World War III (50 page)

“Thanks,” said Ian. “What do you think baby?”

“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” cheered Jessie. “Thank you!”

“My pleasure,” smiled Shiloh. “Sheila would’ve loved for your wedding to be the first. I only wish she could be here to see it.”

“I’m sure she will be,” said Rupert. “She’ll have the best seat in the house,” he added, pointing to the heavens above.

“That’s right,” agreed Shiloh.

“Will you stop by my house after?” Whispered Dakota, taking Billy’s hand in hers.

“Um, yeah, sure I will,” said Billy, blushing once again.

“Thanks.” Dakota stood on her tippy-toes and kissed Billy on the lips. Her lips felt soft and moist against his, and tasted like watermelon. “Be careful Billy Higgins,” she whispered. Without waiting for a response she turned and left, leaving Billy standing alone and longing for another kiss.

“She’s quite a young lady,” replied Sampson, when Dakota was gone. “She’ll make a good wife one day, if you can tame her,” he added, with a wink.

“Oh yeah,” said Billy, glancing at the older man. “Have you ever been married Mr. Sampson?”

“Nah,” chuckled Sampson, as he poured himself another cup of coffee.

“What about love, have you ever been in love?”

“Once,” replied the old man, thinking back to a distant time. “In my younger days I worked as a cowhand. That year was the hottest summer on record and I was driving a herd of cattle across the panhandle in Texas. I rode passed this small farm, oh around sundown maybe, and saw a young woman out in the fields. She was down in the dirt, working on her hands and knees. I stopped and watched, as she stood up to stretch her back. She was wearing a little white cotton dress and the setting sun was right behind her, showing the shape that God had given her.”

“What happened?” Billy asked, full of intrigue.

“Nothing,” replied Sampson, taking a sip of coffee. “I just turned around and rode away.”

“But why?”

“I figured it wasn’t gonna get any better than that.”

“Yeah but, you could’ve been with her,” said Billy.

“I’ve been with a lot of women,” replied Sampson, wrapping his hands around the cup of coffee.

“Yeah, but she could have been, ya know, the love of your life,” exclaimed Billy.

“She is,” stated Sampson.

“Wow,” said Billy. “You passed up something that could’ve been terrific.”

“My choice,” said Sampson.

“I never could’ve done it,” admitted Billy.

“And that’s your choice,” grinned Sampson. “Do you know what the secret to life is son?”

“No, what?” asked Billy.

“One thing,” said the old man, holding up his finger, “just one thing. You stick to that one thing, and everything else in life don’t mean shit.”

“Well that’s great,” smiled Billy, “but what’s the one thing?”

“Well that’s what you’ve gotta figure out,” smiled Sampson. “It’s different for every man.”

“What’s your one thing?”

“It doesn’t matter,” replied Sampson, gulping down the remainder of his coffee. “Knowing mine won’t help you find yours. Come on son,” he added, patting Billy on the back, “let’s go and get ready.”

Billy noticed Rupert walk into the inner cell room with a small stack of bibles in hand. “Do you think any of them will convert?” He asked, as they left the jailhouse.

“Doubtful,” scoffed Sampson. “Those savages won’t believe until we send them to meet their creator face to face.”

“But then it’d be too late,” said Billy. “Rupert says they must accept Christ’s salvation, before they can enter heaven and be with God.”

“I can’t argue with that,” said Sampson. “But I’d like to see how he plans on breaking through years of propaganda and brain washing. Those men are so indoctrinated in their beliefs, they wouldn’t know the truth if it jumped up and bit them. If you ask me he’s fighting an unwinnable battle, but then again, that’s his choice.”

Avalanche

World War III – Day Twenty-One

Clearview, Nevada

Lt. Sawyer, Sgt. Morgan and Corp. Thatcher, stepped outside the jailhouse an hour before sunrise, each man carrying a supply pack and rifle. A flurry of snow drifted down Main Street, leaving a thin layer of powder on the ground. A storm was blowing down from the mountains and the men were bundled in heavy coats, wearing wool hats and warm gloves.

“Is everyone ready?” Asked Lieutenant Sawyer, as old man Sampson and the Higgins cousins joined them.

Cole and Billy nodded, stamping their feet and rubbing their hands together to keep warm.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” grumbled Sampson. The older he got, the less his joints liked the cold. Although he’d prefer to be home sitting in front of a crackling fire, he was never one to miss a fight.

“Good,” said the Lieutenant, “let’s get going before this storm gets any worse.”

A shrill scream came from inside the jailhouse. “What was that?” Billy asked, glancing nervously at Cole.

“It’s just Mason and Cleo,” replied Lt. Sawyer. “They’ve been working on that Russian Lieutenant all night long. Come on, let’s go.”

The men piled into a Military Humvee and headed west, into the blizzard. The drive to Spooner Summit would normally have taken an hour, but due to the storm, the sun was high in the sky when they arrived.

Corp. Thatcher pulled to a stop at Summit Station and Lt. Sawyer climbed out of the Humvee to look around. He pulled the collar of his coat tight around his neck, trying to protect his skin from the howling wind. The snowfall was letting up and the storm seemed to be passing, but the temperature was still well below zero.

“Are you sure this is the place kid?”

“Yeah,” said Billy, emerging from the Humvee. “It’s in there,” he added, pointing at a small shed.

“Alright, let’s go!”

Cole and Sampson climbed out of the Humvee and followed Billy and the Lieutenant toward the shed.

“Pull the vehicle out of sight and keep watch,” ordered Sgt. Morgan, before following the others.

“Yes sir,” replied Corporal Thatcher.

“I don’t have a key,” said Billy, when they found a frozen padlock securing the door.

“I do.” Lt. Sawyer swung the butt of his rifle down on the handle, breaking the metal lock in two. He kicked open the door and peered into the darkness.

“There it is,” said Billy, pointing at an old cannon near the back of the shed.

“What a beauty,” smiled old man Sampson, running his hand along the cannon’s barrel, as if it were a long lost friend.

“Get it out and set it up,” ordered the Lieutenant.

Sgt. Morgan, Billy, Cole and Sampson lifted the gun as one and carried it from the shed. They positioned the cannon facing the opposite side of the mountain and were turning to fetch the shells, when they heard a low rumbling sound approaching from the west.

“What’s that noise?” Asked Lt. Sawyer, peering down the mountain.

“They’re coming!” Shouted Corporal Thatcher, as he ran up the road, waving his arms.

A few seconds later a tank appeared around a bend in the road, followed by another, and another. The men from Clearview watched, as a long column of military vehicles snaked its way up the mountain, headed straight for them.

“Hurry!” Shouted Lt. Sawyer. “We’ve got to blow it before they make it through the pass!”

Billy and Cole ran for the utility shed, where the cannon shells were stored. “Which box is it?” Asked Cole, frantically tearing open one box after another.

“I don’t remember,” admitted Billy. “It’s been a long time.”

“Found it!” Shouted Cole, after ripping open another box. The shells were heavy and it took both men to carry them.

Sampson grabbed a shell from the box before the cousins could set it down and quickly loaded it into the cannon. He took careful aim at a large shelf of ice on the opposite side of the mountain and was about to fire, when Jesse stopped him.

“Wait!” Shouted Sgt. Morgan, watching the column of vehicles slowly approaching.

“What is it Sergeant?” Asked Lt. Sawyer. “We haven’t much time.”

“Let’s think about this for a second,” replied Jesse. “Why cause the avalanche before the column enters the pass? If we wait a few minutes we can bring the whole damn thing down on top of them? Two birds with one stone.”

“That’s true,” agreed Sampson. “It’ll take them a hell of a lot longer to recover and eliminate some of their forces all at the same time.”

“All right,” agreed the Lieutenant. “Hold your fire until I give the order.”

“Roger that,” said Sampson, watching the enemy slowly approach.

“A lot of them won’t survive,” pointed out Cole.

“Good,” said Sgt. Morgan, remembering the day of the invasion and a beach littered with the bodies of men from his command. “The more we kill today, the less we’ll fight tomorrow.”

“True,” agreed Sampson, “but the more we can injure the better. A dead soldier removes one man from the battle, but wounded soldiers require care, thereby removing other men.”

“Being crushed by all that ice and snow is a horrible way to die,” mumbled Cole.

“They should’ve thought of that before invading our home and killing our countrymen,” stated Lt. Sawyer. “Steady,” he said, raising his hand into the air, “steady,” he repeated, watching as the convoy drew closer and closer. “Fire!” he shouted, dropping his hand.

Sampson fired the cannon and a thunderous boom echoed down the mountain. The shrill whistle of the artillery shell could be heard for miles, as it soared over the convoy, exploding on the opposite side of the pass. At first nothing happened, but then the ice slowly and surely began to crack, and break apart.

Hearing the whistle and explosion brought the enemy convoy to a stop. An officer climbed down from one of the jeeps and walked to the head of the column, trying to figure out where the shot had come from. He was standing in front of the lead tank, staring at the road ahead, when a thick sheet of ice suddenly broke free and began sliding down the mountain.

The officer turned and screamed, as he climbed onto the lead tank. Soldiers frantically scrambled around searching for cover, but there was none to be found. Many of them hid inside, or under their vehicles, while others fled on foot. The lead tank lurched forward, trying to race through the pass, before being buried alive. Some soldiers began to climb the opposite side of the mountain, hoping to avoid the deadly shards of ice headed their way.

All of their attempts were in vein.

The ground shook violently, as tons of jagged ice, crashed down the slippery slope and covered the convoy. The lead tank was swept off the road and tumbled to the canyon below. Several armored vehicles rolled onto their sides and disappeared beneath chunks of ice, while others were tossed around like toy cars. Soldiers were washed away and buried alive under the heavy snow, their screams muffled by the thunderous roar.

“Wow dude,” said Cole, “that was intense.”

“Do ya think there are any survivors?” Billy asked, staring wide-eyed, at where the road had been only moments ago. Every soldier and vehicle had completely disappeared, buried beneath the snow and ice.

“Doubtful,” said Lt. Sawyer, examining the pile of snow, dotted with boulders and uprooted pine trees. “I don’t see any movement.”

“Their dead,” replied Sampson, “and if not they’ll soon wish they were.”

“We should get going,” said Lt. Sawyer. “It won’t be long before they send out search parties.”

“Not to mention there could already be another convoy headed up Kingsbury Grade,” added Sgt. Morgan.

Corporal Thatcher backed the Humvee up to the cannon and with help from Sgt. Morgan, hooked the piece of artillery to the trailer hitch. The men piled into the vehicle and headed south.

It took a couple of hours to reach Kingsbury Grade and another, before arriving at the summit. Pulling to a stop, they quickly dismounted and deployed the heavy gun, targeting another tall mountain peak covered in frozen snow.

With no enemy convoy to destroy, they fired the cannon and watched, as the shell exploded into the side of the mountain. Giant chunks of ice broke apart and came sliding down, covering the road below in a thick blanket of white, dotted with green pine trees and grey boulders.

“Alright, mission accomplished,” said Lt. Sawyer, when the roar from the rumbling avalanche had subsided, “Let’s go home.”

Driving down Kingsbury Grade, the Humvee hit a patch of ice and began to slide. Corporal Thatcher frantically tried to regain control, as the vehicle headed straight for the ledge and a two hundred foot drop.

“Steer into it!” Shouted Lt. Sawyer, reaching for the wheel. He turned the steering wheel toward the edge of the mountain and the Humvee changed direction. Instead of sliding off the mountain, it veered across both lanes and smashed into the side of the mountain.

“Is everyone alright?” Sgt. Morgan asked, rubbing his head.

“I just about had a heart attack,” mumbled Sampson, kicking his door open and climbing out. “Haven’t you ever driven on ice before?”

“I’m from Florida,” replied Corp. Thatcher, as he tried to open his door, before realizing it was pressed up against the side of the mountain. He shrugged and gave up, before crawling across the passenger seat and out the door.

“Now what?” Asked Billy, examining the vehicles broken axel.

“We walk,” stated Lt. Sawyer, looking down the mountainside. “Let’s get moving, before another storm blows in,” he added, glancing up at the sky.

“What about the cannon?” Asked Sampson, his hand resting on the barrel, lovingly.

“Leave it,” said Lt. Sawyer, “it’s obsolete.”

“Obsolete,” Sampson hissed in disgust. Repeating the word, as though it tasted bitter in his mouth. “She may be old, but she just eliminated more of the enemy in one shot, than you and your men did with a hundred bullets!”

“I think we should keep it,” agreed Sgt. Morgan. “Ya never know when we might need it again.”

“Fine,” shrugged Lt. Sawyer, “bring it with.”

“Obsolete,” Sampson mumbled, as the Marines unhooked the gun from the back of the Humvee.

“I don’t think old man Sampson likes the Lieutenant very much,” whispered Billy, watching as the old man walked away, mumbling something inaudible.

“Nah dude,” replied Cole, “he’s just old fashioned. I think he takes it personally when anyone implies something, or someone, is inferior just because of age.”

“Sampson, you know these mountains better than anyone so you’re on point,” said Lt. Sawyer. “Sergeant, you bring up the rear and watch our six. The rest of you give me a hand with the cannon, and watch out for more patches of ice!”

After an hour of walking, Lt. Sawyer stopped the group and took refuge under a large pine tree, covered in snow. One by one the men huddled together, shivering from the icy wind.

When Sampson realized the group had stopped, he doubled back and joined them. “Why are you stopping?”

“The men need a break and a chance to get warm,” replied Lt. Sawyer.

“There ain’t no breaks on this trip,” stated Sampson. “You’ll get warmth and rest when we’re home, and not a moment sooner!”

“Who died and left you in charge?” Asked the Lieutenant, his teeth chattering from the cold.

“I’ve got more experience in these here mountains than all of you combined,” said Sampson. “Standing still like this is a good way to get frost bite. If ya wanna to stay warm, we need to keep moving.”

“He’s right,” agreed Cole, rubbing his arms with his hands. “If we stop moving our sweat will freeze to our skin, making us even colder.”

“Mr. Sampson has been hunting and trapping in these mountains since before I was born,” agreed Billy. “I think we should listen to him.”

“Mm, Mm, maybe we should make a fire,” suggested Corporal Thatcher, his teeth chattering beyond control.

“The enemy might see it or smell it,” replied Sampson. “No stopping and no fires. Here,” he added, reaching into his pack and handing them each a packet of hand warmers. “Stick these in your gloves and they’ll help keep your hands warm.”

“Thanks,” said Billy, recognizing the hand warmers as one of the items for sale at Sampson’s Hardware.

“What about my toes bro,” asked Cole, “they’re freezing too?”

“Are ya gonna shoot your gun with your toes, or your fingers?” Sampson asked, sarcastically. “Exactly,” he added, when Cole made no response, “so worry about your fingers first. Now come on, let’s keep moving.” Sampson turned and took point, with the others following close behind.

The group had spread out and was still a few miles from town, when they unwittingly stumbled into an ambush. The first shot caught Sampson in the shoulder and he fell to the ground, as a hail of gunfire erupted from the surrounding hillside.

“Mr. Sampson, are you okay?” Billy shouted, amidst the barrage of gunfire.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” replied Sampson, separated from the rest of the group by twenty yards. “Stay where you are!” He crawled to the nearest tree and leaned with his back against it. “Damn it,” he hissed, as he tried to bandage his wounded shoulder, with only one good arm.