Nathan Jones - Determination

Davis ran off as well, going back to calling orders through his bullhorn. One of which was to Matt, through the loudspeaker. “… and use your radio so I don’t have to run up and shout in your ear next time!”

Matt hastily put in his earbuds, then turned to Gutierrez, who was scowling after the sergeant. “Can’t hit the broad side of a barn, huh?” the former soldier muttered resentfully.

He clapped his friend on the shoulder. “You heard what Davis said. Trying to hit a helicopter with that thing isn’t easy even for a pro. Besides, you’re still our best shot with it. Keep it close, we’ll probably be using it soon.”

Gutierrez nodded and motioned to Stuart, who Matt had assigned to carry a few spare missiles along with his other gear. It was a manageable burden for him, since he was easily the strongest man on the squad. He also spotted for the former soldier when it came time to shoot some of those missiles, although he hadn’t really had a chance to perform that role yet.

It only took a couple minutes for the volunteers to return with their weapons. During that time Matt made sure his people grabbed all the extra ammunition and magazines they could carry, since it was good odds the new recruits would forget.

A few people still hadn’t returned when Matt decided they’d waited too long. He called the order and started at a trot towards the southern slope, listening to the sounds of everyone falling in behind him.

After about a hundred yards he had Gutierrez take the lead while he stood off to one side, watching to make sure all his people were accounted for and they had their gear. His squad was decked out in the combat fatigues, body armor, and night vision they’d got from the raiders, and looked way more like Davis’s Marines than like the ragtag volunteers they ran alongside. Which wasn’t meant to insult the new recruits; they couldn’t help their lack of equipment.

As the last few people ran by he discovered that his entire squad was there. He felt a surge of annoyance as he fell in beside Pete, who’d snagged a rifle from somewhere and was trying to hide among the recruits. “You were assigned to camp.”

The young man gave him an incredulous look. “Are you kidding? We’re under attack!”

“We’ll be under attack a lot, that doesn’t change your orders. If we’re about to get steamrolled or the camp itself comes under fire you can pick up a gun and join the fight. Otherwise go back and help with the wounded, or wherever else you’re needed.”

Pete swore at him and kept running.

Matt tightened his jaw as he kept pace. “That wasn’t a request, Pete. Go back, now. Don’t make me waste someone’s time babysitting you.”

His friend swore at him again, but reluctantly stepped out of line and slowed to a stop. Matt craned his neck to look behind as he kept running with the group, and was relieved when eventually Pete turned around and headed back towards camp. Not before flipping Matt off with both hands, though. Matt shook his head and kept running.

It felt strangely surreal to be heading back to the emplacement where his squad had fought off the first blockhead attack, the day they came rolling in and took Huntington and the rest of the valley. Especially now that it was nighttime, with everything strangely contrasted through the night vision.

Davis had bludgeoned the chatter on the radio into some semblance of order. Spurred forward by notifications from sentries that the enemy was headed their way fast, Matt felt like the run to reach their spot simultaneously took forever and was over in moments.

The first minute or so after they reached the emplacement was a flurry of activity, as Matt directed his people to spots along the fortifications and gave terse firing instructions. He was so occupied with organizing things that he didn’t even pause to look towards the mouth of the canyon until he was sure all his people were in place and knew what to do. Only when he’d taken his own place behind the sandbags did he lift his rifle to peer through the scope.

He could’ve done without what he saw down there.

He’d expected to see a wave of enemy soldiers rushing up the road towards them, all nicely bunched up and running headlong into danger like some mindless, screaming horde. Unfortunately instead he saw brief snatches of organized and disciplined teams, running from cover to cover and setting up to offer cover fire to those coming behind or making the next leapfrog forward.

The only hint of the hundreds of troops Davis had warned about was that he saw signs of those teams everywhere he looked. Even on the slopes. Like a strong wind blowing the top of a forest canopy, making ripples in the leaves that slowly spread in waves.

And the closest were only five hundred or so yards away. Almost within accurate firing range already.

Matt toggled on his radio’s transmit. “You in place, Trev?”

His friend replied almost immediately. “Ready.”

“Good.” Matt set his rifle on top of a sandbag and got ready to sight through the scope. “Make sure your people know that the enemy will home in on their muzzle flashes. They’ll make an easy target at night if they stay still.”

“Understood.”

From the opposite slope he heard the sharp crack of gunfire, along with the flashes he’d just warned about. Someone over there was confident in their aim.

In a way he was annoyed that Trev had jumped the gun. A coordinated volley from all of them would’ve done more damage, especially if they’d let the enemy get close enough that even the green recruits had a chance of hitting something. But it was no use crying over spilt milk, and anyway their job was to stop the attack, not maximize the number of enemy soldiers they killed.

“Make your first shots count,” Matt told his people as he thumbed off the toggle. “Don’t hurry too fast just because the cool kids have already started the party.”

He sighted in on one of the closer teams of blockheads as he spoke, noting that the enemy had gone to ground as soon as they realized they were under fire. A wise decision, but it was hard to cover yourself from two directions at once. Matt saw plenty of exposed limbs, backs, and even heads.

He focused on the back of a blockhead already firing at the north slope, the man’s muzzle flash distinct even from slightly behind. He didn’t hurry, and he was confident of his shot when he squeezed the trigger.

That attack in the darkness was a nightmare. Only not for their side.

Trev wasn’t sure whether the blockheads had hoped the helicopter strike would disrupt their defenses more, or if the enemy just didn’t realize just how much night vision gear they had. Which was fair enough, since from what he could see less than one in ten of the Gold Bloc soldiers creeping up the canyon had their own.

They probably thought they were safe and concealed, right up to the moment him, Rick, and Tom all settled on good targets and opened fire.

Sure, he’d admit he wasn’t at his best. Not long ago he’d been sleeping peacefully, trusting he was secure in camp with patrols and sentries keeping the enemy away. Waking up and bolting for the trees moments ahead of a missile attack, then rushing to defend against hundreds of enemies, was a pretty rude awakening.

But in spite of grainy eyes and teeth chattering from a massive overdose of adrenaline Trev’s grip on his rifle was steady as he selected one target after another. Three round burst, briefly check to see if the target still moved and was out in the open. If so keep firing, otherwise move on to the next target and repeat.

The enemy responded quickly, but not quickly enough. In the vital seconds before they were able to identify where the shots had come from by the muzzle flashes, Trev managed to drop three blockheads in one of the closer teams. Even as the others fled behind cover he managed to tag one who had his arm sticking out in plain view.