Текст книги "State of Rebellion"

Автор книги: Summer Lane

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 11 страниц)

“Said who?” Manny gives me a look. “I’m a volunteer. I’ll come when I’m ready to come.” He grins. “Now where’s the head fat cat around this place? I need to check in with him.”

“Chris is in the Taco House.”

“How fitting. What about Rivera?”

“He’s talking to the patrols.”

“Here we are in the middle of the war and he’s talking. Show me the way.”

“To Chris or Rivera?”

“Chris.”

I choke on a laugh, leading Manny across the concrete, through the single parking lot, and back to the Taco House.

“How was the flight in?” I ask.

“How wasn’t it, you mean.” Manny stomps through the front door of the restaurant, sizing up Chris, his boots propped up on the booth across from him, studying a map. “Greetings, Commander. Nice to see you’re still kicking.”

Chris replies, “What took you so long?”

“I was busy.” Manny stuffs his goggles and flight cap into the pocket of his leather duster. “And I hear we’re about to get a whole lot busier.”

“We’ve got a five thousand man army headed our way in twenty-four hours,” Chris answers. “And air support isn’t even here yet.”

“Don’t insult me, kid,” Manny sniffs. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“No offense, Manny, but we need more than a biplane for this one.” Chris stands up, tossing a map to the ground. “You didn’t see any Omega troop movements from the air, did you?”

“Quiet as a tomb everywhere I looked,” Manny shrugs. “The militias in California have done a good job of reducing the concentration and labor camps.”

“True.” Chris’s gaze narrows. “That could change.”

“We’re going to be okay,” I say. A lie? Not quite. I’m reaching for positive here.

“So what’s the plan?” Manny asks, plopping down on a chair. Kicking his boots up on a tabletop. “We’ve got – what? – a thousand men here? Five thousand coming our way. I’d say this is going to be interesting.”

“This is going to be tight,” Chris corrects. “If the Air Force can bring in their support for us on time, we stand a good chance. If not…. then we’ll just have to improvise. Use what we have here.”

“What’s Rivera’s plan?” Manny asks.

“We’re working together.”

“So you’re the big dog these days, then? Making all the decisions?”

“No.” Chris gives Manny a warning look. “Rivera and I share command. He’s got the guard forces and I’ve got the civilian militias.”

“Ah. By the way,” Manny says, digging in his pocket. “Your father wanted me to give this to you.”

He pulls a crumpled note out of his pocket and tosses it to me. I catch it neatly in the palm of my hand, unfolding it on the bar counter. I flick on the flashlight strapped to my belt. It’s an old piece of college ruled notebook paper. Dad’s handwriting is neat and clean, written in pencil.

I’m sorry I couldn’t come with you. But you’re not a little girl anymore, and you can make your own decisions. If this is what you feel is right, then I want you to know that I support you. I love you. You’ll always be my little girl. We will see each other again. I promise.

Love, Dad

I swallow thickly, overcome.

I read it over again. My Dad is a very non-emotional person. He doesn’t pour his heart out to people. This note is rare coming from him. It means a lot. I hand it to Chris without a word, not trusting my voice to be steady.

“Don’t get all teary-eyed,” Manny mumbles. “I’m just a messenger.”

I roll my eyes.

“Enough,” Chris commands, handing the note back to me. He touches me on the cheek – a gesture meant to instill comfort. “We’ve got work to do.”

I nod. I leave Manny with Chris, excusing myself. I need some fresh air. Talking about what’s about to happen isn’t doing anything for my nerves, and I often find that taking a quick walk eases my anxiety.

As I leave the Taco House again, I notice the humidity in the air. The high temperature. I’m pretty sure we’ve got some major weather headed our way. It is October, after all. A storm or two wouldn’t be unusual.

The other end of the encampment is the east side of the parking lot. It takes a long time to walk all the way over here. A tiny old convenience store behind a gas station is where the Colonel is. I check in with the guards and step inside. Dull lanterns illuminate the back of the building. Rivera is leaning against the counter, and Angela and Vera are there with him.

“Colonel,” I say.

He looks up, barely blinking.

“I’m busy at the moment.”

“I’m just checking in, sir.”

I take a peek at the maps they’re studying. They’ve circled different locations with sharpie pens, connecting dots with lines and scribbling around the edges.

“May I ask what you’re mapping out, sir?” I say.

“Strategy, Hart,” Colonel Rivera replies, straightening up from the counter. “Just reviewing what we already know. I’ve got a group of men scouting the surrounding area right now. They should be bringing back some valuable information by the time morning rolls around.”

“We agreed to keep our scouts within the Chokepoint,” I say, “because we don’t know how many enemy scouts Omega is sending out.”

We don’t want to lose men before the battle even starts.

“The National Guard is making sure the area is secure,” he states, emotionless. “Your Commander would agree with me.”

Would he? Was this something they discussed? I’m a Lieutenant. If there is any change to any plan, I know about it. Period. If Rivera is making independent decisions like this…

Colonel Rivera checks a couple of things before he heads out the door, leaving Vera and Angela and myself alone. “Manny arrived, I see,” Angela says. “Is he well?”

“He’s Manny,” I answer.

That’s an answer in itself.

“When Alexander’s platoon comes back, will we move our forces farther into the mountains?” Vera asks her mother. “Or will we wait for word from air support?”

“Whoa,” I interject. “Did you say Alexander’s platoon? Rivera sent Alexander out on a scouting mission to the Chokepoint?”

“That’s what he just said,” she states. “Were you not listening, Hart?”

“I was listening. He just failed to mention who he sent.”

“Alexander is under his command.”

“Alexander is under Chris’s command. If Rivera sent him out without consulting Chris…” I bite my lip. “Excuse me, Angela.”

I make a point of ignoring Vera in my goodbye.

Angela must notice the tension between us, but she has never asked why. Personally, I think that’s a great question. I wouldn’t hate Vera if she were actually kind to me and wasn’t always angling to steal my boyfriend.

I think I’m being pretty reasonable about the situation.

By the time I reach the Taco House again, Colonel Rivera has beaten me there. He’s discussing something with Chris, and judging by the raised voices, I’m guessing Chris just found out that the Colonel sent Alexander on a scouting mission without consulting Chris about it.

Frankly, it’s not that big of a deal. But Chris and Alexander are friends. Chris is probably angry that Rivera commanded his men and hurt that Alexander took the order without talking with Chris. Technically, we’re all volunteers and Alexander can do whatever he wants. If he wanted to go on a scouting mission, there was nothing stopping him.

But that doesn’t change the facts. Rivera shouldn’t have done this.

And we really didn’t need this kind of tension right before we move out tomorrow.

Don’t do this right now. We’ve got enough problems without crap like this.

“Cassidy,” Manny says, calling me from across the lot.

I clench my fists, following the sound of his voice. Spotting his lean figure near a streetlamp. “Don’t be so loud,” I hiss. “We’re trying to keep a low profile.”

“You’re going to want to see this,” he replies, his tone flat.

“See what?”

He nods toward the east side of the boulevard, at the mouth of the freeway onramp. A group of soldiers are gathering there, and there’s a hushed murmur breaking out. Curious, I join the group.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

Nobody answers. A few militiamen are limping up the freeway onramp, bloody and bruised.

“Oh, my god,” I say, turning to the men. “Go get the field medics. Hurry.”

I gasp, recognizing Derek’s tall form walking up the ramp. A thick smear of blood mars his chest. “Derek, you went on the scouting mission?” I offer him my shoulders for support. He takes it, his breathing heavy. “What happened?”

“Ambush. Omega’s forward scouts,” he pants.

“Where’s Alexander?”

“He…fell behind.”

“What?”

Derek grits his teeth.

“I don’t know what happened to him. But he’s not here.”

A cold fist closes around my heart.

“Who else from our militia went on this scouting mission with you?” I ask.

“Just me.” Derek kneels on the asphalt, fighting to maintain steady breathing. “I gotta say, those Omega troops can pack a punch.”

“Where are you hurt?”

“Shoulder. It’s not too bad, it just hurts like hell.”

I get down on my knees beside him, my heart hammering against my ribcage. Alexander fell behind.

Alexander fell behind.

This is going to break Sophia’s heart.

Chapter Twelve

Air support has arrived.

But I’m not as excited as I should be. Sophia is in tears, panicked at the thought of losing Alexander. Truth be told, he could still be alive. But falling behind is usually just another way of saying he got killed.

And we all know it.

The realization that somebody I’ve known personally might be dead hits hard. Alexander was never a touchy feely emotional guy, but you knew where he stood. He may not have been overtly talkative, but at least he got the job done. I may have thought he was a suspicious character when I first met him, but he proved me wrong.

Alexander was my friend.

I lean my head against Sophia’s shoulders, both of us sitting on the corner of a sidewalk behind the Taco House – Headquarters. It’s late morning. Hours have passed since Derek arrived with the scouting party, bloody and bruised. He’ll recover, but it’s a hard blow to have one of your best men injured and another one missing in action. It sucks. The only positive thing about this situation is the fact that a lot of the soldiers in the militia sector of the National Guard are furious over Alexander’s absence. They’re ready to destroy Omega.

“He’s not dead,” I say. “Alexander is way too smart to die on a scouting mission. You and I both know that.”

“I don’t know that.” Sophia wipes her nose on the back of her sleeve. “I can’t be certain of anything anymore.”

“He’ll be okay.”

“That is so easy for you to say,” she snaps, suddenly angry. “It’s always been you and Chris as long as I can remember. But now that I finally found somebody who loves me, he’s dead.” She presses the palm of her hand against her mouth, stifling a sob. I don’t take her outburst personally. How could I? How would I be reacting if it were Chris who fell behind and not Alexander?

I would be out there looking for him right now.

And maybe that’s the difference between Sophia and me.

I stand up and leave her in peace, having spent most of the day by her side in an attempt to comfort her. Unfortunately, there’s nothing you can say to ease the sting of a loss like this. So I won’t try.

Air support arrived soon after Derek and his men showed up from their scouting mission. My knowledge of aircraft is extremely limited, but Chris seems to be pleased by the force that’s here, courtesy of what’s left of the United States Air Force. We’ve got high-cover fighter bombers to take on enemy aircraft – and keep them from bombing us here at base. We’ve got smaller aircraft, too, for scouting near the ground and keeping Omega’s foot soldiers at bay, if needed.

And two Blackhawks. Those are my favorite. Two hulking black masses of metal. When they arrived earlier, the ground shook and the windows in the Taco House nearly blew out as they landed in the parking lot. I’ve been told that they will be used to transport wounded soldiers and pick off the enemy from close range.

Frankly, the technical aspects of aircraft and their uses are way over my head. What I understand is that they’re here to help us, and all I have to do is stick to the plan and do my job – and we’ll all be fine.

Hopefully.

I see Chris standing on the road, speaking to Max and his brother, Jeff. His posture is rigid as he folds his arms across his chest. Losing Alexander will be difficult for him.

He could still be alive, I remind myself.

That’s just not likely. I’ve seen enough scouts go missing in the last year to know that what falls behind stays behind. I brush my fingers over my belt, looking down at my lucky knife. The multiple gadgets and gizmos attached to my waist, all courtesy of the National Guard.

Yeah. When I graduated from high school, a career in the military was nowhere near my list of life goals. It was either go to college and get a degree in criminal justice or spend the rest of my life working shifts at a café in Los Angeles. I mean, come on. Even though the world sucks, at least my skillset has improved, right? I can do more than pour coffee into a cup these days.

I find my way over to Chris.

“How are you doing?” I ask.

His mood is tense. He’s focused on the task at hand.

“Fine.” He pauses, glancing across the

street. “How’s Sophia?”

“She’s devastated.”

“That’s to be expected.” Chris heaves a deep sigh. “We’re moving out, Cassie. This is it.”

“I’m not afraid,” I say.

I’m such a liar.

“There’s not a person here who isn’t

afraid,” he states.

I blink hard, fighting tears for what seems like the hundredth time in twenty-four hours. Chris slowly reaches out and takes my hand, holding it against his chest.

“We will survive,” he says.

“Alexander didn’t even survive the scouting mission, and he was one of our best men.”

“What happened to him is a part of war,” Chris replies, his eyes darkening. “But Rivera should have consulted me. They both should have consulted me.”

“Isn’t it normal to send out scouts, though?” I ask.

“Normal, yes. But the risk of losing someone never goes away.”

“What’s done is done,” I say. “We’re here, we’re ready to fight and that’s all we can do. You can’t change what’s happened – and neither can I. You can’t focus on that right now, or we won’t be able to move forward with this assault.”

Chris, still holding onto my hand, pulls me closer.

“You’re a wise woman,” he whispers, sliding his finger under my chin. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

He kisses me softly, sending a jolt of electricity down to my toes.

“Mother of God, what’s going on here?” Manny swaggers up from behind a parked Humvee, twirling his flight goggles in one hand. “Can’t you go kiss her somewhere else?”

“No, as a matter of fact I can’t,” Chris replies, fixing an annoying glare on Manny. “You ready to fly, old man?”

“I was born ready,” he replies. “And old is an incorrect term. I prefer aged, like fine wine.”

“Yeah, good luck, old man.”

“No respect from the youth of today.”

“I’ll see you when this is over, Manny,” I say, swallowing.

I’m saying goodbye. Because this might be the last thing I ever say to him. “Stay safe.”

“I’ll be safer in the air than all of you.”

I move forward and impulsively give him a hug. He freezes, unsure of how to respond. For the first time since I’ve known him, I’ve taken him completely by surprise. I step back, give him a two-finger salute and turn away. I slip my arm through Chris’s and walk with him towards Headquarters. When we reach the doorway, I look back over my shoulder.

Manny is still standing there, watching us.

Chapter Thirteen

It’s not like I haven’t seen this before. Trucks. Soldiers. Nervous tension heavy in the air. Yeah, I’ve seen this plenty of times. In fact, as I sit in the backseat of one of the officers’ vehicles with Chris, I find myself strangely numb to the entire situation. Like I’m moving through a dream.

Maybe I’m just exhausted. Maybe I’m just so stressed out from everything that I can’t feel nervousness anymore. Or, maybe, I’m just ready for whatever comes my way. I’ve finally accepted the status quo.

As we roll down the interstate, a hollow feeling of dread seizes me.

Not so impassive after all, apparently, I think.

The freeway curves upward in the distance, winding into the Tehachapi mountain range. Below us, the freeway branches into two different interstates, the 1-5 and the I-99. I shift in my seat, uncomfortable.

Last time I was here my Mustang had been stolen just hours beforehand, destroyed by panicked civilians turned thugs who were trapped on the road after the EMP.

Mobs aren’t your problem anymore, I remind myself. Omega is the problem.

Oh, sure. That makes me feel better.

We stop below the slope of the freeway, maneuvering our vehicles behind buildings on the side of the interstate. A massive warehouse on our right, and another small rest stop on our left. Our convoy makes a literal boundary line across the road, all the way from one side to the other. It’s a huge span. They set out a blockade along the roadway and then back up. Where the freeway begins to lift up into the mountains, a huge concrete ditch stretches from one side to the other. It’s the perfect place to hide. A strategic trench.

Our men and women slide into the trenches and barricade themselves in. Our trucks are placed in pockets along the road, like miniature fortresses of steel. In the end, our force of one thousand troops ends up camouflaged and hidden inside ditches, behind buildings and under freeway onramps.

Because how else can one thousand stand against five thousand without a little ingenuity? Chris and I step out of our transport at the end of the ditch. My radio is attached to my hip. My camouflage gear blends in perfectly with the yellow-gold tone of the grass and weeds at the base of the mountain. The air at this hour of the morning is crisp and cool. A layer of fog has settled over the hills.

“That’s unusual,” I mutter.

“What’s unusual?” Chris asks.

“The fog. It doesn’t usually get foggy this early in the year. It’s only October.”

He smiles thinly. Our conversation has been strained today. The anxiety level around this place is through the roof. I climb down the side of the ditch and walk through the empty path at the bottom. It’s like a hive of soldiers, all of them geared up with their helmets and rifles and radios. I stop and look down the row of men on both sides of the ditch.

Looks like a picture from World War Two, I think.

And that makes me think of Walter Lewis, the man who helped us escape from Bakersfield a year ago. He had been a pilot during World War Two. He was the first one to make the comparison of Nazi Germany and Omega’s invasion.

Who knows? Maybe a hundred years from now the battle that’s about to go down will be as famous as the Battle of the Bulge or D-Day. Maybe all of us will go down in history as heroes.

Cassidy Hart, defender of mankind.

I could roll with that.

Angela and Vera are at the other end of the ditch, Max is with Jeff with one of the convoy blockades behind us and Sophia is with them. Derek is back at the encampment at Headquarters, his injuries unable to heal fast enough to get him out to the front lines today. And Alexander…

No, I can’t think about that. Not today.

Instead I focus on Colonel Rivera, climbing down into the ditch with us. The tension between him and Chris is palpable after what happened with Alexander’s scouting party.

“Any new information?” Chris asks stiffly.

“They know we’re waiting for them, just not exactly where,” Colonel Rivera replies. “They’re just a few miles away.”

“What do they look like?”

“According to reports,” Colonel Rivera says, “they’ve got trucks, tanks, RPGs and a lot of soldiers on foot.”

“Are they going to try to do a full on push?” I ask.

“I doubt it. They think we won’t provide much of an obstacle.”

“They’re wrong.”

Colonel Rivera’s lips twitch. An almost smile.

“They may be,” he says.

Brother. Everyone is afraid of being optimistic today.

I brush frizzy wisps of hair out of my face, my radio crackling on my belt. It’s one of the few times it’s made noise all day today. We’ve been trying to keep radio communication on the quiet side, since Omega is scanning for our signals. Transmissions are limited to code words.

I nervously pick at the buttons on my uniform, trying to maintain a poker face. I’m not a commander, but I am an officer, and these men and women can sense when their superiors are feeling less-than-cheery about a situation. I don’t want to give off negative vibes. Negativity spreads like wildfire in an environment like this. It’s a big no-no.

So I quit picking at my buttons and fold my arms across my chest, careful to keep my face expressionless. I glance at Chris, who is the picture of calm in the midst of an impending hurricane. Nothing about his demeanor would suggest that he’s nervous. I don’t know how he does it.

And then the waiting begins.

Omega is too far back into the hills for us to even try ambushing a section of their party. And even if they were here, it’s not like we can simply pop out and pull some guerilla warfare ninja stuff on a five thousand-man army. It’s going to take more than that.

It’s going to require us remaining as hidden as possible. Getting into a head to head push with Omega would be lethal. We’re far too outnumbered. But we’re not necessarily outgunned. We’ve got some great weaponry of our own, and if we pay attention to the strategic smarts of Chris, we can win this thing.

I hope.

The first mortar round shocks me. It’s not that I haven’t been expecting something to hit us today. It’s more like I was hoping it would never happen. But obviously it did, so yeah. Problem.

The mortar whistles through the air like an oversized boulder, exploding upon impact with the ground. It hits a patch of dirt on the side of the hill, shattering into a million pieces of hot shrapnel. The grass catches fire and the troops in the ditch seem frozen for a second.

But only for a second.

“They’re on us now!” someone yells. “Move it, move it!”

I have to shake myself to move, too. The first explosion is always a surprise, no matter how many times I go through one. Chris goes deeper into the ditch and I follow him, surprised to see Jeff coming towards us.

“Get back to your platoon!” Chris barks.

“You’re going to want to see this,” Jeff replies, ignoring his order.

Mortar round number two explodes, this time a lot closer to the ditch than I’m comfortable with. I throw my arm out to keep my balance. My ears start ringing. The smell of burnt soil and metal sizzles through the air.

Yeah. All too familiar.

“Get back to your post, Jeff,” Chris commands, turning to a soldier kneeling on the ground with a radio. “Or take your issues up with Cassidy.”

Oh, so I’m a mediator now?

“Come on, Cassie,” Jeff says. “You need to see this.”

“This isn’t the time to get sentimental!” I reply.

Mortar round number three detonates somewhere in the distance, too far away for me to see. I grimace. It’s like Omega is reaching out with their feelers, trying to figure out exactly where we are. Reconnaissance fire, Chris would call it.

The look on Jeff’s face is serious. Alarmed, even.

I follow him up the side of the ditch, ducking into the undergrowth of weeds and bushes. His platoon and vehicle convoy is a few hundred feet back. To my surprise, Sophia is standing at the rear of a vehicle, arms crossed. Staring at a screen of some sort.

“What is that?” I ask. “It looks like a laptop.”

“It’s a thermographic camera,” Sophia replies, avoiding eye contact. “It gives us a heat reading of what’s coming our way.”

“Where’s the camera itself?” I ask.

“Hidden farther down the interstate,” Jeff replies, frowning. “It’s one of several that Alexander’s scouting team was planting when they came under fire.”

Oh.

Sophia’s face is stony as I step next to her and look at the screen. After all this time, using electronic gadgets seems strange, but if they give us the edge we need, why not?

The screen is a seething mass of red and yellow.

“What is all this?” I ask. “It looks like drunk radar.”

“It’s people,” he replies. “Thermography picks up the body heat of living things. That wave of color right there? That’s the wave of soldiers on foot just around the corner. They’ve got tanks and artillery up front. RPGs, and mortars. We’re so outnumbered it’s not even funny.”

“We knew we would be outnumbered,” I state.

“But this is insane. Their weaponry is so advanced.”

“We’ve got plenty of our own weaponry. That’s why we joined the National Guard.” I pause. “We can do this.”

As if to mock me, something bright and flaming streaks through the air above us. I stop what I’m doing and stare at it, realizing a second too late what it is. Artillery fire, blind fire from troops miles away.

Thankfully, the blast doesn’t hit anybody on our front lines, but these blows are getting dangerously closer. Way too close. They must have spotters hiding in the brush, giving map coordinates to the big guns. Our snipers should have taken them out by now.

A disturbing thought occurs to me then.

I take off through the brush, sliding down the side of the ditch, ignoring the rungs on the ladder. “Chris!” I curl my fingers around his forearm, focusing his full attention on me. “Listen. Omega isn’t even here yet, and they’re already hitting us? That’s not normal, right?”

“If you have a theory—”

“—Yes, I do.” I lower my voice slightly. “Remember when we were going through Bakersfield the first time? Just you and me? There was Omega troops there and other people. Mercenaries.” I let my words sink in for a moment before continuing. “What if we underestimated Omega’s number? What if our scouts were wrong and there are way more than five thousand troops coming our way? If Omega is using mercenaries to supplement their ground troops…” I trail off, noting the look of hardened resolve in Chris’s eyes.

“If you’re right,” he says, “then we need to pull back and reassess. We were prepared for five thousand, not ten thousand or anything more.”

Another mortar round. Another blast of artillery fire.

“That thermo graphic camera they’re looking at in Jeff’s platoon isn’t showing us everything,” I say. “Omega’s not stupid. They can find ways to cloak their numbers.”

Chris sets his jaw.

“We’ll hold our position here a little bit longer. If things go—”

His words are drowned out. A ball of flames streaks right into the ditch. It happens in slow motion. I see what’s going to happen before it even does. A group of men dive for cover as Chris throws his arm around my waist, pushing me behind him. We drop to the ground. All I feel from that point on is a wall of pressure. Like getting sacked by a three hundred pound linebacker. I can’t breathe, I feel heat and thousands of tiny fingers tear at my skin.

Chris is shielding my body with his. I squeeze my eyes shut, nothing but the harsh ripping sound of the explosion turning to a high pitched ringing – and then silence. After a few beats – minutes, perhaps seconds – I barely manage to lift my head off the ground. Dust and smoke permeate the ditch, turning me almost blind. I can’t hear anything. I am deaf to the world around me. Something hot and wet slicks down the sides of my neck. Blood. My eardrums have burst. Chris rolls into a crouch, looking far more balanced than I feel. His neck is covered in blood, too.

“Pull back!” he mouths.

I rise to my feet and fall back down, my legs shaky. My heart is pumping way too fast. I’m dizzy, and as I stumble to the side of the ditch, I fall over the dead body of one of our own. His body is twisted at an unnatural angle, the side of his face burned, skin sliding off bone. I have never seen anything so horrifying. I gag and fight the urge to vomit.

“Pull back!” I yell. I can’t hear my own voice, and that is somehow the most disturbing thing about this situation. “Pull back!”

Dear God. How did they get so close?

They must have sent mercenaries ahead of the troops in small enough forces to go undetected and unnoticed, slip behind our lines and cause insane chaos. Disrupt our organization.

Stop thinking, just move! I tell myself.

I can feel the detonations of other mortar rounds. Our men are slowly pulling back, but in my opinion, leaving the ditch could be more deadly than staying. The ditch is what’s keeping us from being fried as mortars explode around the hillside.

Even as these thoughts pass through my head, I look up and catch glimpses of movement in the grassy hillside to the sides of the ditch. Air support is already streaking through the air, our Blackhawks moving like hulking, airborne ships, keeping the enemy ground forces from getting too close.

“They’re ambushing us!” I yell, as if anyone can actually hear me.

Or maybe ambush isn’t the correct term. Maybe guerilla warfare are the words I’m searching for. Because that’s what’s happening, isn’t it? These small Omega mercenary forces are using our own tactics against us.

I hadn’t counted on this.

I’m sure other people did, but honestly, this wasn’t supposed to happen. Just like we weren’t supposed to get ambushed in Sanger during our last attack.

The influx of the mercenary forces makes it impossible for us to stay here. Our soldiers start pulling back, scrambling up the side of the ditch, ducking into the undergrowth, running back towards the platoons ensconced in the safety of the vehicle convoys. I climb up the ditch, too, stopping at the top to see where Chris is. In true leadership form, he’s waiting until the last soldier is out of the hole until he climbs up. My heart seizes in my chest as he makes his way towards me. I pray that he’ll make it to the top.

Please, please, please…

He does.

“Cassidy, keep moving,” he yells, breathless.

I move out of my crouch and run with him, away from the ditch. The telltale sound of bullets whizzing through the air make thwacking noises against the dirt and shrubbery.

This is all too familiar. Here we are again. On the run.

It seems to take an eternity to reach Jeff’s vehicles. They are huddled into a tight circle, reminiscent of the rings pioneers would form with their wagon trains to withstand Indian attacks. Chris and I slip inside the ring, literally sliding into the open end of a Humvee. Bullets ping off the armor.

Chris and I are both covered in blood. We must look horrible.

“Rivera, we need backup,” he yells into the radio.

I hear a strange sound, like pressure rising in a glass bottle. A loud pop hits the inside of my brain and I can suddenly hear again. “Whoa,” I mutter. “Weird.”