David Robbins - Denver Run

Sure enough, the soldiers were falling back to regroup for another assault. The air was filled with smoke and an acrid stench.

Ares jogged along the rampart to Carter, his Colt AR-15 in his hands, his short sword dangling from his leather belt. His crest of red hair was caked with dust.

“How is our ammo holding up?” Carter asked him.

“We still have plenty,” Ares responded in his deep voice.

Carter ran his left hand through his curly blond hair, his green eyes glancing to the west and the north. “I wonder how the other walls are doing.”

The sounds of battle emanated from every direction.

“Do you want me to have one of our people check?” Ares offered.

“No,” Carter replied. “We need everyone for their next attack.” He paused. “How many do we have left?”

“Forty-three,” Ares answered.

Carter scanned the rampart. “I’m amazed we’ve held them this long.”

Ares checked the magazine in his Colt AR-15. “If we repulse them again, they may call it quits for the day. They must have lost seventy-five to a hundred men on our side of the Home alone.”

“I don’t—” Carter began to speak.

“Here they come!” a woman shouted.

The troopers were making for the south wall again.

“Look!” Carter exclaimed. “They’re trying a new tack.”

Ares calmly gazed at the horde of soldiers descending on the Home.

They evidently had a new trick up their collective sleeve. Instead of fanning out, dispersing their forces the length of the wall and clashing with the defenders on a wide front, the troopers were organized into a massive column, and the column was heading directly toward the center of the south wall. They were gambling their superior numbers would enable them to breeze up and over the wall before the defenders could rally.

The soldiers were wrong.

“Bring everyone in to the middle!” Carter ordered Ares. He raised his Springfield M1A to his right shoulder and sighted on the front ranks of the enemy. “On my command!” he yelled to the defenders nearest him.

The converging troopers were firing at the wall as they ran, an extremely difficult task, and most of their volleys were missing.

About 30 yards separated the south wall from the soldiers.

“Fire!” Carter barked.

The defenders unleashed a terrific rain of lead on the soldiers.

Screaming and stumbling as they went down, the first rows collapsed, tripping those behind them, and momentarily halting the enemy advance.

Carter aimed at a group of six troopers and raked them with a steady burst. He could see their bodies jerking as the bullets struck home.

A male defender to Carter’s right shrieked as the right side of his head was blown away.

The soldiers recovered from their initial confusion and closed on the south wall. They threw 14 assault ladders up against the central section, and the troopers promptly started to climb the ladders.

Carter leaned forward, exposing himself from the waist up, and fired at the soldiers nearest the wall.

Other defenders, in response to Ares, who was moving along the wall from west to east, began to arrive at the middle portion and added their firepower to the general melee.

The troopers at the outer base of the south wall were peppering the lip of the wall with gunfire, their effectiveness diluted by the intervening parapet.

A burly soldier was almost to the top of a ladder to Carter’s left.

Carter aimed the M1A and squeezed the trigger, then cursed his stupidity because the gun was empty. He swung the M1A over his left shoulder by its strap, and drew his stainless steel Guardian-SS Auto Pistols. The right Guardian bucked in his hand as he fired.

The burly soldier grabbed at his face, screamed, and toppled from the ladder.

A woman to Carter’s left was hit in the chest and flung from the rampart.

More troopers were nearing the top of the wall.

Carter realized the distinct drawback to having barbed wire attached to the top of the wall; it might hinder any invaders in clearing the top of the wall, but it also prevented the defenders from reaching down and shoving the ladders to the ground.

Another soldier to Carter’s right had his hands on the lip of the parapet.

Carter shot him in the ear.

The hapless trooper stiffened and fell, knocking off one of his companions on a lower rung.

Carter crouched and replaced the Guardians in their holsters. He hastily pulled a fresh magazine from his left rear pocket and reloaded the MIA.

Ares and Gideon were approaching from the east, Gideon’s shorter legs having to take three steps to every one made by his giant peer.

Ares reached Carter’s side first. He leaned out and blasted the soldiers with his AR-15.

The defenders were now packed along the center section of the wall, pouring their lethal barrage into the troopers nonstop.

“We’re holding them!” Carter cried, elated.

Something sailed over the top of the wall, a smallish circular object, its metallic surface glinting in the sunlight.

Gideon spotted it before the rest. As a Warrior, he was familiar with dozens upon dozens of armaments. He had studied countless books in the Family library on diverse weapons, from ancient times to the years preceding World War III. He recognized the object hurtling in their direction, and he instinctively took three steps and caught it in his left hand.

Carter had identified the object too. “Throw it!” he shouted at Gideon.

Gideon started to comply, but a shot from below caught him high on his chest, on the left side, and staggered him, causing him to drop the Uzi.

He lurched to the inner edge of the rampart, his moccasins hanging over the brink.

Carter dove for his friend, trying to grip Gideon’s legs and yank him to safety. His gaze fell on Gideon’s face, and even as he missed his grip, Gideon’s brown eyes locked on Carter’s green in a silent farewell. Carter’s frantic fingers were an inch from Gideon’s brown trousers when Gideon sank over the rim.

Gideon smiled as he fell.

“Gideon!” Carter screamed.

Gideon was ten feet above the moat when the grenade detonated. The explosion rocked the south wall.

Carter, near the edge of the rampart, felt something wet and cool splatter over his face. His ears were ringing and the left one was bleeding.

He wiped his right hand across his face, and his palm came away coated with blood, bits of flesh, and tiny pieces of Gideon’s green wool shirt and brown trousers.

“Are you all right?” Ares reached down and hauled Carter to his feet.

Aghast at the demise of his fellow Warrior and partner, Carter numbly nodded.

Ares stared at a growing red stain on the surface of the moat. “He died saving us,” he said solemnly.

The firing along the wall was abating as the soldiers began to retreat.

“We’ve held them again!” Ares stated.

Carter was gawking at his right palm.

“Why haven’t they used grenades before this?” Ares asked, hoping to divert Carter’s attention.

“Hickok told me last night,” Carter said, mumbling, “their army is… ill-equipped. They have a shortage of a lot of things. I think the Civilized Zone’s industrial output is minimal. The area they control doesn’t contain the natural resources they need…” He paused, his lips quivering.

“Are you all right?” Ares repeated.

Carter looked at the fleeing troopers. “You bastards!” he yelled, enraged. “You’ll pay for this! I promise you!”

Ares saw a solitary soldier, 75 yards from the wall, elevate his M-16 and fire.

Carter abruptly straightened and gasped.

A ragged red hole had appeared between his green eyes.

Ares dropped his AR-15 and seized Carter by the shoulder before the blond man could plunge from the rampart. “Carter?”