Nathan Jones - Determination

Once he’d stopped sounding like a leaky bellows he made his way to the truck, which Catherine was driving, and took over for the defender who’d been manning the M2. The Mayor had picked a good spot to place the truck: up on a rise looking over the area to the north, with most of its body hidden by cover which the heavy machine gun was high enough to see over, giving a good field of view.

Lewis looked over that field of view, doing his best to picture the approaching blockheads as Brenton described him, then at the defenders set up to either side. Most of the slope beyond the rise was dense scrub oak or aspen thickets, with only a few meadows spotted here and there. The enemy would have cover all the way to where the defenders waited for them, although he doubted they’d be able to move completely unseen.

This could get ugly fast. If Brenton was right the enemy didn’t have much night vision, but neither did Lewis’s defenders. A lot of what they’d got from the raiders had gone south with Matt and the other volunteers, and most of what was left was with Lewis and his volunteers. Who aside from him were all sitting on the slopes east of here, babysitting blockhead snipers who hadn’t moved in days.

Every tactician in history had agreed that night attacks, no matter how well planned and executed, were risky. High risk, high reward. There was too much confusion in the dark, too much uncertainty. Man’s own nature worked against him when facing an environment he wasn’t well suited for. Armies could end up routing when they were victorious, based on faulty information or baseless panic. Brothers could end up killing each other with friendly fire on accident, or entire companies butchering allies in the fog of war.

Of course this wasn’t exactly a historical battle. As long as the few people with night vision they did have were calling the shots, and his defenders were shooting at the enemy muzzle flashes they saw, things might not turn out so badly. Especially since Lewis would be manning the heavy machine gun on the truck.

That was a weapon that could take out the entire enemy force in the right circumstances, even if they tried to hide behind cover. He just had to make sure the circumstances were right, which against an enemy that knew what they were doing would be tough.

Yeah, this could get ugly.

After what felt like an eternity but couldn’t have been more than ten minutes, the scouts they’d sent ahead to give early warning radioed in. The blockheads were almost to them, on almost the exact route Brenton had guessed they’d take.

Unfortunately, almost immediately after that first warning the scouts radioed in again, this time with news that wasn’t quite so good.

“They’re circling around?” Lewis hissed. “Did they catch wind of us?”

“I don’t know, but they’re splitting up to hit the rise from both sides. Either they know we’re here or they’re being incredibly cautious.”

Lewis wasn’t about to dismiss this as simple luck. “Maybe they’ve got scouts you and Brenton didn’t see.”

The scout didn’t seem offended by the suggestion. “Maybe. So what do we do now?”

That was a good question, and the scout wasn’t the only one asking it. There were half a dozen defenders in the truck with him, using it as a mobile emplacement with the reinforced sides as cover. They’d heard the news and were watching him expectantly, expecting him to have a solution.

Only what solution was there? “We split up, too. Catherine, once the shooting starts take us after the western group.” That would be the more dangerous one, if any of them got past the defenders. He continued grimly. “Everyone on the western and eastern ends of the rise, pull back and try to circle around to hit them from another angle. And anyone who’s got Molotovs, grenades, whatever, get ready to use them. Remember, the refuge is less than three miles south of us. We can’t let them win here.”

On that note… “Wes, get in touch with Grimes and let him know what’s going on. If he can spare anyone have him send them to protect the refuge, just in case things go bad here. And while you’re at it get the defenders there and anyone else who can hold a gun ready to defend yourselves.”

“Right,” Wes replied, sounding shaken.

Lewis continued to whisper instructions. He could see the blockheads approaching now, ducking from cover to cover as if avoiding eyes on the rise. They’d be close enough to open fire soon.

Catherine leaned out of the driver’s window below him. “How do we do this, Lewis?” she hissed.

It took him a second to realize she meant what he wanted to do with the truck. “As soon as I open fire with this thing the truck’s going to become a target,” he replied. “So we might as well help out the left flank by using the headlights to pinpoint the enemies for our shooters and blind our targets.”

She frowned up at him, looking owlish in her night vision goggles. Since she’d been driving the truck she’d needed to have a pair. “I was thinking we’d try driving around so we won’t, you know, get shot at.”

“You’re not dodging bullets in a truck,” Lewis answered dryly. “We might end up moving if we need to, but at first we’ll want a stable platform to shoot from. Maybe after the blockheads take out our headlights.”

Before she could reply the tense quiet around them was shattered by the sharp cracks of dozens of rifles, and below the rise the trees and scrub oak thickets lit up like stars in Lewis’s night vision with muzzle flashes.

The enemy definitely knew they were here.

Lewis immediately returned fire with the M2, the shouting around him and noise of gunfire becoming a distant buzz to the roar of the weapon.

He still heard the sharp pings of bullets striking around him as he panned across the muzzle flashes below, not due to the volume of those ricochets but what they meant. He could only hope that the reinforced metal around the top and sides of the heavy machine gun, along with his body armor and helmet, would protect him, because he was going to be the enemy’s number one target.

For good reason. Under his withering hail of fire the muzzle flashes winked out, enemy soldiers either hit or taking cover from the M2. Some of them were illuminated by the truck’s headlights as Catherine flicked them on, the vehicle’s engine roaring to life in preparation to move.

The defenders were getting over their initial panic at the surprise attack, and around him he heard others also opening fire. Soon after that the twinkling stars of muzzle flashes were joined by brighter novas as Molotov cocktails and grenades were hurled at the enemy.

Unfortunately the explosions weren’t all happening in the blockheads’ neck of the woods. Lewis winced and ducked slightly as the truck rocked beneath him from a grenade detonating nearby. He wasn’t sure if it was a stray shot, shrapnel, or just his imagination, but he could’ve sworn he heard something whizz by his right ear.

He looked around, trying to find the thrower, or any other weapon. There were plenty of muzzle flashes he could still see, but they were sporadic and never anywhere near where he was firing. The enemy seemed to be doing their best to mitigate the damage he was doing with the heavy machine gun, and even with night vision he couldn’t be sure he was hitting anything.

What seemed like only moments into the fighting he abruptly found himself flat on his back, nearly blinded by stars flashing across his vision and ears ringing. He had the vague impression he’d fallen on top of one of the other men in the back of the truck, who was now leaning over him shouting in alarm.

The spinning in his head was joined by a bouncing sensation as the Mayor lurched the truck into motion to move them to a new position. There was no sign of headlights, although it was hard to see anything with his vision obscured by the cab and the sides of the truck around him. That and it was hard to focus his eyes.