Desolation

The southern gate fell almost immediately afterward. Then, the northern gate. More enemy troops streamed into their town from every entry point. It was an unstoppable offensive.

Sylas Luther strutted in front of the tank, his only armor his giant-sized ego. To many of his men it appeared the tank was drawing cover from Sylas. His Number One was leading his troops through the southern gate, and his Number Two commanded those coming through the northern gate. Whereas Wimbly, his flagman and personal secretary of sorts, took notes and carried Sylas’s personal supplies and skulked behind him anticipating his every need. A flare gun appeared in Sylas’s hand, and without missing a step he pointed it skyward sending a green flare over the town: the signal, “We are in. March to the town’s center.” This was going to be easier than he thought. Sylas held up his hand for them to stop so that the remaining troops, advancing from the other gates, could catch up and all converge. They were just three blocks from the center. His other men, from the other columns, should be spreading out and processing down each main street, before ending on Grand Avenue, west of them, shooting anyone who moved, whether supplicant or aggressor. Five or ten minutes more and this place is mine.

~~~

Gene Larimore was on a rooftop a few blocks north of Grand on 1^st Street, and his wife Sue was a few blocks south. They waited patiently at their vantage points to “dispatch the targets,” as Frank Patton had instructed them. It was Frank’s method of detaching the reality of killing a human from the actual action of pulling the trigger, to make it more palatable. Sue preferred this kind of talk, but Gene didn’t. “Let’s call a damn spade a spade,” he’d yelled at both of them earlier today.

Both received a vintage Browning automatic rifle; each BAR had already dispatched many Nazi adversaries during World War II. Frank was quite the history and gun buff and supplied most of the town’s weapons for today’s battle. Were it not for him, the town would have had a mishmash of hunting rifles and handguns to hold back the invading hordes. Frank also selected their vantage points, two of the tallest buildings with the best cover and view along 1^st Street, where today’s adversaries would be traveling.

“And how in God’s holy name do you know this?” Gene had grilled Frank in front of his wife earlier. Stress and Frank’s simple military logic ran counter to Gene’s paradigm.

“Simple, we’ve blocked every street in town with cars and debris except 1^st Street and Grand Avenue.”

Gene’s anger boiled up. “Fine, but what makes you think they won’t just hop over your little barricades? If you’re wrong, they’ll come up from behind us and then me and my wife will pay for your mistake with our lives.”

“My wife and I,” Frank corrected, feeling a little surly. He didn’t have time to wag the dog with this stupid person, but he promised Sheriff Ralf he would try his best not to be acerbic. “I’m sorry, Gene. Look, Sheriff and I believe these people will either be very organized or just blood-thirsty. This is our best shot if they make it into our gates. Can we work together on this?”

Gene conceded, his head down, unwilling to look Frank in the eyes. “All right, sorry for being such a prick.”

Sue just smiled the whole time, mostly to cover her own dread, but also because she was embarrassed by her husband’s outburst.

“Okay, so with this plan, we can better focus our defense on the enemy in one place. But, once you start to fire, they’ll scatter. So, wait until you have the maximum number of potential casualties and spray them with your BARs.” They were nervous, but they were ready and felt like they were in a much better position than many of their fellow townspeople.

They both listened and watched intently at their own lookout points, rifle butts against their shoulders and ready to fire. They had shot these twice now, and felt comfortable enough with the weapons to be sure to strike what they aimed at. Because BARs are quite heavy and rest on their own bi-pods, Frank had explained, Sue and Gene would be less likely to miss when they were nervous.

Cannon and gun fire—even a few explosions—assaulted their senses from all sides; then, just periodic gunfire. Now, other than the occasional yelling and screaming of men around the town’s periphery, there was little evidence that they were under attack.

Sure as shit, after a time, the enemy was doing just what Frank had said; they were coming his way, having been diverted from all the other streets to 1^st Street. About twenty men surrounded a horse-drawn, flat carriage, with a large gun mounted on its back. All the men walked slowly, their heads, bodies, and weapons rotating like individual radar antennas searching the streets and buildings for targets.