Reckoning

Uninvited Guests

Greg watches the streamers of smoke rising in the air. As he continues to observe from his elevated platform, another dark, oily plume appears, its dark smoke climbing rapidly. Then another… and another. He knows this sight, having seen it numerous times during his deployments overseas. It is vehicles being set alight by heavy caliber fire. Another dark cloud of smoke rises in the afternoon sky. The latest plumes are larger… whoever is causing them is heading his way and drawing closer.

“Driver…. go! Everyone hang on,” Greg yells into the interior. To the two standing by the side of the road, he shouts, “Follow us if you want, but I wouldn’t advise being here in about ten minutes.”

The Stryker lurches as it surges forward, throwing Greg backward. Glancing to the rear, he notes the two men they just encountered scurry to the doors of their vehicle. With a screech of tires and flinging gravel in its wake, the truck turns a one-eighty and follows. Satisfied that they are trailing, Greg shoves the two men from his mind and concentrates on the scene behind.

He doesn’t see any vehicles or airborne equipment, but the indication that they are around is unmistakable. It could be that they are friendly, but with only one armored vehicle and a single team, Greg isn’t sticking around to find out. Whoever is out there has more firepower than he can bring to bear…and they are using it.

“Where are we heading?” the driver shouts.

“Away from that,” Greg replies, pointing in the direction of the rising plumes.

“South it is.”

Greg is hoping that they can get clear of the area before they are discovered. Sensing that he is witnessing a battle between two opposing groups, one of which apparently raided Fort Carson and ‘liberated’ some of the vehicles, Greg has no desire to get caught up in it. He and his team could very easily be viewed as an enemy by either side and fired upon. Therefore, he wants to get some distance away from the forces that are carrying their battle in his direction.

As the Stryker gains speed, another dark, oily smoke plume blossoms skyward in the near distance. Whoever is out there is heavily armed. Greg stands in the cupola, focusing on the column of smoke with his binoculars. The jostling of the Stryker prevents a clear picture from forming; he can’t see any vehicles, though a dust cloud drifting upward indicates that someone is heading their way and coming at high speed.

Looking toward the mountains to the west, their eastern slopes rising sharply and hidden in shadow from the lowering sun, Greg thinks to gain some height in order to get a clearer picture of what is happening behind them. Looking at the map fluttering in his hand as a chill wind blows past, he sees that there aren’t any immediate roads leading west. Glancing to the rear once again, he notes that there aren’t any further plumes but the size of the dust cloud indicates that someone is still charging hard in their direction.

Nearing the northern outskirts of Pueblo, Greg orders the Stryker onto a highway heading west. The road advances into the heart of the Rocky Mountains through a gap between two monstrously tall ridgelines.

The pickup follows close behind and offset in the other lane to keep clear of the dust being kicked up by the large vehicle. The group quickly leaves behind any semblance of built-up areas. Industrial yards and large housing developments abruptly give way to wide-open, light brown barren plains, their starkness broken by a gullies and waterways streaming from the mountains to the west. Before long, the road begins to ascend, slightly at first and then steepening.

Ahead, a side road leads up one of the only hills rising above the plains. With Greg still unable to make out the type of vehicles behind, he orders the driver to take the road so that they can get a better look at what they’re facing.

“Sir, if we can see them, they’ll be able to see us,” the driver replies, slowing the Stryker.

“I’m aware of that but we need to know what we may be up against,” Greg states.

The large vehicle leaves the highway and immediately begins a climb up the side of the hill with the pickup following in their dust. Gaining a measure of elevation above the flats, Greg has the Stryker halted.

Standing atop the vehicle, his back chilled from cold air sweeping out of the mountains, he looks to the plain below through his binoculars. As he adjusts the focus, vibrations from the idling Stryker rise through the soles of his boots. Two faint dust clouds rise in the direction of Pueblo, a short distance to the east. One of the clouds continues south along the interstate, passing through the northern sections of the large city. The other, however, takes the same highway that he and the others turned onto.

Working the zoom level, Greg brings the approaching vehicles into clearer view. His heart jumps into his throat at what the sight brings; multiple columns of vehicles on the highway approaching at high speed; four Strykers and ten Humvees, with an accompanying tanker truck that is partially hidden. They are spread across all lanes of the road, their tires stirring the dust which drifts into the air behind them.

Looking closer at the larger armored vehicles, Greg notes the long barrels jutting in front.

Fuck me. That’s not good. They have 105mm cannons, Greg thinks as he looks to the other group heading south.

From what he is able to see of the second group, they appear to be made up of roughly the same number and types of vehicles. Quickly putting away the binoculars and clambering back inside, Greg gets the feeling that his small team was spotted some time ago. He hopes the two groups split because they don’t know where he is and are searching for him. He has no idea why they might be chasing him, but that’s not important at the moment. The fact is, there are a significant number of armored vehicles rapidly approaching and he’s not about to stick around to find out what their intentions may be.

“Get us the fuck out of here…and yesterday!” Greg tells the driver.

Greg glances at the others crammed together within the limited space of the interior. All eyes are on him; the ones they rescued wide open with fear, the soldiers waiting to hear what is happening. Shouting over the sound of the Stryker’s revving engine as it makes its way off the hill, Greg informs them of what he saw.

“We’re heading west into the mountains in order to create some distance from the nearest group and hopefully lose them. If we can gain enough space, we should be able to lose them when it becomes dark, which will be in a couple of hours,” Greg says, finishing his brief.

“We’re going to need fuel soon, sir,” the driver reports.

“Do we have enough to make it until dark?” Greg asks.

“We should have enough, sir. But we’ll need it shortly thereafter.”

“Very well. We’ll deal with that when it comes. We have a few full canisters that we can use if we need to,” Greg states.

Greg hopes that, if they can create a margin of distance between them and the armored vehicles to their rear, the group will give up the chase. After all, they won’t want to venture very far from their encampment just to chase down a lone Stryker. At the very least, if they can survive until darkness arrives, they’ll be able to lose the others on side roads. With these thoughts in mind as they enter the valley between the tall ridges, Greg has the Stryker pushed to full speed, sacrificing fuel consumption in order to gain some distance.

They cross several bridges spanning deep ravines created from the runoff of the surrounding peaks. The sun sinks behind the lofty mountaintops, sending flares of light streaking through the gaps. Rounding a corner in the road as it ascends into the higher terrain, a darkened outline of a city appears. Hidden in the shadows of a valley and nestled up against the sharply rising mountains to the west, the town spreads out on both sides of the highway.

“Sir?” the driver queries, slowing the Stryker.

Before, they had approached towns cautiously and circumvented them if possible.

“Push through it,” Greg orders. “We’re dealing with a certainty behind us compared with an unknown ahead.”

The Stryker lurches forward as the driver throttles up. Gaining momentum, they enter the outskirts of the city. Shadowy outlines of schools and shopping centers roll by on either side as the armored vehicle races along the split, multi-laned highway. Greg considers turning down one of the side streets leading farther into town, but a glance at the map shows that there is only one road leading in and out of the town. Gullies and ravines that surround the city will prevent any other escape. If the group behind notices their tracks leading off the main road, which they no doubt would, they can easily block off the city and corner them in the streets.

They pass several gas stations and small industrial complexes with semis parked in the lots. Greg notes these with a sigh, wanting to exit and drain their tanks of fuel. However, he doesn’t know if those behind are still chasing them or how close they might be.

Streets branch off the highway; the deep shadows of dusk covering the town prevent any clear view down them. On the far side of the city, the road makes a sharp ninety-degree turn and begins a steep climb up the side of a ridge. Standing in the open cupola, Greg feels the rush of cold air past his cheeks. With the sun disappearing behind the mountains, casting the land in shadow, the air quickly chills. As they gain altitude, he is able to see over the city to the east.

The gloom of the early evening prevents a clear view, but he sees unmistakable signs of the armored group entering the city on the far side. They have their blackout lights running which cast thin beams of light on the road just in front of them. At least one question has been answered, whoever is after them is still charging hard. And, with the Stryker climbing along the ridgeline, if they weren’t spotted earlier, they surely will be now.

Greg still doesn’t have the faintest idea why anyone would be chasing them or how they were spotted earlier. The worry he had upon leaving the base with such a small team is now coming to a reality. They can’t hope to stand up to a force such as the one rushing after them. Perhaps if their Stryker was one with a 105mm cannon instead of the .50 cal, the narrow valleys of the mountains would offer them the smallest of chances. They could lie in wait and take out the lead vehicle, effectively blocking the route until it could be cleared off to the side. In this way, they could conduct hit-and-run operations but, with only the .50 cal on top, there’s no hope of accomplishing anything except run.

Greg has no way of knowing what the status is of the two men following. For now, they’ll have to fend for themselves with regards to gathering fuel. Any delay will allow the ones behind to close in on them. Another hour will bring total darkness. They’ll have to stop soon after night falls to refuel their own tanks and then, hopefully lose their pursuers. The road ahead consists of two lanes leading through a mountain pass. It won’t be hard to guess which way they went, but there are a few choices farther along. That may slow down or lose their pursuers altogether, and they can opt to turn off onto one of the dirt roads leading into the hills. Greg is hesitant about that option as there is only one way in or out.

Angling farther up the ridge, Greg eventually loses sight of the town and of those chasing them. As they finally scale the climb and turn due west, the deepening shadows slow their ability to advance due to the diminishing sight distance. Not wanting to turn on their own black-out driving lights, they use the day-night thermal imaging in order to stay on the road, which is difficult to keep track of as the dirt covering the surface blends with the surrounding terrain.

Cresting the ridge, the road levels and crosses an upper plateau which allows the Stryker to pick up speed. At the end of the tableland, Greg comes face-to-face with his first big decision. The road splits; one road continuing west through rough terrain, the other heading to the northwest. It’s not a matter of whether to abandon the mission or not, that is no longer a factor. It’s a matter of which direction will help them the most.

If they turn to the northwest, they’ll be on a route back to the compound. Even though that trip will take days to accomplish, every mile will bring them that much closer. The route to the west will allow them to eventually make their way back to the south, which will put them closer to the route given to Jack.

Greg knows that Jack is a man of his word. He will be returning to pick them up as soon as he can. That could be any time now and may mean getting their butts out of the fire more quickly. Even though it’s the more obvious route, being part of the major highway, Greg decides to continue their flight west. If they need to, they can pick up a road farther on that will take them to the northwest.

Greg brings the Stryker to a quick halt and hops down. The two men in the truck pull up next to him. Without wasting words, Greg explains their situation to the two bearded men. He points up the road leading to the northwest and gives directions to the compound at Cabela’s. He can’t take the time to shepherd the two and directs them to take the road that will eventually lead them to the northwest.

With a word of thanks, the men take the suggested fork. Climbing quickly back in the Stryker, Greg orders the driver through the intersection. They will be heading west where the road begins a winding climb into yet another mountain pass. With the engine laboring up the incline, Greg looks back to see very faint lights emerge over the crest of the ridgeline behind. Although the other group hasn’t closed any distance, the team hasn’t gained any either.

The winding road traverses a ridgeline. A steep embankment on one side of the road drops off into a ravine, its depths hidden in darkness. On the other side, the land climbs sharply to the top of the ridge where stunted firs are only a shade darker than the surroundings. If they had more firepower, this would be the ideal location for an ambush. Situated on a corner, they would be able to hold this stretch of road indefinitely.

Instead, they must pass one ideal location after another. Their only measure of safety at this point is distance. Greg has no doubt at this point that the group following them is hostile. There is no other reason that he can think of for them to have followed for so long and so far.

Coming out of a ridgeline, they transit another small valley and enter into the mountains in earnest. Sheer, darkened mountainsides rise directly from both sides of the road. The result is that the ravine through which they are traveling is cast in darkness. Only the deep blue of the twilight sky above gives any indication that the sun hasn’t sunk below the horizon.

Just before entering into the pass, Greg stands in the frigid air to get a look behind. Sure enough, he is able to make out very faint lights from the hostile group to the rear as they drive along the meandering highway. Looking at their pursuers, Greg, for the first time, wonders if the choice to follow along this road in pursuit of him and his team is coincidental or if there is something else going on.

The highway follows the path of a river flowing adjacent to the road. The twists and turns as the stream follows the low points—the road following each change of direction—blocks any further view of their pursuers. The constant curves don’t allow the Stryker to get up to full speed. Greg hopes that the speed they are maintaining is faster than that of those following them. Traveling in a convoy generally lends to a slower pace which alleviates Greg’s apprehension to a degree. However, without anything to verify this, a gut-wrenching anxiety remains.

The small team, along with those they rescued, is all alone and traveling through an unknown mountain pass, far from home. If the ones behind them manage to catch up, it will be over in minutes except for the bleeding, screaming, and pain. They will just be bodies lying in or near a burnt-out hulk in the middle of the mountainous terrain. Perhaps never seen again, or become a place that kids come to explore and play on the wreckage.

Looking inside to see how everyone is doing, he observes that a couple of soldiers are napping with their heads tilted back against equipment behind them. The people they rescued are doing what they can to get comfortable within the cramped quarters, shifting to new positions frequently. Lacking is the normal murmur of whispered conversations when any group of people gathers.

The one thing Greg notes with satisfaction is the absence of panic in the eyes of those awake. There’s a measure of trepidation for sure. Not being able to see the entire picture outside as well as Greg, they are placing their faith in his ability to see them through this. Looking at them, he feels a tremendous weight. Having rescued them, he is responsible for their safety and he isn’t sure that he can provide that for them. That adds to the anxiety of the present situation. There isn’t any surprise tactical card he can play nor take any action that will turn the tables. They can only run and hope it’s enough.

Night finally falls in full force near a widening of the road at a place called Texas Creek. It’s really nothing more than a bump in the road with streams coming out of the mountains on both sides of the town to join with the river.

Having to rely on the day-night thermal imaging camera hampers their ability to progress quickly. Greg is apprehensive about using their lights to navigate with even though it will be just as easy to spot them should the group behind catch up.

No use making it easier for them, Greg thinks as they drive through the small opening in the terrain.

The highway is desolate with only an occasional small settlement breaking the starkness. Single gas stations with family-style restaurants next to them, their dirt and gravel parking lots empty, slide to the rear as the Stryker motors past them in the dark. These are towns which are likely to hold a few survivors but Greg has no time to stop and find out.

The group pursuing them appeared to have brought their own fuel supply and, even though they’ll have to stop in order to refuel, they’ll be able to accomplish this faster than the team. Greg hopes that they’ll have to do this soon, giving him time, which means distance, to do the same. That is the one thing that he’ll have to put into the hands of luck. It’ll either work out or it won’t. The choice of refueling or not isn’t an option. The control he does have over it is when they’ll do it, and even with that, he doesn’t have all that much.

Greg hasn’t spied any sign of their pursuers by the time the crowded slopes open up into another, larger valley. He hopes the others have reached the margins of their pursuit range and have turned back but he has the feeling that they are still following.

The road leads to a town nestled in the “V” of a triangular-shaped valley, the slopes opening to the left and right. The main road turns left and proceeds along the base of the surrounding hills with the city situated along the northern edge of the freeway. Quickly looking at the map, Greg notes another main road heading northwest around the eastern part of the town, intersecting another north-south highway a few miles away.

Greg has the driver turn onto a secondary road. He hopes to throw off the pursuit that may still be behind and to look for a hidden place to refuel. A couple of blocks along the road, a small industrial facility opens on the right with several semis parked in the rear. To the left, across the road from the complex, huddled underneath trees, the outlines of trailer houses are visible through the day-night camera.

Several vehicles sit in open-sided garages attached to the mobile homes with other cars parked in front. The branches of tall trees spread across the roofs as if protecting the structures, but the abodes themselves have an aura of abandonment.

Ordering the Stryker into the lot, Greg decides to take the risk of refueling. The armored vehicle turns into the dusty lot, taking care to proceed slowly so as to not create a dust cloud. Maneuvering to the back, Greg has the Stryker park behind the tractor trailers in order to hide their outline from view. From their vantage point, they’ll be able to see the lights of anyone emerging from the mountain pass before they reach the city limits.

“Okay, folks, this has to be quick. We’re going to refuel here as we may not get a chance farther down the road. I want three with the Stryker refueling from the canisters. The rest will siphon fuel from the semis, filling the empty canisters and carrying them back. We’re going to need everyone who can move to help with this. I want it to look like a NASCAR pit stop. I’ll keep watch on the road. At the first sign of our pursuers, we’ll drop what we’re doing and beat cheeks out of here,” Greg says as the Stryker lurches to a halt.

“A final word of caution. There may be night runners in the area. We can’t help that. I want someone with me to watch for them. If they appear, drop what you’re doing and make for the vehicle. They move faster than us, so no hesitating,” Greg states, finishing as the ramp lowers with a clang.

With chilled air rushing into the compartment, feet pound down the steel surface. The anxiety of being out at night takes hold as the group frees the fuel canisters and begins the siphoning and refueling process. Three begin pouring diesel into the half-full tanks as the others race to start draining fuel from the large tanks hanging from the sides of the semis. More than one head glances over a shoulder, nervous that night runners might be racing toward them. That fear is stronger than the group chasing them.

The clanking of the metal cans, the idling Stryker, and the scurry of movement carry across the dirt lot, echoing off the metal prefab buildings. Beams from flashlights waver from place to place as the group carries out their tasks. Greg wanted to keep the lights to a minimum but didn’t have enough NVGs to go around. It’s a risk they have to take in order to refuel. Given that they don’t have a choice about that, their only hope is to accomplish what they need to do quickly.

Several shrieks punctuate the night air, carrying over the adjacent roofs, and pass through the lot. Every movement halts and all eyes dart toward the sound before turning back to Greg. Greg turns from observing the pass entrance, a shiver running up his spine. Looking quickly to where the highway emerges from the tall peaks, he sees dim lights materialize in the magnified view of his binoculars. It’s time to go, in more ways than one.

“Okay, everyone, that’s our signal. Pack up what you’re doing and get inside,” Greg says, his voice only loud enough to be heard by those in the lot.

A bustle of noise ensues as the group scurries to carry their gear to the Stryker. One by one, the flashlights wink off. Shrieks carry in the darkness, closer this time. Gear is quickly stowed and feet once again pound on the steel ramp. Greg glances again at the approaching vehicles to find them already drawing near to the outskirts of the town.

Shrieks gain intensity and volume. Greg sees several night runners emerge from between the mobile homes across the street streaking in his direction, with more pouring into view behind those, their faces seeming to glow even in the darkness. The last of those with him scramble inside the Stryker. Greg hurries up the ramp as the first of the night runners enters the lot, their screams filling the night. The ramp closes and the latches are sealed as the first night runner hammers against the vehicle.

Greg rushes across the tangle of legs and bodies to close the cupola against the sudden assault. The Stryker rocks as the night runners throw themselves against the sides and clamber on top.

“Get us the fuck out of here!” Greg tells the driver. “And keep us out of view of the main highway.”

The vehicle surges forward, throwing the occupants against each other. Exiting the lot on a side street, Greg turns the camera to the rear. Behind, night runners are giving chase. Residential houses pass as the Stryker gains speed, creating a separation from the night runners. Greg briefly wonders, as the creatures fall farther behind, how the night runners will survive in this high-mountain town once winter arrives in full force. Looking past the horde chasing them, he doesn’t see any sign of the Strykers and Humvees that must have, by now, entered the town. Hopefully turning off the main road and keeping out of sight has helped lose that pursuit.

The secondary road turns to the northwest, angling through more of the town. A pack of night runners races out in front from a side street a block away. Not missing a stride, they turn as one, coming head on.

“Go through them,” Greg orders the driver.

Mom-and-pop store fronts pass along the sides as the Stryker rapidly closes the distance. At the last moment, the night runners dart to the sides, barely avoiding being taken under the wheels. Rapidly changing directions, the creatures turn to give chase but give up after a couple of blocks as the Stryker outdistances them.

Racing past the small downtown area, they enter another residential neighborhood. House after house, block after block, slides by until they leave the town and enter the surrounding countryside. The road passes once cultivated fields as it heads toward the north-south highway a few miles ahead.

As the high country road angles closer to the highway, which intersects the main east-west highway from which they entered the town, Greg focuses on the ever-nearing road.

“Fuck!” he shouts in frustration. “Driver, turn us around and be quick about it.”

On the other highway, the one they are endeavoring to get to, the one Greg hoped was an escape route, he sees dim lights from several vehicles that are racing across its surface.

People are thrown together as the brakes are applied. The Stryker leans from centrifugal forces as the driver turns the large, heavy vehicle on the narrow road. They exit the road, traveling down into a ditch before doing a one-eighty, climbing back onto the harder surface. As they work their way through the turn, Greg focuses on the number of vehicles traveling at high speed on the other road.

He counts their numbers and comes up short from the initial tally he made near Pueblo. That means some have turned back, are refueling at some location, or are coming through the town, where he and the others are now headed back toward. If that is the case, they could be trapped between the two forces.

Keeping an eye toward the vehicles on the road, he sees one of the Strykers slow. A bright flash lights up the night. A roaring, concussive noise engulfs Greg’s Stryker, jarring the vehicle and lifting it momentarily to the side. Pings and thuds from shrapnel bounce off the metallic skin, causing those inside to duck instinctively. If there was any thought that the pursuing vehicles might be friendly, that is erased by the shell exploding on the embankment next to the Stryker. The only positive note is that, if there were any night runners clinging to the top, they aren’t anymore.

The other vehicles along the road halt. Another bright flash from a Stryker leads to an eruption of dirt and smoke ahead, on the other side of the road from Greg and the racing Stryker. The range had obviously been adjusted with the shell passing just in front of the vehicle. Seeing the blast through the thermal camera, Greg is thankful that the Strykers firing on them aren’t equipped with TOW missiles.

Red streaks erupt from the roadway. At first, they seem to travel slowly across the dark landscape before suddenly picking up speed. The tracers lag and pass behind Greg’s vehicle. As the aim is corrected, the streaks of light begin impacting into the surrounding fields, falling short of their intended target. The road Greg is on angles away from the other vehicles and each second increases the distance between them. Moments after starting, the firing from the .50 cals mounted on the Humvees and Strykers cease.

With the stoppage of the .50 cals, the two Strykers accompanying the convoy increase their rate of cannon fire. Near misses jolt Greg’s Stryker as it careens down the highway. Turning his view toward the town in the distance, the thermal imaging shows several Humvees arriving at the edge of the city where they then come to a stop. Moments later, they are joined by two Strykers who emerge onto the highway leading out of the city.

“Off the road, now!” Greg commands the driver. “To the southwest.”

The Stryker veers to the right, canting heavily as it makes the high-speed turn. It jolts as it heads down an embankment and reaches level ground. Crashing through a fence and entering a field, the Stryker plows through the tall grass of whatever agricultural product was planted last.

The second group from the vicinity of the city adds its fire to those of their comrades. Explosions blast dirt and grass up and outward around the Stryker. Those inside hear metal shards ring off the hull from near misses. One piece slices through the metal skin just above the heads of those sitting on the benches, imbedding itself into the opposite wall with a solid thwack.

“Everyone down,” Greg calls. To the driver, he adds, “Keep it floored and be damned about what lies ahead.”

Attempting to throw off the aim of those firing on them, the driver weaves randomly as they race through the field, jostling everyone inside. The Stryker lifts off the ground, becoming momentarily weightless before slamming back down. Several screams fill the interior. Greg is thrown against the forward bulkhead, smashing his head against it. As the vehicle stabilizes following the too-near miss, he feels a painful, burning sensation on his forehead. A warm trickle makes its way down between his eyes and the bridge of his nose. Wiping his head with the back of his hand, he sees a red smear of blood on his glove.

“Motherfuck,” he mutters.

His ringing ears mute the noise of the thundering explosions outside. However, it’s not enough for him to miss the driver shout, “Hang on.”

Entering a thin screen of trees, the Stryker encounters an embankment lining a large stream. The nose drops sharply and the vehicle hits the water with a tremendous splash. Greg is thrown forward, hitting his head once again. Momentarily stunned, he can only think that they’ve taken a direct hit.

The wheels gain purchase on the rocky bottom and the Stryker heaves forward, gaining the far embankment. Straining up the bank, the vehicle slams down, finding level ground once again. Regaining his senses, Greg sees that they’ve entered another thin line of trees. The Stryker accelerates through adjoining farming fields. Looking toward the two groups assailing them, he notices that the trees along embankment are blocking any direct line of sight. The explosions, which ceased when they entered the first tree line, don’t resume.

Having left their field of vision, Greg can envision the two groups desperately racing down the roads to block him before he can gain either highway. The narrow, steeply embanked road that the first group is on will hinder their reversal. The second group will have to navigate the streets of the town to get back to the highway. Providing nothing interferes with their progress, Greg has the most direct angle to the crossroads, perhaps gaining them a little time and space. The race is on.