“Hastings,” she said again, louder. “We should go.”
Hastings glared at Reynoso. He didn’t appear to appreciate the art of compromise.
“Go,” Liam muttered under his breath. “Come on, just go.”
His nerves raw, every sense on high alert, he waited, praying the hothead would back down. His scope remained zeroed in on Hastings’ skull, his finger on the trigger, the carbine solid and steady in his hands.
One wrong move, and he’d splatter the soldier’s brains across the cracked pavement.
With a curse, Hastings’ posture deflated. He spun and stalked back to the Humvee, his fellow soldiers covering him.
He motioned to the second vehicle before climbing in and slamming the door.
The Humvees backed up, then made a slow, ponderous U-turn before heading north on M-139.
No one moved until the rumble of the engines had faded into silence.
“They’re gone,” Bishop said on the radio. “Crisis averted. For now, anyway.”
Relief flared through Liam. It would be short-lived. If he knew anything in life, he knew Murphy’s Law.
Things were about to get worse.
Liam stood, wincing at the sting in his side. He shouldered his weapon and keyed the mic. “They’ll be back. Next time, they’ll bring their friends with them.”
12
Liam
Day One Hundred and Five
The next morning, Liam stood before four dozen new recruits.
Every day, more able-bodied townspeople volunteered to defend their homes and everything they loved. Fewer and fewer expected others to do it for them.
He’d brought them to the park by the river, where there was an open grassy area not yet used for crops or livestock. He trained them in smaller groups to ensure there were always security teams and sentries on duty.
As Army Special Forces, he had been one of the first to be inserted behind enemy lines. In Afghanistan, he’d done his share of training local populations to be insurgents fighting the Taliban.
Liam cleared his throat. “Today, we’re going to learn shooting and basic infantry tactics—which your lives depend on.”
Liam spoke simply since he wasn’t addressing trained soldiers accustomed to military jargon. “If the National Guard engages, don’t fire unless it is a last resort. We will not slaughter American servicemen while we have the choice. Not unless it’s saving a life.”
The ragtag group gave grim nods. They wore jeans and work boots, wrinkled jackets and dirty coats, hunting rifles and shotguns slung over their shoulders. Their expressions were anxious but not panicked.
They were bank tellers and teachers, waitresses and construction workers. Mothers and fathers. Neighbors and friends. Regular people who’d found themselves in extraordinary circumstances—and had risen to the occasion.
“The National Guard boasts sophisticated DF—directional finder—equipment that will triangulate automatically and give them our bearings. I don’t know if that equipment was shielded from the EMP. Assume it’s working and keep radio traffic to a minimum and switch frequencies often. Perez is going to provide you with those frequencies, call signs, et cetera.
“When you’re on duty, practice noise discipline. At night, we operate with light discipline. No cigarettes. Limit flashlights. No fires, which can be seen at long distances, especially with NVGs.”
“It’s in the thirties at night,” Ralph Henderson-Smith said. “We have to stay warm.”
Liam clenched his jaw in frustration. Not at him, but at the situation. “Do what you can. Try to shield the fires from the enemy’s potential line of sight. And do your best to stay in smaller, dispersed groups. Bunching in a tight group means one direct hit kills everything and everyone.”
Their eyes widened at that, but they were listening. It was sinking in.
“Other than the blockade sentries, stay as hidden as possible. If they can find you, they can kill you. We’ll improve our concealment from forward observers and drones.”
He prayed the General didn’t have drones or a Predator.
If they did, Fall Creek’s losses would be immense.
“We know they have armored and aerial assets, so we’re augmenting our base cluster defenses with mobile patrols and concealed fighting positions. You might have noticed all the holes we’ve been digging. A few of you have already spent some time inside one. Those foxholes can save your life.”
Liam glanced at Bishop. “Anything else?”
“I think that covers it for now,” Bishop said.