk to him.
“Who killed everyone?” Rainey asked.
The man swung around and said, “The military, the military!”
“Sir, calm down!” the police officer again asked.
“I won’t calm down, do something! They killed everyone and are coming here!” the man bellowed, his skin flush with fear.
“The military? What do you mean ‘the military’?” Rainey asked, stepping in front of the man. He held him steady by grabbing his shoulders and looking at him in the eyes. “What did you mean by ‘military’?” Rainey asked again slowly. He needed to know without a doubt that this was Schmidt’s forces.
“The United States military! They were Americans!”
The answer confirmed it for Rainey. His heart started pumping with the news. “Where did this happen?”
“Horseshoe Bend.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
Rainey turned to one of his officers and ordered, “Contact Van Zandt and Gunny Smith, tell them Schmidt hit Horseshoe Bend this morning.”
Rainey then focused back on the man. “Tell me everything. Give me details so we can prepare.”
“They were soldiers; they killed everyone who had anything to do with Cascadia. They killed them all, no question. If you were flying a flag or said you supported Cascadia, they killed you. I barely made it out,” the man said. His breathing was rapid as he spat out his answers.
“Did you warn the sheriff in Cascade?” Rainey asked. Cascade was the country seat of Valley County, thirty miles south of McCall.
“I did, I did stop by, but no one was there. I knocked but they weren’t there. I raced up here instead. I didn’t know where else to go.”
“Sir, thank you, you’re safe here, so please sit down and rest. We’ll find a place for you to go in a bit.”
“What are you going to do to stop them?” the man blurted out.
“We’re working on that now.”
“How? How are you going to stop them? They have tanks, trucks, machine guns, and thousands of soldiers. How are you going to stop them?” the man yelled.
“Please calm down,” Rainey pleaded.
“Leave, everyone needs to leave before they get here. You have to warn everyone!”
“Enough, sit down!” Rainey yelled.
The man looked at Rainey. His panic had turned into uncontrollable hysteria.
“I’m going to tell everyone!” the man bellowed.
“No, you’re not. We don’t need others panicking. Take him into custody. Don’t let him go until it’s over,” Rainey ordered his officers, who jumped on the man instantly and subdued him.
“No, no, let me go, I don’t want to die!” the man screamed from underneath a pile of police officers.
Rainey stepped around him and walked outside the station to see if his commotion had drawn unwanted attention. The streets were empty, which gave him a moment of relief. With no more time to waste, he walked back inside and barked, “Let’s go, men, we have checkpoints to man. Let’s do this!”
• • •
The plan was set, and all sided with Gordon that the Rainbow Bridge needed to be rigged with explosives as a backup. If it came down to it, getting rid of the bridge was a sacrifice, but one that would stop Schmidt’s advance. If the plan went right, Schmidt’s forces would be trapped on the narrow highway with nowhere to go. They’d be sitting ducks pinned between a rocky cliff and the Payette River. Once they were trapped, Gordon would bring the brunt of his small but lethal force against them. It seemed like a solid plan, but Gordon’s experience told him two things: timing was everything, and to always, always expect something to go wrong.
Banks, Idaho
Schmidt couldn’t believe the hour. He looked at his watch again and then asked his driver the time. “Is it really ninetee
n thirty?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It stays light out late up here,” he said from the turret of the tank. He ordered the column to a full stop when he spotted another Doug flag hanging from a local business. He was determined that everyone would know the United States was not tolerating separatists. Even if he had to stop at each individual house, he would stomp out every single individual that espoused secession. As Sherman went through Georgia during the American Civil War, he would plow through Idaho and then continue on to Washington till not one supporter of Cascadia stood. “All units, set up perimeter security and refuel. Third platoon, please meet me”—he squinted to read the name—“at Bear Valley Outfitters.”
He stepped off the tank and stretched. He looked around and took a deep breath. “Ahh, this air is clean. This is really God’s country up here, it’s so beautiful.”
A platoon of soldiers double-timed up to him and stopped.
“Sergeant, go find the owner of that flag,” Schmidt said, pointing.
As his soldiers went for the building, his satellite phone rang. He took it out of his pocket and recognized the number. Gordon Van Zandt.
“Mr. Van Zandt, how can I help you?” Schmidt asked. He then held the phone away from him and got his driver’s attention. “Psst, order our advance team to halt, refuel, and stay put till further orders.”
“Sorry, what was that?” Schmidt said into the phone.
“I want to meet you. I have something to offer for my brother,” Gordon said.
“There’s nothing I’m interested in other than you, Mr. Van Zandt.”
“Where are you so we can meet?”
“I’m a patient man. I’ll see you in McCall tomorrow.”
“Don’t you want to know what I can offer before you turn me down?” Gordon pressed.
“No, I’m not interested. I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Van Zandt. Good night,” Schmidt said and went to press the button. He could hear Gordon still talking but he didn’t care. Schmidt pocketed the phone and walked back along the long column. Crashing sounds erupted followed by a few gunshots in the building. A moment later his men exited, ripped the flag down, and began to burn it. Schmidt slowly strolled down to a canvas-covered Humvee. He tossed open the flap and peered into the darkness. A strong aroma of body odor and feces wafted out.
“We really need to clean you up,” Schmidt said, holding his nose. “Just spoke to your brother; we’ll be seeing him tomorrow. How are you doing, any complaints?”
Sebastian struggled with the restraints. He mouth was gagged so he could only grunt his response.
Schmidt could see the fire in his eyes and hear the resistance in his sounds. “You Van Zandts are a tough bunch. But sadly you picked the wrong side.”
Sebastian wiggled closer to the back of the Humvee, his arms and legs bound and tied together in a hog tie. He grunted louder, expressing his disgust for Schmidt.
“Soon it will all be over and the balance of things will be restored,” Schmidt told him, and closed the flap.
Rainbow Bridge, Idaho
Gordon looked at the phone, suppressing the urge to toss it in anger. He turned back to face the soldiers that had just been captured in their ambush on the north end of the bridge.
Schmidt’s patrol had made it to the Rainbow Bridge all the way from Cheyenne without any contact or threat. This had given them a complacent mentality, so when the first roar of the 50-caliber machine gun Gordon had sounded, they were confused and thought it was the roar of the river crashing below. Gordon had the ambush ready for them, and as soon as they crossed over the span of the bridge, they were hit hard by the armor-piercing 50-caliber rounds. The light armor on the two Humvees was not enough to stop the onslaught. Within less than a minute, all were killed, expect for one.
“How many in the main force?” he asked a baby-faced private first class. The man was on his knees with his hands behind his head, fingers interlaced.
The man looked at Gordon then darted his eyes back and forth at Michael, Charles, and the other men around them, then down to his fallen comrades. Looking back at Gordon he began to whimper, “Please don’t kill me.”
“We won’t kill you if you tell us everything we want to know,” Gordon pressed.
“We have about five thousand men, um, over a dozen tanks . . .”
“Tanks?”
“Yes.”
“Not a problem, we’ve got TOWs and Javelins.”
“Please don’t kill me, please!” the man continued to plead.
“I won’t kill you if you tell me everything, I told you that. Now, how far back are they?”
“Um, about twenty miles.”
Charles looked at Gordon, concern written all over his face. Gordon knew they were running out of time. He turned and hollered to Jones and the other Marines who had come with Gunny from Coos Bay. “Hurry up, guys, place those explosives quick! Double time!”
“They could be here any minute,” Charles said, his voice trembling.
“There’s a prisoner with them—do you know what vehicle he’s being held in?” Gordon asked, ignoring Charles’s comment.
“I, um, I can’t be sure. I only heard about him but I don’t know which vehicle he’s in for sure,” the man said, panicked that his answer was not enough.
Gordon took his pistol out and placed it against the man’s temple. “Where is the prisoner?”
“I don’t know, please, I really don’t know. If I were to guess I’d say he’s mid-convoy, but I’ve been with the forward patrol since we left Cheyenne, please believe me.”
Gordon pressed the muzzle of the barrel farther into the man’s temple and placed his finger on the trigger.
“I’m telling you the truth, I’ve told you everything. Please don’t hurt me.”
“Why are they doing this?” Charles asked the man.
“The president has had enough with insurrectionists and secessionists; he’s not negotiating anymore. He’s called on us to wage war against every group,” the man said
“Do you know if they killed anyone in Olympia?” Charles asked.
The man hesitated as he thought.
Gordon pressed the muzzle harder.
“The major sent a team there. I know that, nothing more.”
“What are your plans after McCall?” Gordon asked.
“We’re to go to Olympia next.”
Gordon now looked at Charles.
A loud whistle caught their attention. Jones gave a thumbs-up and called out, “The bridge is rigged.”
“Is there no other way?” Michael asked, slight doubt about destroying the bridge evident in his question.
“No,” Gordon answered, his pistol still pressed against the man’s head.
“What about everyone south of the bridge? We’re trapping them down there,” Michael said.
“From the sounds of it, they’re killing everyone,” Charles added.
“When was the main force moving north?” Gordon asked.
“Last word we got informed us to stop and refuel.”
“Are you sure blowing the bridge will work?” Michael again said.
Gordon was annoyed by Michael’s constant interjections. “We have to stop this advance and if our ambush fails, this does it. I need to get my brother but I don’t know how I can do that without risking the entire operation,” Gordon said, removing the pistol from the man’s head.
He looked up and said, “It’s getting dark soon; I don’t think they’ll move till morning. Schmidt said something about tomorrow, but we need to be sure.” Gordon walked over to Jones, who was getting behind the wheel of a Hummer to head back to Gunny’s southern position. “Jonesy, hold up.”
“What ya got, Van Zandt?”
Gordon liked Jones from the first time he’d met him, in Oregon months ago on his hunt for Rahab. He proved
to be a smart, brave, and resourceful Marine.
“You and I are going for a ride south to recon.”
“Okay, let me inform Gunny.”
“What’s going to happen if they get to the bridge before you can get him?” Michael asked just after walking up behind Gordon.
Gordon turned to him and said, “It pains me to say this but I’ll blow the fucking bridge myself. We can’t risk them crossing over. Even if I don’t have Sebastian, we can’t risk the lives of everyone in the town.”
McCall, Idaho
Haley was sitting up in her bed. A fragile smile was stretched across her face when Luke walked in with the gorilla mask, making monkey noises and jumping around.
“Luke, you need to keep resting too. Please don’t get her too worked up,” Samantha said tensely.
He pulled the mask off, his shoulder-length hair clinging to his face. “Sorry, Auntie Samantha, I just thought she could use a laugh.”
“No, Mommy, he’s funny. Please, pretty please can he play with me?” Haley begged.
“You both can play a board game or cards, but no horsing around. And only after you finish your soup,” Samantha ordered, pointing at the bowl on Haley’s nightstand.
“Okay,” Haley answered, a bit disappointed.
“I’ll go get a game. What do you want to play?” Luke asked.
“Go fish!” Haley squealed.
Luke rushed out of the room and down the hall.
Samantha approached the bed and sat down, and placed her hand against Haley’s head to see if she was warm.
“I feel fine, Mommy.”
“Can’t a mother check? You had us worried there, both you and Luke.”
“I knew I was going to be all right, I saw it.”
“You did, huh?”
“No, I did, I saw it in a dream.”
“Was it a good dream?”
“Yes and no,” Haley said. Sadness came over her.
“What’s wrong, sweetie?”
The Line of Departure: A Postapocalyptic Novel (The New World Series Book 4) Page 31
