A Guardian Angel (35 page)

He liked it most
because the radio worked.

Andy had no real
idea where Haley Flynn could be. He did his best to stay up to date
with the news, but there was no television or newspapers that ran to
the abandoned town. All he had was the car radio, which he used
sparingly. Gas was much harder to acquire since the pumps had shut
down, but Andy had gotten experienced at siphoning gas from abandoned
vehicles. The last that he had heard of Haley was a small blurb about
her organized protests of the American War. She was in Washington
D.C., one of the main last footholds of the United States of America.
Congress had sealed its doors and turned off their phones, quitting
the business. A handful of lawmakers stayed to do what they could,
which soon became apparent was nothing. Haley had gathered a group of
optimists and volunteered for Congress. In their demonstration, they
explained that the position of law cannot be vacant and now is the
time to display civil duty. She had encouraged everyone to step up
and take a role in building the country back up. The story seemed to
have little to no interest to the general public in comparison to the
others.

Andy never heard
about the result of that effort. That was over two weeks ago, he
recalled as he turned the radio on for the first time in as long. His
car purred onward as he started his drive east.

“...of
attacks on small towns and villages in territories occupied by both
the Federal States of America and the Decree Nation. Leaders from
both states have placed over twenty high ranking officials of the
Knights, including the chief general of the terrorist organization,
on the top of their Most Wanted Criminals lists.”

A separate voice,
recorded somewhere with a lot more wind than the studio, came in.
“The nature of their attacks, the brutality they show our
soldiers when they capture them is designed for no other purpose than
to scare people.” Andy recognized the voice. It was the vice
president of the Federal States of America, Adam Lizarre. “Their
cowardice is something to pity, not something to fear. They follow no
international convention of fighting, killing innocent men, women,
and children in an obscene, inhuman manner. We live in volatile
times, my friends. War is on every doorstep of every home in America.
Brothers and sisters are now divided, meeting each other in combat
and bringing a wave of violence and destruction that this country had
not seen in over a century and a half. Our strength matters now more
than ever. We cannot allow monsters on our lawn. These criminals will
not escape punishment. Justice will be loud.”

The station was
quiet for just a moment before playing a short saxophone segue, then
the original reporter spoke. “Aid continues to come in from
overseas. The United Kingdom, China, and Saudi Arabia have been some
of the largest contributors of supplies airlifted to the more
isolated parts of the country. Foreign doctors and volunteers have
flown in to help in heavy combat areas, treating the wounded and
feeding our troops. The bulk of the fighting has been centered around
metropolitan areas, particularly east of the Rocky Mountains.”

A male voice came
in, continuing from the previous report. “Sixteen Federal
soldiers were killed late last night when a bomb was detonated in the
middle of I-25, north of Denver,” he said in as flavorless of a
voice as human tones can achieve. “Reports say that half a
dozen anarchist insurgents used a school bus to block off the road.
Explosives had been wired to the vehicle, which detonated through a
pressure-triggered electrical system. There are twenty injured
soldiers in medical care.

“In San
Francisco, conditions have worsened for the Decree soldiers who are
now on their fourth morning of the Golden Gate Siege. Russo forces
have pushed the Nationers past their primary supply depot in the
city. Decree President Barringer has declared his outrage at the
leadership of the Federal States and the United Nations, saying that
they are, quote, 'letting these opportunistic bullies come and
slaughter their own kin without so much as a word to say about it.'
The United Nations replied with a press release, denouncing any
recognition of the Decree Nation as a state of any kind. Federal
president Fesgen has not officially replied, but experts believe that
he will aid the men in San Francisco. There are eighty-two current
casualties for the Decree Nation. The count for Russo forces remains
unknown.”

Andy bent his neck
down a bit in order to see the sky. Rain clouds had begun
accumulating in the air, dark and menacing. He sat back and smirked.
With his eyes on the road before him, he reached for the knob to
change the channel on the radio, but paused.

“It has been
sixty-eight days since the Decree Tower attack and the beginning of
the American War,” the first reporter said, her voice
crystalline clear. “Remember everyone: we are all humans. God
bless America, which ever one you hail.”

The Beatles' “Here
Comes the Sun” began playing. Andy retracted his hand from the
knob. He listened in silence to the music as his car hummed over the
highway.

-Chapter Thirty-Two-

Heart
of the Valley

Morning drifted up
from below the earth, rising and warming the air around the military
camp. Insects chattered and clicked with impressive volume, humming
from the woods on the hills, rolling down into the valley. The
lightest layer of fog trickled over the soft earth and the dew
encrusted blades of grass. The camp was set up on a large plot of
concrete at the bottom of the valley. Beige tents were bolted down
into the concrete and several metal crates of munitions were placed
around the camp. There was a guard tower on each corner of the camp,
against the cinder block wall that surrounded the concrete plot.
Humvees were parked at angles by the entrance of the facility where
the road withered off, alongside a set of orange vans.

Men crawled over
the surface of the camp like ants, moving to and fro with various
tasks. The concrete was stained with burn marks and blood. Decree
soldiers in their unique orange fatigues pulled bodies across the
facility, lining them up on the grass outside the wall. There was a
long row of them all, men and women in Reserve uniforms. The flag of
the United States was patched onto their shoulders.

Bits of rubble
littered the makeshift street. Shrapnel laid twisted near some of the
more damaged vehicles. A few men kept lookout on the towers, drinking
water and swapping stories as they watched their peers continue the
cleanup. Most of the battle that had taken place here had been
cleaned up and removed by the facility's new occupants. Now, everyone
was just getting rid of the bodies that were hidden in isolated
pockets around the camp and rounding up the supplies into one
designated area.

The major smoked
alone in a trailer on the south side of the compound. He was a tall
man with sharp blond hair and a thick mustache that bristled over the
top of his Swisher Sweet cigar. His features were etched onto his
face like scars from constant furrowing of his brow and frowning of
his lips. From where he smoked in the trailer, he had an excellent
view of the snow tipped mountain peaks all the way from the foot of
their valley. The trees of the surrounding forest framed the image
beautifully, and the major couldn't help but gaze thoughtlessly.
Still, he did not smile.

A sharp rap on the
door preceded the intrusion of a sergeant into the major's trailer.
The man moved only to draw the cigar from his mouth as the sergeant
approached him.

“Sir,”
she greeted, saluting. He gave a curt nod in response. “The
current inventory count on the compound is finished for the night.
What we have so far is twenty-six M16 assault rifles, along with
eight M4s, ten MP5s, twelve Colt forty-fives, three Pythons, four SAW
light machine guns – ”

“Stop,”
the major ordered. The woman stopped with her mouth unable to commit
to shutting. The stoic man turned and looked at her, his dull eyes
shaded by the bold eyebrows furrowed above them. “You know what
we're here for. That's all I want to hear about.”

The sergeant
swallowed. “I can't confirm it for sure, but it looks like it,”
she answered.

“The
artillery?” the major asked.

“Definitely,”
she nodded. “That we have found.”

The major turned
back to the window and watched the clouds as they began to drift into
the tops of the mountains. “Come back when you know for sure,”
he commanded. He dragged on the cigar.

“Yes, sir,”
the sergeant said. She saluted a second time, then took her leave.
The smoke swirled around the doorway as she shut it behind her.

The major squinted
as he gazed through the forest. Something seemed wrong.

With just a bit of
a jolt, the men in the towers stood up and peered into the woods. Hot
lead zipped out from between the trees. Bullets drummed and rattled
on the metal siding of the guard towers. The Decree soldiers had only
enough time to raise their weapons before rounds tore through their
torsos and necks. Guns cracked from the forest in a rattling staccato
and tore down into the facility.

Mercenaries burst
into motion, sprinting to cover or ducking down low. Some of the less
experienced uniforms screamed at the commotion. Arms were raised as a
line of Decree men positioned themselves along the southern wall.
Bullets continued to rain at them from the woods, as if shot by no
one at all. The trees were collected too thick to allow much sunlight
to spill down upon the attackers. All anyone could see was the shine
of sweat on the assailants' faces as muzzle flashes illuminated them.

Return fire echoed
the sound of deafening firefight, slinging their own barrage of lead
into the trees. They shot blind, trying to hit brief bursts of light
rather than the massive collection of silhouettes in the dark forest.
With a calm gate, the major strutted out of his trailer toward the
line of men.

“Hold your
fire!” he hollered, unholstering his Single Action Army. “Stop
shooting, you idiots!”

“We're under
attack, sir!” one of the soldiers yelled back at the major.

The superior
officer's jaw tightened, his lips pursed. The return fire ceased. He
pointed to the private that yelled at him. “Punch that
soldier,” he ordered, which was obliged. “You take cover
until they advance. Don't waste your goddamn ammo.”

Everyone started
moving to much safer holes of cover. They utilized the sides of the
large metal crates or the short concrete walls that were seated in
front of the towers. Bullets came in a constant rhythm, although much
less rapid. The attackers had noticed the shift of position and came
to the same conclusion about wasting ammunition. A small part of the
major had hoped that they would continue firing while his men were
safe, perhaps running short on rounds. But he knew it was a lot to
ask for from fortune and he prepared for a lot worse luck.

The major gestured
at two officers on the line. “Eyes,” he ordered, throwing
his thumb up to one of the towers. Nodding, the officers dropped the
safety on their rifles and rushed to the stairs. Rounds hit the edges
of the railing of the tower as the attackers spotted the men
ascending it. They kept low and out of harm's way as hot sparks
showered the bodies of the dead tower guards.

“They're
advancing!” one of them called down to the line after a moment
in the tower. “They're coming out of the woods!”

“How many?”
the major asked.

“Too many to
count,” replied the officer. The two of them in the tower
ducked down when lead start flying at them.

Pulling back the
hammer on his gun, the major took his position. “Fire at will!”
he commanded to all of the soldiers on the line.

There was about a
hundred feet between the edge of the forest and the southern wall of
the compound. Those hundred feet of clearing and lush grass became a
war zone for about three minutes. Smoke rose from the discharging
weapons both on the clearing and behind the wall. Bullets zipped
through the air in long streaks of hot yellow light and tore through
combatants on both sides. The attackers looked rugged. They wore
nothing of a uniform, dressed in simple street wear. The only
identifying thing that they wore were brown bandanas over their
faces. The weapons they used were varied and their tactics were
similar to those of guerrilla warriors. They rushed quick for cover,
using the natural landscape and the elevation of the sloping
foothills to match the soldiers trained fighting skills.

Before any of the
Decree men on the line had time to realize it, the attackers were
upon the compound. Charges were placed and detonated, shredding a
hole through the concrete wall and blasting back several mercenaries
in the radius. Militia with automatic weapons piled through the hole
and sprayed lead into the soldiers on the line. Two of the invaders
were felled by the mercenaries, but far more of their own numbers
were left heaped over their bleeding bodies.