World of Ashes (64 page)

             
Ethan fired a Mk-19 grenade into the closest speaker attached to a guard shack, obliterating both. “Woops.” He said from the cramped turret. “Wrong button.”

             
The response was immediate this time, a deafening roar from rounds clanking off the armor made communication impossible without the headsets. Shouting like a madman Ethan returned fire at the muzzle flashes, the mighty guns of the ASV he’d named “The Bucket” shattering the wood and concrete walls in showers of fire and debris, men running for their lives.

              Sneaking past the outposts along Highway 187 was easy, but that was because there weren’t any outposts, at least not anymore. The Federals didn’t see fit to occupy the positions the Cavalry had thought vital. No sentries spied the convoy of armor rolling towards the dumping grounds that had been FOB Alamo. Whatever refuse the Federals didn’t want they unceremoniously dumped in the old motor pool. Lee didn’t stop at the FOB any longer than it took to sever a hardline phone from the post to the town that had been rebuilt at least twice. The occupiers clearly marked the line for the convenience of attacking armies, or maintenance workers, whichever. Operating under radio silence the convoy crept closer and closer to the concrete walls of the town. Through the telescope on his Bradley Lee saw the sentries at the Eastern Gate frantically calling to their superiors, having first heard, and then spotted the battle line of steel monsters. Unlike Ethan’s vehicle, none of the others had Sullivan markings yet. There was likely a great deal of confusion among the Federal sentries over who exactly was coming at them. Reinforcements, or the Enemy?

             
Lee made it clear who was knocking at the back door by ordering the lead Abrams to put a round through the guard tower. It exploded spectacularly, loose ammunition and fragments of sandbags flying all about as the trailers next to the tower caught fire. Bullets cooked off when the fire spread to an armory sewing chaos and confusion. Lee rushed the convoy through the fatal funnel of the gate they’d blown open, a second hole blown by the Resistance let them avoid some of the Federal gunfire just in the nick of time. The other vehicles opened up as they fanned out and began racing through the old residential portion of town. The more logical point to breach was though the airfield because the ground was open and perfect for tanks, but it was heavily defended and Sharp had probably mined it. Coming through the back of the town would also make it easier for the tanks to hide among the houses. They were running low on fuel already and it wouldn’t be too long before this became a dismounted battle if they didn’t push to the center now.

             
Lee’s Bradley clanked and roared methodically toward a gathering of Federal troops trying to load the machine guns on their MRAPs. One, two, three Green Trucks he plowed under before coming across armored resistance. Nothing the Federals fielded could stand up to a Bradley, let alone the two mighty Abrams. They destroyed machines and mowed down infantry that resisted, taking time to take prisoners wasn’t easy, but after capturing several MRAPs that hadn’t made it out of the high school parking lot using the football field for an impromptu detention facility became a quick fix to the droves of enemy prisoners of war they were collecting. The unit’s ultimate goal was City Hall. Capture the FEMA station and cut off their communications. A talented gunner in another ASV put a stream of .50cal rounds into a cluster of antennas, setting them all on fire. Lee hoped Ethan was having the same luck.

              Ethan’s luck had run out. They hadn’t been able to get out of the truck since Colonel Sharp’s men opened fire, but they could already hear Lee and the others over the radio. The distraction Ethan created had effectively allowed Lee’s men to penetrate as far as Main Street with armed resistance fading quickly. Seemed most of the troops and equipment had been allocated to combat a single rogue vehicle, never expecting a convoy to burst in from the rear.

             
“Our tires are almost gone!” Allen shouted as Ethan lobbed more grenades down range of the Mk19. There were fires all around them and plenty of smoke. If they were going to leave, now was the best time.

             
“Damn the Torpedoes! Full speed ahead!” Ethan roared over the intercom. The driver obliged and despite the nearly deflated tires the machine ran down a FEMA handout station and barreled, albeit a bit off center, toward the airfield. They hadn’t seen any of Lee’s tanks yet, but the fires over the tree line were a good sign.

             
A poorly aimed anti-tank rocket that had been meant for them obliterated the foundation of a billboard. It had been used to display only rules and regulations by the Federals, and was a rather important symbol of the Occupation to have come crashing down like the statue of Saddam Hussein. The six story sign groaned and listed dramatically before the entire structure came crashing to the ground with the ASV rumbling beneath it. Through the periscopes Ethan saw the fires in town grow more intense. New plumes of smoke rose in the direction of City Hall. They skidded around a corner and bludgeoned their way through a hedgerow onto the airfield. The ASV protested, the transmission whining, engine sputtering and gears grinding, nearing the end of its life. Ethan pushed the men and machine harder, longer, knowing right was on their side because time certainly wasn’t. Allen spotted activity at the end of the airfield, men in stupid looking uniforms trying to run away through an open field or jump into helicopters that had come to evacuate them.

             
Colonel Sharp and his personal security detail were trying to board a twin rotor Chinook while others crammed into two Blackhawks. They’d already abandoned the fight, even if their men fighting in the town had no idea. “COWARDS!” Ethan shouted, turning the .50 caliber on the choppers. The men scattered, the pilots included, just before their birds were blown to smoldering ruins. Ethan could feel the heat from the blasts through the truck’s thick armor. Another rocket’s red glare lit up the windows and periscopes, glancing off the tapered hull of the APC and blowing apart a storage shed behind them. This storage shed contained empty propane tanks that had once upon a time been ready for pickup. Now, even with what little gas remained in them they exploded with enough force to disable the APC completely. The shockwave shoved their armored vehicle several meters across the tarmac, the wheels barking and grinding sideways. With the turret working only on hand crank motion, Ethan continued to lay down fire while the others bailed out into the acrid smoke of the firefight. The ASV’s driver took two rounds to the side, dropping instantly. Major Branson stood and took half a dozen rounds, but shielded the men inside with his unexpected sacrifice. He died sitting up, trying to cover the already dead driver. Jimmy was hit in the leg and fell, Allen trying desperately to drag him to cover as the .50 caliber ran through its last belt.

             
Unable to breathe and out of ammunition for anything but his sidearm, Ethan jumped from the ASV too and helped drag Jimmy behind an overturned GM Green Truck. While Allen continued triage on his brother’s leg Ethan picked up an M4 carbine and started picking off troops. Caring about who they’d been and what they’d done before joining with men like Colonel Sharp never entered his mind. Ethan was defending his home, defending his friends, his and family. He was defending his child from a future in bonds, beholden to evil men.

             
Click.

             
The M4 was out. Before Ethan could reach for his sidearm the brown leather combat boot of a Federal roundhouse kicked him in the face. His head spun and he saw stars, the taste of blood replacing burning oil when he spat teeth onto the asphalt.

             
“You caused quite a mess here…
Sheriff
.” Colonel Sharp stood over Ethan, blocking out the already overcast sun as it came up over the horizon. From his super high-speed leg holster with pouches and Velcro and unnecessary straps all in perfectly matching ACU pattern, to his neatly cleaned and pressed uniform, Colonel Sharp was a poster child for the oppressors. He drew his M9 and dragged the hammer back as if they were in a movie. Some people were too stupid to know their double action firearms from the cowboy guns Ethan sported for fun. The attempt at drama was more comical than it was supposed to be, and Ethan’s smirk pissed Sharp off rather profoundly.

             
Ethan laughed, “You have a real flare for the dramatic, Colonel.” He spat blood on Sharp’s ridiculously clean boots. The metrosexual bastard had treated them with some sort of water repelling chemical and the snot rocket beaded off. “But I think if you had any ammo left you’d have shot me.”

             
“Maybe I want to make an example of you.” Sharp reached down and hauled Ethan to his feet, gut punching him before the exchange could continue. “Or maybe I’ll just kill you now and pile your body in a ditch with your brother’s!” Colonel Sharp dropped the useless M9 and flicked open a pocket knife, intent upon gutting Ethan. The satisfaction of knowing he was right about Sharp being out of ammo would have wait.

             
Ethan had already reached for his own knife, a Smith & Wesson ExtremeOps Keith had lent him the day before his death, the only heirloom Ethan still had of his friend. He snapped it open and swung upwards, catching Sharp’s raised arm just below the elbow and swung back down hard, relieving Sharp of his left eye and splitting his cheek open. The eye-jelly and blood spewed from Sharp’s face. He screamed and staggered backwards, tripping over a pile of debris. Explosions rocked the buildings nearby, the whistling of bombs and the roar of rockets was the last thing Sharp heard…

             
Silence.

Ash fell like snow in July, t
he mushroom cloud of fire and smoke that had once been the Midwest American Social Education Center rose into pink and orange early morning sky. The ringing in his ears let him know he was still alive, but only just. Colonel Jeffry Sharp rolled from his stomach to his back, leaning against what was left of a food distribution cart. The weight of his body armor, the shattered ceramic plates shifting inside, was unbearable. His breath returned a little, but it tasted of cordite and the unmistakable stench of charred flesh and the sickly sweet, but salty smell of blood. His depth perception was gone as well as his left eye. Who knew if it was still in the socket, he couldn’t think straight enough to raise his hand to find out. To the left were dead soldiers. To the right were dead soldiers. The ground had stopped shaking, a ceasefire had been called. The outcome was final.       

More explosions shook the ground as Federal
installations in the distance were hit. The small arms fire had completely ended and shouts for Federal Soldiers to lay down their weapons replaced the sharp staccato of gunfire. The explosions, including the one that had ended the knife fight at the airfield, had been too powerful for a tank round. As if on queue the unmistakable
BRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAATT
sound of a GAU-8 Avenger “Gatling Gun” and the powerful scream of the low flying A-10 Warthog attached to it sent up a cheer from the victorious Rebels. The low and slow A-10, marked with a giant Texas flag under one wind, and Old Glory painted on the other, rocked its wings and another did a victory roll for the men below.

Chinooks, Hueys and Cobra gunships
followed the A-10’s and began clearing fleeing Federal units and outposts around the town. The medevac choppers dropped down and landed Texan troops in old style BDU’s, red white and blue Gonzalez flags on their helmets and sleeves. Ethan, however, wasn’t watching the victory celebration. He continued to stare at Colonel Sharp, who’s one eye stared back. In a flash of anger he reached down and grabbed Sharp by the throat.

“Why?”
Ethan hissed from between his bloodied teeth.

Sharp seemed taken aback. “Why wha
t?” He coughed, drool and blood oozing from his face. That Sharp would even pretend he didn’t understand the question enraged Ethan even more. “If you’re going to ask questions, Private Cally, maybe you should ask yourself…” Sharp coughed blood. “Do these people know
who
you
are? Do they know
what
you are?” Ethan knew Sharp had an audience beyond himself. Others had gathered behind them. “A drunkard… A
drug addict
… A washout! You couldn’t even handle one tour in Iraq before you went Section Eight.” Sharp started laughing maniacally. “You fight me, because you think you’re a better man because you’re some kind of…
Libertarian Humanist
… But it’s all a lie, Private Cally. You’re just as weak, and useless as your friend who offed herself in Iraq. You’re not a great man, you’re
nothing!
You can’t even recognize the New Social Order when it slaps you in the face!”

There was a long silence but for the
noise of the helicopters and planes. “Yeah… I’m a real piece a’ shit alright… I think though, Colonel, I’m okay with that.” Ethan turned around, Cavalrymen and citizens had gathered around to watch. Allen was holding his little brother, rocking back and forth on his already bad knees. The boy was limp in his arms. Allen screamed aloud, unable to come to grips with the loss of his little brother. He could face the end of the world, but not without Jimmy. Without a second thought Ethan dropped Sharp, picked up a broken brick and bludgeoned his enemy with the stone shard until he was unrecognizable, a lump of dead flesh caved into a throat. Whoever said revenge wouldn’t fill the hole in your heart lied, it fills the void with infectious bile and covers it with bedrock stone, leaving the mess for someone else to try to piece back together.