Phoenix Rising: (56 page)

Fifteen two and one-half ton trucks, each truck carrying twenty men, and every third truck pulling a 155 howitzer came down Cashua Ferry Road. Just under two miles outside Darlington, they unlimbered the five field pieces and trained them toward the city of Darlington.

 

 

Before President Ohmshidi's incompetence and socialist programs brought about the collapse of the United States, the town of Darlington, South Carolina had been well known for the Darlington Motor Speedway. The races that once drew thousands of visitors to the town were no longer being held, and the track was now overgrown with weeds. Two young boys were at the track now, on bicycles.

“Go!” one of them yelled, then, making the sound of a roaring race car engine, or at least approximating the sound to the degree they could, they started riding their bicycles as fast as they could around the track.

Suddenly, no more than a hundred and fifty yards in front of them, there was a loud explosion, and heavy chunks of the track pavement were thrown up into the air. Both boys braked their bikes, skidding to a stop as there was a second explosion in what had been the press box.

“Darrell! What's happening?” the younger of the two boys asked.

They heard three more explosions, coming from the middle of town.

“I don't know!” Darrell admitted. “Come on, Leo, let's get out of here!”

The two boys headed back toward the entrance to the speedway, pedaling as fast as they could.

This time they heard a rushing sound and, looking up, saw something black hurtling through the sky above them, headed for the town. They watched it plummet to the earth, then erupt into another explosion.

“Someone is shooting cannons at us!” Darrell said.

There was another explosion in the road, right in front of them.

“Leo, stop! Stop! We've got to hide in the ditch!” Darrell shouted, and the two boys abandoned their bicycles then ran to the edge of the road and jumped down into the ditch just as another shell landed, and exploded in the road.

It had been almost fifty years since Dolan Kinder had heard the sound of an incoming artillery shell. Once when someone asked him what it sounded like, he described the sound as like a disconnected boxcar rolling down a railroad track. When he heard the sound from inside his small electric motor repair shop, he almost commented to a customer that it sounded just like incoming artillery. But before he could say the words, there was a loud explosion outside. That was followed almost immediately by the rushing sound of another incoming round.

“What is that?” the customer asked, alarmed.

“It's artillery!” Kinder said. “God help us . . . someone is shooting at us!”

“What?”

“Out back!” Kinder said. “There's a concrete stair well going down to the basement of the jewelry store across the alley!”

There were two other explosions, one right on top of the other.

“What are you talking about?” the puzzled customer asked.

“Come with me, or stay here and get blown to kingdom come!” Kinder shouted, running toward the back door.

Still another explosion, right outside the front door, was all the customer needed to prod him. Dropping the electric drill he had brought to be repaired, he ran toward the back door, then followed Kinder outside.

“Down in there!” Kinder shouted, pointing across the alley from the back of his shop. What he pointed to was actually the outside entrance to a basement, with steps that went down about ten feet. The walls of the excavation were lined with concrete.

“Who is doing this?” the customer asked, even as there were two more explosions, one of the in the alley so close by that shrapnel whistled overhead and rattled against the side of the building, below which they were taking cover.

There were two more explosions somewhat farther away.

 

 

Out on the main streets of Darlington, away from where Dolan Kinder and his customer were taking shelter, there were burning cars and dozens of maimed and bloody bodies. Several of the buildings were burning.

The explosions finally stopped, but it did not grow quiet. There could still be heard cries of pain and calls for help. Adding to these cries, was the crackling sound of fire, now sweeping from building to building.

 

 

Two miles from town, Captain Yasir Wasim ordered the artillery to cease fire.

“Lieutenant Jabar, you stay here with the artillery,” Wasim said. “We will go into town and mop up.”

Wasim ordered all but the artillery crews to get back into the trucks, then, with him in the first truck, they drove into the burning town, getting there in less than three minutes. He parked the trucks just outside of town, then disembarked his soldiers. Dividing his men into ten groups of twenty, he sent them down the city streets.

“Shoot everyone you see,” he said. “Men, women, children, and dogs.”

“Everyone, Captain?” one of the men asked, not certain he had heard the order properly.

“Everyone,” Wasim repeated. “We must teach these rebels a lesson. When they see what terrible retribution has been visited upon them, I think they will learn that any resistance against the forces of Moqaddas Sirata will be futile.”

 

 

As Wasim started down Cashua Street, he saw a lot of activity at Public Square. The courthouse, which had not been directly struck by the bombardment, was the triage point and several of the wounded had been brought there. They were be given first aid by those who had not been wounded, though, at the moment there were no professional medical people present.

“Oh, thank God!” a woman said when she saw Wasim and his men approaching. “Here comes someone to help us.”

Wasim pointed his automatic weapon at the woman and began firing. His opening rounds signaled the others to fire and for the next thirty seconds the sound of automatic weapons fire filled the streets of Darlington, not only from the group with Wasim, but from all the other SPS who had come into town and were now spreading out on the other streets. Within half an hour, all who had not been able to get to shelter were dead.

“My God, what has happened?” the customer who had taken shelter with Dolan Kinder asked. He started to climb up the concrete steps, but Kinder grabbed him by the waistband of his trousers and pulled him back.

“Don't go out there yet. You'll just get yourself killed,” Kinder said.

“I've got to go out there, don't you understand? My wife and children are at home! I have to check on them!”

“Listen to me!” Kinder said sharply. “If your wife and children are already dead, there's nothing you can do about them. If they are alive, then they will need you to be alive as well, so getting yourself killed now would be about the most foolish thing you could do.”

“Yeah,” the customer said, coming back down the steps. “Yeah, I guess you're right.”

Though it was hard to do, Kinder made himself wait for one full hour after he heard the last shot fired before he ventured out from his hiding place. As he walked through the streets of the town he had the feeling he was a witness to Armageddon. Three fourths of the downtown buildings were aflame, and the streets were blocked with burning vehicles and dead bodies. Some of the bodies, those that had been hit by an artillery shell, were mutilated and dismembered. Others lay as peacefully as if they were taking an afternoon nap.

Kinder felt his knees grow weak, and his head begin to spin, and he had to hang on to a lamp post to keep from falling. He had seen many battlefields in Vietnam where the dead had been ripped apart by explosions, but nothing he had ever seen anywhere could have prepared him for what he was seeing today.

He felt as if he should report it to someone, but who?

“We can no longer go it alone,” Governor Wallace told the head of the South Carolina Defense Corps. “We're going to have to have help from UFA.”

“We are getting help from them,” General Murphy said. “Their UAV over-flight saved Firebase Swift Strike.”

“That's not enough,” Wallace said. “We need some boots on the ground.”

“I agree, but I'm not sure that we have the right to ask them for any more assistance than they are already giving us. I mean, as long as we are trying to go it alone. Why would they even want to send us troops?”

“Perhaps we can make an arrangement whereby they provide us with advisors,” Wallace suggested.

General Murphy laughed. “Why not? It seems to me that I read that's how we got into Vietnam.”

“I believe you told me once that you know Jake Lantz.”

“Yes, I know Jake.”

“Then if you would, how about you being the liaison for me?” Wallace asked.

Murphy nodded. “All right, I'll do it.”

“Deon, I've got a job for you if you want to do it,” Jake said. “If not, I'll see if I can find someone else.”

“I'll do it,” Deon said.

“I haven't even told you what the job is.”

“It doesn't matter. If you think the job needs doing, and you think I'm the one to do, I'll do it.”

Jake chuckled. “Where the hell were men like you in the pre-O army?”

“We were around, Major. You just didn't always come to look for us.”

“You may be right. You probably are right.”

“What's the job?”

“We've got a request from General Murphy.”

“Okay, you've got me there. Who is General Murphy?”

“Matthew Murphy. Last time I knew him was in Kabul. He was a Lieutenant Colonel then. Now he's Governor Wallace's top man in the South Carolina Defense Corps. It seems that, after the business up at Firebase Swift Strike, they've decided that it might be good to have a liaison from the UFA embedded with some of their troops.”

“Ha, you mean like advisors in Afghanistan?”

“Yeah, well, hopefully, the guys from South Carolina won't turn on you the way some of the Afghans turned on us,” Jake said.

“We can't be sure of that though, can we, Major? Look at what happened at Camp Cassandra.”

“Right, I guess I spoke without thinking, didn't I?”

“No problem,” Deon said. “If you want me to go, I'll go.”

“Good. I'll personally fly you over there tomorrow. That'll give you tonight to tell someone good-bye.”

 

 

“I'm pregnant,” Julie said that night, when Deon told her he was going to South Carolina the next day.

“Really?” Deon said as huge smile spread across his face. “You mean I'm going to be a papa?”

Julie laughed. “Well, that's what they usually call the male parent.”

“Oh, Julie!” Deon said, grabbing her in a big embrace. “You've just made me the happiest man in the whole world! Oh, but I can't go to South Carolina, not and leave you behind like this.”

“Nonsense, when we signed on to come down here with Major Lantz and Captain Dawes, we knew exactly what we were getting into. If Major Lantz thinks you should go, then go.”

“But we need to get married,” Deon said.

“Ha! You mean you are just getting around to asking me to marry you?”

“Well, no but . . .”

“Deon Pratt, are you saying you aren't asking me to marry you?”

“Yes, I am, but I'm not just now getting around to it. I mean, okay, yes, I am just now getting around to it, but I've been thinking about it for a long time.”

“I accept,” Julie said, giving Deon a kiss. “But, you go ahead, leave me back here to make all the plans so that, when you get back, we can have a real wedding, like Jake and Karen did, not something hurried.”

“You're sure?”

“I'm positive,” Julie said.

“I should have asked you to marry me six months ago,” Deon said.

“Yes, you should have,” Julie agreed with a smile.

At just after two-thirty in the morning the Blackhawk helicopter with Dan Lamdin and Bob “Clipper” Bivens at the controls put Tom Jack and his rescue team on the ground at a bend in the Wahite Ditch about 7 miles northwest of Sikeston. The Blackhawk was accompanied by a fully armed Apache gunship which orbited above as the troops off-loaded.

With Tom were his second-in-command, Captain Algood, and the team members he had selected; Kearny, Cooper, Lewis, Cates, Gilmore and Farrell.

The team was off-loaded in less than five seconds. As soon as they were clear, the helicopter took off again. For safety's sake the Blackhawk and the Apache would remain aloft and on station until they were needed.

By three a.m. the team was in position just outside the wall that surrounded the cotton oil mill converted to a prison. Tom had specifically chosen this night because there would be no moon. It was extremely dark, though the night-vision goggles Tom and his team were wearing enabled them to see everything quite clearly.

Willie had provided them with a layout of the prison to include where the guards would be and as Tom perused the area he saw two of them.

“Captain Algood, you take the one on the left,” Tom said, quietly. “Kearny, you have the one on the right.”

Algood and Kearny who, like the others, were wearing dark green anti-glare face paint, dropped their weapons and packs and armed only with knives crept forward.

Algood slipped quietly along the bank of the Wahite, using the sound of the rushing water to cover his approach. When he drew even with the corner of the wall, he moved up to the wall, then worked his way along the wall until he reached the other end. Looking around the corner he saw the guard walking toward him. Waiting until the guard passed him, Algood stepped up behind the SPS, clasped one hand across his mouth to keep him from calling out, then slashed his neck, cutting deep enough to sever not only the carotid artery, but also the windpipe, making it impossible for the guard to give an alarm.

With the guard dying behind him, Algood moved back to join the others. Kearny returned seconds later.

“All right, men, let's go in,” Tom said.

Tom and his team moved quickly up to the wall. Kearney had the rope ladder and he threw it up so that the hooks fell across the top, then he climbed up, looked around for second, and dropped down to the other side. The others followed close behind. Aided by their night-vision goggles, the men moved quickly through the night, crossing the open ground to the main building, which was almost entirely constructed of corrugated metal panels. Leaving the others outside, Tom and Algood went into the mill to locate and free Dr. Urban.

That's when they ran into their first difficulty.

“Damn, this cell door has a padlock,” Algood said. “I thought it was supposed to just be barred shut from outside.”

“Yeah, I thought so too,” Tom said.

“Who are you? What do you want with me?” Dr. Urban called from the darkness of his cell.

“Dr. Urban, it's me, Tom Jack. Do you remember me?”

“Yes, I remember you. You were one of my patients once. What are you doing here?”

“We're here to get you out, but the damn door has padlocks on it, and we don't have a bolt cutter.”

“Yes, they recently put on a padlock,” Dr. Urban said.

“How are we going to get this cell door open without a key or a bolt cutter?” Algood asked.

“I don't know, I need to think about it.”

Outside at that moment, one of the SPS guards, stumbled across the body of the guard Algood had killed, and he pulled a lever that flooded the compound ground with very bright lights.

Gilmore put his hand over his night goggles. “Son of a bitch!” he cried out. “I'm blinded! I can't see!”

“Lose the goggles!” Kearny shouted.

“Intruders! Intruders in the camp!” an SPS man called toward a low-lying barracks-type building. A handful of SPS men ran out from the barracks then, shooting in the direction of the Americans.

“Take cover behind the berm!” Kearny ordered, and even as he was giving the order, he stepped forward and started providing cover fire for his men as they scrambled to get into position. At least three of the SPS went down under Kearny's accurate fire, but several more came out, and as Kearny was the only visible target, they concentrated on him. Kearny was hit by several bullets and his blood shined red in the powerful lights as it sprayed from a dozen or more bullet strikes.

Kearny went down and seeing that, Cooper climbed out of the protected area and started toward him.

“Kearney!” Cooper shouted.

Suddenly the top of Cooper's head literally exploded and he went down, dead before he even hit the ground.

“Commander! Kearny and Cooper are down!” Farrell called into the cotton oil mill. “What do we do!”

“Keep down, and keep shooting,” Tom called back. “Stay right where you are until we get Dr. Urban out of here!”

“Tom, there is just one of me. Don't waste any more time or men on me! Get the rest of your men out of here now! If you don't you'll all be killed!” Dr. Urban said.

“We're not leaving you, Doc,” Tom said. “Hey, Algood, isn't Lewis carrying some C-4?”

“Yes!” said.

“That's how we'll do it. Wait here, I'll be right back.”

When Tom reached the top of the stairs, he was driven back by the bright light. Taking off his goggles, he threw them on the ground, blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes, then darted outside.

There was an intense gunfight going on between the SPS and the three remaining Americans. Tom dashed through the fire to the corner of the building then dived behind the berm where the Americans had taken up positions. Bullets kicked up the dirt all around him.

“Lewis, give me your C-4!” he shouted.

Lewis took a small bandolier from his shoulder and gave it to Tom. Tom ran back through the fire and reentered the mill prison. Because his eyes had been exposed to the bright light outside, he stood at the top of the steps for a moment, completely blind.

“Algood, I'm blind here!” Tom called. “Do you see my goggles?”

“Yeah.”

“Hand them to me!”

Algood gave Tom his goggles, and putting them on, he was able to see again. Working quickly, he formed the C-4 around the padlocks.

“Okay, Doc, get away from the door!” Tom called. He set off the charge, destroying the lock. After that, he jerked the door open.

“Come on, Doc, let's go!” Tom shouted.

“I can't see!” Doctor Urban said.

“No sweat, grab hold of me and I'll lead you out,” Tom said. “James, when you get to the top of the stairs, close your eyes and lose the goggles or the light outside will blind you.”

“Right,” Algood shouted.

When they reached the door, the three men ran through the fire until they reached the others. They were pinned down there, but they were a strong enough defensive position that the SPS couldn't approach them.

Algood took the weapons from Kearny and Cooper, both of whom were dead, and gave one of them to Doctor Urban. “Make yourselves useful, Doc. Kill somebody,” he said.

“I've never shot at anything but ducks and geese,” Dr. Urban said.

“Good. They're bigger than ducks or geese, so you shouldn't have a problem.”

“Farrell, give me the radio,” Tom said.

Farrell handed the radio over to him.

The helicopters were less than thirty seconds away and as they approached, the gunship called.

Tom tossed a smoke grenade out into the opening.
“There's a building about one hundred meters north of the smoke. Waste it.”

The Apache started firing from several hundred meters away sending hellfire missiles into the barracks. The building went up with a tremendous explosion and as the SPS personnel started running, they were cut down, not only by machinegun fire coming from the Apache, but also from Tom and his men.

The helicopter came to a hover no more than ten feet above the ground. The door gunner of the helicopter was laying down covering fire as two lines were dropped down.

“Doc, you first!” Tom shouted. “Get hooked up!”

The lines had harnesses, which allowed the men to hook into them, then be winched up. The crew chief was handling the winch and as he drew each one up to the helicopter he would pull them on board, release them, then drop the line again.

“Gilmere, you take Kearny with you. Lewis, you take Cooper. We aren't leavin' them behind,” Tom said.

The two men, with their load attached, were winched up as well, leaving only Tom and Algood on the ground.

Two more lines dropped and Tom and Algood hooked themselves into the harnesses. Just as they started up, another group of SPS appeared, all of them armed with automatic weapons. They fired at the helicopter.

Clipper Bivens was holding the helicopter at a hover when he felt a sudden excruciating pain in his right foot. That caused him to jerk away from the anti-torque pedals, and the helicopter lurched and spun around.

“Take it, Dan, I'm hit!” Then, looking over at Lamdin, he saw blood and brain matter oozing from a hole in the side of his co-pilot's helmet. Lamdin's head was tilted forward.

Bivens grabbed the controls again and stabilized the helicopter. “Are these the last ones?” he shouted.

“Yes, sir!” the crew chief replied.

“I'm pulling pitch! Winch them up as I get us the hell out of here!”

The helicopter took off at maximum climb with Tom and Algood still dangling beneath. The crew chief and Lewis worked to bring them up. When they got them inside, Tom had not been hit, but Algood was bleeding from several wounds.

“Jesus, Cap'n!” Lewis shouted.

“Did the doc get aboard all right?” Algood asked.

“Yes, he did,” Tom said.

“Good,” Algood said.

Dr. Urban opened Algood's shirt and saw the wounds in his chest and abdomen. He looked up at Tom and, almost imperceptibly, shook his head.

The helicopter dipped its nose, and started south at maximum speed.

“Mr. Bivens, how are you doing, sir?” the crew chief asked.

“I'm losing a lot of blood,” Bivens answered. “Maybe you'd better pull Mr. Lamdin out of his seat and sit up here, just in case.”

“Whoa, hold it! You mean I might have to fly this thing?”

“You've got enough stick time, I think you can handle it.”

“I wouldn't want to try and land the thing,” Creech said.

“Just fly it until I get the bleeding stopped,” Clipper said. “If I can do that, I'll be good to go.”

“Right,” Creech said. Creech signaled the door gunner and the two of them pulled Lamdin from his seat, then lay him on the Alclad floor alongside Kearny, Cooper, and Algood. When that was done, Creech crawled into the left seat. He put his hands on the cyclic and collective control sticks.

“Just keep us straight and level,” Clipper said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Take off your boot,” Dr. Urban said. “Let me take a look at your foot.”

With Creech at the controls, Clipper turned around in his seat and took off his boot. His sock was soaked red with blood. Gingerly taking off the sock, Dr. Urban saw an entry hole in one side of his foot and an exit wound in the other side.

“Here's a compression bandage, Doc,” Tom said, pulling one from the helicopter first aid kit.

“Thanks,” Dr. Urban said. He wrapped the compression bandage around the wound and used it to stop the bleeding.

“How is Captain Algood doing?” Bivens asked as the doctor treated his wound.

“Not very good, I'm afraid,” the doctor replied.

“All right, this'll hold me long enough to get us to Blytheville. Once we get there, maybe we can get him to a hospital.”