John O'Brien: Reckoning

Keeping an eye toward the vehicles on the road, he sees one of the Strykers slow. A bright flash lights up the night. A roaring, concussive noise engulfs Greg’s Stryker, jarring the vehicle and lifting it momentarily to the side. Pings and thuds from shrapnel bounce off the metallic skin, causing those inside to duck instinctively. If there was any thought that the pursuing vehicles might be friendly, that is erased by the shell exploding on the embankment next to the Stryker. The only positive note is that, if there were any night runners clinging to the top, they aren’t anymore.

The other vehicles along the road halt. Another bright flash from a Stryker leads to an eruption of dirt and smoke ahead, on the other side of the road from Greg and the racing Stryker. The range had obviously been adjusted with the shell passing just in front of the vehicle. Seeing the blast through the thermal camera, Greg is thankful that the Strykers firing on them aren’t equipped with TOW missiles.

Red streaks erupt from the roadway. At first, they seem to travel slowly across the dark landscape before suddenly picking up speed. The tracers lag and pass behind Greg’s vehicle. As the aim is corrected, the streaks of light begin impacting into the surrounding fields, falling short of their intended target. The road Greg is on angles away from the other vehicles and each second increases the distance between them. Moments after starting, the firing from the .50 cals mounted on the Humvees and Strykers cease.

With the stoppage of the .50 cals, the two Strykers accompanying the convoy increase their rate of cannon fire. Near misses jolt Greg’s Stryker as it careens down the highway. Turning his view toward the town in the distance, the thermal imaging shows several Humvees arriving at the edge of the city where they then come to a stop. Moments later, they are joined by two Strykers who emerge onto the highway leading out of the city.

“Off the road, now!” Greg commands the driver. “To the southwest.”

The Stryker veers to the right, canting heavily as it makes the high-speed turn. It jolts as it heads down an embankment and reaches level ground. Crashing through a fence and entering a field, the Stryker plows through the tall grass of whatever agricultural product was planted last.

The second group from the vicinity of the city adds its fire to those of their comrades. Explosions blast dirt and grass up and outward around the Stryker. Those inside hear metal shards ring off the hull from near misses. One piece slices through the metal skin just above the heads of those sitting on the benches, imbedding itself into the opposite wall with a solid thwack.

“Everyone down,” Greg calls. To the driver, he adds, “Keep it floored and be damned about what lies ahead.”

Attempting to throw off the aim of those firing on them, the driver weaves randomly as they race through the field, jostling everyone inside. The Stryker lifts off the ground, becoming momentarily weightless before slamming back down. Several screams fill the interior. Greg is thrown against the forward bulkhead, smashing his head against it. As the vehicle stabilizes following the too-near miss, he feels a painful, burning sensation on his forehead. A warm trickle makes its way down between his eyes and the bridge of his nose. Wiping his head with the back of his hand, he sees a red smear of blood on his glove.

“Motherfuck,” he mutters.

His ringing ears mute the noise of the thundering explosions outside. However, it’s not enough for him to miss the driver shout, “Hang on.”

Entering a thin screen of trees, the Stryker encounters an embankment lining a large stream. The nose drops sharply and the vehicle hits the water with a tremendous splash. Greg is thrown forward, hitting his head once again. Momentarily stunned, he can only think that they’ve taken a direct hit.

The wheels gain purchase on the rocky bottom and the Stryker heaves forward, gaining the far embankment. Straining up the bank, the vehicle slams down, finding level ground once again. Regaining his senses, Greg sees that they’ve entered another thin line of trees. The Stryker accelerates through adjoining farming fields. Looking toward the two groups assailing them, he notices that the trees along embankment are blocking any direct line of sight. The explosions, which ceased when they entered the first tree line, don’t resume.

Having left their field of vision, Greg can envision the two groups desperately racing down the roads to block him before he can gain either highway. The narrow, steeply embanked road that the first group is on will hinder their reversal. The second group will have to navigate the streets of the town to get back to the highway. Providing nothing interferes with their progress, Greg has the most direct angle to the crossroads, perhaps gaining them a little time and space. The race is on.

As the Stryker speeds across the darkened landscape, running through fence lines as if they didn’t exist, Greg wonders what damage the Stryker has taken. So far it appears to be running as it should and he hopes that will continue. The near misses have surely stripped everything off the top. They had managed to almost fill their tanks, so they have some mileage available to them, but Greg hopes they were also able to retain some of their fuel canisters.

“Make for the crossroads,” Greg tells the driver. “And don’t let off on the throttle.”

The engine strains as the Stryker powers up a small hill. As they top the rise, they find themselves on a small airfield and speed across a narrow, paved runway. Greg thinks of how perfectly set up the two groups were. It’s as if they knew exactly where he was and, more importantly, where he was heading. He hopes they don’t have a drone aloft, or worse, a direct satellite feed. He and his group are already at a disadvantage. If he’s not able to maneuver tactically, if his position is constantly known, then it is only a matter of time.

Fuel, a breakdown, bad timing; any of these will eventually lead to them coming within range of the large caliber guns again and wiped from the face of the earth within minutes. For now, the only thing they can do is run and hope they make it to the crossroads first. After that, it’s a crap shoot, and they’ll just have to take it as it comes.

The few buildings comprising the airfield facilities vanish from view as the Stryker races down a runway covered with a fine layer of dirt, piled in small drifts in some places. Reaching the end, they descend the hill where the airstrip is located and enter more fields. Not too far ahead, past a couple of fenced-in fields, are the buildings which surround the crossroads. From there, highways stretch north, south, east, and west.

In the distance, to the north and east, along their respective roads, Greg spots the dim lights of the two other groups as they make rapidly for the same crossroad. He gives a sigh of relief when he sees the distance of the other vehicles. Greg’s decision to head cross country and make directly for the intersection, coupled with the difficulties the other groups had, have given him an advantage. Barring anything unforeseen happening in the next few moments, Greg and the others will reach the crossroads first with enough distance separating them from their pursuers.

Slamming up and over a small dirt lane, the Stryker crashes through a chain link fence that surrounds an industrial lot. Powering across the dusty lot and exiting from an entryway, they enter the highway. At the intersection, Greg engages the smoke generator. A thick cloud erupts from the vehicle, billowing outward and filling the cold air. Mixed with IR defeating particles, the smoke cloud will hide the thermal image of the Stryker from those making their way rapidly toward them. It may not hide their path, as there are only two to choose from, but it’s the only thing Greg has at his disposal. The highway south immediately enters into a pass. There is an off chance that they can be hidden by the time the other group works their way through the smoke. That may give Greg and the others some additional time…and distance.