Judgment Day (Book 3): Retribution Read online

  “Someone’s doing the job for us. Phoenix is under attack by rebels, according to Captain Lacey. They won’t expect us. I think it’s time for a little retribution.”

  “Are they helping?” Vince asked, nodding to the railroaders.

  “Yes.”

  Vince nodded. He was ready for a little retribution himself. “Okay. I’m in, but first you have to see Renda or she’ll come looking for us.”

  Mace turned to Soweta. “You and your men go on to Wellton. We’ll meet you there later today.”

  “According to Lacey, the train is due in Phoenix in ten hours,” O’Malley reminded him. “That would put it in Wellton in about six hours. Don’t be late. If you’re not there, we’ll take the train on in to Phoenix. I’ll not be responsible for these men’s deaths for no reason.”

  “We’ll be there,” Mace assured him.

  O’Malley stared at Mace for a long moment. “Okay, I trust you. We’ll leave now.”

  Vince watched as the railroad crew boarded the crane and proceeded north along the track. “I’m sure there’s a story there. You can fill me in on the way back.”

  Mace slapped Vince on the back. “Good to see you.” He looked at Cy and smiled. “Thanks for coming.”

  Cy grinned. “Renda was worried about you.”

  All four loaded into the jeep. “I have a short stop to make before we return,” Vince said. “We could use a little more firepower.”

  Agua Caliente, Arizona

  Renda felt as if her insides were trying to crawl out, and in a way, they were. Her contractions were less than a minute apart and lasting longer. With each spasm, Erin urged her to push harder. The baby badly wanted out and she wanted nothing more than to help it into the world. She regretted not accepting Erin’s offer of a local painkiller, but it was too late now.

  “I’m pushing as hard as I can,” she hissed through clenched teeth, and then took in a lungful of air to prepare for another push.

  “I know. I’m sorry. I’m nervous. This is my first baby,” Erin admitted.

  “It’s not like I’ve had a house full,” Renda reminded her. She bit down on her lip as another wave of pain seized her. “Oh God!” she moaned.

  Of all the people now swelling the camp, only Dale Cuthbert seemed to know anything about childbirth. The technician hovered over her like protective nurse, wiping her perspiring forehead and squeezing her had during the contractions. Susan McNeil, whom Erin had chosen to help her, had almost fainted early on, forcing Erin to send her outside for air.

  “You’re doing fine,” Cuthbert said gently, “it’s almost here.”

  “He’s right,” Erin said. “You’re at 10 centimeters, fully dilated. One more good push.”

  Renda pushed, dragging Cuthbert closer as she grabbed his arm. Pain swept through her. She dug her heels into the makeshift stirrups Elliot had cobbled together using a photo of a delivery table as a guide.

  “I can see the head,” Erin shouted.

  Renda saw stars. Her vision was blurred and her pulse pounded in her ear. She fought to keep from passing out.

  “It’s coming! One more push.”

  Just as she thought the pain could get no worse, it did. Then, she felt the baby leave her cervix.

  “It’s a girl,” Erin shouted, “a beautiful girl.”

  She heard a slap and a baby’s cry. Tears rolled down Renda’s cheeks but not from the pain. She fell back on the table exhausted. She had done it. She had delivered Mace’s baby. Now, she could die contented. But she didn’t die and the pain didn’t go away. Every muscle in her body ached. She listened to the crying and smiled.

  “Thank you, God,” she whispered.

  21

  Outside Phoenix, Arizona

  When Colonel Schumer received word that his tanks had broken through the hastily positioned Phoenix tanks south of Black Canyon City, he refrained from shouting with joy knowing that the worst was yet to come. There was no time for jubilation. His helicopters keeping pace and flanking the convoy had reported air traffic on their radars – F-16s. He could not afford to stop or disperse his convoy in spite of the imminent threat of air attack. Schumer could only thank his good luck that controlling the air space around Phoenix from attack had not been uppermost in General Hershimer’s mind. He had access to all the jets mothballed at Davis-Monthan in Tucson, even though he might not have enough trained pilots to fly them. Had he concentrated on increasing his air power, Schumer’s more vulnerable rolling column would be at a serious disadvantage.

  After the earlier attack, Schumer had radioed Salt Lake City to launch his own small fleet of A-10 Thunderbolts, also known as Warthogs by the pilots that flew them. Even though he had stripped them of their GAU Gatling guns, they were still formidable weapons platforms with their impressive array of air-to-air missiles. At the first sign of trouble, he would order them in, but he could not keep them in the air much longer and hope for them to reach Salt Lake City with enough fuel to land safely.

  The attack came with little warning from two separate directions – west and south. From the south, five F-16s swept down from the clouds firing AGM-65 anti-tank missiles, destroying two tanks and damaging two more. Gatling gun fire from the trucks brought down only a single attacker. Four more F-16s attacked from the west hugging the ground to avoid return fire. They raked the column with machine guns scattering defenders. Two trucks went up in flames. Schumer saw a few survivors race from the trucks before the fuel tanks exploded. This time, all four jets got away. He knew he could not stand many such attacks.

  “Bring in the Thunderbolts,” he told the radio operator. He hated to commit them to battle this early, but saving them might cost him his entire convoy.

  They were more prepared for the second attack. A barrage of tank shells and Gatling gun fire brought down on jet and damaged a second. It turned and flew away, black smoke trailing from its engine. Even this did not stop the attackers. Two more tanks and several more trucks exploded as more air-to-ground missiles and accurate machinegun fire made deadly contact. As the remaining F-16s began their third attack run, his own A-10 Thunderbolts joined the fray. Armed with AIM-9 air-to-air Sidewinder missiles, the Warthogs plowed into the attacking formation with a vengeance. The F-16s broke off the attack on his convoy and scattered. It became an aerial dogfight at speeds difficult to follow because of the low-lying clouds. Flashes of light, followed by loud booms indicated hits or near misses by one side or the other. He could only hope that it was not his side suffering the losses. One F-16, intent on avoiding the Stinger missile fired by an A-10 Warthog, flew directly into a barrage of GAU Gatling gun fire and exploded. Two more became victims of accurate Sidewinders.

  His A-10s did not escape the battle unscathed. One took an Aim 120 AMRAAM (Advanced Medium Range Air-to-Air Missile) missile in the rear and exploded in a blazing fireball. He watched the flaming wreckage crash into the desert. He had known the A-10’s pilot, a young woman with long red hair that loved reading poetry. He had lost many people today that he knew personally, but he could not let that stop him. He was their commander and had committed them to battle. Now he could only see that their deaths were not in vain.

  The AH-64 Apache helicopters, using the contours of the canyons as cover, sneaked into the fray and quickly turned the tide of the battle. The choppers provided a stable firing platform for their 30mm M230E1 chain guns and AIM-92 Stinger missiles. Three more F-16s fell to this withering assault. Finally, the F-16s had had enough. They regrouped and headed south in defeat.

  Cheers erupted from the men and women around him. He did not try to stop their spontaneous exuberating but did not join in. As the numbers of casualties came in, he wept openly – forty-five dead and twenty-one wounded. The number could have been far worse. He ordered the A-10s back to Salt Lake City for refueling. He suspected he would need them again before the battle was over. He refueled the helicopters two at a time from fuel trucks, keeping three in the air to protect the convoy.

  They did n
ot have time to lick their wounds, nor could he give General Hershimer time to lick his. Grabbing the radio, he said, “Move the tanks forward.” He gave the map coordinates of the intersection of Piestewa Freeway, named after the first Native American killed in Iraq, Lori Ann Piestewa, and I-10, also known as Papago Freeway, the old name for the Tohono O’Odham tribe. The position was less than three miles from the Phoenix airport and downtown, the two strategic locations of the local military. Both would be well within range of his tanks and artillery. It would also place them in a no-retreat situation. If he failed to secure a foothold quickly, they could lose the battle.

  He turned to Bahati. “Coptic Christians have the same God as regular Christians don’t they?” he asked.

  She looked perplexed by his question but answered, “Yes, the same God.”

  “Good. Will you pray with me?”

  Phoenix, Arizona

  General Hershimer was so livid when he received the news of the ill-fated attack by his F-16s that he threw his crystal paperweight across the room. It passed within inches of his aide, Sergeant Reid, and shattered against the wall. Reid grinned, but quickly dropped it when he saw the look of anger on the general’s face.

  “That upstart ditch digger just blew away my air force. He has dedicated soldiers and I have a base filled with pencil pushers and medical personnel.”

  Reid could not resist cracking a corny pun. “Maybe he’ll dig in.”

  Hershimer scowled at Reid; then smiled. “Perhaps you would like to go to the front lines, Sergeant.”

  Reid gulped and stuttered, “N-n-no, sir. I’m a pencil pusher, sir.”

  Hershimer pushed away from his desk and walked to the window. The sky was gray with the threat of snow – perfect weather for a sneak attack. His forces were divided between downtown where the medical facilities were located and the Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport. Defending both could prove difficult. He could not abandon the airport. He might need it to ferry in reinforcements. However, the reason for moving the munies to Phoenix was to make it the center for vaccine production and distribution. He could not afford to let it fall into enemy hands.

  He knew that the reason for the attack was to release the munies. Colonel Schumer and General Perry had made their feelings on the forced detention of munies abundantly clear. The President and his advisors did not agree. Perry had been dealt with. It was up to him to eliminate the colonel.

  “Sergeant, order the F-16s to Luke.”

  Luke Air Base, west of the city, served as an auxiliary field. Sending the F-16s to Luke would remove them from danger and keep them nearby for emergencies.

  “And bring my car around.”

  Sergeant Reid, in an attempt to put himself back into Hershimer’s good graces, snapped a crisp, military salute. “Yes, sir.”

  In the backseat of his personal Humvee, General Hershimer surveyed his domain. Phoenix airport was operational. Downtown was clear. The trains were beginning to run. The future had been looking bright for him. Now, it could all tumble around his ears. If he failed to repel the rebels or showed any sign of incompetence, the Brass would remove him just as they had General Perry. He would not let that happen. He had delayed the special train from San Diego once. He could not afford to delay it again. The train must roll, attack or no attack. If the President suspected that he could not insure its safety, he might as well slip into civilian clothes and find a deep hole to hide.

  He had his driver stop the car beside a harried-looking second lieutenant. The lieutenant saw the markings on the vehicle, stood at attention and saluted. The general rolled down the window and read the man’s name patch – H. Simpson.

  “Lieutenant Simpson, I want you to take twenty men to the marshalling yard and guard it.”

  The lieutenant’s salute wavered slightly as he leaned forward to ask, “The marshalling yard, sir?”

  “Damn it, Lieutenant! Yes, I said the marshalling yard. A train is due to arrive in a few hours. I want it secured as soon as it arrives.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Simpson stood there staring at the general’s car as it sped away wondering why he was guarding a train when an army was advancing on the city. He didn’t wonder long. He yelled at the first men he saw.

  “Find Sergeant Weiderman. Tell him to grab twenty men and get his ass to the motor pool ASAP.” He thought a second, and then added, “Tell him to bring a couple of 30mm’s.”

  If the general expected trouble, he should at least go in prepared.

  22

  Agua Caliente, Arizona to Wellton, Arizona

  When they arrived in Agua Caliente and Mace discovered that he was now a father, he rushed to Renda’s side giddy with excitement. When he saw her lying in bed so pale and weak, he stopped and stared. He had never seen her look so helpless. He realized that the birth must have been a hard one. She was groggy from her ordeal and the sedative she had finally relented to allow Erin to administer, but she was awake. Even in her drugged state, she wasted no time in admonishing him for his prolonged absence.

  “Leave it to you to be gone when your baby’s due.”

  He fought back his concern and smiled. He sat down beside her bed and clasped her hand. It felt soft and delicate, but cold. “I didn’t know,” he said as he leaned over and kissed her knuckles gently.

  “Well at least you made it back in one piece. I was beginning to worry.”

  He laid her hand on the bed but continued to grasp it. “Vince found me. He was afraid to come back without me.”

  “He damned well should have been.” She reached over with her other hand, pulled back the blanket to reveal his new daughter asleep by her side. “It’s a girl, six pounds and eleven ounces. She has blonde hair and green eyes. I want to name her Tia.”

  Mace smiled as he gazed down at his child. My child. She was so tiny and delicate, so beautiful. Overcome with emotion, he choked as he said, “Tia sounds nice. She’ll be strong and beautiful like her mother.” He reached out to touch her but hesitated seeing his grimy hands.

  “Tia, meet your father. Mace, meet Tia. I hope you two get along.”

  “We’ll be BFF, all three of us.”

  Renda chuckled. “BFF? Since when did you learn text lingo.”

  He shrugged. “Looking to the future.” He didn’t understand why Renda suddenly frowned and teared up, but suspected that it had something to do with what he had to tell her. She always seemed to know when he was hiding something. He took a deep breath and blurted, “I’m afraid I’ve got bad news.”

  “What is it this time?” she asked, sniffed and wiped her eyes with her hand.

  He understood Renda’s disappointment in him. He should have been with her at a time she needed him most. Instead, he had abandoned her for what he felt was a more compelling duty. Now, he was telling her of another such duty. “There’s a train load of munies headed for Phoenix. We have to stop it.”

  Renda rolled her eyes and looked away. Her voice was flat and even but filled with frustration. “Just like that?”

  “Well, I made a few friends, railroad men. They’re going to help.”

  She lifted herself from the bed on her hands and stared at him. “There’s more you’re not telling me.”

  He tried not to flinch under her reproachful gaze. She had every right to be angry. He was a new father and he was already deserting her. “There’s a rebel army attacking Phoenix. If we take the place of the munies, they won’t be expecting us. We could make a difference.”

  Renda sighed and collapsed back onto the bed. Tia stirred beside her but fell back to sleep. “Are you trying to die? I understand freeing the munies. I really do, but attacking Phoenix … are you mad?”

  “If we hijack the train, the military will just come after us. If we help the rebels, we might just end this constant threat that we live under. We can start over.” He glanced at Tia. “What kind of life can she expect if we don’t take this chance? I would like to see her grow up, go to school, get married.”

  Ren
da turned away and whispered, “So would I.”

  Mace did not detect the sorrow in her voice. “Then we have to go, all of us.”

  “Go on, fight your fight. You would never be happy if you didn’t.”

  “Babe, I … I have to tell everyone.”

  “Go on,” she said more firmly.

  He leaned over to kiss her, saw the tears staining her cheeks, and felt sorry for her. She deserved a better man than he was. A good husband would be more concerned about his wife and new daughter, not a trainload of strangers. How could he explain that he saw a chance to end the military tyranny and return power to the hands of survivors? Defeat Phoenix and the other city bases would fall. They still needed the military, but as an ally, not a threat.

  “I’ll be back soon,” he said.

  She didn’t answer. He walked to the door fighting the urge to look back, knowing that if he did, his will would fail and he would remain by her side.

  Outside, he saw Vince speaking with a small crowd, outlining the plan he had developed on the trip back to Agua Caliente. All eyes turned to him expectantly as he stepped through the door. He knew that he was not good at making speeches. He could not sway them with poetic phrases or lofty ideals. He decided to keep it short and to the point.

  “A few miles from here, hundreds of people just like you are being used like cattle, the same fate most of us would face if the military captured us. Some of you have suffered this fate. We have the opportunity to end this threat. A rebel army is attacking Phoenix.” He waited for the excited murmurs to die down. “They won’t be expecting us. I think we have a good chance of getting in undetected. If you’re willing to fight for your freedom, for your future, then come with me.”

  A few heads nodded. People whispered to their neighbors. Mace couldn’t get a good sense of their attitude. Had he swayed them?

  Vince stepped forward with Amanda close on his heels. “I’m in.”