Hard Rain Falling (Walking in the Rain Book 3) (20 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

Once we cleared the roadblock on Krebs Avenue, the convoy steered back onto Highway 270, then continued on past the turnoff for the Thompson’s now abandoned home. We’ll cleaned out the last of their survival food and gear, stacking most in boxes and pails in the back of the SUV but splitting supplies so the Humvee was likewise stocked.

We all had our packs close to hand and filled with all the essentials necessary to see us through to our destination even if we had to abandon the vehicles and proceed on foot. I asked Scott to help scrounge up components for eight new rocket stoves and then talked him through the process of constructing them. He thought these were cool, but he absolutely loved the design I gave him for the new wire snares. With these, we could more likely feed our group if we had to head out into the wilds. Of course, I didn’t tell Scott that Amy and I had still almost starved to death off what we could catch. He needed the confidence boost anyway.

I still had my CETME, but was willing to abandon it in favor of the M4 carbine if we had to scoot. Yes, I’d come to value the rifle, something others referred to as a trash gun, but sentiment got you killed. I would drop it without a second thought if that was necessary. Okay, I would pull the bolt first; if I couldn’t use it, nobody else could either.

I wanted us all on the same ammo, with interchangeable magazines for our rifles. Pistols were all still .45 ACP or 9mm, in deference to the ladies. Because I wanted Scott to have something that could be set to automatic fire, I gave him the UMP45 I’d never claimed but never even fired. It was a match for the ones Amy, Lori, and Summer carried attached to a strap on their packs, and I thought Scott was going to kiss me for it. I got him to settle for a manly handshake.

So, enough about the weapons. We were set.

The next few hours passed as the lead truck stopped frequently to push stalled vehicles out of the way. The boys in the shop back in McAlester built a cowcatcher style plow to mount on some of the trucks, and this one had the attachment. Not quite bulldozer or train, the blade still allowed the drive to shove large cars and trucks off to the shoulder. Sometimes a Guardsman needed to dismount and shift the bigger vehicles out of gear, and that was when we went to full defensive mode.

Since the super secure radios were compromised and we didn’t want to advertise either our location or mission, Staff Sergeant Barlow made use of old Citizens Band radios and a simple codebook of phrases we could easily digest.

After this many hours on the road, I was disappointed when we saw so little sign of people. We blew through Heavener, and then Smithville, and other than a few watchers perched on now useless water towers and billboards, I saw no one. Smoke rose from a few neighborhoods, but whether it was cooking fires or a home ablaze, we did not take the time to check. The Ouachita Mountains circled our route and though they weren’t towering peaks, I was still drawn to the high places. Maybe one day I could came back and explore, I thought, until the real world came crashing back. Hiking and backpacking for fun were no longer viable pastimes. Now it was all about surviving.

We were just south of Broken Bow, re-entering the western arm of the Ouachita National Forest when the convoy came to a stop once again. Barlow had radioed ahead about a stopped semi jack knifed in the middle of the narrow two lane road, so while we slowed down to halt while maintaining our intervals, we were all on edge.

I felt like we had eyes on us, and I made sure Amy and Lori had their UMP45s handy. If we came under small arms fire, crack the door and spray. Heavy weapons, the plan was to slam the SUV in reverse and egress the area. I was unwilling to see if the armor would stand up to a fifty caliber round.

As for me, I had my own plans. Despite the wound burning a hole in my gut still, I was now mobile and could bail out the door as needed. If the shooting started, that is what I would do. It worked once for me, so why not roll the dice again?

As the lead five ton crept up to the blocking truck, I tensed for action. Instead of a hail of bullets though, I was surprised to see a white t-shirt hanging from a branch come over the side of the road near the front of the big rig.

I’m sure the .50 caliber gunner on the five ton nearly squeezed the butterfly trigger out of reflex; I’m sure I would have had I been in his shoes. This soldier, PFC Ramirez, was made of sterner stuff and resisted the urge. The rest of us tensed and I nearly rolled out of the truck at that point anyway, anxious to get clear. Because, nice as it was to have a bullet resistant ride, the Suburban didn’t offer a lot of offensive choices. I guess the theory was to get the agents where they were going in safety, and then they were on their own.

After a moment, Barlow came over the CB and instructed the convoy to hold steady, and then I saw his door swing open. Don’t do it, I wanted to shout, but I held my tongue and waited for the shooting to start. I heard Amy whispering to the children in the back seat, probably trying to calm their nerves. Or her own.

I saw Barlow standing with his back to us, and I could tell by their body movements the two men were suddenly deep in conversation. I got out my binoculars and studied the other man’s face. He had a dark complexion and a fine tracery of wrinkles around his eyes and what looked like laugh lines bracketing his mouth. He wasn’t laughing now, but he also was not radiating anger either. I saw an initial confusion and then a little bit of dawning comprehension light up those dark brown eyes.

Barlow turned and sprinted back to his Humvee, and again I braced for combat that did not come. Instead, the staff sergeant got on the CB and ordered everybody to prepare for movement. Just then, the supposedly disabled eighteen wheeler jolted to life and the tractor began easing forward and pivoting the trailer out of the way. With the road clear, the lead five ton wasted no time hitting the gap and the rest of us followed.

Beyond the blockage, I saw signs of habitation down to the left side of the road, over near a dogleg in one of the many creeks and rivers running through the national forest. Camp fires and a hastily evacuated tent city could just be glimpsed through the trees as we tore off down the road.

“WTF?” Lori asked, and Amy answered first.

“Somebody must have come through recently to get them all so spooked. Or, they had sentries further up the road to warn them of the columns’ advance.”

Five miles later, Barlow signaled a break at a conveniently placed turnout in the road. I pegged this as a scenic overlook location, but no one other than the security overwatch that was set bothered to check. Whatever Barlow had to say, he didn’t even want to broadcast over the CB radios.

I waddled up to the command car and stood while the staff sergeant pulled out a map spread it out on the hood of the vehicle. He started talking without preamble, and Amy proved to be correct on both her guesses. Somebody had come through recently to scare the hell out of the campers, and they had scouts about a half mile up the road to give warnings.

“Those folks have been camping out in the woods since just after the event. Some squabbles with other locals but nothing too severe until yesterday when an armored column came roaring up to the road block. Their head man, who I know as it turns out, figured whoever was coming would eat them alive. They left the truck in place and bugged out to the deeper woods. They were just moving back in and here we come.

“So, they were just about to head out again, and maybe permanently relocate, when their scout signals that we were flying the state flag. So that was why Herm was waiting for us. Imagine my surprise… anyway, he tallied six armored scout vehicles and two of the new seven ton trucks running hard and headed south.”

“Could they be some of ours? Or maybe from Fort Chaffee? Luke said they had more armor up and running than we do,” Carmichael said.

“Maybe… but Herm is a former cavalryman himself and he got a look at the scouts. He said it was three LAVs and three Strykers. That’s an odd mix. He also said two of the LAVs had the 25 mike- mike turret, but the third was something else. Maybe a mortar setup.”

“Shit,” Carmichael muttered and when he saw my confused look he gave a thumbnail summary.

“We don’t usually use the LAV. That’s a Marine Corps scout vehicle. It’s not written in stone, but it’s unusual to see the two together. However, the DHS has plenty of toys and no rival when it comes to getting funding.”

“And,” Barlow continued, taking over for his subordinate smoothly, “If they came down Highway 2 and crossed over on 3 from Antlers to Broken Bow, that puts them on a direct course for the depot.”

I groaned. “A day ahead of us.”

Barlow nodded. “We’re a day late and more than a dollar short. They likely outgun and outnumber us.”

I got it. The McAlester Guard was counting on picking up more vehicles. This trip was at a considerable risk of their already functioning transport in hopes of securing more and better. They already used transport trucks as gun wagons because their traditional armored vehicles were mostly inoperable. That Captain Bisley had eight Bradleys up and running was the only way he could have risked losing these assets on a long shot like making a deal at the depot.

On the other hand, if these guys were from Camp Gruber, then the state troops under Lt. Colonel Forshe would not have to face all that much firepower when they attacked. Those odds might change the outcome of the battle to come. If I understood Barlow, though, we couldn’t touch them either. Most likely, these armored scouts came from some type of secure storage since they still ran despite the more advanced electronics. I knew most Guard Strykers were still down, anyway.

“This is a shit sandwich, boys,” Barlow finally said, “and it’s time for all of us to take our bite. We’ll keep going, follow the plan, and maybe get there a little early. I want to get eyes on that complex before morning.”

“And if they’ve already taken the depot?” asked Carmichael, all business now.

“We bounce it to higher, using the code. But Paul, we need this. You know how slow and high maintenance those tracks are. And Colonel Forshe showed up with some of his troops riding in the backs of hay wagons. They can take Gruber back, maybe, with what we have, but doing more? We need that depot in friendly hands.”

I waited until the other men hurried off before speaking up.

“Sergeant, we’ve got civilians, but let me find a place for them…”

“Luke, you are out of this.” He spoke sympathetically. Not at all the hardass I’d just heard. He held up a hand. “Son, you’ve done enough. More than enough. Look at yourself. You’re still in so much pain you can barely stand there, and I’ll bet Amy is still seeing double. And that little girl? Shit, she’s the same age as Trish. Your crew is depending on you and Scott to get them to this promised land of yours.”

I nodded. I could see his point. Also, the last thing I wanted was to get shot again; or God above, for Amy to get shot again. But if ownership of the Red River Army Depot was that important, then we should do what we could; within the limits of our own personal safety anyway.

“Alright. Let us at least help with something, if you can find us a spot. Maybe sniping? Still got that big Barrett.”

“You’ve never fired it, and the recoil could open your stitches.”

“I’ll spot for Scott and let him have all the fun. And bruises. We’ve both read the manual, with that Bullet Drop Compensator, the optics system does everything but pull the trigger.”

Barlow sighed. I knew he could use the help. It would be little enough, but I already knew Scott would want a piece of this action as well. He was two years older, but apparently none the wiser.

“Alright Kid. Let’s go. We’re burnin’ daylight.”

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

The Battle for Camp Gruber might have been, as Captain Vanderpool dubbed it, the opening shots of the Second Civil War. The jury was still out on that one. I knew that Scott’s first shot at the battle for the depot decapitated the enemy commander’s ace in the hole before the battle ever started.

Of course, our battle really wasn’t for possession of the depot, since our late evening reconnaissance of the sprawling base revealed the presence of the elements of Texas National Guard and the regular army. At least, so I was told.  Did the scouts go up and inquire at the gates?  I wondered how that worked, but nobody asked my opinion. The depot looked to be in capable hands. Well-armed and numerous hands at that.

I don’t know how Barlow’s scouts located the bivouac of the unknown force, but early the next morning I followed Sergeant Carmichael as he led the way for Scott and I to our designated shooting position. We were dangerously close to the front gates of the Depot, and our first priority was to shoot and scoot.

Outnumbered by both forces, Staff Sergeant Barlow’s first inclination was to contact the depot and warn the troops of an impending attack. Unfortunately, Corporal Weeks spotted a picket guarding the gate entrance, and one most likely not assigned there by the Army. He was armed with a Javelin. He also was not alone.

The six armored and wheeled vehicles were only a small part of the actual attack force massing in the abandoned industrial warehouse outside of Hooks, Texas, about five miles from the depot proper. I didn’t see the lineup, but rumor was they had everything from Humvees up to main battle tanks. No more black Suburbans.

Barlow’s plan was simple, and scary.

Light up the massed armor in a quick, spoiling raid and haul ass back across the border into Oklahoma. He would radio a warning to the depot after his attack, and Scott and I were simply asked to kill a few missile wielding troops guarding the gates from the outside. Provided these weren’t legitimate state or federal troops, they were there to ambush anybody leaving the depot. Then we would climb down, meet our waiting vehicles, and roll out towards home. Barlow’s flight was intended to also draw any heat away from us. We would do as we could, but those guys were really taking the risk.

The twelve men talked the topic to death the night before, trying to see a better solution. That the massed troops and armor were intending to hit the depot was universally agreed. You didn’t hide like that if you were a friendly force. The smart thing would be to get on the SINCGARS radio and try to warn the forces controlling the depot. Except the first thing they would do would be to scramble a team to check Barlow’s story. BOOM, right at the gate. And the attacking force would likely know as soon as Barlow started broadcasting, anyway.

The sun was still two hours away and I was slowly scanning the road. Highway 82 ran in front of the main gates and I had a fourth generation night vision monocular that made the night into day. This was in the SUV, along with a night vision scope for the Barrett 98B that Scott was also using to search the night.

“You see anybody else?” Scott asked again, and I bit back the acidic retort. This was new for the young man, and he was undeniably nervous. Shit, I would be taking the shots myself if I could.

“No, man, just those two by the trailer. I think number three over there is trying to use a space blanket to mute his infrared signature, but he keeps moving so we got him anyway. That’s all I got.”

How the hell Carmichael knew these bushwhackers were here I would never know, but they put a major crimp in Barlow’s original plan—the one that didn’t risk life and limb, of course.

“Let’s just kill them and go,” Scott grumbled, and I echoed the sentiment in my head. The walk in had hurt, a lot, and I was hopeful we could catch a ride out.

Then we heard the rumble in the distance, the sound of machine guns being fired in a “mad minute” style, pouring out thousands of rounds on a target in the hopes of achieving some kind of mobility kills on the heavier armored assault vehicles. Not going to work on the M-1 Abrams, but maybe the bullets penetrated the aluminum armor on the M113s, or knocked out the drive train on a LAV. The sole .50 caliber in Barlow’s force was hammering out rounds at a barrel burning pace.

Watching one of the missile carrying soldiers in the distinctive camo outfit, I saw him lift and turn the weapon back down the direction we anticipated a reaction force to exit the depot.

“Take Target Two,” I said softly. We were over 500 meters away, sitting on plastic buckets on top a Gas-N-Go, and Scott had the Barrett tucked into his shoulder. BOOM. The night exploded as the rifle fired, and the center of the man’s chest disappeared in a black spray. I was only aware of the man’s death in a peripheral way, as I had turned to scan for more targets.

The second shape, a larger, beefier looking man, went down to a knee and brought his rifle to shoulder, scanning the dark, and then scrambled to take up the launcher dropped by his partner.

“Take Target One” I murmured, and again Scott triggered the massive rifle. I didn’t even look to see the second man die. I was still looking when I gave the next command, I mean, suggestion.

“Move down, Scott and set up again,” I said, and I could hear the approaching roar of vehicles. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the reaction team from the depot, but coming from back toward Hooks. Was it our guys beating feet out of town? Unlikely, since their plan called for them to take a roundabout path away from the depot.

“I think that’s the Homeland troops,” Scott said, a little louder than I would have liked.

“It is,” said the ghost standing at the edge of the roof. He was dressed in shadow, and was covered from head to toe in some light absorbing fabric. My night vision only showed a hole in the dark.

“Oh, fuck,” Scott whispered, and I could see him snaking his hand towards the pistol holstered on his thigh as he began to turn. He couldn’t see the short barreled carbine pointed right as his back.

“Stop,” I said harshly, and Scott froze.

“What are you doing here?” the voice asked, as if I had not just spoken.

“Trying to help. That’s all. Just returning a favor,” I replied, and I mentally ordered Scott to keep his mouth shut.

“Are you with the National Guard?” the questioner persisted, but keeping his voice low and neutral.  “Oklahoma, I mean.”

Shit.  “No. We were going in the same direction, traveling together. They did us a good turn, and we offered to return the favor. They didn’t want to see the reaction team hit, so we offered to protect those vehicles.”

“Why didn’t they do it themselves? This is not something for civilians to get mixed up in.”

“Because they were so totally outnumbered,” I replied, giving him all the honesty he could handle. “They had twelve men total. They couldn’t do anything else. They needed to warn the soldiers at the depot about the eminent attack, so they staged a spoiling attack. Make enough noise, and maybe help cut down the numbers.”

I could barely make out the camouflaged shape as the carbine was lowered, then the man spoke again. He seemed much more relaxed at this point.

“Do you want to come in? The Depot, I mean. I know the general would love to talk to you guys. I won’t force it, though. We do have a doctor, if you need to see one.”

I gritted my teeth in a grin. “That was you in the space blanket, wasn’t it?”

My question seemed to take the soldier by surprise.

“You saw?” he asked, and looked back briefly in the direction where I’d first picked up his presence.

“Yes, sir. Good job but the movement gave you away.”

I caught a low chuckle that faded fast.

“One of them, the renegade Homeland agents, stepped right on my hide and was going to call his friends. That’s what you saw.”

I nodded. Shit happens, even to the best of us. I wondered what he was. I had nothing to compare, but I was leaning towards Special Forces. Green Berets, maybe.

“So you guys knew they were coming?” Scott finally asked, finding his voice.

“Yes. They’ve been gathering forces for days now. We couldn’t get word back because…”

“Your communications have been compromised,” I said carefully, my eyes on the man’s nearly obscured face as I finished the sentence for him. With only his cheeks and a sliver of his nose exposed, I don’t know what tell I was looking for, but the man never reacted other than nod in agreement.

“Yes, on a very high level, it would seem. We are still trying to unravel how far this goes.”

“By ‘we’ you mean Regular Army, correct? Not the Guard or Reserves?” I asked, pushing now that the sound of the approaching vehicles sounded louder as they neared.

“Yes” was all the man said.

“They knew before the event.” I tossed that tidbit out to see if it got a reaction.  “Somebody high up the food chain got word maybe twelve or more hours in advance.”

“You have proof of this?” he demanded, and I knew I’d hit a nerve.

I shook my head. “Look to the nuclear power plants. They shut them down before the event, and sold it as a move to protect from terrorist attacks.”

“Who are you?” the man finally asked, and I could tell he really wanted to make that visit to the Depot mandatory.

“Just a man trying to do the right thing, sir. Those men who we traveled with, they are the good guys. I don’t know about you yet. Sorry, but there are too many things going on at once. If you are true to your oath, then get in touch with these friends of ours. They
are
Oklahoma National Guard, and they need help.”

“So you are really not in the Guard yourselves?”

“No. We are security for a group of civilians being escorted home. We are traveling with women and children. I’ve been trying to get home since the day it started.”

“Are you getting close to home?”

“Every day I’m alive is another day closer.”

With that, the early morning lit up like the dawn for a moment as dozens of detonations rumbled and roared. I saw one flash and realized this was the sound and fury of a main gun on a tank firing in the distance. The massive, armored monsters remained hidden in the trees on the base side of the road, but the collection of armored cars, armored scout vehicles, and a few true tanks streaming up the highway appeared suddenly outlined by fire, and the entire assemblage began to shatter into shards of burning steel.

Yes, somebody in the Red River Army Depot knew what they were doing.  Knew enough to bring in their armor and somehow camouflage their tanks and cannons enough to catch the invaders completely by surprise.  I wondered how they did it, and knew I still had a ton to learn.

“Fuck, I guess you did know they were coming,” Scott said, and when we looked back, the dark clad man was gone.

“Where did he…”

“He’s still around, Scott. Now let’s get packed up and call for pickup.”

I was trying not to think about what the soldier said as I policed up the two brass cartridges and packed up the monocle it the shock proof case. Scott was likewise packing and I could tell he had lost the battle of trying to get the shadowy man out of his head.

Our two vehicles were idling just a half mile away and a quick call got them rolling in our direction using the narrow farm roads paralleling the highway. By the time our rides pulled up, the fires from the destroyed armored vehicles were still burning bright, and I released a big sigh as we rapidly exited the area.

“What the heck happened back there?” asked Amy, craning her head back to watch the flickering flames receded in the distance.

“Well, the good news is the plan worked, sort of. The bad news is I still don’t really know what the heck was going on back there.”

“Where to now, trail boss?” Lori piped up.

“Like we planned; head south on Highway 259 and let’s out some miles behind us. We’ll find a place to park before noon and try to get some sleep. I’m still trying to process what the hell happened.”

Fortunately, nobody else had any questions and we drove on into the dawning morning.