Reclamation (Best Laid Plans Book 4) (33 page)

He toggled his radio transmitter. “Heads up, people. It definitely looks like an enemy.”

His earbuds did a surprisingly good job of reducing the crackle of static as Hans replied. “So do we turn it into a colander as soon as it's close enough?”

Trev hesitated. It was probably a smart move, but he didn't like the idea of killing a bunch of people without properly identifying them or giving them a chance to surrender. For all he knew those could be defectors, or another family like his that had stolen an enemy truck and escaped.

Even if it turned out to be enemies the chance to capture the truck and all its fuel and gear intact, as well as some soldiers who could potentially be questioned for useful information or traded later as prisoners of war, presented an opportunity he didn't want to throw away.

“They'll have a hard time getting away from our ambush if they turn out to be unfriendly,” he said. “Let me stick my neck out talking to them. If they decide to cause trouble hopefully my body armor will do its job, and then you can perforate the vehicle to your heart's content. Tom, you've still got the detonator?”

“Got it,” the older man said, sounding a bit nervous.

“I hate to jump the gun with that thing, but if the truck somehow gets past the roadblock you blow it before it can get up the canyon. Got it?” Tom answered in the affirmative. “Everyone else in position and ready?” He waited until he heard acknowledgements from everyone in his squad, then slipped away from the lookout spot and made his way down to the road.

They'd set up a simple roadblock around a blind turn there, a sturdy log across the road braced by a stump on one side and a pile of stones on the other. It was enough to completely stop a vehicle at the ambush point, but at the same time it could be quickly moved if necessary.

The demolition charges Graham and his specialists had rigged were less than twenty yards behind the roadblock, on the steep rocky southern slope that was nearly a cliff. From what Graham had told him about the planned blast it would probably send an avalanche of rocks all the way to the roadblock itself, burying Trev along with it if things went wrong.

He'd just have to hope whoever was in the truck wasn't suicidal, although as he hunkered down in the emplacement they'd built behind the roadblock he couldn't help the sick nervousness he felt at the risk he was taking. He could already hear the rumble of the truck engine getting closer.

Maybe
he
was the suicidal one.

He caught brief glimpses of the vehicle as it entered the mouth of the canyon and started up the road, winding its way along the switchbacks beside Cedar Creek. Even when it was out of sight he could somewhat track its progress by the noise of the engine, growing louder and louder until it sounded like it was almost on top of him.

Trev took a deep breath, hefted his M16, and straightened to point the weapon towards the blind turn. Just in time as the truck barreled into view.

To his credit the driver immediately saw Trev and the roadblock and understood the danger, screeching to a halt and starting to back up. Unfortunately for him, part of the ambush involved dropping a tree across the road behind the truck, having prepped it beforehand by nearly cutting through the trunk so it was ready to fall with a good push.

Rob Jonas, in charge of felling the tree, had a covered path behind an outcropping to bolt back up once the task was done, and had probably made it to safety before the people in the truck even realized the impromptu roadblock had begun to fall.

Trev took a deep breath, then raised his voice to a bellow. “Shut off the engine, then come out slowly with your hands above your heads! I see anyone holding a weapon and we start shooting!”

The driver quickly complied, half ducking as if expecting to be shot at any moment. He was average height with brown hair, and had one of those familiar faces that everyone thought they recognized. Or at least Trev did. “Easy!” he shouted back. “We're Americans!”

“Then you won't mind us taking a few precautions for someone driving a blockhead truck!” Trev motioned with his rifle. “Get your friends out here, out of the back too if anyone's in there, and if you've got any weapons let's see you set them aside slowly and back away.”

The passenger door opened and another man stepped out, wearing a cowboy hat with his lower face covered by his jacket riding up around his upraised arms. “We stole this truck from the blockheads!” he called, and Trev stiffened as he recognized the voice. The man continued. “Are you guys the ones we've been hearing about, the remnants of the military setting up to turn back the Gold Bloc in the mountains?”

Trev couldn't believe it. Out of everyone he'd expected to drive up his canyon, this had to be the least likely. But it explained why the truck was so familiar. He tried to keep his tone even as he answered. “What's your purpose here?”

“We want to join up. The enemy made us flee our homes, and we had a good life before they came. We want that life back if that's still even possible. We even brought supplies and weapons to help you out, more than we need ourselves. You can see for yourselves.” The man awkwardly motioned towards the back of the truck with his raised hands, and the motion lifted his jacket enough for Trev to see the sheriff's badge on his chest.

Had he kept it as a memento or did he still cling to his role as an enforcer of law and justice?

More men were emerging from the back with their hands raised, slowly setting weapons on the road before walking up to join their leader. Fourteen in all, so the numbers fit there too. The man turned back to Trev. “Look, see? We're cooperating, we just want to join the fight!”

It certainly looked like they were cooperating, but that hardly mattered. Trev reached down and thumbed his radio. “Get ready to move in and take these guys prisoner,” he whispered into his mic.

Then he raised his voice again.“Good to hear. But it'll be hard to join the fight when you and your men are under arrest for armed robbery, Fred Vernon.”

The former sheriff sighed and lowered his hands slightly, so the jacket didn't cover his face anymore. He looked a bit more haggard than when Trev had seen him last; the life of an outlaw didn't seem to agree with him.

“I was afraid you'd recognized me, Smith.” He chuckled slightly. “Of all the luck, driving up the one canyon
you're
set up in. I'm impressed you managed to get all the way out here on foot in such a short time.” He looked around. “But you're really with the military? You're here guarding this piss poor road for them?”

“You'll find out soon enough.” Trev carefully stepped over the fallen tree roadblock, weapon still trained on the group of fourteen men. Although he tried not to specifically point it at anyone and he kept his finger off the trigger. “Is this everyone?” He already knew the answer since this was the number of men who'd betrayed Newtown, but the former sheriff might've picked up some friends since then.

Vernon nodded wearily. “There's no need to keep pointing that thing at me. Remember how we didn't go around waving our weapons willy-nilly when the situations were reversed?”

Trev grit his teeth. “Probably not smart to remind me about any of that.” He motioned with the tip of his rifle. “Line up on your knees, hands on your head. My people are coming to tie you up, but you won't be harmed.”

The former sheriff's people reluctantly complied, and didn't cause any trouble as Trev's squad converged on the road and cautiously moved up behind the kneeling men to search and bind them. Although they were obviously pissed; most weren't stupid enough to actually say anything to the people pointing guns their way, but there were plenty of glares and more than a few muttered obscenities.

Vernon remained calm through it all, even when Trev zip-tied his hands behind his back after patting him down to make sure he wasn't hiding any weapons. The man also kept his full attention on Trev as he stepped away a short distance, to radio in and let Davis know what had happened. He quickly explained that they were bringing in prisoners, and that the sergeant could recall the reinforcements he'd sent. Davis didn't seem overjoyed at the news, but he curtly told Trev they'd talk about it when he reached camp.

“What happens now?” Vernon asked as Trev thumbed the transmit toggle off and made his way back over to him.

“Now we take you to our main camp,” Trev replied, pulling the former sheriff to his feet. “Normally we'd be looking at a hike to get there, but since you were kind enough to bring back my truck we'll be there in no time.”

“So, what, we all pack in clown car style? There was barely enough room for us in there.”

Trev had already considered that, but it wasn't the problem Vernon seemed to think. “Just me and a few guys to keep an eye on you. My squad was assigned to guard this canyon so we can't send too many people away.”

Vernon nodded thoughtfully. Maybe it was paranoia, but Trev didn't like something about the man's expression. He stepped a bit closer, meeting the former sheriff's eyes. “If you think during the drive would be a good time to try something, think again. We'll shoot without hesitation.”

In response Vernon shrugged his shoulders to indicate his bound arms, as if announcing his helplessness. “You know, me and my boys did what we had to do, but we weren't as eager for violence as you seem to be,” he said quietly.

Trev had to laugh. “You're going to try to take the moral high ground here? Don't try anything and there won't be a problem.” He tapped Vernon's shoulder to turn him around. “In the back.”

Vernon went, although he took his time. “We came here to fight the blockheads, like I said right off the bat. You really want to lose our help over a petty grudge?”

Petty grudge? Did he actually have the gall to try to downplay leaving Trev's family stranded in Nebraska, forced to haul over a ton of food and other possessions the rest of the way to Utah with Gold Bloc soldiers at their heels? Not to mention abandoning the people of Newtown to fend for themselves.

“Do I need to gag you?” Trev shot back. The former sheriff shook his head, keeping quiet as he led his men up into the back of the truck.

Trev left them to get settled in with Rob keeping an eye on them and gathered the rest of his squad. “Tom, Mason, you're with me. Leave your rifles behind and just take your 1911s. And keep a good hold on them.” He handed his M16 over to Fred Donnell.

Tom nodded, although he looked uneasy as he also handed off his rifle. “What exactly is going on, Trev?” he asked. “Armed robbery? Who are these guys?”

Right. He probably should've given his people a heads up about what was happening. “You heard about Newtown, right?”

The older man nodded. “The grain silo utopia you guys passed through.” His eyes widened and he darted a glance at the vehicle. “Wait.
These
are the guys who stole your truck?” Trev nodded grimly. “What in the blazes are they doing here?”

“No idea. Last I heard they planned to make for Mexico, as far from the Gold Bloc as possible.”

Mason snorted. “Joke's on them, then. They ended up where all the blockheads are going.”

Trev wasn't in a laughing mood. “Tom, you're driving while me and Mason ride on the back and keep them covered. Keep it slow and avoid bumps so we don't get tossed off.” He turned to Hans, taking off his radio and mic and earbuds and handing them over. “You're in charge here until I'm gone. Make sure to keep the lookouts alert; these guys were alone, but they may not be the only ones out there.”

Hans accepted the radio and started hooking it to his belt. “Gotcha.”

“Let's go, then.” Trev led Mason to the back and hopped onto the fender, hanging on to the side of the opening and leaning in slightly. His squad mate copied his position on the other side.

“Looks awfully uncomfortable,” one of Vernon's men said. “What're we going to do, headbutt you and fall face first to the road? Our hands are tied.”

Trev ignored them and signaled a few of his people to move the tree Rob had dropped behind the truck. While they were doing that Tom started the vehicle, and less than a minute later they were bumping their way back down the canyon to take the side road to Highway 31. The ride on the back wasn't too bad, all things considered, but they were jolted around enough that Trev had to wonder if they'd even be able to do anything if Vernon and his men tried something.

At least they were going slow enough that if they got bounced off it wouldn't hurt too much.

Even though he'd radioed ahead that they were coming Trev still felt his shoulders crawl as they drove up the larger canyon, past the rocky slope Davis had rigged with explosives. It was ready to create a rockslide that would completely cover the road and the rest of the canyon, on a scale that dwarfed what Graham and his demolitions specialists had set up at Cedar Creek or other locations.

The sergeant always had at least one squad of sentries and lookouts up in emplacements along the slopes to either side, too. That included the M2 Browning they'd brought from Aspen Hill, set up in the emplacement above the rocky slope and pointed down the canyon.

If for some reason Davis
did
decide they were enemies the truck could be simultaneously buried under tons of rubble, blown to smithereens by one of the two TOW missile launchers, Aspen Hill's operated by Gutierrez and the one Davis had brought with him, and punched full of holes like a cheese grater by the .50 caliber heavy machine gun and assorted small arms fire. And Trev had no doubt the sergeant had taken other measures, like mining the ground along the sides of the road leading up to the slopes where his men waited.

Good thing they were friends. He only hoped that when their enemies came this way it would be enough to handle them.

He'd only been to the new main camp once since being assigned to Cedar Creek Canyon. It had grown a lot since then, including a section cordoned off as a temporary stop for civilians fleeing up the highway. The truck passed the section where Matt's squad had set up their tents, but it was deserted and his friends likely on duty somewhere.