Slow Collapse 4: Conclusions, page 13
Bradley helped Christine out of the truck, and both were struck by the utter devastation and chaos that surrounded them. The place looked nothing like the town they had left just a few hours before. The street was littered with debris and bodies. Buildings were burning, and the sky was full of smoke and ash.
As the couple made their way towards the command center, a familiar face limped out to greet them.
"Sergeant Walker?" Bradley shouted as he ran to the obviously injured man. "What happened?"
"The town is under attack from a second wave," Walker said, his voice strained. "The Soviets bombed us, then tried to run tanks through the side streets. We’ve managed to hold them off so far."
"What can we do to help?" Bradley asked.
"Just stick with me, Bradley," Walker replied. "That's all you gotta do."
"Christine, stay by me and let’s move," Bradley ordered. His hand firmly placed on her lower back, ready to scoop her up and move.
They needed to get back in the fight and help save the town. It was going to be a long, hard night. The Soviets would want retribution for the pummeling the small town had given them earlier in the day.
The next hour or two was an absolute blur to Bradley. It was a combination of sheer terror, bravery, and luck that got him through the fight.
Leaving Christine at the command center, he and Sergeant Walker ran from house to house, street to street, fighting Soviet soldiers. They seemed to come out of nowhere, and the two barely had time to react. The night air was filled with the sound of gunfire and explosions, and the smoke from the fires hung low over the town, adding to the disorienting scene.
Bradley barely registered the physical and mental toll the intense fighting was taking on him. The feeling of rolling with each new attack, from weapon to weapon, person to person, was beyond anything he had ever experienced. Adrenaline masked the pain from cuts and burns.
Finally, with the first rays of the rising sun, the bombs stopped raining down. There was an eerie silence, marred only by the crackling of fires. The fighting had taken its toll on the town. Buildings were destroyed and smoking craters dotted the streets. But miraculously, the defenders held. For now, Ashland was safe.
"We did it, buddy," a worn, but smug Sergeant Walker said as they headed back to the command center. "The fucking Commies backed off. Tonight, though. They'll be back. This rest is just for the enemy. We need to go out and scavenge the field so, when they show up, there will be hundreds of extra rounds ready to fuck them in the ass."
"I'll drink to that," an exhausted Christine said. Bradley smiled at her, despite his exhausted state. It was the first, non-negative comment from her since their arrival.
"Can we call for any air support?" Bradley asked.
"I tried, but nobody’s answering," Walker told them. "We're still on our own."
Bradley looked over the rubble at the bodies strewn around the town. He knew it would take an army to protect the people of Ashland from what was coming. They need to rally the citizens to fight one more time.
"We're going to need more people," Bradley said. "Anyone who can hold a gun has to fight. It's our only hope."
"You heard the man!" Walker shouted as he rallied his troops and the townspeople, “Let’s get moving!”
The remaining exhausted and shell-shocked citizens and soldiers moved out of their defensive positions and slowly congregated at the command center, where the people guarding the shelters provided them with food and drink.
Seeing the exhaustion and defeat on their faces prompted Bradley to speak up. "This is what freedom is all about. Fighting for what's ours. Our homes, families, and lives are worth dying for. They say we cannot win, but we must be victorious. If we falter, we will lose everything. But if we stand together, we can win. For Ashland!"
"For Ashland," the crowd shouted.
It was a great speech coming from Bradley. One, that if it had been recorded, they might have wanted to use it in a movie one day. Everyone was inspired by his courage and determination, and they were ready to face the challenge ahead.
In the hours that followed, Walker and Bradley moved through the command center and surrounding shelters, rallying the citizens of Ashland to prepare for the coming Soviet onslaught. The townspeople strengthened their remaining defenses, and the militia was rearmed and ready for battle. Although they were outnumbered and outgunned, the people of Ashland were still ready and willing to fight for their freedom.
The fight came later that evening after the Soviets had time to rest and regroup. That was their biggest mistake. If they had continued the onslaught instead of resting, they would have taken the town. But they did not, and it allowed the brave fighting men and women of Ashland to regroup. It also allowed Chairman Walters’ reinforcements to arrive and deploy accordingly.
The citizens knew the fight was not over. They knew the Soviets would return, in force. They knew the chance of victory was slim, but they were still willing to fight for their lives and homes.
Then, just as night began to fall, the dreaded moment came. The sound of the approaching Soviet army could be heard. It was the unmistakable sound of death.
Moments later the Soviet guns opened fire, shooting flames of hell. Burning bright in the militia's eyes. The flames raged, eating away at the streets, houses, and their lives. They could feel the heat, taste the ashes, and hear the screams. It was pure devastation.
Amid the raging inferno, they could see the forms of the Soviet soldiers, their faces twisted into vicious snarls as they barreled through the carnage, determined to put an end to the resistance.
"FIRE!" Sgt. Walker called out.
As one, the militia raised their weapons and let loose a barrage of bullets. They rained death upon the unsuspecting soldiers, dropping them where they stood.
American attack helicopters that had arrived with the military reinforcements swooped down and rained their hatred and rage upon the hapless Soviets.
One citizen had managed to fill his crop duster sprayer tanks full of fuel. As soon as he dropped his payload on the Soviets, he turned and climbed into the sky, in a last-ditch effort to escape the thousands of rounds fired his way. Shot to ribbons, his plane ignited in flames. As the burning wreckage fell to the ground, the panicked Soviet soldiers, realizing they had been doused with fuel, ran for their lives. It was no use.
As soon as flaming wreckage hit the mist of fuel saturating the air, it all went up with a massive roar. Hundreds of Soviet soldiers died in the firebomb, giving the town a chance.
The townspeople felt their confidence grow as the flames gave way to the sunrise and they realized they had survived another night. At the same time, the sounds of battle gave way to an unnatural silence. In minutes it was over, and the sound of the excited townspeople could be heard echoing across the still-burning landscape.
"We did it!"
"They didn't expect to hit jack shit."
"We kicked their goddamn butts."
While the battered militia reveled in their victory, Bradley was already planning their next move.
"All right guys, good job," he praised, his voice cutting through the cheers. "But we're not done yet. These bastards will keep on coming. We need to regroup one last time and finish this, once and for all!”
As the militia came down from their high, and wearily began restocking and refortifying their defenses, Bradley headed to the command center to check on Christine. He’d sent her there to help coordinate the defense of the town, but when he arrived he found her on the floor, desperately hugging Joe’s bloody body.
Joe's face was ashen, and Christine, upon seeing Bradley enter the room, was unable to hold back her grief any longer. She began crying with a force that only nature could rival.
"Christine!" Bradley cried. He raced over to the distraught woman and sat down beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder and trying to offer her some comfort. "He knew what the risks were. He chose to fight. For the town. For you."
Christine just shook her head and sobbed harder.
"He saved me, Bradley," she sobbed, her voice a strained whisper. "If he hadn't come in when he did, I’d be dead now, or worse. Those soldiers had me in their sights. He sacrificed his life so that I could be safe. I can't bear the thought of never being able to tell him how much he meant to me."
"He knew," Bradley assured her. "I know that he knew. That's why he fought so hard. He loved you!"
"He was a hero," she said, forcing out the words between her tears. "I can't let him be forgotten."
"He won't be forgotten," Bradley said, his own emotions starting to get the better of him. "His sacrifice will live on, in all of us. He will be remembered as the hero he was, and the man who loved you like a father, until his very last breath."
Bradley pulled Christine close, and the two held each other in the dark room, their tears falling on one another, their warm embrace all they had left in the world.
The loss of her parents was undoubtedly on her mind, and the fact that Joe had taken their place, even for a short time, meant Christine was feeling this deeply. Bradley knew he couldn't change what had happened, but he could be there for her. He would be her strength and comfort in the days and months to come.
"We have a funeral to plan," Bradley said once Christine had calmed down some. “Let’s go help the town finish this battle. Then we can go back to the farm and work on remembering Joe.”
Sergeant Walker, hating to interrupt the solemn moment, approached the couple and introduced the commander of the US Army troops who had come at just the right time. With his help, they managed to send a message to the retreating Soviet forces, warning them not to approach the town again.
They also managed to relay a message to the command center in Cheyenne Mountain, who in turn, communicated it across the United States. Within hours, the entire nation had heard of the Battle of Ashland and how a small town had defeated the much larger invading Soviet forces. Their story gave hope to other small towns and cities across the country, whose citizens banded together to defeat their invaders.
Bradley, working with Sergeant Walker and Christine, spent the next few weeks helping put the small town of Ashland back together.
In the coming days, many of Ashland's inhabitants were laid to rest. Tears were shed, hearts were broken, but nobody could take the proper time needed to mourn and grieve. They all knew the war was not over. If the country was to gain back anything close to their original lives, they had to continue to fight. It was the only option they had left.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
SOMEWHERE NEAR THE KREMLIN
MOSCOW, RUSSIA
The team stopped their vehicles at 0100, on the outskirts of the city. They planned to go the rest of the way on foot. They were starting to see signs that things in Moscow had gone to hell in a handbasket and determined that trying to drive any farther would be too risky. It would be better to try and blend in with the refugees and soldiers who were attempting to flee from the city as they worked their way towards the Kremlin
"According to our directions, the Kremlin is less than three miles to the north," Andy reported. "Keep an eye out, I don't want any stray shots on civilians."
"Understood," everyone replied.
Before leaving the warehouse, Irina had made a call to Cubix to unleash the virus. He had managed to design the virus so it would create multiple failures across the Soviet power grid in Moscow, as well as disrupt Soviet communications. It was the best Cubix could come up with in such a short timeframe. Hopefully, it would cause enough of a disruption for the team to complete their mission.
As they made their way through the streets, the team watched as sections of the power grid failed. Sirens began to wail as police were called to counter the chaos that ensued. As per the plan, when the police were dispatched, the second wave of the attack was to begin. This was the critical civilian phase.
As the protests, riots, and chaos began to pick up steam, the team made their way closer to the Kremlin. Nathan, crouching low to maintain cover, looked around in awe. Never in his wildest dream had he ever imagined he would be here, at the heart of a long-standing US enemy who had renewed its fight against his home country. In the dim light, the massive walls of the Kremlin stood like some behemoth monster of old.
On the eastern side of the Kremlin, in Red Square, the protests and riots were so intense that the police, militia, and the KGB were quickly overrun. Many were killed and wounded while others ran for their lives from the angry citizens who were tired of years of excessive brutality.
There were at least a thousand groups causing trouble across the city. Mass hysteria was breaking loose within the city, bringing it ever closer to critical mass.
"Do it," Irina said to Viper.
He pulled a small device out of his pocket and pushed a button. In mere seconds, explosions started rocking the night across Moscow. It was another diversionary tactic employed by the resistance. Hopefully, it would pull some of the defenses away from the Kremlin.
As the team, led by Irina and Viper, moved into the Kremlin, they were taken back by what they saw. The main doors were wide open and all of the guards had disappeared.
“There’s nobody here,” Nathan whispered with his weapon at the ready.
“Proceed with caution,” Andy advised as he led the way.
Their numbers were small, but they were well-trained. It wasn't going to be a pleasant experience for the Soviets if they tried to retake the palace.
Ryan quickly set explosive charges on the doors as the team made their way further into the building. They were not enough to do major damage to the building but would be loud enough to give them a heads-up if someone came through the doors behind them.
In one instant, they were alone. In the next, Spetsnaz soldiers came storming through three of the doors. The blast from the booby-trapped door ripped the first soldier apart. His scattered remains landed some five hundred feet away.
"Take cover!" Nathan yelled as the team ducked into doorways and prepared to defend themselves.
Instead of being met by rifle fire, the team was met with silence. Peering around the corner, Nathan carefully glanced into one of the now-opened doorways. His first glimpse was of a grand hall, complete with massive crystal chandeliers and ornate gold frames surrounding antique paintings. His second observation was of soldiers' bodies strewn about the floor, some still moving.
Nathan shouted "Grenade!” and launched one into the center of the room. Stealth was no longer the top priority, speed was, and this was the quickest way to end anyone still alive in the room.
As the dust from the explosions was just settling, Nathan, accompanied by Doom jumped up and waded through the smoky room, clearing it in record time. He took a brief second to mourn the loss of the historic artwork and chandeliers, the thought flashing through his mind that he hoped they weren’t too damaged and could one day be restored.
"Clear," he called out, focusing back on the mission, as his teammates joined him, spreading out along one wall of the room.
They were in the oldest section of the building, at the base of Ivan the Terrible's Fortress. Because of Irina, they knew there was a network of hidden tunnels under the Kremlin that led to the bunker and that each of the rooms should have a hidden doorway leading to the tunnels. Irina, smiling devilishly, had informed them that access to the bunker would have to be by the tunnels as the elevator was now useless.
Knowing that Federov was most likely still secure in his bunker under the Kremlin, the team began searching the ballroom for an access control panel that would open the hidden doorway leading to the tunnels as they waited for Irina and Viper to join them.
Continuing to explore, Nathan walked down the long, ornate room towards a set of grand wooden doors located at the far end. He felt a shudder of trepidation as he approached the closed doors. A sickening feeling began to churn in his stomach as if his body knew what was behind the doors before he even opened them. His hand hovered over the doorknob for a moment, his fear threatening to overtake him. He hesitated for a second to give himself a quick pep talk.
He was a SEAL and a damn good one. He had faced hardened enemies and been in harrowing situations worse than this one. If he was ever going to face his biggest fear, the crippling PTSD he had suffered for years, it would be here and now. And with that resolve, he opened the doors.
Behind the heavy, ornate doors was a formal dining area that could seat at least a hundred people. There was a massive staircase leading to a grand balcony off to one side of the room. Even though the lighting was low, Nathan could see the fancy gold chairs around dining tables covered with pristine white tablecloths. The center of each table had a fancy silver candelabra surrounded with fresh flowers.
Something inside him urged Nathan to stop. Maybe he had spent too much time dealing with his PTSD, but there was just something about this elegant room set as if for a fancy dinner party that didn't feel right. He motioned to the others, as they entered behind him, that he wanted to take a closer look at the area around the grand staircase. The team took up positions around the room as Nathan and Doom carefully searched the area.
Doom suddenly alerted on the coat closet tucked under a section of the staircase, and when Nathan shoved aside the luxurious fur coats stored inside, he found a ring in the marble floor that looked like the opening to a trap door.
After carefully investigating the area for any booby traps, Nathan slowly and carefully lifted the iron ring, exposing a set of stairs leading down into darkness. Maybe Nathan’s gut was telling him something.
"Down seems as good a direction as any," Ryan remarked sarcastically.
"You mean other than south? Or east?" Nathan smirked, trying to beat back the creepy feeling that something just wasn’t right.
"Well, yeah, now that you mention it," Ryan responded.
The stone stairs, spiraling down into the darkness were narrow and old, with grooves worn in them by the tread of thousands of footsteps over the centuries.
