World War III (62 page)

With his pants torn and his underwear exposed, Billy’s face turned bright red. “Doc, is there any way we can do this in private?” He asked, glancing at three women standing behind the doctor.

Dr. July smiled. “Of course,” he said, ushering the women from the room.

“Thanks for your help, Cleo!” Shouted Billy, before the doctor closed the door and continued his examination.

“How is he?” Asked Mason, when Cleo returned.

“Broken leg,” she said, glancing at the monitor. “What are they waiting for?”

The convoy of armored vehicles had spread out in a long line, facing the small town. Behind them, thousands of battle-hardened troops stood poised and ready for an attack.

“I’m not sure,” admitted Mason. “Maybe they’re sizing us up. You’d better get to your position.”

“Right. Good luck mate!” Cleo turned and headed for the library.

*******

“How many do you reckon there are?” Asked Ian, peering over the sandbags, from his position in the ditch west of town.

“I don’t know,” replied Shiloh, looking at the enemy through binoculars. “Mason estimated around one hundred thousand, but that was before the convoy split in two. Maybe half that now?”

“That’s still too many,” mumbled Ian.

Suddenly and without warning, enemy tanks and artillery guns began firing on Clearview. The shells whistled through the air and detonated on Main Street, destroying homes and buildings alike. People scrambled for shelter, with the blasts reverberating around them.

“We can’t withstand this shelling much longer!” Shouted Ian, as an artillery shell exploded behind him in a ball of flame.

“I know!” Agreed Shiloh, watching enemy soldiers spread out in attack formation.

“Should we fire back?” Asked Mayor Sullivan, hunkered down next to them.

“No,” answered Ian, “they’re out of range! It’d be a waste of ammo and give away our position! We need to draw them in closer!”

“I’ve got an idea!” Shiloh shouted, over the barrage of artillery shells. “Wait here and hold your fire! I’m gonna try and lure them in!”

Climbing out of the ditch, he darted across Main Street, artillery shells exploding around him. He was halfway across the road, when a shell exploded in the street behind him. The burst threw him violently to the ground, where he lay motionless.

Seeing his best friend lying in the middle of the road, Ian sprang to his feet. He was about to run to Shiloh’s aid, but stopped when he began to stir.

Shiloh crawled to his feet and shook his head, trying to stop the ringing. Still a little shaken, he continued across the street and into the church.

“What’s he gonna do now?” Asked Luke, watching Shiloh disappear into the burning building. “Pray us out of this mess?”

“Oh ye of little faith,” replied Rupert, pumping a round into his shotgun.

As suddenly as it had begun, the shelling miraculously stopped and the morning became eerily quiet. Shiloh emerged from the church and in a crouched run, returned to his position beside Ian. Peaking over the sandbags, he saw enemy soldiers advancing on the town.

“What happened?” Asked Lenny, hiding beneath a school bus.

“Yeah?” Added Richie, lying beside him. “What did you do?”

“Look!” Screamed Luke, using his good arm to point at a white flag, dangling from the church flagpole. “How is surrendering going to help?”

“We aren’t surrendering,” explained Shiloh. “It’s a trap! Hold your fire until I give the word,” he announced, into his handheld radio. “I hope they care enough not to fire while their troops are on the battlefield,” he mumbled, softly.

“Yeah,” agreed Ian. “Either way, good thinking!” He chambered a round in his rifle.

“Well would you look at that,” said Shiloh, watching the enemy’s advance.

“What is it?” Asked Ian, scanning the approaching troops.

“Cody Hyde,” replied Shiloh, remembering his encounter with the man in Mound House. “He’s consorting with the enemy!”

It took Ian a minute to locate the traitor. He was standing with a group of officers on a hillside, overlooking the town. “Why that son of a bitch!”

“He’ll get his,” said Shiloh, watching the advancing troops. “Get ready!” He waited until the enemy was halfway across the field, before yelling “Fire!”

Gunfire erupted from the ditches surrounding town, as civilians opened fire on the unsuspecting soldiers. Surprised and caught in the open, the enemy dropped to the ground and returned fire.

Hundreds of armored vehicles immediately advanced onto the field, providing cover for the soldiers pinned down. After a few minutes the troops began to slowly advance, using the armored support for protection.

“Our bullets are bouncing off their armor!” Shouted Mayor Sullivan.

“Just a little further!” Yelled Ian. He held the radio to his mouth and said, “Squirrel, calling Bluebird. Are you in position, over?”

“This is Bluebird. We’re ready, over.” Cleo turned and looked at the men and women standing behind her, armed with bow and arrows. “Get ready to lite ‘em up!” She shouted, dipping an arrow into a bucket of gasoline and soaking the rag, wrapped around its tip.

The small group of volunteers huddled around the bucket and soaked their arrow tips in the fuel. Once everyone’s arrow had been soaked, Cleo raised her hand and yelled, “Ready!”

They formed a line and loaded their arrows, while Shannon ran by, lighting the tips with a torch.

“Aim!” Cleo raised her crossbow, aiming at the field west of town. The small group did likewise, pointing their flaming arrows into the air.

When the field was covered with enemy troops and armored vehicles, Ian called into the radio. “Now Bluebird! Now!”

“Fire!” Yelled Cleo, squeezing the trigger on her crossbow.

From their position on top of the library, the small group loosed their arrows, shooting them high into the air. Dozens of flaming arrows streaked across the sky, landing on the field west of town. A few arrows struck soldiers and lit them on fire, while others bounced off armored vehicles and fell to the ground, igniting the mixture of gasoline and oil. Within seconds the field became a fiery inferno.

Screaming from the scorching pain, the enemy frantically fled in every direction. Many troops turned to retreat, only to become engulfed by the flames surrounding them. Others became victims of their own armored vehicles, as drivers, blinded by smoke, rolled over comrades attempting to escape. Those closest to Clearview ran for town, preferring the chance of getting shot to the certainty of burning alive.

Fleeing blindly across the battlefield, many soldiers and vehicles fell helplessly into the large, hidden pitfalls. Fire belched from the pits and rose high into the air, silencing their screams, as they perished in the blazing inferno. Flames ignited ammo inside the vehicles and a series of thunderous explosions shook the ground.

The Commander of the Communist Muslim Coalition immediately responded, ordering his artillery to commence firing. A barrage of shells whistled across the field, raining carnage on the small town.

Looking through binoculars, Shiloh saw Cody Hyde consulting with the Commander. Holding a map in one hand, he pointed toward Clearview’s jailhouse. The Commander turned and said something to a subordinate officer, who in turn relayed the order to a soldier, operating a radio.

A second later, Shiloh noticed one of the tank turrets turn and fire. The shell flew across the battlefield and smashed into the jailhouse, igniting the town’s armory in a deafening roar.

“That traitorous son of a bitch!” Shouted Ian, before ordering a few men to drop back and salvage what ammo they could.

*******

“Rabbit, this is Briar Patch. Come in, over?”

“I read you Briar Patch, over!”

“I’ve got movement in the forest east of your position,” said Mason, staring at his monitor. “We’re about to be flanked, over.”

“Copy Briar Patch, over and out! Do you see anything?” Asked Lt. Sawyer, looking at the tree line one hundred yards away.

“Nothing,” said Sgt. Morgan, peering through the scope on his rifle. “Wait a minute. There!” He said, pointing straight ahead.

Lt. Sawyer scanned the tree line, searching for any sign of movement. “Where?” He asked. “I don’t see anything.”

The Sergeant was about to reply, when a man’s shrill scream broke the silence.

“What was that?” Asked Pvt. Malarkey, lying in the ditch beside the Lieutenant.

Another man screamed and began cursing in a foreign language.

“Sounds like someone stepped in a bear trap,” grinned Sgt. Morgan.

“Get ready!” Ordered the Lieutenant, as a handful of soldiers emerged from the tree line and started across the field.

Sgt. Morgan took aim at the closest soldier and drew a bead on his forehead.

“Hold your fire!” Ordered Lt. Sawyer, allowing the unit to continue their advance.

“They’d be easy pickings,” whispered Pvt. Malarkey, watching the soldiers draw closer.

“They’re just scouts,” whispered Sgt. Morgan. “The main force is still concealed behind the trees.” He’d no sooner finished speaking, when thousands of troops emerged from the forest and started marching across the field.

“My God!” Hissed Pvt. Malarkey. “There’s too many!”

“Steady!” Said Lt. Sawyer, raising his arm into the air. “Steady!” He repeated, as enemy soldiers flooded onto the field. The advance scouts were only ten yards away, when he dropped his arm and yelled, “Fire!”

Riddled with bullets, the scouts fell in the first volley. Realizing they’d walked into a trap, the main force ran across the battlefield, firing a hailstorm of bullets at the Marines, hunkered in the ditch.

“Harris is down!” Shouted Sgt. Morgan, sniping one soldier after another.

“Man the fifty Malarkey!” Ordered Lt. Sawyer, as Sgt. Powell dragged Harris’s body to shelter.

The Private jumped to his feet and ran to the .50 caliber machinegun. He quickly checked the chamber, before firing on the soldiers crossing the field.

The forest on the eastside of town was so dense, the enemy’s armored vehicles had been forced to remain behind, leaving the soldiers exposed and vulnerable. Yet despite the lack of armored support, they continued to charge forward.

“Bluebird, this is Rabbit Actual. Do you copy, over?”

“I read you Rabbit, over.” Answered Cleo, from her position with the archers.

“I need you to ignite the eastern field, over!” Shouted Lt. Sawyer, as a barrage of bullets thudded into the earth around him.

“Understood, over and out!”

The overwhelming number of troops were more than the Marines could handle and one-by-one, they fell to enemy fire.

“Malarkey, target their center!” Ordered Lt. Sawyer. “Malarkey?”

“Malarkey’s dead!” Shouted Sgt. Morgan, crawling on his belly toward the machinegun.

“We’re all gonna be dead if we don’t retreat!” Yelled Sgt. Powell, unloading a clip into three soldiers, before they could jump into his foxhole. He immediately climbed out of the hole and ran toward the enemy, firing his rifle and screaming like a wild man.

“Get back here Sergeant!” Order the Lieutenant, but it was too late.

Sgt. Powell killed twelve enemy soldiers, before taking two rounds in the chest. He fell to the ground, choking on his own blood and looked up at the sky. The last thing he saw before his eyes glazed over, was a flock of birds flying overhead.

Dozens of flaming arrows soared high into the air, before arching and falling to the field. The arrows ignited everything they touched, turning both the eastern forest and the battlefield into a fiery furnace of hell. Agonizing cries from dying men and the stench of burning flesh, filled the air.

“Open fire!” Ordered Lt. Sawyer, seizing the opportunity to thwart the enemy’s advance. The Marines did as ordered and gunned soldiers down, as they scurried from the field in every direction.

“Briar Patch, calling Groundhog. Do you copy, over?” Asked Mason, watching the battle on his screen.

“This is Groundhog, over.”

“You are clear to attack, over.”

“Copy that, over and out!” Hiding behind a hill east of town, Hunter led a cavalry charge of three thousand men. They stormed into the forest and surrounded the field, decimating what was left of the enemy.

Satisfied the eastern front was secure, Mason zoomed out and scanned back to the field west of town. The fire was no longer blazing and he could see the enemy Commander preparing for another assault.

“Briar Patch, calling Squirrel. Do you copy, over?”

“This is Squirrel, go ahead, over.”

“Be advised the enemy is preparing to launch another assault, over.”

“Copy that,” said Ian. “What’s the ETA on Firefly, over?”

“Another ten minutes, over.”

“Copy that, over and out.”

The Communist Muslim Coalition continued to bombard the town with artillery shells, while their troops regrouped and tended to the wounded.