Nathan Jones - Determination

Lewis also had them clear away the upper slopes and create firebreaks that would hopefully push the flames downslope, leaving the area untouched where the Aspen Hill volunteers had set up to defend in earnest. They’d alerted the squads under Sergeant Thompson to the south of them of their plans, leaving them with a choice of what they wanted: to set up conditions so the fire would burn their terrain as well, or to create their own firebreaks to contain the fire to the southern slope.

Thompson’s people had opted for firebreaks, and Trev didn’t exactly blame them. Fire could spread with frightening speed, especially on a windy day, and especially helped along with a bit of planning and preparation. Once it got started they’d have to hope their efforts to contain it would be enough, because none of them were in a position to attempt major firefighting operations. Especially not during an attack.

By the same token, when Lewis sprung his trap the blockheads would have to either try to outrun the fire’s spread to reach the safety of the upper slopes, walking right into ambushes they wouldn’t have time to approach carefully, or fight the spreading flames even as they fought the Aspen Hill volunteers. As their least desirable option they could back away and let the wildfire run its course, then try again after the flames had out. Which could take hours or even days.

If the enemy went for that last option they’d then find themselves attacking up a bare, blackened slope where hiding would be next to impossible. Their only choice would be to charge uphill into a withering hail of automatic fire, firing back at an entrenched enemy shooting at them from behind the safety of emplacements. Brutal didn’t begin to describe the prospect.

No, Trev didn’t expect to have too much trouble defending this forested slope. Sure, it was possible things might go wrong and the wildfire wouldn’t burn as they hoped, especially since it was harder to get a fire burning downslope than upslope. But even so he was fairly confident his people had done enough to match this threat.

Although he didn’t look forward to the coming hours or even days.

Time dragged by at a crawl hidden behind the deadfall, waiting for Lewis to give the signal to start the fires. That was going to be dangerous, because his cousin wanted the blockheads to advance as far up the slope as possible before springing the trap. That meant that after Trev’s squad lit these fire lines they’d have to bolt for safety upslope, probably while eluding an enemy that could see the whites of their eyes. Lewis and Jane’s squads would cover them, but that was dubious consolation.

As for Gutierrez and Ben, their squads were on the other side of the ridge, defending the south slope of Highway 31’s canyon with Harmon’s squad. They’d have their own challenges to face, so Trev couldn’t really hope for backup from them if things went wrong here. He’d just have to make sure they didn’t.

Slow as time seemed to pass, it didn’t feel like long at all before Lewis’s voice came through his earbuds. “All right, Trev, the blockheads are moving. We’ve got a few hundred headed directly for us. Make sure your people have their escape routes planned and are ready on my mark.”

“Team one, ready,” Trev said. Rick, Trent, and Hans, the other team leaders, reported ready as well.

Trev unslung his rifle and carefully moved to a spot where he could look over the deadfall, seeing down the slope without being seen. The trees were too thick here to see all the way the valley below, and he didn’t hear any sounds from the approaching enemy either. Not yet, at least.

Grant remained hidden behind the deadfall, one of their last Molotov cocktails in hand. Trent and Hans each had one as well, while Rick would have to make do with balls of cloth soaked in some of the gasoline from the Molotovs.

The idea would be to set fires, using the dead pine needles and some paper as kindling, along the middle and top parts of the four lines of piled deadwood. Then, once those fires had really started, they’d lob the incendiaries downslope to the lowest part of the line, where the fire needed to grow the fastest and burn the hottest.

Hopefully the rising flames would distract the blockheads from Trev’s teams, all bolting like mad up the slope for safety.

Rather than wait with Grant, Deb picked a spot beside Trev where she could also watch down the slope, standing on one of the lower logs. “Trev?” she said quietly after about a minute.

He glanced over and saw she wasn’t looking his way, eyes locked on the trees below. He also noticed that she was sweating more than the cool, windy morning could account for. In spite of her determination she was obviously terrified, but her hands were steady on her AK-47.

“I’m here,” he said.

She finally glanced at him. “I just, um, well, I wanted to thank you. For saving me, of course, and for letting me join your squad. But also for making sure I had the training I needed before you’d let me.” The brown-haired woman chewed her lower lip. “I know I’ve only been with you for a few days, but I wanted you to know that I’m glad there are still people out there I can depend on. I’d lost that after Vernon ditched us.”

He felt his face flushing with embarrassment, although he was touched by her words. He only hoped he could live up to that trust. “That means a lot,” he said quietly.

Deb flushed with embarrassment too for some reason, and they both focused on the trees downslope of them. Maybe ten minutes later Trev finally caught the first flash of an enemy soldier, then another, then a whole line of them, with more coming behind. All moving cautiously from cover to cover below, with the inexorable inevitability of spilled molasses spreading across a tablecloth.

Trev slowly lowered his head, motioning for Deb to do the same. “Get up to the top and get ready to light the fire there,” he whispered as he moved in a crouch back to where Grant waited.

The brown-haired woman nodded, clutching her rifle tight to her chest with one hand as she cautiously crept her way up the slope. Trev got his balled paper and matches out and began setting them up in the nests of kindling and dry sticks he’d prepared.

“Hold,” Lewis whispered in his earbuds. “Let them get closer.”

Over the ridge behind him he heard the sound of gunfire and explosions start up, followed moments later by Harmon’s voice. “We’ve engaged the enemy along Highway 31.”

A few other volunteers radioed in to report similar engagements, one already asking for help. Trev wasn’t sure if that was panic or they really were in trouble, but Davis replied that he was coming with reinforcements. He didn’t sound happy about it, though.

“Hold,” Lewis said again. “All but you, Trev; the blockheads are farthest up the slope near your team. Start your fires now.”

Trev struck the match and began touching it to paper, crouch-walking his way along to hit every spot. Upslope Deb had also gotten to work, cursing softly when she accidentally dropped a match but wasting no time lighting a new one. Behind Trev Grant lit the Molotov and held it ready.

“Everyone else, light your fires now,” Lewis said. “Trev, you need to toss your cocktail and get out now. Now!”

A soft whoosh behind him signaled his teammate throwing the firebomb down the slope. Grant had assured him his aim was good, and he lived up to his word. The gas-filled jar smashed into the middle of the nest of sticks and needles they’d piled on top of the deadfall, down at the very bottom of the line.

The bottle shattered into a spray of liquid fire, splashing across the dry wood and kindling and starting it up like a torch. From there it immediately began spreading through the densely packed trees and deadfall downslope and to the south, and Trev heard alarmed shouts from enemy soldiers.