Standing in the Storm (The Last Brigade Book 2) Page 20

  Needles and branches lay all over the top, and there was the strong scent of pine. The CROWS tilted left and the fifty-caliber machine gun angled backward, its barrel bent downward by some massive weight. Behind them was the hulk of a huge pine tree, at least 36 inches in diameter.

  “Shit,” she said. “What next?”

  0420 hours

  Flame jetted high into the air; Green Ghost could see it above the ruined football stadium grandstands. A series of explosions followed that he recognized as ammunition cooking off.

  “Looks like your friend didn’t make it,” Hull said, smiling. “Too bad.”

  They had been standing in the darkness, watching trucks loading up with Hull’s former prisoners. Green Ghost watched the flames for a moment, then turned. He reached down to his ankle holster and drew his personal weapon, a 9mm Kimber Solo Crimson Carry. He jammed the barrel of the little pistol into Hull’s lower jaw, just behind his chin.

  Two SEALs stood with Hull, more for his safety than for any real need. If the hostages recognized him, they might tear him to pieces. But neither SEAL reacted to Green Ghost threatening him.

  “In the next minute, one of two things is going to happen,” Green Ghost said. “Either you’re going to use one of our radios and issue a surrender order, or I’m going to pull this trigger. And honestly, I’d just as soon blow your fucking head off.”

  “What’s your rank, soldier? I want your name and rank, and I want them now!”

  Green Ghost leaned in close. “I’m not a soldier,” he said in a low voice that was almost a growl. “I’m a SEAL. Fifty seconds.”

  “Do you know who I am?” Hull continued. “Do you? I’m a five-star general in the American Army. I outrank every one of you, and I will have you court-martialed for this!”

  “Forty seconds.”

  Hull stood with his mouth half open for at least ten more seconds. Green Ghost saw the disbelief in his eyes. It had been years since anyone had questioned his authority, and he could not believe it was happening now. But Hull’s face tightened as reality sank in.

  “Twenty seconds.”

  “You’re going to regret this,” Hull said.

  “Only if I don’t get to kill you. Fifteen seconds.”

  “Give me the fucking radio.”

  0426 hours

  “Bulldozer One One Two reports enemy abandoned their armor and are fleeing west. One enemy M1 destroyed,” Schiller said, emphasizing Bulldozer One One Two. They had all heard the report of a tank exploding in Morgan Randall’s operating area and it was his way of telling Angriff that she was safe.

  “Thanks, J.C,” Angriff said.

  “General Fleming,” one of the radio operators said, “General Angriff, the enemy commander is about to broadcast a stand-down order. Would you like it on speaker?”

  Fleming pointed, meaning yes.

  A few moments later — “To all members of the military services of the Republic of Arizona, this is your commander, General George Patton. You know me and you know my voice, so listen up. This is an order: you are to stand down immediately. Do you hear me? Surrender and hand over your weapons. These are not enemies. They are the legitimate armed forces of the United States of America. These are your countrymen, not your enemies. Stand down right now.”

  Angriff grinned and stuck an unlit cigar in his jaw. “Green Ghost can be very persuasive. But we can’t count on all those people rolling over for us. Some might not have radios. Signal all units to accept surrenders but to be on alert for tricks.”

  “More good news, Nick,” Fleming said, reading from a sheet of paper just handed to him. “Lead elements of the Marines report no enemy contact on the south side of the city. They are turning north to cut Highway 10 on the west side. ETA thirty minutes. Pulling those Marine companies out of the east paid off.”

  “They put everything on the north to keep the Chinese honest, just like we thought.”

  “Looks that way,” Fleming said. “So far, so good. Now if the Chinese just cooperate, our dispositions will be perfect.”

  “That’s what worries me.”

  Chapter 33

  Great things are achieved only when we take great risks.

  Frederick the Great

  0430 hours, July 29

  Throughout Prescott, LifeGuards and Security Police came forward, hands raised and calling out not to shoot. Despite the lack of radios in the various sub-units, word traveled fast. Most of them were glad to surrender, especially when they heard American voices responding to them out of the darkness.

  But some fled west along with Norbert Cranston, and before long more than two hundred men gathered with him in the Prescott National Forest. He considered a counter-attack but that seemed futile. Instead, he led them deeper into the pine forest to plan their next move.

  0437 hours

  The coffee was fresh and hot. In the pre-dawn cool on top of Badger Mountain, it tasted better than anything Nick Angriff could remember drinking. Stepping out for fresh air before the arrival of the Chinese, he could almost feel the various components of his command moving around him. From the infantry regiments blocking the northern approaches and covered by the artillery, to the Marines sweeping north to cut off the city on the west, Angriff could see them all in his mind’s eye. He visualized the helicopter gunship squadrons going over last-minute checklists, and the medical services re-checking inventories. And he was right where he wanted to be, at the center of it all.

  0439 hours

  Morgan Randall ran fingers through her hair, feeling the dampness of her sweat. The air had a slight chill that felt good after the confines of her tank, and they all felt better with the rest of the company present. Lights had been set up at the evacuation points to help load the hostages, and her crew used the artificial daylight to inspect the damage to Joe’s Junk.

  “Two RPGs and a tree,” Lieutenant Tensikaya said. “Not bad, Morgan. I’ve never heard of anybody getting hit by a tree before.”

  “We’re trend-setters, Akio,” she said. “Pretty soon everybody will be doing it.”

  0440 hours

  The fires in Prescott had died down and only the Klieg lights competed with starlight to illuminate the city. The eastern horizon did not yet hint at the coming dawn. Standing atop Badger Mountain, with a chilly breeze whipping at his shirt and the ash of his cigar glowing, Angriff remembered another time and place, when he’d stood atop a castle looking down at another city, wondering what the future held. For a moment he wondered what had become of Salzburg and whether anyone still played Mozart, or even remembered who Mozart was. It was all so long ago and far away.

  “General?” Schiller said, crunching over the mountain gravel toward him. “Ranger LP on the north has the Chinese in sight.”

  The momentary lapse into memory vanished. “On my way.” He took a long draw and then pinched the ash end from his cigar, saving the rest for later.

  Activity in the Mobile Command Center had tapered to a low buzz when he’d left a few minutes before, but now it was loud again. “What have we got?” he asked.

  Norm Fleming answered. “Ranger Team Three has eyes on the intersection of Interstate 40 and Highway 89, a hamlet named Ash Fork. That’s about eighty klicks from Prescott, seventy-two from our forward dispositions. The Chinese column is moving slowly and is screened by light recon vehicles. It’s followed by a long line of transports and tanker trucks. No armor yet, but the column is only now turning onto 89.”

  “No tanks? No APCs?”

  “Not yet.”

  “That’s odd. Why would the Chinese commander do that, send out what has to be major assets with minimal protection? We’re missing something.”

  “Is that intuition, or jumping to a conclusion? Could be they trust their trading partner,” Fleming said. “From what we know, they’ve been doing business for a long time. Why be suspicious now?”

  “Because they’re Chinese Communists, that’s why. When have you ever known a Chicom to trust anybody, Norm? H
ell, they don’t trust their own mothers; why would they trust some outsider warlord? I know you’re playing devil’s advocate, but this doesn’t make any sense. Either the Chinese got stupid after we went cold, or there’s something we don’t know… or we missed something. Help me see this, Norm. Help me see what I’m missing or if I’m being paranoid.”

  “Go back to zero, before the Chinese set this operation in motion,” Fleming said. “There are no plans, no actions, nobody is on the move, nobody has done anything. You’re the Chinese commander. The Americans need fuel, you need slaves. You have been trading with them for years and have never had any problems. You trust them as much as you trust anybody. What now?”

  “You trust them as much as you trust anybody…” Angriff mused. “Damn… all right, you trust them. You put a huge convoy on the road, with trucks and fuel and manpower. This represents a major commitment of resources. You screen it with recon vehicles because… because why? That’s all you’ve got?”

  “Or maybe the only threat you see is guerillas,” Fleming said. “And they’re fast enough to hunt them down.”

  “No, I don’t see that. Nobody would attack a military convoy that big unless they wanted to destroy it, even if they don’t have heavy protection. Even guerillas would have to weigh the cost-benefit side of things—”

  “Am I interrupting?” Dennis Tompkins walked up rubbing his neck and stretching it.

  “Not at all,” Angriff said. “I thought you were asleep.”

  “That’s one of the joys of getting old. You can only sleep when you don’t want to. How are things below?”

  Walling briefed him.

  “Huh,” Tompkins said.

  “Huh, what?” Angriff said. “What are you thinking?”

  “Don’t mind me, Nick. I’ve been living in the wilderness so long I see traps everywhere. Even when they don’t exist.”

  “Traps?” Fleming said. “Nick here feels there’s something wrong with this set-up and you think it’s a trap?”

  “Yeah, help us figure this out,” Angriff said. “What are we missing, Dennis?”

  “Is there a map I can look at?” Tompkins said. “And maybe some coffee?”

  Sergeant Schiller brought the coffee and pointed at a monitor showing a topographical map of the Prescott region.

  Tompkins scratched his chin. “I can’t make heads or tails out of those digital things. Is there a paper map?”

  “It’s pretty old, sir,” Schiller said.

  “So am I.”

  As part of the brigade’s archives, hard-copy maps of the entire country backed up the digital ones. It took a few minutes to locate and roll out the right sheet. Once spread on a table, with a high intensity lamp picking out every detail, Tompkins took a moment to inspect it and then stood up, still massaging his neck and shoulder.

  “Let me ask you this, Nick, because I’m not used to thinking on such a big scale. If this convoy is what it looks like, then we have plenty of firepower to deal with it, don’t we?”

  “Hell, yes,” Angriff said. “Especially with Prescott in our hands. It’s not even a fight at this point.”

  “That’s what I thought. So the way I see it, and remember, I’m not used to these big operations—”

  “A big operation is just a small operation with more men and machines.”

  “—then think of it this way. What are we all standing here talking about?”

  The knot of officers looked at each other, wondering what he was getting at. “About this Chinese convoy,” Fleming finally said. “And its intentions, and whether our dispositions are correct to deal with it.”

  “Right,” Tompkins said, pointing at him.

  Angriff touched his forehead, seeing where Tompkins was heading. “The convoy is dangling in front of us like a cow begging to be ground into hamburger. We’re busy figuring out the best way to cook it, and meanwhile… Dennis, you’re a tactical genius. It’s a decoy. Where’s that map?”

  Tompkins shrugged. “I may be dead wrong, sir.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Poring over the map, Angriff demanded a magnifying glass, but it was in the intelligence tent for photo and video interpretation. Instead, one of the techs handed over his prescription glasses which, held at the correct distance, had a similar effect.

  “Son of a bitch,” Angriff said. “That’s got to be it, right there.” He pointed to a thin white ribbon, running through the desert from its junction with Interstate 40 at a place called Seligman. “This highway, Highway 5, it’s probably no more than a two-lane strip of asphalt. But it runs almost due south through some pretty desolate-looking country. Nobody would ever expect a large armored force to use such a road. But we have to assume the Chinese did their homework. They may have used this road before, or at least scouted it.”

  “We could ask our prisoner,” Fleming said.

  “You mean the slave-trader? There’s no time and we couldn’t believe anything he told us, anyway.”

  “Even if they are using that highway, Nick, by the time it reaches Prescott it’s only, what, three miles from Highway 89? We’re already covering it with our current dispositions.”

  “You’re right, Norm, but I think there’s more to it. If I’m right, the Chinese would want their enemy stretched to the breaking point. So what if they split again and leave Highway 5? Another force could come through here, through… what does that say? Skull Valley? What if they come through Skull Valley and then pick up Highway 10, due west of the city?”

  “That’s a big if,” Fleming said. “How do we know if that country is suitable for tanks or not?”

  “How soon can we get an air asset there?”

  “They’re all scheduled to sortie at dawn against the convoy.”

  “I didn’t ask that.”

  “If they take off immediately, flying at night, a Comanche could be there in under an hour. An Apache would take longer.”

  “Dennis, you’re awfully quiet.”

  “Well, since you asked my opinion,” Tompkins said, “I think you’re right. I think the convoy is a trick. If the Chinese have tanks, then I reckon you’re gonna find them out yonder somewhere. And since you said we’ve already got plenty of assets to deal with this convoy. I don’t see much harm in poking around some.”

  “You nailed it, Dennis. Here are my orders,” Angriff said. “First, send one of the Marine recon companies down this Highway 10 to right here, where it crosses this valley. Have them deploy there and await further orders. Second, get something in the air to scout that valley. Third, get those tanks in Prescott ready to re-deploy to the west, if the situation warrants. Fourth, alert the artillery we may be re-deploying assets and to find suitable setup areas to the west. Fifth, do the same with the other tank companies, and find roads that will get them to the combat area fast. Sixth, speed up the evacuation of the hostages. Seventh, if I’m right and the Chinese are pulling a fast one, I want the Army regiments to attack that convoy immediately. The idea is to seize as many of those fuel and transport trucks as possible. I’ve got a feeling they’re not all loaded with gas. Last, find that local, the man who guided the infiltration teams to the prisoners. See what he knows about this valley and whether it’s good tank country.”

  “Parfist?” Fleming said. “The evacuation has started and he was supposed to be on the first truck out.”

  “I don’t care how you do it. Just find him.”

  0454 hours

  Someone pulled aside the canvas flap. A man wearing night vision goggles pushed up on his helmet stuck his head inside the back of the truck. In the dim light he looked like a giant insect.

  “Richard Parfist, are you in here?” he said. “I need Richard Parfist. If you’re in here, it’s urgent.”

  Seated on the bench near the cab of the crowded truck, Lisa Parfist dug her nails into her husband’s left arm. She put a finger to his lips. Parfist patted her knee and pulled her finger away, kissing it. Even under all the gear, he recognized that man, esp
ecially his raspy voice. “I’m right here, Ghost.”

  “Could we speak for a moment, Mr. Parfist?”

  “Richard, don’t,” his wife said. “You don’t owe these people anything.”

  He smiled and kissed her cheek. “Sweetheart, if it wasn’t for them, you’d be learning to speak Chinese.”

  Once outside the truck, Green Ghost sketched the situation. “Have you ever heard of Skull Valley?”

  “Of course,” Parfist said. “I lived there for a few years, until Patton started raiding settlements west of Prescott. My dad was a forest ranger in the Bradshaw District… that’s the name of a mountain range. He taught me every rock and trail, and he even named all the cougars.”

  “There’s a road that leads into Prescott from the northwest. Old maps label it Highway 5. Do you know that road?”

  “I know every road in this area, including that one. The signs are still up.”

  “Good. I know you’re not an expert,” Green Ghost said. “But you see what our tanks are like. Do you think a large force of tanks could leave that highway and move through Skull Valley to come at Prescott from the west? Would that be doable?”

  “Skull Valley? The town? You wouldn’t have to go that far south; you could just cut across country, then pick up Highway 10 and follow it into Prescott. There’s some pretty thick woods through there, but there’s plenty of places to get through.”

  “Even with tanks?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’m sorry to ask this, Mr. Parfist, and you are free to say no. But could you guide us one more time and help us block those trails? If the Chinese are coming through there, in force, we need to put something in their way to slow them down. We need you. Your country needs you.”