The day after: An apocalyptic morning (147 page)

              "They're heading north," Jack said, examining them through the FLIR, which gave him a better count. "Towards the interstate."

              "And no one's heading for the west side," Skip said. "It looks like they're intending to keep together for the attack." He shook his head a little. "Don't know what their commander is thinking, but he's sure as shit giving us a break."

              "Should we get our people down in the trenches?" Jack asked, eager to give the deployment order over the radio.

              "Not yet," Skip told him, glancing for a second at his instruments. "Let's wait until they cross the interstate and start heading east. Once they do that, they'll be pretty much committed."

              So Jack gave an update on the troop movements below to Paul, who was monitoring the helicopter channel, but told everyone to hold in place for the moment. They watched the troops continue to march north below them while in the community center, the Garden Hill army continued to sit restlessly in the cafeteria.

              "I don't like that fuckin helicopter watching everything we do," Colby told Stu over the radio. "Isn't there anything we can do about it?"

              The helicopter was plainly visible off to the east, hovering over the western wall of the town, its nose pointed towards the formation.

              "It's too high to shoot," Stu replied. "Even if a bullet somehow manages to hit it, it won't do any damage. They're more than 2000 feet above us. That almost 700 yards straight up."

              "I don't like it," Colby repeated. "It gives them too much of an advantage."

              "So they can see us?" Stu answered. "It's no big deal. We knew that would be a problem all along. Remember that we have the gun and numerical advantage. And we're men for God's sake, not a bunch of bitches with rifles."

              "I suppose," Colby said, continuing to put one foot in front of the other. He was having a bad feeling about all of this. A very bad feeling.

              Up above, Skip and Jack were hearing every word that was being said on the Auburn communications channels. This was a simple Micker of setting their radio to the citizens band frequencies and putting it on scan. And the militia was dumb enough to talk in the clear. Were they completely unaware that they were being monitored? Or were they just arrogant enough to think that it didn't Micker? Skip favored the latter suggestion. The statement that "bitches" were inherently inferior at combat than "men" was the clincher. Didn't this idiot know that modern combat with guns did not rely on physical strength, the only thing that the fairer sex was lacking when it came to comparison? Didn't he know that a good portion of the VC that had kicked the shit out of the US army in Vietnam had been women? Apparently not. If so, his blindness would be his undoing.

              Thirty minutes later the lead elements of the militia climbed up a small embankment and onto the asphalt lanes of the freeway. They came out less than two hundred yards from a sign that the Garden Hill squads had put up three days before, especially for this occasion. It was a large white placard with neatly printed, almost gothic script upon it, composed by one of the more artistic members of the community. The sign was almost humorous in nature, quoting from "The Wizard of Oz".

              ENTERING GARDEN HILLS TERRITORY

              I'D TURN BACK IF I WERE YOU

              The militia did not find it very funny however. When Private Williams, at the order of Colby, approached the sign to knock it down - a completely unmilitary goal - he stepped on a trip wire and set off a mine that was mounted eight feet away on a pine tree beside the road. The pellets blasted out and ripped a hole in his side, causing him to utilize his pistol three minutes later.

              The rest of the militia, shaken and scared, continued forward. The sign remained in place.

              "They're across the interstate," said Jack's voice over the VHF radio in the cafeteria. "The rear elements just made the crossing. The lead elements are turning east."

              "We copy that," replied Paul, who was in charge of monitoring the frequency.

              "Begin deployment in the north bunkers," Jack said, obviously repeating instructions given to him by Skip. "Platoon one and two, occupy the bunkers in grid C-charlie six and D-delta six. Platoon three, occupy the bunkers in the rear of D-delta six. Estimate ninety minutes to contact."

              "All right, people," Paul shouted after acknowledging and repeating the transmission. "The time has come. Form up and get out to where you need to be. God be with us!"

              Now that the initial phase of waiting was over, the troops moved in a very efficient, very disciplined manner. They had practiced just such a thing many times in the past. The squad leaders gathered their men and women and told them to arm up. The platoon leaders watched, making sure that everything went according to plan.

              Guns were put over shoulders and backpacks, heavy with ammunition, water canteens, and first-aid supplies, were strapped to backs. Each of the squads was in possession of at least one of the automatic weapons that were available. Each of the automatic weapon carriers was in possession of a full clip of tracer rounds in addition to a box of extras. Each platoon leader - Christine, Paula, and Mick - was carrying a VHF portable so that communications with the helicopter were possible. They also carried a CB portable to talk to their squad leaders.

              As a group they donned their rain gear and headed out the door, walking in formation through the paved streets of Garden Hill towards the gate that guarded entrance to it. They were silent, contemplative as they marched, but determined. They exited the gate and then walked along the walls, using the road to travel on. Above them they could see but not hear the helicopter, their eye in the sky, hovering. No one waved at it, no one really even wasted time looking at it. It was comforting enough just to know it was there. They reached the northern wall and continued forward for another fifteen minutes, until they were approaching the Interstate. Then they headed off into the woods and the gentle hills there.

              Within thirty minutes of getting the orders, they were climbing into their trenches and assigning areas of responsibility. They loaded their weapons and began to wait.

              Paul and his medical team, which consisted of three of the women, climbed into the hauling truck and drove it out to the road, parking it along the northern wall. In the back were sheets and some makeshift carrying cots as well as field packs of medical supplies. A plastic cover tied over the top kept everything dry. When there were wounded (he could not, no Micker how much he tried, think if there were wounded) he and his team would go out and haul them in. Another team was standing by in the community center to care for them further - hopefully keeping them stable until Skip could fly them to El Dorado Hills.

              They staged for a few minutes just north of the interstate, reforming into their squads and platoons for the coming march. Everyone drank out of their canteens and checked their weapons. Squad leaders made a final inspection while the platoon leaders - all of them except Stu and Colby hastily promoted sergeants - tried to offer some encouraging words.

              "All right, guys," Stu said, addressing the men while Colby stood beside him. "It's time for the final push into this town. Somewhere across that freeway, probably rather close to the wall itself, we're going to hit some resistance from these bitches. I expect it will be little sniping attacks at first, maybe a little heavier as we get to the wall. The hit and run attacks that they've been pulling all this time are no longer effective so it's time to tighten up again, close enough to hear orders.

              "What we're going to do is spread into a wide front and move in quickly, almost at a run if we can. When they fire at us, we'll send platoons to advance on their positions while other platoons provide fire support. Again, speed is our ally here! We need to move quickly and wipe out the resistance as soon as we hit it. Surround their positions when we identify them, that's the key."

              He looked up and down the ranks, at the filthy, tired men that had managed to survive the hellish march. For the first time there seemed a certain eagerness in their eyes. At long last their goal was in sight and with it, a chance for revenge upon their tormentors. "If we do this right," he told them, "we'll be inside that wall in less than an hour. An hour after that, we should be outside that community center itself. Now these bitches are gonna scatter when we charge them, especially inside the wall, but have no fear. We'll hunt every last one of them down and we'll have ourselves a fine party tonight. There should be just about one for each of us, how about that?"

              There were some grins and sounds of enthusiasm from the ranks at his words.

              "Now remember, we try to take that helicopter intact if we can, but don't hesitate to bring that fucker down if you get a shot. That chopper is their only advantage over us - their only one - and if we take it out our job will be that much easier. So... is everyone ready to march?"

              They all yelled that they were. It almost sounded sincere this time.

              "Then let's move out. Remember, keep your dicks in your pants until tonight."

              At that, the militia began to move. They crossed the freeway and began to close with the Garden Hill positions.

              "They're moving in," Skip, who had taken over the radio from Jack, told his platoon leaders down below. "They're crossing the interstate right now in a line stretching across grid D-delta three. They've tightened up considerably and are layered in platoon-sized formations. Estimate contact in twenty minutes - that's two-zero minutes. Christine, if they keep moving on their present course, they're gonna reach your position first."

              Christine, Paula, and then Mick all acknowledged this information and relayed it to their troops, using their voices instead of their radios. Eighty-six sets of hands tightened their grips on eighty-six weapons. Eighty-six sets of eyes peered over the mud and through the trees, waiting to spot the invaders.

              "We're gonna get to shoot first," Christine told her people, her heart hammering in her chest. "Let's keep sharp and remember what Skip told us. Stick to your sector of responsibility if you can, both at the squad and the individual level. Remember, the riflemen fire first, as soon as they're in range. Those of you with the automatics, don't waste ammo. Short, controlled bursts when they're close enough to hit."

              "Look how much they're bunching up down there," Skip said, alternating glances between his instruments and the advancing line of militia. "They think they're out of danger now that they're close."

              "If only they knew," Jack said with a grin. "When are you going to show them they're wrong?"

              "Soon," Skip said. "When they make contact they're gonna be pinned down behind those hills over there. That'll be the time. In fact, it's about time to head down for some fuel anyway. See if you can get Steve on the tactical net and have him get ready for us."

              "Right," Jack said, switching the frequency button.

              "And remember," Skip said, "code words only. They're probably monitoring the CB channels."

              Jack looked wounded at the suggestion that we wouldn't remember something so elementary. "I know," he said indignantly.

              "Sorry," Skip said, favoring him with a fatherly glance. "It's best not to leave anything to chance."

              This helped Jack's pride a little. He keyed up the microphone and said: "This is mother bird calling Edison, are you there, Edison?"

              "Edison here," replied Steve after a few moments. Edison was Kensington's code name, picked because of his propensity for invention and assembly. "Go ahead, mother bird."

              "Mother bird's coming down for lunch," Jack told him. "We'll be needing an egg while we're down. Can you get one ready for us?"

              "One egg, coming up," Steve said, obvious pleasure in his voice. "And I'll get your lunch crew ready to rock too."

              "You're the man, Edison," Jack told him.

              "What the hell does that mean?" asked Colby, who had heard the conversation on his scanning CB. It was the first time they had picked up anything but clicks and static. "What's an egg? Who's mother bird? Who's Edison?"

              "They're using code," replied Stu, who was marching near him in the center of the formation. "Obviously mother bird is the helicopter. You could hear the engine in the background. And I would guess that 'going down for lunch, ' means that they need fuel."

              "And the egg?" Colby repeated, finding something sinister about that very word.

              Stu shrugged. "No way of telling," he said. "But I wouldn't worry too much. That chopper's not good for anything but recon during the day unless it wants to get close enough to get its ass shot off."

              "I have a bad feeling about this," Colby muttered, watching as the lead elements continued to close.

              "Don't sweat it," Stu said. "In two hours this thing will be all over."