William Weber - Turning the Tide

When Diane awoke the next morning, John had already left. Another mission and another roll of the dice, she thought philosophically. He’d come home late the night before, carrying a sleeping Gregory in his arms, as well as a look of remorse. That normally meant some bad news had arrived, something connected to an order he’d given in the past. Diane could read it in her husband’s body language, the way his spine seemed slightly bent under a tremendous weight.

After a quick breakfast with the kids, she headed to the greenhouse. If all went well, it would finally be back in operation. Already, with the recent influx of soldiers from the 3rd Infantry Division, the strain on their resources had grown significantly. The power from Ray Gruber’s two windmills was going to be a huge help, running the lights, power tools and the hydroponic greenhouse. And that was one of the reasons why the sight that greeted her at the greenhouse was so disturbing.

The blades on one of the windmills had stopped turning. Two men on Diane’s team were doing their best to figure out how to fix it, but she knew this was no place to be poking around. They needed Ray.

She asked around and no one had seen him yet this morning. The vice mayor wasn’t normally one to oversleep and so Diane set off to find him, doing her best to ignore the nagging concern wiggling its way through her belly.

She weaved her golf cart through Oneida’s zigzagging back streets. In several places the rubble and burned-out hulks of Chinese military vehicles had been left in place to tie up any armored assault launched by the enemy. In others, small paths had been opened about the width of a golf cart to allow thin lines of traffic to pass. But the inconvenience did more than threaten to tie up a fresh batch of Chinese invaders. The mornings and evenings saw long lines of congestion Diane had thought they’d left behind them.

Rodriguez was on his way to the radio room when she drove past him. She pulled to a stop and asked if he’d seen Ray, explaining why it was important. She didn’t go so far as to say she was worried something had happened to him. Ray’s knowledge of wind power and AC/DC power conversion made him a prime target for any Chinese agent they might have missed. Not that she needed to spell things out to someone as intelligent as Rodriguez.

With that, Rodriguez hopped on board and they sped toward the house Ray was staying in, a bungalow a short ways off Alberta Street. They arrived and knocked several times only to find the house empty.

“I’m sure he’s somewhere around town,” Rodriguez said, perhaps trying to placate Diane’s overactive imagination. “He’s probably at the mayor’s office, giving General Brooks an earful of bad jokes.”

“I came from there on my way to the greenhouses and I didn’t see him anywhere around.”

Rodriguez sighed as the two made their way around the house into the backyard. Like many of the homes in town, the grass had been left to grow to nearly two feet high. Diane went to the sliding glass door and squished her face up to the cold surface, cutting the glare with a cupped hand. She scanned around inside without finding anything out of place.

“You hear that?” Rodriguez asked.

She did and it sounded like static and mumbled voices. It took a few seconds to figure out that it was coming from the brown shed in the corner of Ray’s backyard.

They approached and slowed as they drew closer. The voices coming from inside got louder, clearer.

“Please confirm you received my last transmission, over.”

It was Ray all right and Diane couldn’t help wondering who he was talking to. Most of the communication from Oneida was being performed by Henry or Rodriguez from the radio room in the mayor’s office.

But the next thing she heard from inside the shed took Diane’s breath away.

“Red Dragon, this is Phoenix, please come in.”

It was nearly 1800 hours by the time John and the five men who had joined him on this mission reached the outskirts of Lenoir City on horseback. Accompanying him were Moss, Devon, Reese, Heller and Gardner, Bravo’s squad leader. They’d been in the saddle since the early dawn hours, skirting enemy checkpoints and troops concentrations. Heller and Gardner would prep and plant the IEDs on the train tracks while John, Devon and Moss provided security. Reese was their insurance policy. A water tower on the edge of town would provide him with a clear field of fire over the entire area of operation.

After the sniper split off from them, John made one final radio check to ensure their communications were still operational.

“You’re our eyes out here, Reese. Call out any approaching threats. This may be our only shot at stopping that supply train and any others coming up behind it.”

“I’m on it, Colonel,” the sniper said, huffing as he used a Dumpster to climb onto the roof of a nearby store. The thirty-pound Barrett .50 caliber rifle he’d brought for the job could cut a man in two, although this was the kind of mission where having to use it meant you’d already failed.

Before long, John and the others came to the sharp turn in the track. He pointed to an area five meters before the curve. “This is where I want you to plant those IEDs,” he told Heller and Gardner. They led the horses into the forest nearby and tied them securely to several trees. With care, they removed the improvised explosive mortar rounds, the pressure plates, two spades and a sledgehammer. The latter was what the two men would use to pop the spikes and position the bombs; the work would be loud for a moment or two, but hopefully not enough to draw any unwanted attention.

John and Devon positioned themselves along the southern treeline while Devon found a clump of bushes north of the tracks. Once security was in place, Heller and Gardner got in place and went to work. Two loud whacks with the sledgehammer made John wince.

“How’s the coast?” he asked Reese over the radio.

“Still clear. Wait a minute.”

John’s heart froze in his chest. He signaled for Gardner and Heller to stop and drop down. “What do you see?”

“Hmm, maybe nothing. I got a group of women about two hundred yards west of your position. Looks like they’re carrying buckets of water up from the river.”

“River water near a big city,” Moss said. “I guess that’s one way to kill yourself.” He leaned into John’s walkie. “Do they look hot?”

Reese snickered. “Negative. Unless you’re into women who look like men. Either way, they’re gone now, so tell Moss if he wants a shot at them he’ll need to give chase.”

“All right,” John said, giving the two on the tracks the all-clear. “Maintain radio silence unless you see something.”

Gardner and Heller were digging gravel out from under one of the rails when a series of shots rang out. Rounds thudded into the ground around Heller and Gardner, dinging off the gravel and the railroad tracks. Then came what sounded like a stick smacking a wet rag as a bullet struck Gardner in the temple. Blood and bone sprayed Heller, who was kneeling beside him.

“Get back,” John yelled as he depressed the actuator on his walkie. “Reese, we’re coming under fire. We have a man down and no visual on the enemy.”

Heller’s chest exploded in a red mist as he turned to flee. Blood dribbled from his lips as he slumped over the train tracks. Now Devon was opening up to the west, presumably the direction from which they’d been fired on, but the truth was, in the chaos it was hard to tell what was coming from where.

Moss jumped up and charged out to grab hold of Heller. John edged out from the wood line and peered through his scope. A group of men in black fatigues were hugging the wall of a nearby building as they moved toward them.