If need be they could’ve tried hiding in the tunnel until things quieted down, or running under the cover of the remaining darkness. But either of those options was a disaster in the making.
After just a few trips his dad, Uncle George, and Martin split up and made their way over to each of the two new log houses and the shipping container. Once positioned at the entrances they pulled Molotov cocktails from their backpacks and crouched beside the doors, waiting with lighters ready.
It was possible the blockheads would have more useful stuff in those three structures, but the defenders had already been wildly successful with this raid and Lewis didn’t intend to push his luck. Especially not with dawn not far away. Besides, he wasn’t sure he was up for repeating what he’d done in the shelter just yet, even if burning was a worse way to go.
After what seemed like an eternity of watching the surrounding area and waiting his radio crackled with Travis Marsh’s quiet voice. “We’re ready.”
Lewis checked the trucks below. Sure enough, his people had gotten everything loaded into the five available vehicles and were waiting in the cabs. “Copy that, we’re on our way,” he said. Jane had already vaulted out of the observation post and was booking it down the hillside, and he hurried to follow.
With a soft whoosh the six Molotovs were lit, one after another, making the three men who held them somewhat painful to look at through night vision. Lewis tore the goggles off and stuffed them into their pocket on his combat vest, giving his eyes a moment to adjust to the early morning light. Almost immediately afterwards the trucks roared to life.
His dad, uncle, and Martin threw open the doors of the houses and shipping container, almost at the same time. They each flung first one, then another burning Molotov inside. Martin completed his task by slamming the shipping container door shut and ramming down the bolts on it to trap the blockheads inside, while the other two simply slammed their doors shut on the expanding fireballs and sprinted for the trucks.
Showing fairly good timing, the two lookout teams reached the vehicles only a few steps behind the firebomb team, and Jane actually beat them to it. They threw themselves into the backs of the nearest vehicles, with Lewis the last one on. As he pulled himself up inside Jane was already radioing the drivers to go.
The truck lurched beneath him, tires peeling out slightly as they roared away from the shelter at the best acceleration the heavy vehicle could manage. Lewis fell onto the bench and used it to keep his balance as he stared out the back, watching the growing fireballs of the houses and the smoke belching from the air vents on the shipping container. He couldn’t help the sense of loss he felt at the sight.
That was his home, something he’d built himself and one of his proudest accomplishments. It was where he’d been able to protect and shelter family and friends. Where he’d begun his married life with Jane and built happy memories with her. Where he’d been reunited with parents and sister and aunt and uncle and cousins he’d feared he’d never see again. It was the place he’d built all his plans for the future around, even during the times he’d been forced to leave.
Would he ever live there again? And if he did, how would he do it haunted by tonight’s memories?
Nostalgia and a sense of loss aside, Lewis had more reasons to regret looking back when he saw burning figures hurl themselves from one of the houses, then drop to desperately roll on the ground. He quickly looked away, feeling queasy.
The plan had gone off without a hitch. They’d stolen the weapons, gear, and supplies of dozens of soldiers, along with five trucks and anyone’s guess how much fuel. They’d also eliminated those dozens of threats without losing a single person. It was hard to think of any way the raid could’ve gone better.
Even so, the mood of those in the truck with him was somber as they roared towards Aspen Hill Canyon. Lewis could be satisfied by how things had gone tonight, but it was hard to feel proud of it. Although he had and still did firmly believe it was necessary, he wished it hadn’t been.
It would’ve been better if the blockheads had just decided enough was enough after the Retaliation, and focused on their own rebuilding efforts. Instead they’d opted for pushing the fight to every corner of the country they’d invaded, seeking vengeance and more territory. It was on their heads when their victims used violence to defend themselves.
The trucks rumbled on towards safety at the fastest possible speed. Rather than heading directly for the canyon, the drivers cut due west from their position to reach the road nearest the foothills. With any luck that would take them to safety as far as possible from the blockheads set up to guard the canyon’s mouth.
There was a good chance they’d had managed to carry out the attack on the shelter without any of the enemy radioing in a warning, and even if other enemy soldiers had seen the fires there might be some confusion about what was going on and where the threat was.
If their luck held the soldiers ahead might hesitate to fire on what looked like friendly vehicles, letting them escape without coming under attack. But even if they did have to dodge a few bullets the line of sight would be bad for the enemy, and once they were past them and into the canyon that was the last hurdle they had to worry about and they’d be home free.
Assuming the blockheads didn’t try to pursue them. But even after the night’s events Lewis doubted they could possibly be that lucky. The chance to use the demolitions charges Graham had set up to destroy the road, dropping an entire cliff on whatever vehicles chased them, was too much to hope for.
His prediction about the enemy being slow to get a clue about what was going on was a good one. The volunteers in the truck cabs radioed back to let them know that the vehicles’ built-in radios were full of chatter in another language, unintelligible but sounding confused.
It was impossible for them to tell if any of the questions or commands that broke through the chatter were directed at the five trucks making a beeline for the canyon. But as they sped along nobody opened fire on them, and no enemy trucks appeared in the distance speeding towards them.
At least until they reached the canyon road. Up to then they’d traveled with no sound but the roar of the engines, the jouncing of the trucks, and the rattling of loose supplies in the bed around him. But as Lewis watched the valley below out the back, looking for signs of anything out of the ordinary, he saw six trucks roar out from the emplacement guarding the mouth of the canyon.
“Heads up,” he said into his radio. “We’ve got incoming.”
The others in the back of the truck tensed up, crowding the entrance with their weapons as the truck lurched into a higher gear, pushing for the best speed the heavy vehicle could manage up the incline.
“They’re not stupid enough to follow us, are they?” Uncle George asked. “Even if they didn’t suspect we’ve got charges set to destroy the road, we can set up along any bend and shoot them to pieces. And for all they know we could already have people waiting to ambush them in the canyon with the Browning M2. And they don’t even know about our missile launchers.”
He was right, it turned out the blockheads weren’t stupid. The half dozen vehicles didn’t take the bait and follow them up the canyon road, which wasn’t too surprising considering their previous caution. Instead they found a convenient hill along the road Lewis’s volunteers had taken to reach the canyon, a safe distance from its mouth.
Even as he watched the trucks arranged their vehicles in a line, to protect the enemy soldiers who poured out of the trucks and began setting up fortifications there. He guessed that hill would become a permanent emplacement, to block against anyone else who tried to take that route. And sure enough, as the truck Lewis was in went out of view around a switchback, he saw that the blockheads were digging trenches and filling sandbags.