Pedestals of Ash (5 page)

Smokey’s group
started pouring into the breach created by the truck. At the same time, the diversionary group rose up and began to advance on the wall in earnest. The defenders quickly overcame their initial shock at the violence
of the attack and fought
back with desperation. For the first time, their wall of security had been overwhelmed
,
and every single man knew this might be the end of their way of life.

On the annex
roof, Deacon Brown directed
the hunters to slow down Smokey’s men by using their lead to plug th
e gap in the wall. One retired a
rmy officer immediately realized the threat and pulled every other man from his section of the wall
to focus on holding the breach. Relentless fire poured
into Smokey’s men as they attempted to cross into the inner sanctum of the church’s g
rounds. Smokey used
the garbage truck as cover while shooting at the defenders with his AK. A constant chorus of bullets pinging off of the metal trash hauler rose above the thunder of gunfire. He noticed men falling all around him
, but didn’t care. His combatants
had achieved the initiative and needed to exploit the situation. He violently waved his men forward
,
while
firing at targets himself
. It was working. More and more of the attackers made it past the hole and started spreading out into
the
parking lot. A larger beachhead meant the defenders had more territory to cover. T
he brea
ch in the wall was only about 10 feet wide
, a small space to acquire targets.
Attackers successfully penetrating the interior made the defenders’
job
increasingly difficult
,
as
anyone shooting at the infiltrators
had more and more ground to consider.  

Deacon Brown could clearly see they were losing the fight. In another few minutes, her fighters would be completely overrun
,
and she couldn’
t think of anything to stop the intruders
. She turned around to pick up another magazine for her rifle and noticed Atlas was no longer on the roof with her. She thought it odd that the big man would leave her side. Two rounds hit the sandbag in front of her
,
drawing her attention back to the fight.

Unknown to Deacon Brown, Atlas understood the dire situation.
He rushed to the bottom of the annex stairs
,
loping down four at a time and pushed open the back door. There, in a small outbuilding, were several old steam radiators, recently rendered obsolete by a more modern
heating system. Originally stored
in the building to be sold as scrap, the heavy metal units weighed several hund
red pounds each. Atlas lifted
one of the radiators, turned toward the breach and
began running. As he rounded
the corner of the building, his image caused the a
ttackers pause. Here was a massive wall of a man, charging
directly at them
full speed
,
wield
ing a large hunk of bronze and steel like it was a
simple
shield. Atlas had progressed about five big steps
,
when the first bulle
t impacted the radiator. He continued his path
as more and more of the attackers noticed
his advance and directed
their fire at him. On the roof, Deacon Brown kept hearing an unusual “ping ping ping” sound coming from below. When Atlas finally came into view, she recognized immediately what he was doing. Shouting at him to stop and come back wouldn’t have done any good. There was no way he could have heard her and probably would have ignored the pleas anyway. The only thing she could think to do was kill as many of the attackers as she could. She shouldered her rifle and began firing at the men closest to her son.

The garbage
truck was natural cover for
Smokey’s men
,
and they had inadvertently bunched up around the wheels and body. Atlas made it to within 15 feet of the truck when he launched the radiator into the air, pushing with both hands
,
and sending it flying toward a group of five m
en. The target group
stared,
mesmerized that something so
big and heavy could be tossed so far
,
and almost didn’t move
out of the way.
One gatecrasher attempt
ing
to avoid the flying metal,
tripped
while scrambling
over one of his comrades
,
and was instantly crushed by the weight of the radiat
or. Another man was knocked to the pavement
,
shaking his head as if to get his bearings. And a third was
pinned beneath the hunk of metal
, his exposed leg bleeding badly
. In reality, the man who was killed was the lucky one. Before any of the men gathered their wits, Atlas was among them. The sounds of screaming men and crushing blows could be heard above all else. Three of the attackers were dead or disabled before any of them could react. Smokey started screaming, “Shoot him
,
goddamnit…Shoot his ass!” Atlas picked up
a dropped rifle and began brandish
ing it as a club. He practically decapitated one attacker before the impact to a second man snapped the stock in half. Finally
,
a bullet found its mark and struck a massive upper thigh. Atlas didn’t even flinch. He rounded the back of the trash hauler and surprised another man before the second bullet struck him in the shoulder. It seemed to have little effect as
Atlas roared a blood-curdling battle cry
and attack
ed another group of three men approaching the opening. His presence so
confused and shocked the invaders that one thug shot another of his own comrades
trying to raise his weapon at the charging
colossus
. A third bullet struck Atlas in the chest
,
but it only seemed to enrage him further. He took two massive steps and picked up an overturned picnic table that had o
nce been part of the barrier, holding
it like a toy. Several bullets slammed into the wood, showering the big man with splinters a
nd fragments of lead. He lunged
several feet
forward
, using the table to crush three
men against the side of a car.

All during the rampage, the attackers
’
attention was focused on the tornado of destruction in their midst. This gave the church’s defenders time to regroup and charge the opening in the wall. Atlas had another man by the neck when Smokey stepped around and began empting the magazine of his AK into the giant
’
s back.
It took several hits, but the G
o
liath finally staggered before landing
o
n top of the
lifeless
body
he
still clutched
in his hand.  

Deacon Brown was leading the charge to repel
the breach
when her son hit the pavement
. She shouldered her rifle and began firing at Smokey
, but missed. Someone yelled, “L
et’s
get out of here,” and the invade
rs began to withdraw. The secondary assault quickly petered out when it became clear that the main attack had failed. In less than a minute, Smokey’s men
were moving away from the compound
, scattering between the surrounding buildings
,
and looking back over their
shoulders. The battlefield fell essentially
silent
,
w
ith only the roaring flames of
burning cars and the weak moaning of the wounded drifting across
the
parking lot. Those sounds were quickly joined by the wailing cries of a mother who had just lost her only son. 

It was only 322 kilometers from Dallas to Shreveport
,
Louisiana
,
across an unchallenging terrain
,
using Interstate 20 as the primary surface route. For the long column of war machines belonging to the 1
st
Cav
, it might as well have been 1,000 kilometers the way things were going.

For months, t
he Ironhorse
brigade
maintained
martial l
aw in
the Dallas metro area, finally receiving
orders worthy of such an elite fighting unit, or at least that’s how Major Owens viewed the situation. The past two months had been a living hell for his men and the country as a whole. They had been ordered to leave their home base at Fort Hood and establish rule of law in Dallas. One of three brigades assigned to the city, they had been both mentally and physically unprepared for the duty.

Now, Major Owens was trying to move his brigade to Shreveport and establish control of the area. The
p
resident had finally taken action and adopted a plan to kick-start the country’s economic engine
. The plan, as outlined to the m
ajor, seemed both logical and reasonable.

Since being in Dallas
,
they had guarded
limited food stores and distributed daily rations to a starving population. At first, their medics had tried to provide basic, humanitarian aid to the civilians, but their supplies had been sapped in a matter of days. The Ironhorse and supporting units were not equipped to sup
port 1.8 million people who had no resources
.

The fact that there was practically zero resupply from Fort Hood or elsewhere didn’t help the situation at all. It seemed like everything from band
ages to bread to toilet paper
was
unobtainable. At first, his men had used their tanks and armored personnel carriers to patrol the neighborhoods and establish control. Fuel and spare parts quickly became an issue
,
and the monstrous machines were soon relegated to fixed position guard duty
. F
oot patrols were initiated. Tankers don’t like patrolling on foot, and while a significant number of the brigade’s men were infantry, everyone took turns humping through the sweltering summer streets of Dallas. The tactic managed to conserve fuel and reduce wear and tear on machinery. That wear and tear,
however, began showing up on the
men. Even then, the vehicl
es had to be started and ru
n to keep parts lub
ricated and batteries charged.
Conditions
deteriorated so badly, it became a coveted reward for his men to spend an hour inside of an
air-conditioned
M1A2 as it performed its charging cycle.

The fact that
Mother G
reen wasn’t prepared for the mission didn’t surprise Major Owens. He had deployed to Iraq in the early days and had witnessed what he jokingly referred to as “disciplined chaos.” Command from on high wasn’t exactly nimble when it came to executing a mission outside of the box. Logistics, command and control
,
and mission profiles were alway
s the weak links in the chain - each
of which made the average trooper’s life more difficult.

Major Owens rubbed his chin
,
clearing his mind of the past in order to
focus on the immediate problem. For the first 40 kilometers east of Dallas, Interstate 20 had been a parking lot
,
completely inundated with
abandoned vehicles. In the days immediately fo
llowing the collapse, people had run
out of gas or simply been trapped on both the east a
nd westbound lanes of the well
-traversed thoroughfare
. Those with fuel had obviously become desperate and tried
to bypass the stalled traffic,
traveling on the median, embankments,
and frontage roads.
The m
ajor’s column ran right into
a wall-to-wall used car lot of abandoned vehicles, covering not only the asphalt, but also the grassy shoulders. Desperate motorists had used any space available to advance, causing a gridlock like no other. Discard
ed vehicles
were everywhere four wheels could take them,
resulting in
no clear path through
. H
is lead el
ements had
to snake their way around, or push
the blockage
out of the way
. That took time – a lot of time.

More than once
,
he had been astounded as his column passed by makeshift homes constructed from min
i
-vans, pickup trucks
,
and sed
ans. Some crafty people ventured
into the nearby woods and carried back bundles of branches to prop against the open doors of their vehicles creating lean-tos and expanding
their “living” space. Any foreste
d area in close proximity to the interstate was virtually stripped bare of wood. The few open areas they did encounter were dotted with piles of ashes from campfires.

Practically every semi-trailer was occupied. Many had their content strewn behind the large bay door at the rear as desperate people had searched for food or other usable items inside. Owens marveled at the ingenuity the people displayed in creating shelter. One trailer had steps built from discarded pallets leading up to the back door. A chimney had been cut into the top
,
and smoke drifted out. 

It was the
condition of the
chi
ldren that really bothered the m
ajor. The
young ones were always the worst
victims of any war or
conflict,
and he had grown used to seeing their suffering in combat zones. The hundreds of kids they passed that morning wore filthy rags and gazed at the passing tanks with an empty, tra
nce-
like stare. With few exceptions, their stomachs were bloated with the sign of mal-nutrition
,
and their movements were
lethargic, like a slow motion video playback
. 

The adults were in no better shape physica
lly. More than once, his men
used a tank to push a veh
icle out of the way
,
only to discover someone
living in it. The occupan
t was often too weak to move or
protest
. His men had done what soldiers had always done when moving through a population of displaced, desperate people. They had shared what little rations they had, thrown candy to the children
,
and tried to help - but it was hopele
ss and too late. Major Owens quickly
lost count of the unburied bo
dies and band
s of turkey vultures they
passed.

The next issue had been the intersections and ramps. Every exi
t wi
th a gas station, country store,
or any sign of civilization had attracted the stranded motorists. Some of these pockets of starving people had organized
,
while others
lived
in what
resembled third world
shantytowns
.
Some of these groups had turned into what his men called “zombies.” The effects of malnutrition, lack of heath care
,
and general anarchy resulted in animalistic behavior unlike anything the soldiers had ever witnessed. Despite the fact that he and his officers constantly reminded the lead elements of the column that these “people” were their fellow Americans, it was demoralizing to see what had become of the general population. 

The scout units in front of the main column had encountered everything from masses of beggars to outright hostility. Major Owens was shocked the first time one of his scout
Humvee
s was fired upon by four men with hunting rifles. The fact that one of his men had been injured during the encounter focused everyone’s attention on security. The charity of throwing chocolate bars to the children evaporated when they suff
ered their first casualty. The m
ajor had not been issued any orders covering the rules of engagement and was hesitant to order his men to fire upon civilians.

After careful consideration, he instructed
his men they could return fire if fired upon. It was the best he could do
,
and he hoped the desperate people would be frightened of t
he tanks and leave the unit
alone.

His biggest problem right now involved their supply train. Trailing behind the main force was another column of trucks and tankers used to refill his tanks and
resupply his troops. One of those
trucks had been trying to navigate the downhill slope of an overpass that was hopelessly blocked by a jackknifed
18-wheeler
. The supply truck had overturned and rolled down the hil
l, spilling its contents of MRE
s and ammunition along the way. According to the lieutenant in charge of the section, hundreds of people literally appeared out of nowhere and began looting
the spilled goodies. When
the security component
and he had dismounted and attempted
to corral the vandals, they were fired upon by an unknown number of attackers. This had resulted in his men taking cover without causalities – but all of the supplies were gon
e. The m
ajor’s main force not only had to slow down, but also send back reinforcements to keep any m
ore supplies from being pilfered
from the now motionless convoy. The loss of those supplies wasn’t going to be
an
easy thing to explain to his commander.

Major Owens scratched the back of his head and continued to listen to the command-net radio. His truck drivers were now trying to right the overturned vehicle and were requesting t
he only tow vehicle
in the entire brigade to come back and help. The first
s
e
rge
a
nt looked up at his commander
,
and Owens nodded his approval –
G
o ahead and send it back
. Losing a few days’ worth of MREs was one thing – losing a truck was
another. He ordered the first s
e
rge
a
nt to call yet another halt and reached for a protein bar.

It was over an hour before the overturned truck was salvaged
,
and the column sections reported in that everyone was ready to roll again. Up and down a
14-mile
long stretch of I-20, radios cracked with the orders to move out.

Major Owens was actually pleased with t
he p
rogress over the next
90
minutes and was beginning to relax just a little. The further the brigade moved away from Dallas, the fewer vehicles were on the road
way, impeding their progress
. He was just about to say something positive to his driver when the radio sounded in his ear. It was his lead scout
,
and his heart sank when he heard the words
,
“Sir, you had better get up here – this is above my pay grade,” sounded through his earpiece.

The m
ajor ordered hi
s driver and one of the Bradley
s from the command company to move out
,
and they hurried to the front of the convoy. As they approached, Owens noticed an information sign on the highway
indicating “Tyler
ville
– Next 5 Exi
ts
.” As the commander’s tank navigat
ed a small rise in the road, he immediately understood why his scout had called him forward.

All four lanes of the interstate were purposely blocked by a well-spaced series of semi-trailers
,
par
ked on a bridge. Underneath the span
was a wide pool of muddy brown water. It was as if someone had intentionally built a moat and then fortified the bridge with the hauler
s. The m
ajor could see the large man-made pond
continued for a considerable distance both north and south of the roadway itself. In addition, an area of several hundred meters had bee
n cleared outward from the moat, enabling the defenders a clear field of fire.
Major Owens found his binoculars and studied the bridge. Sure enough, he could make out sentries positioned along the roadblock. He could also see several human skeletons a
t
the base of the structure. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his lead scout approaching his tank on foot
. The commander waved the man
onto
his tank and waited while the s
ergeant climbed aboard.
Since they were in the field, and potentially visible to a hostile force, t
he man stifled the impulse to
salute.