Nathan Jones - Determination

He gave up. “Look, my squad can take this group on our own. I just thought it would be a bit safer with your help, and you’d be happy to provide that help seeing as we’re on the same side and all.” There was no response. “At the very least I figured you’d want a heads up that we’ll be driving the patrol your way. We’re going to attack in five minutes. That should give you plenty of time to get in position if you want to lend a hand.”

“It’s a bad idea,” Vernon replied. The radio fell silent.

That wasn’t exactly a “no”, but Trev doubted it was a “yes” either. He shrugged and kept going, joining his team at the designated spot. It was the last foothill before the mouth of the canyon, which was choked with scrub oak and other brush for over a hundred yards of mostly level ground between here and there. Aside from the road the blockheads were on, which cut through the tangle in an almost straight line.

By hurrying Trev’s team had managed to outpace the enemy soldiers moving more cautiously below. Now it was just a matter of waiting until the blockheads walked right past them. Then, as long as Tom’s team had also managed to get in position atop the shorter foothill a bit southeast of the road, they’d all open fire and force the enemy to flee along the road right into the tangle.

From there they’d have trouble doing anything but following the road, which would make them open targets right up until they entered the canyon, where Vernon could finish them off. Assuming any got that far.

From a well concealed spot Trev watched the enemy approaching on the road below, picking out targets with his scope. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was starting to have misgivings about his plan.

On the one hand he couldn’t see a downside. His squad was well hidden and had assault rifles with burst fire. The blockheads coming up the road had no idea they were there, moving in a clump with only a few outliers watching the road ahead and behind. On a larger scale it was just like when he and Lewis had ambushed those robbers near the hideout and saved Jane’s group.

On the other hand he was about to engage an enemy that outnumbered him nearly two to one when it wasn’t necessary. Davis hadn’t exactly ordered him not to, but he hadn’t exactly encouraged it either. They were here to scout and to defend the foothills, not go hunting Gold Bloc patrols.

He’d heard all about Lewis’s push to attack Turner’s raiders in the spring. He agreed with his cousin’s point that the defending force couldn’t just hunker down, waiting for the enemy to figure out how to wipe them out. That attack had gone disastrously for Matt, but there the raiders had had all the advantages, and even as a disaster it had given the town a shot to take out the raiders for good.

Here his people had the advantages, and every small victory would add up to winning this war. Trev set his jaw and sighted in on the lead soldier in the line, then thumbed his radio. “Now.”

Beside him Rick rose up and hurled a grenade at the group below, mirrored by another man, probably Mason, on the foothill across from them. Both men immediately dropped down, and as the seconds ticked by Trev wondered whether the blockheads would even realize they were under attack. At least until they were getting blown to pieces.

Then he heard alarmed shouts from below and saw the enemy bolting in every direction. He followed the target he’d picked out and opened fire, only seconds before twin explosions erupted in the middle of the scattering patrol. Over half fell, several shredded by shrapnel and the rest ducking down from the blast with many wounded. Around Trev his team also opened fire.

The first few seconds of the ambush were every bit as chaotic as he’d expected, with the enemy below screaming in pain and shouting confused orders in whatever their language was.

Trev had his selector on burst, and he was firing off three rounds as quickly as he had a target picked out. Between his haste and fighting recoil his accuracy was probably terrible, but under the fire of his squad the blockheads had hauled themselves back to their feet to continue bolting for whatever cover they could find.

There was nothing there that would protect them from both teams, and as the enemy realized that their panic rose even higher. Few were even bothering to try returning fire, and the ones that did fell quickly as the highest priority targets. As those blockheads dropped the others realized the tangle was their best hope and sprinted for it, stumbling and weaving like drunken men to make themselves more difficult targets.

Trev’s gun clicked on an empty magazine, so he hit the release button and smoothly inserted a full one. While he was lining up a new shot he thumbed his radio. “Tom, you’ve got a few enemies circling around the hill to the southeast instead of following the road. Focus on those.”

“We got it,” Mason replied. The man sounded confident, as well he should: he was one of the people who’d stood in the back of a truck attacking the raider camp in the face of possible return fire.

“Good. Be ca—”

Trev abruptly jerked forward, feeling as if he’d been punched in the back. Even in his confusion he managed to lunge to the side, where a dip in the ground formed a deeper depression. Once there he fell flat, hoping it would be enough to defend him from whoever had a bead on him. His back felt numb, but pain was starting to make itself known, along with the uncomfortable sensation of his flak jacket rubbing against forming bruises.

He’d been shot. If the bullets had been half a foot higher or two feet lower the jacket wouldn’t have protected him and he’d probably be dying right now. Through the confused roaring in his ears he heard more shots from both sides, inside the thicket of scrub oak at the foot of the hill to the south and from somewhere to the north of them.

The shot that had hit him had to have come from the north, and none of the blockheads below had reached the tangle yet. That meant there were at least two more enemy groups out there. Forward and rear scouts Trev’s squad hadn’t noticed, or had the blockheads planned to ambush the ambushers? Either way it didn’t matter.

“I’m hit!” he shouted. “There’s more enemies out there to the north and south!” With some effort he awkwardly hauled his M16 across his body, rising out of the dip just enough to look north with his scope.

Other shouts had started up over the radio, confusion from his squad mates. They were the ambushers, they hadn’t expected to be surprised themselves. “We’ve got some on this side, too,” Tom growled. “But I don’t see them. Anyone got eyes on where they are? How many?”

“Where did they come from?” Susan asked almost on top of the older man’s transmission. It was the least important of the questions, and one just as unlikely to be answered.

Trev couldn’t see any muzzle flashes from the general direction where the shots had come from, and whoever had targeted him seemed to have moved on to new targets. He heard a scream, not over the radio but from nearby. Where Fred Donnell had sought shelter in his own dip in the ground once they came under fire.

It wasn’t nearly as deep, and Fred was lying protectively on top of someone else, Alice, spraying blood from a shot to his leg. The blond young woman screamed for help again and frantically tried to staunch the wound, but even as she worked the older man abruptly went limp, eyes fluttering horribly in a way Trev didn’t think he’d ever forget.

He looked away, shuddering, and focused on the problem at hand. How had none of them noticed these blockheads? They must’ve gotten in position hours earlier, because no one in his squad had seen anyone coming or going after they caught sight of the patrol. They’d seen no signs that the enemy soldiers were expecting the return of anyone, either.