Nathan Jones - First Winter

And only hundreds more refugees out there doing the same, most in smaller groups and not leaving convenient tracks when they attacked their prey. Not for the first time Raul fantasized about making his way to the refugee camp and taking a potshot at Rogers for the trouble he’d caused. Deep down he knew he’d never do something like that, but it was a pleasant thought to entertain.

Instead he planned the morning attack. If Matt was smart, and he was, he’d bring a bullhorn. The best way to let the bandits know they were serious would be to surround the camp, have everyone take cover in case the men below didn’t want to go willingly, then fire short volleys from all directions at the ground around the camp. The bandits would realize they were surrounded, outnumbered, and outgunned by enemies they couldn’t even see to shoot back at, in a camp with no cover.

Then Matt could get on his bullhorn and tell them to all come out with their hands up and surrender. The defenders could move in and cover the bandits while restraining them, while watching the camp for anyone hiding. And those who tried to fight would be shot, giving their buddies an even better incentive to give up.

Easy. Simple.

Finally, after an eternity waiting in the darkness with his own thoughts, which wasn’t all that pleasant with the guilt that plagued him and was even worse considering the physical discomforts, his headset finally crackled. Trev, letting them know the rest of the Aspen Hill force had arrived.

Matt had stayed back home, arm immobilized enough from the bruising that he didn’t consider himself combat effective. He was waiting with Chauncey to deal with any fallout from the military over this.

Raul reported back that everything was quiet in camp and the night had been uneventful. But before he could start laying out his plan of attack Lewis cut in and offered his own plan. It was basically the same as what Raul had thought up, except his friend had spent the brief time before dark scouting the terrain around the camp so he could offer more specific details for placing their people.

That was fine. Raul had served under idiots, cowards, and jerks who made it easy to hate their guts. Ferris was a prime example. He was more than happy to take direction from someone competent and responsible, even if it was him who was technically in charge of the sentries.

He added a few tips to help firm up Lewis’s plan, and others added their own insights. It seemed pretty solid by the time the sun cracked the horizon and spilled golden light onto the camp.

Raul and his sentry team watched as the defenders Trev had brought with him took positions to their left and right, and farther along to circle the camp’s perimeter. They were being careful, and it actually took some effort to make out many of them as they settled behind cover.

Then came the interminable waiting with his rifle trained on the camp, looking through his scope as the sleeping bandits began to stir and wake up, and the sentries around the camp were relieved by groggy replacements.

Finally Trev’s voice came clear through his headset. “Go.”

Just for variety Raul aimed at a campfire, while around him his team picked unoccupied spots of ground or newly vacated cover. Within the space of ten seconds two hundred shots rang out from all sides, echoing from the mountain slopes surrounding the meadow like the rumble of a summer thunderstorm. It was an egregious waste of ammunition in his opinion, although he couldn’t argue that if it convinced the bandits to surrender it would use less bullets than gunning down everyone in the camp. Still, it galled him that they had to use a precious resource to clean up this trash.

Down below the bandits went nuts. Diving for cover that wasn’t there, screaming in fear, and a few going down clutching wounds accidentally made by careless bullets from less skilled Aspen Hill defenders.

Overpowering the confusion came Trev’s voice on the bullhorn. “Listen up down there. We’re the Aspen Hill defense. You’re surrounded, outnumbered, and massively outgunned. We missed our first volley on purpose to get your attention… we won’t miss again. Surrender, leave any weapons behind, and walk towards the rising sun one hundred paces, then drop to your stomachs with your hands behind your heads and wait to be arrested. Any other response and we’ll—”

From among the shouting below came a sort of wordless roar. No spoken command by any leader Raul could see, no consensus. The bandits simply reached the same decision as one, and their frantic ducking turned into a charge. He watched as they poured out from camp in all directions, brandishing whatever crude weapons they had and less than ten of them armed with any sort of firearm or other ranged weapon.

Desperation shined in their eyes, so far past the line few even considered surrendering.

“You have five seconds to drop to the ground where you stand, or we fire on you!” Trev’s voice boomed through the bullhorn. No reaction from the bandits, aside from maybe spurring them to even greater speed. Raul had no doubt that they intended to find the defenders surrounding their camp and tear them to pieces if they could.

His friend didn’t count down on the bullhorn, and when Raul’s own silent countdown had reached five seconds no order came. He shifted impatiently and a bit uneasily, wondering what the holdup was. Even though the enemy was mostly armed with hand to hand weapons, if that order didn’t come soon it wouldn’t be long before their people were in danger.

Ten seconds. Still no order. Hadn’t Trev already learned this lesson about not letting the enemy get close? Raul reluctantly toggled his mic, although he allowed no reluctance in his voice as he spoke clearly and firmly. “Open fire.”

He suited his words by squeezing the trigger on the man who’d been running almost directly towards him. The bandit was now less than twenty yards away and not even trying to dodge potential incoming fire. He went down without a noise, and the rattle of gunfire once again came from all sides as the defenders followed Raul’s order.

The fact that the bandits had so viciously gone on the attack helped relieve his conscience somewhat as he picked another target and fired again, and he needed that. Because it wasn’t a battle: it was a bloodbath, with only minimal danger to the defenders and the enemy being gunned down by the dozens in the minute or so it took to finish the grisly job.

In the end less than thirty of the bandits came to their senses and dropped to the ground. Some of them maybe to dodge gunfire, not surrender. But with no one left charging the defenders and Trev on the bullhorn shouting instructions, the surviving men finally rose to their feet and shuffled with hunched shoulders to gather up as he ordered.

Raul led the team that went in to make sure they were disarmed, moving cautiously even though the bandits were lying on their stomachs with their hands behind their heads. They patted down the bandits and bound their hands behind their backs with zip ties and lengths of cord.

It almost went smoothly. Raul was the one who spotted a man in the middle of the crowd rolling onto his back, raising a pistol stolen from Brandon’s patrol. Raul was the one who put two bullets through the would-be assailant’s chest and one through his head before he could get a shot off, then screamed at the other men to stay down and stay still.

They did.

When Raul cautiously made his way over to retrieve the pistol and verify the attacker was dead, he saw that the bandit’s face was bruised. With a surge of satisfaction he realized this was the guy Deb had ID’d, one of the human filth who’d killed Brandon and the others and tried to take her.

Although it wasn’t the most worthy thought, Raul was kind of happy the bandit had been stupid enough to try something so he didn’t come out of this alive. And it felt good to personally be the one to bring him down. A bit of closure for his dead friends.