Chapter 11: Interlocking Bands of Fire

“Okay,” Juanita’s voice spoke in all our earpieces. “Everybody keep your heads down while Sadie and I do a little data analysis. We expect their attacks to come in four or five waves. This is the first: short range artillery and sniper fire at soft targets. Just give us a few seconds.”

There were a couple more of those “Thoomp!” sounds; and in each case, they were followed by explosions, off in the distance. Then, it was our bunker’s turn. The dull firing noise, I assume made by a small mortar, was followed by an explosion that sounded like it was right on top of us. I grabbed Doriana and held her down, my body atop hers, my arms around her, while bits of dirt and cement cascaded from the ceiling.

One of the automatic guns in our enclosure spun into instant action, the whine of hydraulic actuators preceding the bang-bang-bang-bang of the long-range rifle. I heard another hydraulic noise, and I stuck my head up for a quick peek just as the metal lid covering our drone pit reached its vertical position. One of the drones shot straight upward, almost immediately disappearing in the fog and mist, then the door slammed shut again.

“Everybody stay down!” Dmitri barked sternly. I hoped his ire hadn’t been directed at my fast glance out the front. But then I realized our tablet computer had been knocked off the shelf it had been sitting on, so there was no way he could have been looking at me. The gun paused in its staccato firing, and I could hear others banging away in the distance.

There were a series of explosions now, off in the distance; and I knew right away that it couldn’t be a result of their mortars, because I hadn’t heard their distinctive firing sounds. I jerked myself upright for another peek out the front; and this time, Doriana took a look, as well. Several blasts were congregated around a spot in front of us, down near the tree line. I saw it only for a moment before the wind blew more fog between us and the spot. Ah. These detonations were from the bomber-drones that Sadie had just launched.

“Doriana!” Dmitri barked. “Reload gun three! Sally, gun two! Francine, gun three! Go!”

“Jacob and the Sheriff!” Juanita yelled. “Take two red and two yellow grenades and get to your firing positions! Wait for my order! If you see a flash of red from a laser sight, hit the dirt and crawl away. Once you’re in position, chamber a red smoke round. Go!”

I jerked open the lid on the nearest ammo box, only to find it contained only high explosive rounds. As I plucked the huge bullet-shaped shells from the other one, Doriana shouted: “Which is gun three?”

I pointed. “Has to be that one! It’s the only one that was firing! Watch out! The barrel is hot!” And I sprinted out the back door and up the hill to the spot where Juanita had demonstrated aiming. I set the shells down is some soft leaves, then I broke the breech of the weapon and shoved a round in place. I snapped it shut and looked out over our battlefield.

I should have told you a little more about fog in Oregon. It’s actually pretty much the same all up and down the coast in the Pacific Northwest, including Northern California. It’s called “advection fog,” and it only appears when the wind blows. It entails warm, moist air moving over a colder surface. San Francisco is famous for the stuff. Well, that and a few other things, I suppose. Anyway, that’s what we had here: fog appearing, then moving slowly away, thickening and dispersing from time to time for no foreseen reason.

“Both grenade launchers!” Juanita ordered. “Aim for max range toward the west. With one red smoke round: Fire!”

I shouldered the short weapon, turned to my right about thirty degrees, then inclined the barrel about forty-five degrees and pulled the trigger. I was expecting a kick, and I was not disappointed. What I had not expected was the sound, which was a small bang, accompanied by a loud, hollow-resonating “Poomp!” I stood mesmerized. I could actually see the round travelling up and away, the way you might see something fired by a slingshot.

I was startled out of my reverie by Juanita. “Reload with a yellow round!” I hustled to comply, even ignoring what happened to my first shot. “Aim straight ahead toward the tree line!” She ordered. “Fire!”

This time, even though she immediately had us reload with another red shell, I was able to see the yellow round impact against the base of a tree and begin spewing a cloud of yellow smoke. She had us repeat the operation, with the red shells launched to the west, and the yellow ones straight ahead.

“Great work!” she told us loudly. “Get back to your bunkers ASAP! Dmitri, you’re a go for Phase Three!”

I slipped once while running back downhill, but I made it inside without injury to anything except my pride. Just as I rejoined Doriana, bright red laser sights flashed into existence from each of our four mounted rifles. The two of us looked out the front of the structure on a scene that I can only describe as macabre. I believe the fog might have rolled back in at that moment, because the visibility, which had cleared a little momentarily, was now truly terrible. Everything was a sickly yellow, and dazzlingly red lances of light were literally everywhere we looked. From the way they all moved, it was easy to differentiate which side a respective beam belonged to. Every individual shaft of light seemed to be moving, but each was anchored to a fulcrum point that was obviously the light’s source.

All four of our guns’ hydraulic actuators were whining as the barrels tracked back and forth, their laser beams crossing with each other. And, if we craned our necks to the side, we could watch our rifles’ beams cross with those of the bunkers on either side of us.

“Interlocking bands,” I murmured in awe.

One of our guns, panning from left to right in a slow, measured sweep, stopped suddenly, and its beam jerked back slightly in the opposite direction. Immediately, the gun next to it swung its barrel, along with its aiming laser, to the same spot. For just a second, I thought I saw something there. Something metallic. A third gun started moving its beam to where the other two intersected. And then they all started firing. In the close confines of the bunker, it was deafening. We both clenched our hands over our ears. And then, as one, they stopped.

“Biped robot down, forty meters from south bunker,” Sadie reported. “Condition unknown. I’m engaging a dog approaching the west bunker.”

“Sheriff and Jacob, return to your firing points with one yellow smoke and standby.”

“You okay?” I asked Doriana.

She nodded. “Be safe, Jacob.”

I picked the proper round from the ammo can and dashed back up the hill. Turning, I saw that our hazy yellow battleground had turned red. Ah, I saw it now. The wind was out of the west. Our yellow smoke was slowly blowing away to the east, and was being replaced by the red smoke we’d fired upwind. “With one yellow smoke, max range toward the west, fire your grenades!” Juanita commanded. I turned, aimed high, and pulled the trigger. “Good job! Back into cover!” she shouted. And I scrambled back again, a little better-coordinated this time.

I keyed my ICS. “Should we reload the three guns you used in the south bunker?” I asked.

“How many magazines left?”

“Uh ... six.”

There was a pause. “Okay. Reload, but keep half-full mags in reserve.”

“Okie dokie,” I said, drawing a smile from Doriana.

There was a string of explosions somewhere in the distance in front of us, but the visibility was too poor to know exactly where they were. The drone container opened, and another bomber drone shot into the air. Shortly thereafter, I was called upon to fire another red smoke grenade toward the west.

“How we doin’, Sadie?” Dmitri asked.

“Three bipeds down and assumed destroyed,” she reported. “One dog down, and definitely out of service. There’s a tank drone approaching the east bunker; about fifty yards out. I’ve hit it twice, and I’ve observed several hits from your guns, but it’s still coming.”

There was a long pause. “Hokey Dokey. We go to phase four. No more smoke. Let battlefield clear. Let’s see what we got.”

“Wilco,” Juanita replied. “Phase four. Sheriff and Jacob, I want you to take two HE rounds, put one in each pocket, and hold onto another one. Do not load the weapon while you’re in the bunker. Sheriff, how are you feeling today? You gave a couple arm-fulls of blood last night.”

“Arms-full,” I corrected.

“No smart asses allowed while we’re fighting,” she snapped; and she paused a beat. “Or is it Smarts Ass?” I graced her with a laugh.

“I’m just fine,” the sheriff growled. “Hankerin’ for a little pay-back on the lady’s behalf.”

“Well, you’re about to give ‘em some. Keep watching out the front of your bunkers. Pick your target in the tree line and let me know when you have one. Wait until I give you the go-ahead, then climb up to your firing position. Aim quickly, fire, and then move at least ten yards. Keep doing that. Aim, shoot, move. When you’re out of rounds, return to your bunker. Understand?”

“Got it!” I said.

“Oh, yeah!” The sheriff was really in his element.

“Damn!” Sally’s voice cut in. “Nothing’s stopping this little robot track vehicle!”

I was peering out our bunker toward the battleground below. The smoke was drifting past, and I could make out one of the laser scopes on the tree line, jerking left and right, obviously trying to find something to fire at. Oddly, and obviously without realizing it, the shooter had picked one of the tallest trees in the whole forest to hide under, a massive Grand Fir. “I’ve got a target!” I told everyone.

“Me, too!” the sheriff’s gruff voice exclaimed.

“Okay, gentlemen, do it! Go now!” Juanita told us.

I kissed Doriana and marched quickly up the hillside before pushing the massive bullet-shaped round into the chamber of the grenade launcher and snapping the thing shut. My target was still there, still searching left and right, aiming uphill toward our bunker. I steadied the little barrel in a horizontal position, imagining the round falling during its flight, and I pulled the butt hard against my shoulder. Up until now, I had been firing smoke rounds. This one was intended to kill. I pulled the trigger, experiencing the same effects as firing the other rounds. Then, without watching, I turned left and marched fifteen paces in a level path, turned again toward the tree line, broke open the breech, discarded the spent shell casing, and reached for another shell. It got hung up in my pocket.

My first shot impacted with a bright flash, followed a long second later by a sharp “boom;” but I paid no attention to it, and kept struggling with getting the damn round out of my pants pocket. The flak jacket was in my way. Abstractly, off in the distance, I heard the distinctive “Fmoop!” of another, identical weapon, and then a faraway bang, indicating that the sheriff was at least being punctual and professional in HIS military duties. I tried unsuccessfully not to think about the fact that the thing I was jerking and clawing at was actually a high-explosive grenade.

Finally, the thing came free of whatever it was caught up on, and I slammed the round into the chamber, snapped the breech closed, and tried to steady my aim on the base of that enormous tree. My target had turned a bright, fiery, ruby red; but it only dawned on me what that meant after I had pulled the trigger and started moving again, even further to my left.

Bullets make a sound when they’re travelling through the air. I had never really thought about it. I don’t know why, but it reminded me of the swishing noise a baseball bat makes while it’s being swung. I suppose it’s really hard to hear something like that when you’re not close enough. But this bullet WAS close enough. In point of fact, it impacted the sloping dirt and grass-covered ground where I had stood only seconds before; and for the first time, I realized that the reason my target had been so bright red was because I’d been looking directly into the laser sight of his rifle.

I swung back toward my target, but there was no red light this time. The bullet/grenade came out of my left front pocket with no trouble at all, and I quickly got rid of the old shell and replaced it as fast as possible before taking quick aim and firing my last round. I half-ran half-slid back downhill to the door of the bunker, where Doriana was waiting impatiently.

“What happened?” she queried.

“Long story. I’ll tell you later. Did I hit anywhere close to the guy I was shooting at?”

“I ... I think you killed him, Jacob! After the first explosion, a few dozen yards right of him, his laser sight seemed to lock onto something just over the bunker. And then ... boom! No more laser!”

“I find that hard to believe,” I muttered. “I hardly took any time at all to aim. I just pointed and fired.”

“We’ve got big problems here!” Sally’s voice barked over the ICS. “That track robot is taking up a position to fire!”

“Get out!” Juanita screamed. “Retreat to the barn! Get out now! Go Go Go!”

“Do I need to head that way?” the sheriff’s voice growled.

“No!” Juanita snapped. “You’ve got to stay on station! You have robots advancing on your position right now! Load up with a red smoke and fire it straight ahead of your position. Take an HE round with you. Go!”

“What about Sally?” he asked.

“Jacob, go to the barn! Meet Sally! Take that bandoleer with you and load a buckshot round when you’re able.”

“On my way,” I answered. I kissed Doriana again, grabbed the belt-full of ammo, and started running uphill toward the east. Almost immediately, I realized that I’d left my assault weapon behind. I should have it slung over my shoulder, but I’d set it down in the bunker while I was running back and forth with the Mk-79. Now, the only weapons I had were the grenade launcher and my sidearm in its holster. I couldn’t turn back: so I chalked it up to yet another lesson learned and hoped this one wouldn’t kill me.

“Firing smoke,” the sheriff said calmly. I heard the distinctive sound from the weapon up ahead of me and to my left. I was still several hundred feet from the barn.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” Juanita’s voice said. “There are three robots all coming in from the north. Sadie is trying to take them out using our bomber drones; but they’re all being controlled from one position on the tree line. Your red smoke grenade landed one hundred meters west of his position. Shift your aim to the right accordingly, and fire one HE round.”

“Wilco.”

There was a huge explosion in front of me, and I realized it had occurred on the other side of the barn, where the east bunker was located. I paused, unsure.

“Sally!” the sheriff’s voice came again. “Tell me you weren’t in that bunker!” Almost immediately after those words, I heard him fire his weapon.

“No, lover. I’m in the barn, where Juanita told me to go. I always follow orders. Like two nights ago, when you ordered me to suck your...”

“TMI!” Sofia shouted.

“Sheriff,” Juanita interrupted officiously, “your target is twenty meters to the left of where that round hit. Remember that spot. Now, go back and get five HE rounds, then fire for effect!”

“Aye aye! Fire for effect!” he answered.

I didn’t know what that meant. It was obviously some sort of military phrase that was common between services and had been around for a while. I made a mental note to look it up after this was all over.

I wrenched open the door of the barn - the normal pedestrian door, not the big one – and I entered quickly just as Juanita barked: “Intruder in the barn! Intruder in the barn! Sally, find cover and do not engage until I sort out the threat!”

“Roger,” Sally said softly.

“There are three friendlies in that room!” our leader upstairs told us. “Sally, Jacob and Hannah. Find cover and await instructions! I think there’s only one target. He just entered from the bunker-side of the structure, moving cautiously. I don’t see any others right now, but the east bunker has been blown wide open!”

I had just inserted one of the giant, flat-ended shotgun shell rounds into my weapon and eased the breech shut. I strode quickly to a stack of hay bales that blocked me from the far side of the huge room. The mother horse whinnied loudly, and I heard the sheep moving restlessly in their pen near the far side of the enclosure. Stealing a peek, I saw movement and caught a glimpse of our adversary near the chicken coops. He was a small guy, maybe five-six, muscular and sandy-haired; and he moved like the hero in a martial arts video, smooth and almost cat-like.

Outside, we heard the distinctive shots from the sheriff’s grenade launcher, followed by the sounds of faraway explosions; over and over and over again.

“Target is advancing slowly up the center of the room toward the front door,” Juanita told us calmly. “Try to find a vantage point near the farm equipment. Be ready. Thirty seconds.”

I ducked around the far end of the line of hay bales and advanced to the next stack closest to the small tractors, with my back against one of the support pillars. Only then did I look to my right side; and there, looking back at me, was Sally, her assault rifle held at the ready. She pointed two fingers at her eyes, held up one finger and then made a chopping motion toward our adversary. I almost laughed aloud at that, thinking back to the time I’d met the sheriff in that house in Acton, but I miraculously kept silent, and I only nodded. Sally gave me a questioning look, probably because of my expression. She seemed to take a deep breath, then looked at me and held up one finger. Then she held up two fingers, and I realized that she was counting down to our attack.

“Don’t shoot!” Hannah screamed. And everyone froze. “Please don’t shoot!” the buxom brunette wailed plaintively. “Please! I don’t have a weapon! I’m unarmed! Please don’t shoot me!”

“Where are you?” the man called out. “Don’t just stand there yelling at me, bitch! Show yourself!”

“Promise you won’t shoot me!” Hannah cried in her best little-girl voice.

“I won’t shoot you, honey-cunt. Now, come on out here where I can see your pretty ass!”

I saw Sally’s eyes go wide in shock, and only then did I turn and look down the center of the room behind us. Hannah was advancing directly toward the man, naked as the day she was born. Her breasts were like two water balloons the size of bowling balls, and with every step she took, they bounced and settled and bounced again. It took me a long moment to realize that she was doing something to make them move like that, but even now, I have no idea what it was or how she was making it happen.

“Holy goddam shit!” the man declared. “What a piece of fuck-meat you are!”

“You promised you wouldn’t shoot me!” Hannah said in a slightly breathless voice. “You promised!” Looking straight ahead at our intruder, she walked right between Sally and me as we remained out of sight.

“What the hell do you do around here?” the guy asked.

“I milk the cow.” Somehow, her breasts gave an extra jiggle as she moved past us.

“Milk ... the...” His voice trailed off into silence.

“What’s going on?” Juanita’s voice sounded in my earpiece. Nobody said a word for another long minute.

“There,” Hannah said quietly. “You don’t need that anymore. Let me hold it while you use both hands for ... well ... whatever you want. Don’t you want to touch something else instead? Mmmm. That feels nice. I’ve got your gun now, and you can touch me wherever you want.” She paused another moment. “Can I introduce you to my boyfriend? He can come out now, since I’ve got your gun.”

Sighing heavily, both Sally and I came out of hiding and advanced toward our gentleman caller, who was fondling Hannah’s tits with both hands.

“This is my boyfriend, Jacob Jones,” Hannah told him, stoically maintaining her posture while the man pawed her breasts.

“Hero of the Apocalypse,” the guy muttered, and he forced himself to look up at us. He maintained the glance for only a couple seconds before returning it to Hannah’s chest. “Wow. He’s a big dude! Hello, Sally. I didn’t know you were here.”

“Hello, Harriman.” She slowly reached out and took the man’s sidearm from his holster, then she plucked a wicked-looking knife from its sheath.

“Oh, THAT foulmouthed bastard!” Juanita said.

“He’s high on something,” Hannah told us. “Whatcha’ been takin’, Harriman?”

He looked up into her eyes. The head movement caused a small trail of drool to slide from the left corner of his mouth. “Boss gave me a couple pills. Said it would take the combat edge off. I took ‘em when we got to the clearing and started prepping the robots.”

“Can you follow Hannah upstairs?” Sally asked him. “Juanita wants to talk to you.”

“I’ll follow her anywh...” He stopped and gawked. “Wait. Juanita’s here? That means Rostovich is fighting with...” He took a step back and blinked. All of a sudden, sobriety seemed to wash over him. “Son of goddamned fuckin’ BITCH!” He screamed. “We been fightin’ against Rostovich? And we’ve been tryin’ to kill people like the beautiful, boobilicious milkmaid here? SHIT!”

Sally huffed. “What am I? Chopped liver?”

He graced her with a long glance. “You, my dear Sally, AND your pretty sister, are the scariest fuckin’ women I have ever seen in my life!”

She nodded and smirked. “I can live with that.” She pulled out a pair of flex cuffs. “Would you mind?”

He turned and put his hands behind his back. “Be my guest. There’s a throwing knife in my left boot. Don’t forget that one. I am DONE with this fuckin’ shit! You tell Rostovich that! You hear me? That crazy Russian needs to know that I am NOT fightin’ against him!”

Suddenly, Juanita was there with us. “Jacob!” she shouted. “It’s time to ... Holy shit!” She had just caught sight of Hannah. But then the woman actually blushed. “Sorry,” she murmured. “I ... uh ... didn’t mean to stare.”

“She accomplished what she set out to do,” I told her. “She disarmed our opposition without further bloodshed.”

“She could probably disarm Patton’s Third Army!” Juanita muttered. But then suddenly, she was all business again. “Sally, get Harriman upstairs with the other two. Jacob, do you still want to be a part of this?”

I suddenly understood what she was asking. “I’m with you! Lead the way! What about the battle to the north?”

“The sheriff got his man!” Juanita said. “And that’s it! There’s no one left to control the robots! Fighting up here is over for now!” She ducked inside the barn’s first floor “security room” while tossing me a key fob. I recognized it right away as belonging to the black pickup truck. As the main barn door started grinding open, I ran to the vehicle and unplugged it from its charging port; then I jumped behind the wheel as Juanita jerked open the passenger-side door and joined me. I jammed the vehicle into gear and tore out of the barn, swerving toward the main gate.

Almost at once, I hit the brakes, and then waited patiently while Dmitri sprinted the last couple hundred feet across the garden area; and he leapt into the open back of the pickup. He was carrying two long rifles with scopes. I recognized one as the same kind of weapon that Doriana had used in our encounter at the mayor’s house in Acton. The other was that smaller .22 caliber sniper rifle from that Russian company, though I couldn’t remember its name. He carried both as if he was very comfortable with the things.

He sprawled in a sitting position in the bed of the truck facing the rear, with his back against the cab. As I pointed the nose of the truck downhill and rounded the curve toward the south, I noted the gate standing fully open, and I didn’t slow down as I sped past the fence. In the rearview mirror, I saw Dmitri tap his earpiece. We were all still on the tactical link, and I could hear him plainly, though there was a lot of road noise.

“I need an update!” he barked.

“You were right, Dmitri,” Sadie’s voice answered. “One vehicle has started up the driveway from the base camp in the south. From what I can tell, there are five people in it: three regular fighters and two lieutenants. They’re moving pretty slowly, so you should be able to make it to the switchbacks before they do. Is that still your plan?”

“Da. How about Hyphen. Where’s he at?”

“He’s still back in the camp. I see two low-level troops there, as well. One is apparently on guard duty. I think the other one might be sleeping. He hasn’t moved in a long time.”

“How’s about de weehicles?”

“The guard walks through where they’re all parked, but there are no life signs in the vehicles themselves,” Sadie answered.

“Start phase seven!” the Russian ordered.

“Okay, Dmitri. Do you want me to detonate a few of the roadside mines to slow down the vehicle coming up?”

“Naw. Let ‘em come. We stop ‘em.”

I was driving pretty fast down the steep gravel road. “What’s phase seven?” I asked Juanita.

“Not important to you!” she answered officiously. “You are part of phase six! Before we get to the first switchback, Dimitri and his long-guns are hopping out. Then, after we take the first big hairpin curve, we’re going to stop and confront the bad guys’ vehicle while he covers us.”

I knew that first curve was coming up very soon. I reached up and tapped my earpiece to switch to hot mic. “If I may be so bold to suggest,” I broadcast, “I think we should change phase six!”

“What you want to say?” Dmitri barked. “Say it quick! We’re almost dare!”

“I’ve encountered three of your former compatriots so far,” I told them quickly. “They all have one thing in common. Either you, Dmitri, have impressed them more than any other military person around, or you simply scare the beejesus out of them. Whichever is true, I think YOU should be the one to confront them. Let Juanita cover YOU!”

“He’s right, lover,” Juanita said after a second’s thought. “In their eyes, you are the most intimidating foe!”

Even over the road noise, I heard his deep sigh. “Hokey dokey. You see dose two big rocks up ahead on left? Stop de truck dare.”

I kept the speed up until I got close, then halted quickly in front of the two stones on the shoulder of the driveway. Dmitri ordered us out, and we congregated near the driver’s side door. My companions swapped weapons, and Dmitri paused only long enough to kiss his fiancée before sliding into the driver’s seat. But when he stabbed the start button, nothing happened. I dug the key fob out of my pocket and handed it to him with a smirk. He, in turn, handed me the stubby grenade launcher, which I’d forgotten and left between the seats, and he gave me an identical smirk. We both laughed before he put the vehicle in gear and sped off downhill.

Juanita lay the smaller rifle down; and then she shifted the magazine of the longer gun, tilting it forward only far enough to check that there were rounds in it. Next, she slid a lever back a scant inch to check that there was a round in the chamber. Finally, she handed me a small pair of binoculars. I have no idea where she had been keeping them. When I tried them, I found the device to be quite powerful, and I had to adjust them to focus closer as I sighted in on the surface of the gravel road below us. “I think I hear them coming,” I told my companion, but when I turned in her direction, I found her sprawled on the ground on her stomach, concentrating on the empty stretch below us. The barrel of the bigger, longer weapon was nestled between those two big rocks, aiming down the mountain toward where we hoped the bad guys would stop. Just about the time I figured that I, too, should be a bit less conspicuous, I saw Dmitri pull into our target area and stop in the middle of the road. I threw myself on the ground next to Juanita, then tried to use the binoculars without showing too much of myself to anyone down below.

There was a vehicle approaching from our left, climbing uphill. It was loud, not only because it was crunching gravel beneath its wheels, but because it obviously had a big engine operating in low gear. When it pulled into view, it proved to be a large Humvee-type thing with a short truck bed that sported a mounted machine gun, its barrel extending over the cab. There was a man in uniform clutching this mean-looking device, but I think he was using it more for support than for tactical purposes. Slowly, this motor vehicle ground to a halt about fifty feet from Dmitri, who was leaning casually against the front bumper of our pickup truck, his arms crossed in front of him, a bored look on his face.

Another man in uniform climbed out of the front passenger seat and quickly took the few steps back until he was even with the man behind the machine gun. He pointed dramatically at Dmitri and said something. The man in the back said something in return. Looking through the binoculars, it was obvious that they were arguing. Despite having his back to us, the man in charge was louder, and I heard him clearly: “Shoot him!”

Now, the man behind the gun was pointing a finger in Dmitri’s direction, too. I heard the man on the ground repeat his order. Then, he repeated it again. And in the space of less than a second, he drew his sidearm, raised it, and shot his compatriot in the face.