The day after: An apocalyptic morning (155 page)

              "Okay," Paula said over the tactical radio. "Let's lay it on them!"

              Everyone who was not involved in the actual withdrawal began to fire down at the enemy positions, providing their own covering fire. The explosions of gunfire began to echo once more and the trenches filled with gun smoke. Paula did not have to give the order to go. They already knew that the shooting was their cue. Sarah and Lynette were hauled from the rear of the trenches and the litter bearers, keeping their heads and bodies well down, dragged them down the hill. Lori, despite considerable pain that moving her body in any way caused, rolled out under her own power and followed them. Once they were all below the summit of the hill and out of line of sight of the enemy, they stood up, the stretcher-bearers grasping their loads and moving as quickly as they could to the rear.

              "Skip, this is Paula," she said into the VHF once they were on their way. "We're starting our pull-back. Wounded are on the way. Can you contact Paul for us and let him know to meet them?"

              "Don't bother," Paul's voice immediately spoke up. "We're already on the move."

              "Copy that, thanks, Paul," Paula said.

              "I copy too," Skip's voice said from the radio. "Paula, it looks like your friends down there are starting to regroup for another advance. Keep the fire on them as much as you can and get the hell out pronto."

              Paula clicked her radio instead of verbally replying and then picked up her tactical set again. "All right," she said into it. "Keep up the fire," she said. "First squad, do your thing. You're going to taking number 23. I repeat, 23. Get going now!"

              First squad did not have to be told twice. While the rest of the platoon kept up the gunfire on the enemy positions, they slid out of the trenches, taking their personal weapons and the weapons belonging to the dead and wounded, as well as their packs, with them. They slithered down the hill until they were able to stand and then they headed for trench 23 at a fast run.

              When they were halfway there, Paula told second squad to do the same. The volume of covering fire naturally eased off but still the enemy kept their heads down and didn't try to push in. Within a minute of the order being given, all of them were gone.

              "All right," Paula said to her squad, not using the radio or code since all of them were within earshot. "Now the rest of you. We're taking trench 28. I'll cover for you with the automatic for about twenty seconds and then I'll be right behind you. Now go!"

              They went, sliding out of the trench and disappearing down the hill. Paula fired an entire magazine while they did this, using two and three round bursts. There was some light return fire but nothing terribly concentrated. As soon as her magazine was empty she reloaded and followed her troops to the next position.

              From above, Skip watched the orderly pullback with satisfaction. He could see them trotting in three distinct groups, heading for the array of trenches a quarter of a mile to the south of the ones they had just been in. Ahead of the group, moving much quicker than he would have thought possible, he saw the stretcher bearers hauling the wounded towards Paul's team, who were running over the open ground to meet them.

              "We're really going to win this thing," he said to Jack and Sherrie. "We're really going to."

              "You think so?" Sherrie, who was still winding in the napalm rope, asked hopefully.

              "I know so," Skip said. "They can't take another advance that costly. They simply can't. I'm amazed that they're still pushing forward as it is. They have to know that's it's useless."

              "Maybe they think they've gone too far to stop now," Jack suggested.

              Skip nodded thoughtfully. "Maybe," he agreed. "If so, they're making a very big mistake."

              With his philosophical musings now out of the way, Skip turned his attention to the other side of the battle, where Mick's group was still locked into an ongoing gunfight with the leapfrogging attackers. Over there the going had been even rougher, the advance even more costly, but amazingly enough, they were still pushing forward as well. They were now, with more than half of their number dead or incapacitated, approaching the 150-yard range as well.

              "Mick," Skip said into the radio, "are you still with me?"

              As it had been with Paula's, the transmission was filled with the background noise of gunfire. "I'm still here," he said. "I've got one dead and two wounded that need to be taken out. The enemy is making short hops but they're starting to get kind of close to us."

              "Understood," Skip said, watching as one group hit the mud and another began to rush forward. "I think it's time to pull back before you get any more casualties. I want you to withdraw to trenches..." he consulted his map for a moment, "33, 34, and 36. Start as soon as you can."

              "Copy that," Mick answered, unmistakable relief in his tone. "We'll be on the move in less than a minute."

              " Christine," Skip said next, "are you down there?"

              "Right here," she said immediately.

              "Have the squads on the right side of your deployment pull back to trenches 40 and 42. Keep the squads on the left side in place and help cover the withdrawal of Mick's platoon. As soon as they're all out of there, take the rest of your people over to trench 46."

              "Copy," she said.

              "Any wounded on your side?" he asked her next.

              "Negative," she said, obviously pleased by this. "We have zero casualties of any kind."

              "That's what I like to hear," he said. "There's a good chance you're gonna be on your own for a bit after this. It sounds like some of the wounded from the other sides are going to need medivac to EDH. I'll make it as quick as I can."

              "Squad two and three," Christine ordered over the tactical radio. "Prime directive time. Two to 40, three to 42. Plan B, now!"

              Plan B was the code for an immediate withdrawal, without the benefit of covering fire. It had been intended for a grave situation such as the militia advancing quicker than could be dealt with, but in this case, with those squads absent of any enemy contact, it seemed appropriate as well.

              The squad leaders of two and three both acknowledged her order and then went about initiating it. They slipped out of their trenches and headed towards the next complex.

              "Everybody else," Christine said to the remaining eight people in her own trench. "Keep plastering that group. Mick's platoon is withdrawing."

              The battered group of militia that was attempting to leapfrog its way up to Mick's position was about three hundred yards away on average. Far enough so that fire was not terribly accurate but close enough so that it did cause casualties. Christine and her people aimed out over the edge of their position at an angle and shot at anything that moved down there. There was a lot of movement.

              "What about us?" Kathy Smith, one of Christine's people, wanted to know.

              "We're pulling back to 46 as soon as Mick's out of there," she answered, giving her trigger a squeeze and sending four bullets down range.

              "How long?" Kathy asked. "They're gonna be awfully close to us if they take that trench before we can get out of here!"

              "As long as it takes," Christine said, watching as another dash began among the enemy. "And if you'd stop talking and start shooting, maybe we could slow them down a little bit more. Come on!"

              Kathy gave a nervous, sour look at the young girl that was in command of their fate but did as she was told. She aimed her semi-automatic AK-47 down towards the aggressors and squeezed off three quick shots.

              "Get around there!" Stinson yelled as the front group closed to within fifty yards of the trench. "Goddammit, flank them on that left side and get up on top of that position!" He leapt to his feet and waved his own men forward as he yelled this, feeling genuine excitement for once. They had not lost a single man on the last three charges. Not even one. In fact, it almost seemed as if the Garden Hill defenders had stopped firing altogether. It seemed that their covering fire was getting very accurate indeed.

              The front group scrambled around to the left side of the hill, their weapons ready. A few of them were firing upward towards the shredded sandbags that they could now see.

              "Come on, guys," Stinson yelled to his own half. "Move around to the right! Let's get the fuck up there and get this over with!"

              The enthusiasm was contagious. The fourteen men of his team rushed around to the flank of the nearer hill and then started up the steep slope, several of them falling down when they lost traction but quickly getting to their feet again. It was almost strange to not have bullets whizzing at them as they moved, to not hear the meaty thud of some unfortunate getting hit, to not hear the screams that followed. Above them and to the south, the helicopter was still hovering, watching over the events.

              Both groups reached the top of the hill at almost the same time. Once up there they closed in on the first of the trenches from the sides, their guns pointed at it, fingers tightened on triggers. Stinson wished for some hand grenades to help clear the way but that simply had not been in the Auburn inventory. They had had some of those tear gas guns and flash-bangs from the Sheriff's department but they had not carried them with them on this particular campaign.

              Stinson and the rest of them waited for the barrage of bullets to come flying at them as the terrified defenders in the trench made a final stand. They waited, but it never came. At last they were standing over the trench itself, twenty-eight men who had survived hell.

              "Son of a bitch," Stinson said, looking down at what was revealed.

              There was a dead body in the trench, that of a woman. There were hundreds of empty shell casings of various caliber. There were dozens of empty boxes that had once contained ammunition. There was a canteen that had a bullet hole in it. There were a few puddles of watery blood. Other than that, there was nothing, nothing at all but a bunch of muddy footprints. On the backside of the trench were more footprints and some slide marks. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the occupants had scrambled out the back a few minutes before.

              "Get over to those other two hills they were shooting from," Stinson ordered half of his men. "Check those trenches as well."

              Two of his squads, shaking their head in disgust, began to move unenthusiastically in that direction.

              "Stinson," Stu's voice demanded over the radio. "Answer me! Give me a fuckin report!"

              Stinson sighed, pulling out his radio. He had finally updated Stu just after the napalm attack, just before the final charge to the trench. Stu had agreed with his plan of action and had ordered him to carry it out. He keyed up now. "We're on the hill," he said softly. "No casualties taken in the advance. The enemy forces have pulled back."

              "You mean they ran away?" Stu said.

              "I mean they're not here," Stinson said. "Call it whatever you want. We have one body in this trench, no wounded, no weapons, no supplies. I have people checking the trenches on the other hills now as well."

              "Trenches?" Stu asked. "Did you say trenches?"

              "You heard me right," he replied. "They've got fucking trenches dug in these hills, complete with sandbags and a shitload of ammunition. And they aren't makeshift trenches either, they're almost as solid as the ones we have back in Auburn. That's why we had such a hard time hitting them."

              "Understood," Stu said, his voice sounding strangely gleeful. "And now that we've chased them out of their trenches, the going should be a lot easier now."

              Stinson didn't even bother answering that one.

              On the other side of the battle, Mick's last group was just leaving their trench to head for their new position. Their situation was just a little more perilous because John Whitcoff, one of Mick's men, had been hit just after the second third of the platoon had made their getaway. A bullet had come drilling through one of the firing ports and into his back, dropping him to the bottom of the trench.

              "Go, go," Mick ordered, firing his M-16 down at the advancing militia, the closest of whom were now approaching one hundred yards. "Get him down there with the others. Get a move on!"

              They hauled him out of the trench, not bothering to waste time putting him on a litter, and bodily dragged him down the hill. Mick kept firing down, thankful that Christine and her group were still in position on the next group of hills over. If not for them, they would've been overrun a minute or so ago.

              "Mick," Christine's voice said over the radio, "are you out of there yet? They're getting a little too close for comfort."

              "Pulling out now," he said. "We have another wounded man from the withdraw. Our last group is gonna be a little slow getting out."