Since the Gold Bloc soldiers could choose multiple approaches, that made it all the more important that Pete keep an eye on which way they were going. At the moment the young man reported that the enemy was moving up the slope a bit north of the aspens, so Matt had his people set up on the northern end of the emplacement. That was good, since that spot was a bit more open and had a better view between the trees below.
Once they were ready there wasn’t much to do but wait until the enemy came to them.
“It’s about time we see some action,” Pete whispered as he came up beside Matt. He’d abandoned his more vulnerable lookout spot once the enemy was close enough he might be spotted; they’d soon be in sight of the emplacement itself.
“Been looking forward to this?” Gutierrez asked from farther down the line.
The young man grinned fiercely. “Are you kidding? Ever since Lewis took out those blockheads at his shelter, I’ve been waiting for my chance to take a swing at the enemy. Bagging deer is nice, but I’d rather gun down the guys murdering Americans wherever they find them.”
Matt made a sharp gesture for quiet. “They’re in sight,” he hissed. “Remember people, this is an ambush. No noise. And stay out of sight until I give the signal.”
In spite of his warning he only saw the one blockhead. He needed Pete’s help to identify a few more spread out through the trees, making their way up the slope. The advance scouts for the larger party. Even with that help they were hard to pick out through the trees.
Matt had to hand it to the Gold Bloc soldiers. They moved slowly and stayed to cover, obviously wary of an ambush. They seemed to know what they were doing, too, to the point that he only caught glimpses of them and could easily believe that half the enemy scouts went unseen.
Unfortunately for the blockheads they had two serious disadvantages. First of all, even the best skulkers couldn’t stay concealed forever when they were on the move. And by the same token since Matt’s squad was already in place, waiting silently for the enemy, staying concealed was much, much easier.
The second disadvantage was that the enemy didn’t know this terrain, while he and his people had spent weeks going over it constantly. The blockheads wouldn’t know the likely ambush spots, and conversely Matt could guess where the enemy soldiers were moving concealed even though he couldn’t see or hear them.
After a minute or so of watching the soldiers approach Matt had to assume that Pete had been, understandably, wrong about the numbers. Going by the guess that he could only pick out half of them, there were at least two dozen of the enemy down there. Although he doubted he’d be able to confirm that number until they sprung their ambush, if even then.
His heart was pounding, his hands shaking. This was it. Davis and his Marines weren’t here to help, or even any of the other volunteers. It was just his squad, possibly outnumbered two to one, with only the advantage of surprise and a superior position to see them through the day.
Even against the raiders there’d always been the comfort of knowing he had the whole town at his back, so they heavily outnumbered Turner’s people. Here there was no such comfort. Abrams and his reinforcements were coming, sure, but at best they’d still be minutes away when the blockheads reached the ideal ambush spot. Matt couldn’t wait on that.
The forward scouts reached the aspen grove. As Matt had predicted they split around it, to stick to the better concealment of the densely forested slopes to either side. This close it was easy to scope their exact location, and he could’ve taken any of them out with a shot. From Pete’s expectant look it was obvious the young man was hoping for just that.
Matt waited. No point ambushing the scouts and letting the rest of the blockheads slip away. Or, even worse, circle around and flank them once they gave away their location.
The scouts finished skirting the grove and paused upslope of it, reporting in on their radios. At first Matt wasn’t sure why, but then to his delight he saw that the rest of the blockheads were breaking from cover to move between the aspens, darting quickly from one white trunk to the next on their way up the hillside.
The scouts had given the all clear on the grove, and the rest of the blockheads were risking the open ground so they wouldn’t have to laboriously pick their way over the deadfall beneath the evergreens. Matt didn’t blame them, since negotiating the clogged terrain slowed your pace to a crawl and presented its own risks. Still, he could barely believe their good luck.
Everyone turned to him expectantly, and Matt irritably motioned for them to focus on picking out targets until he gave the order to fire. He’d wait until the blockheads were near the top of the open area. That was partly so his people would have clear shots, which even the widely spaced aspen trunks would partially obscure deeper in.
But mostly it was so the enemy would be stuck with the unpleasant choice: of either bolting the rest of the way forward to safer cover against a hail of bullets, or retreating back the way they’d come. A much farther distance out in the relative openness between the aspen trunks.
Experience and the advice of competent people had driven home the point that timing was important, and he was going to make sure he put that lesson to best use here.
One nice thing about the enemy moving out into the open was that he could finally get a read on their numbers. As he’d predicted, Pete’s guess of a dozen was off by almost half. It was closer to twenty blockheads heading up the slope towards them, a full two dozen if he counted the scouts.
Speaking of which; Matt focused his own sights on one of the scouts, since they were already behind better cover and would pose a bigger threat once the fight started. The rest of his squad could handle the blockheads in the grove.
He waited a few more seconds for the blockhead stragglers to get high enough up into the aspens, sighting on his target all the while. By that time the scouts were getting ready to move out again, so they could stay ahead of the main force of blockheads. Which meant he was about out of time; it would be better to start this while they were still unmoving, easy targets.
“Fire,” he said, quietly but clearly. He suited his words by squeezing the trigger.
His target went down with a shot to the throat, and Matt immediately swung his weapon to the next nearest scout. All around him he heard the reports of more rifles as his squad opened fire.
Down below chaos erupted as blockheads dropped with screams of pain, accompanied by cries of alarm and warning shouts from their companions. Soldiers ducked behind the inadequate cover of spindly aspen trunks or bolted for something better, many making themselves easy targets just long enough to take a bullet of their own.
The braver or better positioned ones returned fire, including the scouts, but doing so only made them immediate targets. Such as the second enemy Matt aimed for, who popped out with his rifle pointing at someone farther down the emplacement. That put him in profile, and Matt hit him in the shoulder just below the protection of his flak jacket. The man dropped with a strangled cry, weapon flying away.
As he searched for signs of another scout popping out of hiding he heard a yell of pain from down the line. It sounded like Carl Mitchell, who the defenders all called by his last name to not confuse him with Carl Raymond. His guess was confirmed when Mitchell’s buddy Eddy Hanson cursed and began calling for help.
“Stay down and don’t make yourself a target!” he hissed. “Do what you can for him and I’ll call in for help.”
He wasn’t sure what help the sergeant could offer, since they were far off any road. Hopefully Abrams had brought someone who knew a bit of combat triage with him, so they could get Mitchell stable long enough to carry him back to camp.