Текст книги "The Western Front"

Автор книги: Archer Garrett

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Ch apter 16

Clayton

Washington County, Alabama

Clayton drifted alongside the narrow pier in Hellcat Bayou and looped his bow and stern ropes around the piles.  Another run had not been scheduled for a couple weeks, but he had made an exception.  Clay decided it best to leave Moses with Claire for the night.  The cur did not usually tolerate strangers in his boat.  Clayton had looked back at the porch as he idled away and watched his friend whine and protest the decision.

The grief-stricken mother gingerly stepped out onto the pier with Teddy behind her to ensure she did not fall.  Clayton remembered the last time he was there and thought perhaps Deputy Greene should be the one helping her.  Clay took her hand and helped her balance as she stepped down into the boat.  Her two sons, sixteen and fourteen years old, followed behind Teddy on the pier.  Deputy Greene remained on the bank and aimed his flashlight at their feet.

Her husband had been a diabetic before the world had changed.  As false stability gave way to uncertainty, it had become increasingly difficult to find the medicines he needed to regulate his condition.  When they were finally able to obtain insulin, the periods of extended power outages ensured that it could never be properly refrigerated. Ultimately, it would be ruined by the heat.  After months without proper preventative medicines, his health began to decline.  His kidneys failed and slowly, over the course of several weeks, he succumbed to a very painful death.

The slow death of a loving father and husband was unbearable for the young family to witness.  The agony he went through near the end had driven their mother into a deep depression.  He was the love of her life and a wonderful father, and now they were alone.  They had no one else on this side of the river.

The remainder of their family resided not far from Clayton’s drop point on the opposite side.  He had arranged for several of his contacts to meet him at the usual location and escort the mother and her sons to her family’s homestead.  His contacts had dutifully agreed; it was the least they could do for one of their own.

Once everyone was safely seated in Clayton’s boat, he untied the vessel and pushed off.

As the boat drifted away from the pier, Deputy Greene called out, “Clayton.”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful out there tonight.”

“Why?  What’s the word?”

“Well, we’ve been having some problems over the last week or so and it’s getting worse.”

“Like what?”

“Mostly home invasions; a few people’ve been killed.  I could be wrong, but I’m afraid it’s going to turn up on the water soon enough.”

“I don’t doubt it.  Think it’s outsiders?”

“Not sure yet; we’ve been checking to see if anyone’s had family or friends move in from out of town, but so far we haven’t got any leads.”

“Keep looking, you’ll find them.  It’s hard to cause trouble ‘round and stay hid for long.”

“Agreed; anyway, be careful, Clay.”

“Always do; take care, deputy.” Clayton started the motor and slipped on his helmet, before disappearing into the night.

The stars were particularly bright.  They caught Clay’s attention, and he glanced up occasionally to marvel at them.  They sped under gnarled branches draped with Spanish moss.  The eerie limbs looked like the frail appendages of some underworld beast.  The slough beyond the lake began to narrow and wind more severely. Clayton slowed the shallow-draft boat to a more reasonable pace so as not to frighten the already-grieving family.

He watched as the mother stared blankly ahead into the darkness, unaware of his empathetic gaze.  Her boys sat on either side of her.  The elder son draped his arm around her while the younger clasped her hand tightly.  He admired the boys for their courage.  He knew their resilience was all that was holding their mother together.  He thought of his own children and hoped they had remembered all he had taught them.  He prayed that they were safe and that God would let him see them again.

Clayton shut off the motor as they neared the mouth of the slough.  They sat in silence as he listened for any unnatural sounds, but heard none.  He watched as the youngest boy occasionally glanced up at his helmet and goggles.  Finally the boy broke the silence of the boat with a whisper.

“Mister Clay?”

“What is it, little man?”

“What’re you wearing on your head?”

“That’s his night vision,” the older brother replied.

“Your brother’s right; it lets me see in the dark like a barn owl.”

“Cool, can I try it?”

“Joshua,” his mother scolded, “leave Mister Clayton alone.”

“He’s fine Hanna; here you go, Josh.” He pulled the helmet off of his head and plopped it onto the boy’s. “Try it out.”

“Wow!” The boy gazed all about and laughed as he said, “I can see everything!”

“That’s right,” Clayton replied as the Josh handed it back to him, “it’s my secret weapon.  Well, the coast sounds clear.  Let’s shoot across the river and back into the safety of the cutoff.  Is everybody ready?”

The boys replied, but Hannah simply nodded.  Clayton started the motor again and twisted the tiller throttle as far as it would allow.  The boat roared to life and leapt forward as it began to plane across the water.  They burst forth at full speed from the slough and flew down the river towards the cutoff.

Clayton squinted in an attempt to discern several objects that were barely visible along the bank in the approaching bend.  The closer he got, the more obvious it became as to what they were.  He yelled over the roar of the engine to the others, “Hannah, I want you and Josh to get in the bottom of the boat; get as low as you can.  Josh, try to keep your mother calm, alright?”

“But-“

“Do it, son; no time for questions.  Dale, I need you to come back here with me, okay?”

Dale nodded and complied.  He stepped over the dry well to the back of the boat and stood beside Clayton. Clay shouted over the motor again, “Open the dry well and grab some ear muffs, it’s about to get even louder.”

The boy did as he was ordered without question.  Clayton looked again and could now see several men in the two boats along the bank.  He knew it was only a matter of time.

Suddenly, two spotlights shined from the boats and illuminated Clayton’s vessel.  Clay turned off his goggles to avoid being blinded and guided the boat by memory and moonlight until he could get away from the bright beams.  As they flew past the boats Dale cried, “They’re following us!”

The boats were larger and faster than Clay’s, but they could never hang with him in the narrow sloughs.  Unfortunately, they were still at least a mile from the cutoff.  There was nowhere to hide, so Clayton continued to push hard and pray for Providence.

“Get on the gun!” Clayton yelled, “Aim just below the lights so it doesn’t blind you.  Alternate between the boats to rattle them both; I need you to buy me some time.  I’m counting on you, Dale.  Your mother and brother are too.”

Dale nodded and shouldered up to the fifty-caliber that was resting in the bracketed mount in the center of the boat.  He aimed slightly low just like he was told and squeezed the trigger.  He jerked the first shot for fear of the recoil.  The round sailed wide of the pursuers.  Much to his surprise, the kick was mostly absorbed by the home-made mount; all that he felt was the shockwave from the explosion in the chamber.

Being downrange of the huge muzzle flash obviously surprised the pursuers.  They certainly had not expected such a forceful response.  They began to slalom back and forth to avoid being an easy target for the cannon.  Clayton smiled; they were giving him the time he needed.  He yelled again to Dale, “That’s it!  Keep it up!”

Thirty more seconds to the cutoff.

Dale cycled the bolt action and aimed with a new confidence at the second boat.  The operators of the lights were having a rather difficult time following Clayton’s boat as they were swept back and forth in their evasive motions, so he turned the night vision back on.

Twenty five seconds.

Dale peered down the rifle and slowly squeezed the trigger once again.  The hammer fell against the primer and set in motion the explosion inside the round.  The spark traveled down the flash hole of the cartridge and ignited the powder charge.  The burning gas propelled the seven-hundred-grain bullet forward with a deep resounding, Boom!  The bullet spun faster and faster as it traveled along the rifled barrel.  It exited the long barrel in a blinding flash and shot forth in an arc towards the second boat.  The bullet hit the water mere feet from its bow.  The operator panicked and jerked the boat hard to the right, nearly causing a catastrophic collision with his comrades.

Fifteen seconds to the cutoff.

The boats returned fire at Clay and the others, barely missing them. Clay could feel the shots as they pierced the thick night air around him.  He ducked as low as he could in the vessel, minimizing his silhouette as much as possible.  Dale huddled tightly behind the large rifle and continued to search for his targets.  The wide sweeps taken by the pursuing boats made illuminating Clayton difficult, and accurate return fire more luck than skill.  He knew that if Dale had frozen in fear rather than engaging the assailants as he had, they would certainly be dead.

Ten seconds.

Dale was finding a rhythm with the rifle.  He began to work the action more smoothly as he fired off a steady volley of rounds between the two boats.  He would alternate back and forth, back and forth, at his adversaries.  His shots were hitting closer to their marks each time, but the boats stubbornly continued their chase.

One round finally connected with the second boat.  The men panicked and slowed as the other boat shot past them at full speed.  After several moments, they throttled back up and continued the chase from at a distance.

Five seconds.

Clayton could see his sanctuary rapidly approaching.  He swung wide into the middle of the river so that his angle of entry would be straighter and his boat would be easier to control in the narrow strait.

“Hold on!” he shouted as he performed the maneuver.  Dale wrapped his arms tightly around the rifle to keep from being slung from the boat. Clayton slowed only the slightest bit as he disappeared into river swamp.  The adrenaline rush forced a high pitched howl from deep within him as they were engulfed by the thick canopy.

The predator had now become the prey.

With every additional bend and turn, the distance between the boats increased in Clayton’s favor.  He could have closed his eyes and navigated the stretch.  They had tried him on the open river and expected an easy victim.  Alone with only his old friend Moses, he would have been surely overtaken.  With the bold display from Dale, however, their ambush had been thoroughly repelled.  Now, if they were foolish enough to follow him into his sanctum, they would be his.

A little over half way through the cutoff, he killed the motor and guided them into a cluster of thick brushwood.  He urged the three to remain quiet while he listened to the sounds of the boats as they ventured towards him on the dangerous waters.  He whispered to Dale to get down in the bottom of the boat and comfort his mother and brother, while he reached for the M1 Garand.

***

The boats foolishly pushed deeper into the cutoff, not realizing the snare that they had already stumbled into.  The rear boat had caught up with his companion vessel.  They were navigating the waters almost as one boat, blindly urging each other onward.  The crew of the front boat looked back just in time to see their compatriots collide with a submerged stump and turn skyward, before rolling towards the trees along the submerged bank.  The intense spotlight from the first boat found and tracked one of the victims as he was slung through the air in a sweeping arc.  The body collided with a cypress tree in a sickening crunch, before disappearing into the dark waters.

The first boat slowed and spun around to rescue any survivors.  As they idled back to the scene of the accident, they panned their light and searched for their comrades.  They followed the sounds of the panicked screams and found the bobbing head of a lone man.  He thrashed violently in the water, terrified of unseen monsters that were surely lurking an arms-length away, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.  He pleaded desperately for them to pull him to the safety of the boat.

As he reached the side of their boat, his friend stretched forth his arm and began to pull the hysterical survivor aboard.  As he tugged at the man for leverage, a shot rang from somewhere in the darkness. The man went limp and fell headlong overboard; the survivor sunk back into the murky depths.

He screamed in horror as two more reports echoed through the night.  Two more bodies collapsed on the boat somewhere nearby.  As one of the men fell, the spotlight he had been holding plunged into the water and was immediately extinguished.  Darkness rushed in and filled the swamp again.

The man cried out for mercy as he struggled to climb into the boat.  As he pulled himself up and over the sidewall, eight more shots rang out. The bullets perforated the boat and its motor.  Again, eight shots again rang out in the same manner, ravaging the vessel’s hull.  The panicked survivor pressed himself against the bottom of the craft.  He lay in complete silence, gasping for shallow breaths, fearful of another barrage.

“Your friends’re all dead.  Their blood is already inviting all manner of creatures to this place.  I don’t have to tell you what’s coming, because you’ve already imagined them, eh?”

The man remained in the bottom of the perforated boat, too afraid to respond.  Water was beginning to seep in.

“Your boat’s disabled; it’s not going anywhere ‘cept straight down.  There’s nowhere to run and no one to hear your cries for help.  You’re surrounded by water on all sides.  Even if you could make it to higher ground, every river bend and every third tree in the swamp looks exactly the same.  But you’re too frightened to even consider making a run for it, so here you’ll stay.”

The man said nothing.

Clayton turned his boat back around and silently trolled away from the wreckage.  After several a short while, he climbed back to his seat and prepared to continue onward.  As he prepared to start the motor once again, a fearful voice cried out, “You’re not going to leave me here to die, are you?”

“You wouldn’t be so lucky.  I’ve some business to attend to first, but I’ll be back.  Then we’re going to talk and talk, almost like old friends – almost.  I can’t wait to hear all about you and your friends.  But until then, don’t go anywhere.”

Cha pter 17

Jake

Mississippi

Jake, Kate and Geram were having much better luck by the light of day.  They had been driving since dawn’s first light and had only seen a handful of vehicles on the road.  Parts were getting increasingly difficult to locate, so as vehicles started to break down, they were often simply abandoned.

Besides the difficulties associated with repairs, fuel had priced out of reach of all but the wealthy, or the scarce few that were still employed.  The only people with jobs were the ones that worked for the government or critical infrastructure such as energy and utility companies.  Even those workers had seen their salaries eroded away, but at least it still provided them a meager income.  Some companies had forgone payment with currency altogether, and were compensating their employees with food and water.

The families along their chosen route were probably faring better than most, Jake assumed.  They saw the occasional father and son tending to livestock, or a garden, or the numerous other activities associated with rural living that demanded daily attention.  They even saw a tractor being used sparingly by an old farmer.  The old man most likely had a large store of fuel on his farm that he was rationing as best he could.

The scenery had not changed much during the day.  There were more forests now, but pastures and fields were still abundant enough.  They had noticed several country stores at some of the more major intersections that appeared abandoned, but they had not dared to stop and investigate.  The trials of the night before were still fresh on their minds.

The Bronco had been mostly silent for the last hour or so.  The conversations of earlier had faded as each had turned to other preoccupations.  Kate quietly read her Bible in the back as Sasha rested her head in Kate’s lap.  Geram had relieved Jake of driving for a while so he could study the old Army Ranger Handbook that he had found in Frank’s vault. Jake was currently reading about combat patrols.  Sasha lifted her head as Kate broke the silence and said, “Hey babe, listen to this:

‘The sun and moon stood still in the heavens at the glint of your flying arrows, at the lightning of your flashing spear.  In wrath you strode through the earth and in anger you threshed the nations.  You came out to deliver your people, to save your anointed one.  You crushed the leader of the land of wickedness; you stripped him from head to foot.  With his own spear you pierced his head when his warriors stormed out to scatter us, gloating as though about to devour the wretched who were in hiding. You trampled the sea with your horses, churning the great waters.  I heard and my heart pounded, my lips quivered at the sound; decay crept into my bones, and my legs trembled.

Yet I will wait patiently for the day of calamity to come on the nation invading us.  Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord , I will be joyful in God my Savior.

The Sovereign Lord is my strength; he makes my feet like the feet of a deer, he enables me to tread on the heights.’”

“Where is that from, Revelation?” Jake asked.

“Nope, it’s from the Old Testament.”

“Really?  What’s the story behind it?”

“It’s pretty interesting,” she replied, “it’s from Habakkuk.  He was a minor prophet in the Bible but this wasn’t a prophecy, it was part of a debate between him and God.”

“A debate?”

“Yeah, he starts off questioning God as to why He wouldn’t do something about all of the evil in Judah.  God replied that He was going to send the Babylonians to conquer them.  This left Habakkuk even more confused.  He wondered why God would send a nation to destroy them that was even more corrupt than they were.”

“I can see the man’s point.”  Geram interjected.

“I know, right?” Kate replied, “What I read was from the end of the book. He ultimately learned to trust God regardless of the circumstances.  Even though everything was failing around him, God still had a purpose and a reason.”

Geram asked, “What was the purpose?”

“It doesn’t say,” she said, “but I think that’s the point.  Habakkuk didn’t know the purpose, and we don’t either.  It’s not for us to know.”

“Maybe the purpose was that Judah had run out of chances.”

“Maybe so.”

Suddenly, the radio-frequency scanner on the dash crackled to life. Jake grabbed it and turned up the volume.

“…is Checkpoint Two, we’re under assault!  …taking heavy fire; may have to fall back!  Send reinforcements immediately!”  Gunfire was readily apparent in the background of the broadcast.

Kate said, “What was that?”

“Sounds like some locals’re under attack,” Jake replied, “We’re just a few miles outside of Decatur; it could be there.”

Geram began searching the channels on the CB radio for any other communications.

“What’re you doing?” Jake asked.

“We need to find that channel.”  Geram scanned, but found nothing.  “Must be on some other frequency,” he reasoned, “Hopefully they’ve got a CB too.”

“Wait,” Jake interjected, “is that safe?  We could be getting in over our heads.”

The scanner chirped again.  “Checkpoint Two, this is Town Hall.  One is taking fire too.  I’m sorry, you’re on your own.  We’ve no one to spare.  Hold out as long as you can.”

Geram turned to Jake and said, “That town is about to get overrun.  There’re innocent people that’ll die if we don’t help; I know that for sure.  I don’t know all the details, but I reckon we should help if we can.”

Jake glanced back at Kate. She nodded in agreement.  Finally, he relented.  “You’re right, let’s do what we can.”

Geram keyed up the CB. “Checkpoint Two this is a southbound civilian on Highway 15.   State your location and we’ll aid you.”

He repeated the broadcast several times without any response.  Each time, he would flip to the next channel and repeat himself.   As he was about to change the channel again, a voice crackled through.

“Civilian on High way, 15 this is Town Hall, what’s your purpose?”

“Town Hall, we wish to aid Checkpoint Two.   All you have is my word, but we mean you no harm.”

“Describe yourself Civilian.”

“We’re a tan Bronco southbound on Highway 15, approximately five miles north of Decatur.”

“Continue south, C ivilian; you’ll find them.  Will contact Checkpoint Two.”

Immediately afterwards the scanner barked to life.

“Checkpoint Two , this is Town Hall; you have alleged friendly support two miles to the north.  They’re in a tan, Ford Bronco and are willing to provide you aid.  Do you copy?”

“Copy Town Hall, send them on; we’ll take what we can get.  It can’t get any worse.”

 

***

After a short while, they approached the scene.  Checkpoint Two was several police cruisers parked across the highway.  The assailants were a dozen men hidden behind a deuce and a half with an M2 Browning mounted in the back of the truck.  Checkpoint Two was utterly and helplessly pinned to the ground by the machine gun’s fire.

Geram pulled off the highway a little less than a thousand hundred yards from the attackers.  He eased the Bronco behind a thick stand of trees that acted as a wind break for one of the fields along the road.  Sasha whined in protest as they left her in the back seat.

They moved along the woods line on the right-of-way of the road.  The gunfire ahead of them was brutal.

Geram explained his plan to Jake and Kate, “We stay low and out of the checkpoint’s line of fire as we approach.  When we get a couple hundred yards away, we find a safe position in the woods and start picking these guys off.  As long as they don’t see us coming, we should be fine.”

As they neared the predetermined distance, they searched and found a fallen oak tree not far in the woods.  The thick trunk provided excellent cover.  There was a narrow gap between the ground and the tree that was suitable for firing through.

Geram removed the night-vision scope from the FAL and peered through the rear aperture sight.  He searched for the gunner on the M2 atop the deuce and a half.  Jake and Kate had matching, scoped AR-15s, and had already settled on their targets.  The assailants’ backs were fully exposed.  They were so confident in their superior firepower, and focused on overrunning the checkpoint, they failed to consider a counter-assault from the direction they had come from.

On the count of three they fired simultaneously, downing their marks.  As the sound of the Browning faded, the raiders looked about in dismay.  One man left his position to climb up to the gun, but Geram caught him mid-stride.  Kate and Jake had also found and dropped their second targets.  The attackers were now in a full panic.  Half of their group and been killed in a matter of seconds and they had no idea where the gunfire was coming from.  One man tried to run to the woods on the opposite side of the road, but was downed by a member of Checkpoint Two.

The raiders’ resolve had been shattered.   They formed a circular pattern and began to frantically fire in all directions.  Two more of the assailants were gunned down by Checkpoint Two, before the remaining three flung their rifles sidelong and lay prone on the pavement.  As the gunfire subsided, a man from the checkpoint shouted, “Hold your fire, Bronco!  I think that’s all of them.”

Geram shouted back in response, “You’ve got three down behind the deuce.  Go ahead and retrieve them; we’ll provide cover.”

“Roger, coming forward.”

The men of the checkpoint advanced and secured the remaining assailants in the back of one of the bullet-riddled cruisers.  Geram, Kate and Jake appeared from out of the woods with their rifles slung over their backs and their hands skyward.  Geram called out again, “Bronco, coming forward!”

“Hands down Bronco, that ain’t how we treat our friends.”  The man was tall, uniformed and in his late fifties. Geram reasoned he was likely Decatur’s chief of police.

“Bronco, I need to take several of my officers and check on the other side of town.  Do you mind staying here with a couple of my men ‘til we return?”

“Go; hurry,” Geram replied, “We’ve got you covered.”