That thought helped Voss endure the next eight hours as the column passed through Cokeville and turned east at the hamlet of Sage. It was flat country interrupted by low-lying ridges, perfect for cavalry. But it was a cold, heartless place, and Voss felt lost in it.
Finally, as the sky began to darken, they arrived in what was once the town of Kemmerer. It had been home to a couple thousand people sixty years earlier. But that was back before the nuclear exchange, sudden climate change, and the second civil war. There had been significant quantities of fuel back then, and a tank battle had been fought in Kemmerer. The hulks of burned-out machines stood as mute testimonials to a period when various states and combinations of states battled one another and ultimately reduced the United States of America to rubble. And now, more than fifty years later, people were fighting over the rubble.
As the animals were cared for and the tents went up, Voss made the rounds. The mercs weren’t likely to complain to his face, but Voss could tell that morale was still high, and he did what he could to keep it that way. Then he called the bosses into his tent, where he served up cigars and whiskey before getting down to business. A map had been spread out on a sheet of wood supported by two sawhorses. A cloud of blue-black smoke floated above their heads as Voss tapped the name Kemmerer with a grubby index finger. “We’re here, and Hashi’s headquarters are down here, in Evanston. So here’s the plan. Hawkins will take most of our men down Highway 189. At some point Hashi will be forced to respond. That’s when we kick her butt or, failing that, keep most of her people busy while I lead a company of men around to attack her left flank. If we can break through, we’ll turn in on her and attack from behind. Then, having hung her from one of her own windmills, we’ll take control of the power distribution grid. With that in our hands, it will be easy to capture individual wind turbines. If you have questions, speak up.”
The bosses had questions, but they were tactical rather than strategic. None of them were going to say something like, “Hey, Mr. Voss, why start a war?” Not while he could kill their families.
Once all the issues had been resolved and the mercenaries were gone, Voss could hit the sack. His bed was warm, but it was hard to fall asleep. Part of that was due to the aches and pains resulting from a long ride, but most if it had to do with a stomach-churning sense of dread. Was he right? Was he wrong? Nothing was certain. And the doubts followed Voss into dreams where armies clashed, men died, and blood stained the snow.
The mercs were up and working two hours before dawn in keeping with orders from Voss. That meant they were ready to ride at first light. After giving Hawkins some final orders, Voss led a hundred men west. It was cold but clear, conditions that Voss chose to perceive as a good omen. With scouts ranging ahead, the column snaked between snow-clad hills and eventually turned south.
When midmorning arrived, Voss hadn’t heard anything from Hawkins but hadn’t expected to. The radios they had weren’t much good beyond a few miles. So with a blue sky, and no news from the east, the sound of thunder took Voss by surprise. He turned to look at Boss Jones, a man with dark skin, high cheekbones, and a reputation for being tough. “What the hell was that?“
Jones frowned. “I don’t know, but it ain’t good. That’s for sure.”
The sound lasted for half a minute and stopped. Now Voss felt an emptiness where the pit of his stomach was supposed to be. But all he could do was keep going, execute his part of the plan, and trust that Hawkins would do likewise. Hopefully, no matter what had taken place on Highway 189, the sudden attack on Hashi’s flank would take her by surprise.
But fifteen minutes later Voss heard a high-pitched mosquito-like whine and looked up to see something in the sky. Although Voss had never seen an actual airplane, he had seen pictures of them and realized he was looking at a toy. No, not a toy, but a miniature plane. Why bother? Unless it could take pictures of his mercs! How many such devices did Hashi have? A dozen? No wonder her scouts had never been sighted… They could fly! A fact that had escaped Charlie. Or had she bought the traveling medicine man off? Voss felt a rising sense of anger but forced himself to push the thought off. Focus, he told himself. Focus on the situation at hand. “Shoot it down,” he ordered, and the mercs tried. A volley of shots rang out, but the drone was a moving target, none of the mercs were armed with machine guns, and the sun was in their eyes.
So the tiny aircraft completed a circle unscathed, waggled its wings as if to taunt him, and banked toward the south. At that point Voss faced a real dilemma. The element of surprise had been lost. Should he keep going or turn back? Much as it galled Voss to do so, the obvious choice was to go back, because if he continued, Hashi’s forces would be waiting to crush him. It was humiliating, but Voss had no choice. He looked at Jones. “Turn the column around. We’re going back.”
Jones shouted orders, the back of the column became the front, and the detachment was soon headed east. They rode hard, so that clods of snow flew away from the horses’ hooves, and jets of what looked like steam shot out of their nostrils. As they ran, Voss was gripped by a sense of dread. The thunder… What had caused the thunder?
It took a full hour of hard riding to learn the answer. As Voss and his men rounded a hill, he could see his riders—hundreds of them—and that made him feel better. Then, as a section of Highway 189 came into view, a scene of incredible carnage was revealed. Dozens of craters could be seen, along with patches of blood-soaked snow and large chunks of raw meat. Horses? Yes, but as Voss drew closer, he saw that human body parts lay about as well. Boss Howard galloped out to meet him. Both men pulled back on the reins. Voss spoke first. “Hawkins?”
“Dead.”
“What the hell happened?”
“The road was mined. There must have been fifty or sixty of them. We lost all of Company A and half of B. More than a hundred and fifty men altogether. There are wounded too. Some won’t make it.”
Voss felt light-headed. Sara had been right. Damn, damn, damn. “But how?” Voss demanded. “Surely we weren’t the first people to use the highway since the mines were planted.”
“They were command detonated,” Howard replied grimly. “Munitions like that were widely available back during the second civil war—and it looks like Hashi found a supply.”
No wonder the bitch felt free to raise her prices, Voss thought. She was ready for war. “Okay, so she had someone stationed here. Did we get him?”
Howard said, “Nope,” and pointed upward. And there, flying lazy circles in the sky, was a miniature plane. Having spotted the column, all Hashi had to do was push a button.
Voss swore. “We ran into one of those as well. That’s why we turned back.”
“Yes, sir,” Howard acknowledged, “and I’m glad you did. Truth is I wasn’t sure what to do. Who knows? Maybe there are more mines up ahead. We could ride parallel to the highway, but Hashi would be able to see that and respond.”
“There isn’t much we can do other than bury the dead and get the wounded back to Afton,” Voss said. “Then, next time we come down here, we’ll make Hashi pay.”
That was what Howard wanted. Clarity, confidence, and orders to follow. Voss eyed the man as he rode away. If only there had been someone to tell him what to do. But there wasn’t, so all he could do was watch as the graves were dug and say some awkward words as the bodies were lowered into them. It took a long time to bury that many people, so it was midafternoon by the time the column rode north.