by David Nees
“You know who’s in charge of those sections?”
The man nodded, his eyes still large with fear.
“Find them. Tell them to get their machine guns going. We’ll start firing the mortars. Now go!”
The man turned and ran out of the room. Joe turned to the other man, “You go to all the other sections. Tell them what’s going on and to hold their places and watch. They may come under attack shortly.”
The man started to leave.
“Wait!” Joe called. “You’re going to be my runner to give me info on what’s going on. After you make the rounds, you come back to me and report what you saw and heard. Then you’ll go out with any instructions I give you. Got it?”
The man nodded and disappeared through the door; Joe heard him running down the hall.
He picked up the radio and pressed the button. “Calling the gate crews, this is Joe Stansky. We are under attack downtown. Do you have any action at your gates?”
“No sir. Nothing going on at Gate One.” The man at Gate Two also reported no action.
Joe thought about that for a moment. How did they get into the city? He shook his head. It didn’t matter.
He decided not to recall the guards at the gates right away. The attack downtown could still be a diversion, although it seemed too large for that to be true. Meanwhile it was time to run this show from the main office down on the ground floor.
The office and the expanse of lobby were mostly empty. He ground his teeth. Upstairs there was too much delay, but down here he couldn’t see anything. He needed more runners. He needed to send out spotters to report back to him. He heard two deep, coughing explosions, not much further than a block away, he thought. His mortars. That’s gotta help.
There were sudden shouts outside the lobby. Joe wheeled toward the doors as a militiaman stumbled in. “We lost a mortar!” the man gasped.
“What?” Joe shouted, frustration turning to fury “Where?”
“Right out there! Right outside the door!”
Joe took two quick strides forward and grabbed the man. “How did you lose it?” he demanded.
“Sniper,” the man said. “Shot one guy. Hit the mortar tube. It’s bent. Can’t use it.”
“Mr. Stansky?” A new voice. “I’m supposed to be a runner—”
“Good!” Joe roared as he turned to the new man. “Go out there and run find some officers in the fight. Tell them Joe Stansky wants to know what the hell is going on. What’s happening at their location and what they’re doing about it.” He began to calm down. “Don’t use the front door right now. You’re liable to get your ass shot. Go back out through whatever door you came in. When you get some answers, get back here and tell me.”
The man ran for the back hall. Joe cursed to himself. The deadly sound of gunfire was thick outside. Maybe he should be there, in the thick of things. But he might lose overall understanding of what was going on. He cursed to himself. Leo would have known how to balance that. Right now, better to stay where he was.
Besides, his backup preparations were here.
And this isn’t a good time to be on the street. He paced and waited for the runner to come back.
Suddenly a militia sergeant threw open the glass doors and threw himself into the lobby. He started to run for the stairwell, but he saw Joe in time. “Mr. Stansky,” he said. “There’s a sniper.”
Joe’s hands clenched into fists. He waited for the man to continue.
“A good one. Took out our spotters on the west side buildings, and we haven’t got any more up there yet. Our people at the northwest corner are sitting ducks. Trying to hide under the parked vehicles and the barricades. She’s jamming up the whole defense.”
“She?”
“That girl from the valley. Someone got a look with binoculars and they said they thought it was her.”
“That damn girl,” Joe mumbled to himself. “So you know where she is?”
The man nodded. “Rooftop. Building a block away from the west side. It’s got the perfect—”
“Damn it! Blow it up. Blow the hell out of her! Direct some rocket launchers and anything else on the building—mortars, use them.”
“Mr. Stansky, the attackers are only a block away, the mortars are slowing them down—”
“She’s slowing us down. You say all our guys are doing is hiding. Take her out! Blow that roof up.” The sound of another mortar explosion came through to Joe as the sergeant left. Even without spotters, someone was going ahead. A moment later a sergeant ran in through the door.
“Sir?” It was the sergeant. The man was shouting over the noise of the battle. It wasn’t that loud in here; maybe he was still half-deaf from the noise outside.
“Yeah!”
“The rooftop with the sniper. We hit it with two rocket launchers. We smashed the whole edge of the roof and the upper floor. A bunch of times. We thought she was taken care of, but now we’re being hit again. This time we don’t know exactly where it’s coming from, but it’s still from the west. We can’t see heads or any muzzle flashes.”
“She’s still there,” Joe growled.
“Could be in a whole different building now—”
“No, she didn’t have time. Take three mortars, go after that building. Level it if you can. I’ll knock her out and shut her up,” Joe shouted.
“The other three mortars are firing outside the barriers again, but they’re blind. We’re not doing great for spotters. The attack’s coming down side streets, and anyone tryin’ to get a good look is risking getting shot.”
“You take out the sniper, we can help spot for the mortar crews.”
When Jason and his assault team got within two blocks of the south barricade, he brought up his mortar team. He only had one so he wanted to make good use of it. They had plenty of rounds thanks to Wilkes and Hammond.
“Send rounds to the barricade. We need to take out the defenders and blow some holes in it,” he shouted.
The mortar team quickly zeroed in on the barrier and began to pummel it with explosives. They rained mortar bombs down on the barricade, in front of the barricade and behind the barricade. The latter probably killing and maiming the defenders. Holes began to appear in the defense as some vehicles were ripped open and concrete barriers were shattered.
Under cover from the mortar barrage, Jason’s team advanced another block. Jason was hot, dirty and the scene reminded him of Iraq only this time he was not sniping from a rooftop but down in the action. I hope Catherine is okay. He was glad she was doing sniper duty.
His advance was slowed as the militia began firing mortar rounds. They were not aimed well but some hit the street, exploding with damaging results. The men shot open doors to the buildings to find shelter.
He had been pacing the lobby again, more happily this time, listening to the mortars with pleasure. Spotters at the street level were helping. Suddenly the sergeant appeared again looking desperate. “They’ve broken through part of the barricades on the north side,” the sergeant told him.
Joe stopped in his tracks.
“What happened?” he yelled at the man. The distant gunfire was increasing, sounding closer than before.
“They started firing mortars at the barricade! Blew some of it wide open and drove the men back. Some of the attackers got through! There’s a firefight right outside the bar right now!” The last sentence was almost a scream. Joe saw that the sergeant was getting hysterical. He fought for calm.
“Take some men from the south and send them to help.”
The man looked at Joe, eyes wide in fear. “Their using mortars on the south too. I don’t know how long the barricade will hold out.”
Joe ground his teeth. He stepped forward and grabbed the man by the shoulders. The man’s eyes focused on Joe. Joe raised his voice, making it hard and sure. “Then tell them to fall back and take up a new position. Get some rocket launchers, mortars, and machine guns going. You got to drive them back.”
The man look
ed doubtful.
“That’s the job. Now do it. Get moving!”
The man stumbled away and plunged out the door.
Joe’s head was swirling. There were too many elements for him to coordinate. Where were the men from the entrance checkpoints? Damn! He hadn’t called them back to headquarters. He picked up the radio.
“Gates One and Two, this is Stansky, come in.”
“Gate One here,” came the reply, accompanied by static. “Gate Two, what’s up?”
“Both of you fall back to headquarters. We’re under attack. Gate Two, you come in from your position to the northwest-corner barricades. Hit ‘em from behind. Gate One, you circle around to the south and come up on Market Street. They’re attacking on that street, trying to come right up on the bank building, but they won’t be expecting you to come up behind them. Hurry, both of you!”
Would they get here in time? He cursed himself for forgetting to call them in before. He was fighting on two fronts. He tried to think about what to do next, what the plan was, but he didn’t have a clear picture in his head anymore. With the attack from the north breaking through, the battle line had disintegrated. He could hear more and more shooting as he tried to think. As the intensity grew, so did Joe’s doubts.
Chapter 67
___________________________________
C atherine’s sniper fire was now even more effective than before. She could see how the battle was changing, and from her elevated position she could attack targets that were out of view from the ground level.
Suddenly there was a deafening blast. The whole room shook. Dust and broken acoustic tiles rained down from the ceiling. A mortar, she thought. Then there was another blast. And another.
How many could the roof withstand before it collapsed?
What if one of those large air-conditioning units fell on me?
Her skin began to crawl. With so many shells falling, it was only a matter of time before…
Catherine fought down her panic. It was time to go. She slung her carbine behind her, picked up the M110, and left the office. Her iron grip on her fear kept her walking normally for the first few steps, but then panic began to rise up and she dashed for the stairs.
As she shoved open the door to the stairs and threw herself through, a terrible white light flashed with a huge explosion. Debris flew around her, hitting her, and she was thrown forward as if someone had slammed into her back.
And then somehow Catherine was picking herself up off the half landing where the stairs changed direction halfway down to the next floor. Her ears were ringing. She could hear nothing else. Looking back up the stairs she saw the increased brightness shining down from the open doorway above.
Catherine forced herself to get up. She had to get away from those terrible explosions. She stumbled down the stairs, touching down on only every third or fourth step, more concussions continuing above and causing the steps to shake under her feet. She passed landing after landing. Not far enough. Finally she stopped on the last landing before the bottom and pushed open the door to another hallway with multiple offices.
Her ears were still ringing, but her panic had left her, and she seemed only to be coated with thick white dust; she was not hurt. I’ll try to set up here. She was determined to work this position as long as she could.
Billy watched the barricade as the battle began to rage a few blocks to the west of him. The men he could see behind the obstructions were distracted. As he watched he saw some of the militia leave. Only two remained. This was his moment.
He decided to approach the barricade as if he was one of them. He had been, until recently. Maybe one of the men would recognize him. He would be taking a chance on getting shot before he could tell them who he was, but it was worth a try. Thoughts of Lori Sue drove him.
He slung the M16 over his shoulder. Stepping out from the corner, he raised his empty hands and shouted at the figures he could see between the tractor-trailer and the Cadillac. “Don’t shoot. I’m Billy. I’m a hunter for the city. I’ve been trying to get back to the compound. I want to help.”
The men leveled their rifles at him, but he kept yelling and walking towards them with his hands high in the air. “Don’t shoot,” he yelled over and over.
Finally one of them shouted back, “Who the hell are you?”
“Billy. I’m one of the hunters for the city. Leo hired me.”
“What’re you doing out there?”
“I was coming back, no luck today and heard the shots. I’m trying to get back in so I can help. I’m a good shot. Let me through, I can help.”
“Keep your hands in the air and don’t do anything tricky,” came the reply.
Billy walked up to the barrier and slipped between two cars.
“Where’s everyone else?” he asked.
One of the men looked at him as if he had asked something stupid. “Someone ran over and said we had to help. One group of the attackers broke through.” He pointed west.
“Shit,” Billy replied. “That ain’t good.”
“You right about that. You going over there?”
“That’s where I can help, sure.” Billy unlimbered the M16.
“Good luck,” the second man said. His voice sounded shaky.
“Say, where’s Joe? He running the defenses?”
“Just get your ass over there. I don’t know where he is.”
“Just may need to check in with him. He may want me to do some sniping from a roof.”
“He’s at his headquarters still, I think,” the first man said. “The bank building.”
“Better get over there,” Billy said.
They nodded, staring at him.
Billy turned and trotted off down the alley in the direction of the gunfire. He ducked around a corner as soon as he could.
He didn’t know what to do. It would be stupid to get caught up in the battle. He wanted to just charge the headquarters building, firing away until he ran into Joe and shot him. Of course he would be shot as well. The problem for Billy was that there was too big a chance he would get shot before he could kill Joe.
He needed to be smarter, he thought. More like Jason. More like a hunter.
There came a moment when Joe stepped back from trying to direct the battle. He had lost control of it.
The news from the runners kept getting worse. The barricades on the south side hadn’t held either, which meant that the boundary no longer mattered. Enough attackers were inside now on both sides that the ones that followed could come through the gaps in near safety, and the attackers were coming down multiple streets to enter a general firefight. There was no massing of militia into a concentrated defense, despite Joe’s repeated demands. Mortars were now not effective. The other side was not massed into a large group. The battle was multiple small groups of fighters, some with machine guns, some without, engaged in free-form gun-fights.
There was no way that Joe could judge the battle, let alone control it. The militia should still have a big advantage in sheer numbers, but with no massing of forces on either side that advantage was less effective. The fight was devolving into smaller battles and no one knew who was winning. What he did know was that their defenses had been penetrated, which meant that their plan had been ruined. If there was a fallback plan, it had been lost with Leo.
Joe gave up on controlling the battle. And as he stood there in the bank lobby, he became aware that he had only seen the one runner for some time. The other man had been gone for a long time, and the sergeant had not returned either.
He was not going to bet all he had on the outcome.
Joe turned on his heel and headed back through the building to the loading area in the rear. Earlier he had carried his unmarked boxes of gold and Hillsboro’s best jewelry down to the bottom floor and had stacked them unobtrusively near the door.
He’d made sure a vehicle was left at the back of the building. The key was in his pocket. It was an old Chevy pickup truck, faded brown, four-wheel drive with
a winch and a push-bar front bumper. It was packed with weapons, a drum of gasoline, and other supplies. It would take him a long way if the battle went to hell. He lifted each of the boxes into the back. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to use the pickup, but he didn’t have a victim’s mentality.
Catherine’s new shooting position on the second floor was much less effective than her higher position had been, but she kept at it. She wouldn’t be able to do it for much longer. She was running low on ammunition for the M110, and she wasn’t sure whether or not to continue sniping with her carbine when that was gone.
Suddenly she saw a rocket coming straight at her.
She dove under a heavy metal desk, cracking her head hard on the edge. Debris flew and immediately there was a deafening explosion and burst of light behind her. Hard objects pummeled her. She lay covered in dust and broken pieces of the room. Her ears rang. She was disoriented. She could hardly breathe.
She pushed back against broken pieces of furniture, drywall and concrete, struggling to crawl backwards to get out from under the desk. Her eyes, nose and mouth were filled with an acrid-tasting dust. Finally she could stand. She wiped her hands on her shirt and tried to clear her eyes. The air was so thick with dust that it darkened the room; she could make out no details. Coughing over and over, she fumbled with her clothing, trying to pull a piece loose to put over her nose and mouth.
She looked around in confusion. Where’s my rifle? She remembered pulling it off the desk as she dove for cover, but she could not remember what had happened to it after that. Pulling back some of the debris piled around the desk, she saw the barrel sticking up. She began to tug at it and finally pulled the rifle loose after much effort.
Catherine stood fully upright and looked around. The dust had begun to settle. The small office she had entered had disappeared. There was a round hole in the wall just to the left of the window. Turning around, she saw that the back wall of the office, made of cinder block, had been blown out. A large irregular hole looked out into a shattered hallway. The space was a field of rubble.
