She showed them on the map which route she intended to take, and gave them one of the radios, along with code words in case Red or Green Companies were listening in on Blue’s designated channel.
As soon as the runners had left, she assembled the Company. “Listen up, everybody!” she said loudly, conscious that her soft voice did not carry well. To her ear she sounded ten years old. She held up the map. “We are marching cross-country, skirting this big swamp and these hills. Maybe twenty miles or a little more. It is rough country and it will be slow going, but we should make it to Killarney Bridge in plenty of time. The key is stealth. If we can get there unseen, we’ll have a huge advantage. Red and Green will have some patrols out, but I am betting that most of their forces are tied up either defending the bridge or setting up ambushes along the river road.” Emily paused to take a breath. The troops in Blue Company watched her intently. Please, she prayed silently. Let me do this without screwing up too badly.
“I’ve sent runners for more food and ammo. With luck they’ll catch up to us in four or five hours. For now, everyone get a drink of water and have something to eat. If you are carrying a water bottle, share it with someone who doesn’t have one. Fill it every time we pass a stream. We leave in ten minutes.”
Emily called together the platoon commanders and Brill spread his map out on the ground. She pointed a hill directly overlooking Killarney Bridge. “I am calling this hill ‘Sunflower.’ If I were Red and Green, I would have people up there with binoculars. It gives a good view of the river road and some view of this area as well. We are going to have to stay in woods and dead ground until sunset. The enemy will certainly have occupied it. If we are to attack the bridge, we are going to have to take that hill first.”
They discussed the best route, finally decided on skirting between the two swamps, then entering a large ravine that ran close to Sunflower. Emily sent out flankers and scouts, armed with binoculars and radios. She warned them to stay off the radio except in extreme emergency. She tried to reach Gold Company without success. As the rest of Blue Company moved out, Emily checked her watch. The Gold Company convoy had to be at Four Corners in less than twenty-one hours.
The day was hot. Much hotter than she had expected. Water was going to be a problem. They crossed two small, dusty stream beds before they reached the gap between the swamps. Even the swamps had retreated under the summer sun, leaving vast sheets of hard-caked mud. Everyone was sweating and they were rapidly going through what little water they had. The Company slipped through the gap between the two swamps, then turned north. Well off to the east, they could see the hill Emily dubbed “Butterfly,” beyond which would be the river road. She tried to reach Gold Company again; still no luck. Somewhere ahead of them was Sunflower and the Killarney Bridge.
Five hours later, as they crept through a stand of pine trees, one of the scouts ran back to them, flushed and breathless, to report an enemy patrol less than a mile away, crossing the open ground in front of the forest.
“We can take them out!” Skiffington said. “We can lay an ambush and they’ll never know what hit them.” He looked thrilled at the prospect of a fight.
Emily shook her head. “Our target is the bridge. As long as they don’t know where we are, we’ve got a chance. One radio call from this patrol and they would swarm all over us.”
They sat and waited for ninety minutes until the patrol left the area. Skiffington grumbled and chaffed at the inaction. Emily was glad of the rest. The water was almost gone and many in Blue Company were painfully thirsty. They had at least ten more miles in front of them and she wasn’t sure all of them would make it.
Then they caught a lucky break. While they were waiting, the four runners sent to fetch supplies caught up to them. They carried full packs bulging with ammunition and food and collapsed to the ground, chests heaving.
Emily tore open one of the packs and dozens of battery packs spilled out. A second pack had two hundred ration bars and the third pack had more batteries.
“And a special surprise,” one of them, Odackal, said. Emily made a “tell me” gesture. Odackal smiled and opened his haversack to reveal bottles and bottles of water. Emily felt a rush of relief.
“Oh, thank God!” she exclaimed. “I could kiss you!”
“Hmmm…Really?” Odackal raised one eyebrow in amused question.
Emily snorted. “Just a figure of speech.”
“When we got to the base, we were all dying of thirst, so we figured that a little water wouldn’t be a bad idea.” He looked sheepish for a moment. “On the way back I had to drink two bottles just to keep going.”
“You did great.” Emily distributed the ammunition and made sure everyone had some water. By the time they finished, it was full dark.
Cookie joined her then, carrying a map. She calculated they were ten or twelve miles from Killarney Bridge. “Moon will be up soon, enough light to travel, at least for a few hours. We could be at the bridge by dawn if we push.
Emily smiled. They had ammunition, food and enough water to keep them going. And they had not been spotted by the enemy. They could do this. They could take Killarney Bridge with hours to spare.
Eight hours later, Emily sat back in despair. There was no way she could take the bridge by assault. None at all.
They had reached the top of Sunflower just before dawn, only to find four Green Company soldiers sound asleep. They were “killed,” then woken and told to stay off the ridge so that their comrades on the bridge would not see them Flashing Orange Forever. One of them had a radio, which Emily gave to Kimball. “If anyone calls looking for a report, just tell them you don’t see anything,” she ordered.
Now Emily lay atop the ridge, binoculars to her eyes, studying the bridge through the first light of dawn. Cookie and Hiram lay beside her, touching hip to hip. The other platoon leaders waited just behind them.
“I would kill for a cup of coffee,” Hiram grumbled. He swung his binoculars the length of the bridge. “My, my…they have been little busy little beavers, haven’t they?”
Emily stifled a curse. The bridge was small, only the length of a football field, and only one lane in each direction. The Green and Red soldiers had dragged tree trunks and rocks to block off both ends of the bridge, rendering them impassible to the trucks in the convoy. Also, at each end of the bridge there were two roughhewn bunkers, built from more logs, with firing slits cut into them. Blue Company was armed only with the Bull Pup laser rifles. There were no grenades, mortars or artillery. To take out a bunker they would have to storm it, then physically tear open the bunker walls and kill the defenders. Each bunker was positioned so that it could fire on anyone attacking the other bunker. As they watched, more “enemy” soldiers carried logs onto the middle of the bridge, where they began erecting yet another barricade.
Emily shook her head. It was just too much. Her troops would be swept with fire the moment they started down the hill. Once on the bridge they would have no cover at all and would be charging into fortified positions defended by twice the number of soldiers at her command. It was exactly the type of stupid frontal assault that she had criticized others for. So…so…
So who says it has to be a frontal assault? What if they by-passed the bridge altogether? But where, and how? She brought the binoculars back up to her face and began to scan the bridge pilings. The pilings were made of cement. They were large, round and dirty. No, she realized, not dirty, but stained. There was a clear water line mark about six feet above the water.