John O'Brien - Reckoning

Looking toward the mountains to the west, their eastern slopes rising sharply and hidden in shadow from the lowering sun, Greg thinks to gain some height in order to get a clearer picture of what is happening behind them. Looking at the map fluttering in his hand as a chill wind blows past, he sees that there aren’t any immediate roads leading west. Glancing to the rear once again, he notes that there aren’t any further plumes but the size of the dust cloud indicates that someone is still charging hard in their direction.

Nearing the northern outskirts of Pueblo, Greg orders the Stryker onto a highway heading west. The road advances into the heart of the Rocky Mountains through a gap between two monstrously tall ridgelines.

The pickup follows close behind and offset in the other lane to keep clear of the dust being kicked up by the large vehicle. The group quickly leaves behind any semblance of built-up areas. Industrial yards and large housing developments abruptly give way to wide-open, light brown barren plains, their starkness broken by a gullies and waterways streaming from the mountains to the west. Before long, the road begins to ascend, slightly at first and then steepening.

Ahead, a side road leads up one of the only hills rising above the plains. With Greg still unable to make out the type of vehicles behind, he orders the driver to take the road so that they can get a better look at what they’re facing.

“Sir, if we can see them, they’ll be able to see us,” the driver replies, slowing the Stryker.

“I’m aware of that but we need to know what we may be up against,” Greg states.

The large vehicle leaves the highway and immediately begins a climb up the side of the hill with the pickup following in their dust. Gaining a measure of elevation above the flats, Greg has the Stryker halted.

Standing atop the vehicle, his back chilled from cold air sweeping out of the mountains, he looks to the plain below through his binoculars. As he adjusts the focus, vibrations from the idling Stryker rise through the soles of his boots. Two faint dust clouds rise in the direction of Pueblo, a short distance to the east. One of the clouds continues south along the interstate, passing through the northern sections of the large city. The other, however, takes the same highway that he and the others turned onto.

Working the zoom level, Greg brings the approaching vehicles into clearer view. His heart jumps into his throat at what the sight brings; multiple columns of vehicles on the highway approaching at high speed; four Strykers and ten Humvees, with an accompanying tanker truck that is partially hidden. They are spread across all lanes of the road, their tires stirring the dust which drifts into the air behind them.

Looking closer at the larger armored vehicles, Greg notes the long barrels jutting in front.

Fuck me. That’s not good. They have 105mm cannons , Greg thinks as he looks to the other group heading south.

From what he is able to see of the second group, they appear to be made up of roughly the same number and types of vehicles. Quickly putting away the binoculars and clambering back inside, Greg gets the feeling that his small team was spotted some time ago. He hopes the two groups split because they don’t know where he is and are searching for him. He has no idea why they might be chasing him, but that’s not important at the moment. The fact is, there are a significant number of armored vehicles rapidly approaching and he’s not about to stick around to find out what their intentions may be.

“Get us the fuck out of here…and yesterday!” Greg tells the driver.

Greg glances at the others crammed together within the limited space of the interior. All eyes are on him; the ones they rescued wide open with fear, the soldiers waiting to hear what is happening. Shouting over the sound of the Stryker’s revving engine as it makes its way off the hill, Greg informs them of what he saw.

“We’re heading west into the mountains in order to create some distance from the nearest group and hopefully lose them. If we can gain enough space, we should be able to lose them when it becomes dark, which will be in a couple of hours,” Greg says, finishing his brief.

“We’re going to need fuel soon, sir,” the driver reports.

“Do we have enough to make it until dark?” Greg asks.

“We should have enough, sir. But we’ll need it shortly thereafter.”

“Very well. We’ll deal with that when it comes. We have a few full canisters that we can use if we need to,” Greg states.

Greg hopes that, if they can create a margin of distance between them and the armored vehicles to their rear, the group will give up the chase. After all, they won’t want to venture very far from their encampment just to chase down a lone Stryker. At the very least, if they can survive until darkness arrives, they’ll be able to lose the others on side roads. With these thoughts in mind as they enter the valley between the tall ridges, Greg has the Stryker pushed to full speed, sacrificing fuel consumption in order to gain some distance.

They cross several bridges spanning deep ravines created from the runoff of the surrounding peaks. The sun sinks behind the lofty mountaintops, sending flares of light streaking through the gaps. Rounding a corner in the road as it ascends into the higher terrain, a darkened outline of a city appears. Hidden in the shadows of a valley and nestled up against the sharply rising mountains to the west, the town spreads out on both sides of the highway.

“Sir?” the driver queries, slowing the Stryker.

Before, they had approached towns cautiously and circumvented them if possible.

“Push through it,” Greg orders. “We’re dealing with a certainty behind us compared with an unknown ahead.”

The Stryker lurches forward as the driver throttles up. Gaining momentum, they enter the outskirts of the city. Shadowy outlines of schools and shopping centers roll by on either side as the armored vehicle races along the split, multi-laned highway. Greg considers turning down one of the side streets leading farther into town, but a glance at the map shows that there is only one road leading in and out of the town. Gullies and ravines that surround the city will prevent any other escape. If the group behind notices their tracks leading off the main road, which they no doubt would, they can easily block off the city and corner them in the streets.

They pass several gas stations and small industrial complexes with semis parked in the lots. Greg notes these with a sigh, wanting to exit and drain their tanks of fuel. However, he doesn’t know if those behind are still chasing them or how close they might be.

Streets branch off the highway; the deep shadows of dusk covering the town prevent any clear view down them. On the far side of the city, the road makes a sharp ninety-degree turn and begins a steep climb up the side of a ridge. Standing in the open cupola, Greg feels the rush of cold air past his cheeks. With the sun disappearing behind the mountains, casting the land in shadow, the air quickly chills. As they gain altitude, he is able to see over the city to the east.

The gloom of the early evening prevents a clear view, but he sees unmistakable signs of the armored group entering the city on the far side. They have their blackout lights running which cast thin beams of light on the road just in front of them. At least one question has been answered, whoever is after them is still charging hard. And, with the Stryker climbing along the ridgeline, if they weren’t spotted earlier, they surely will be now.

Greg still doesn’t have the faintest idea why anyone would be chasing them or how they were spotted earlier. The worry he had upon leaving the base with such a small team is now coming to a reality. They can’t hope to stand up to a force such as the one rushing after them. Perhaps if their Stryker was one with a 105mm cannon instead of the .50 cal, the narrow valleys of the mountains would offer them the smallest of chances. They could lie in wait and take out the lead vehicle, effectively blocking the route until it could be cleared off to the side. In this way, they could conduct hit-and-run operations but, with only the .50 cal on top, there’s no hope of accomplishing anything except run.