"The Scout" - Chapter 28

The Scout

Chapter 28

By Dwayne MacInnes

Time seemed to slow down as Scott stared at his monitor. The police cruiser had just pulled in front of the burning Bronco. The gunner was taking careful aim with the grenade launcher. Behind the cruiser, the Anarchist buggies and bikes filled the horizons still in hot pursuit of the convoy.

Scott out of his periphery noticed Sam fighting the joystick to bring the M60 machinegun to bear on the cruiser and its one flashing blue light. Scott also noticed that on Sam's monitor the gun's aim was too high. It appeared that the M60 took forever to respond to the boy's control.

All this only took a fraction of a second. It would only be another fraction of a second before the grenade launcher fired again and its projectile found its mark. There was no way the cruiser could miss.

However, before the gunner could squeeze the trigger a terrible explosion ripped the horizon behind the cruiser. The fire engulfing the wrecked Bronco finally found the tanks of napalm. The virulent liquid spewed across the landscape encapsulating the police cruiser. The concussion from the blast propelled the Charger even further ahead down the road as chunks of steel and concrete rained down from the sky.

The police cruiser itself exploded as the fire ignited the grenade rounds inside it. The burning vehicle still sped down the highway. Its roof was a tattered and torn hunk of metal. Fire burned over every square inch of its surface. The cruiser then began to tumble as the tires exploded from the intense heat from the napalm.

It took half a minute before Scott could recover from the shock of his near miss. A glance at the monitor revealed a scene from hell. Fire shot high into the air as the thick black smoke curled into the sky. The blackened hull of the police cruiser finally came to rest in the barrow pit fire still raging over its surface.

Then like demons from hell itself, the figures of men in buggies and on motorcycles rode through the inferno again trying to catch the convoy. Scott had to give them a nod for determination. They had been bloodied and smelled blood. This only made them more aggressive.

Without the Fireman, only Scott stood between the Anarchists and the convoy.

"OK, we were only able to stall them for a while," Scott squawked over the radio. "Everyone needs to be in full defensive positions."

Several trucks and cars fell back from the convoy to join Scott. The buggies and motorcycles of the escorts flanked the convoy trucks and would occasionally weave in between the semis. The specialty vehicles, like the former Fireman, remained in the center of the convoy.

It was only a couple of minutes before the first wave of wasters broke over the rear defenses. The cars and trucks of the escorts fired their myriad of weapons at the Anarchists. Many of the wasters ignored the escort vehicles to take aim at the convoy trucks. The wasters fell by great numbers, either due to the escort vehicles or to the heavy machineguns on the trailers of the big rigs.

The radio chatter was relentless as the escorts and convoys communicated to each other. Some were making suggestions, others were asking for assistance, and occasionally a scream presaging death broke over the airwaves.

The battle reminded Scott of combat footage he had seen of bombers and their escorts during raids in World War II. The "little friends" escort planes would try to engage the enemy before they reached the bombers. The enemy fighters would try to burst through the ranks of the defending aircraft to attack the bombers. Even then, the bombers were not without their defenses, as they would fire their machineguns into the oncoming fighters.

Once Scott passed, a convoy truck jackknifed in the middle of the highway. The truck itself belched out smoke from where the wasters had riddled it with bullets. The trailer though was still sound and the gun crews kept firing like mad at the onslaught of wasters. One of the gunners on the front turret waved for Scott to drive passed.

As the Charger, shot past Scott noticed that the pursuing Anarchists seemed to forget about the convoy and converged on the lone stricken truck. Many a waster paid for underestimating the strength and determination of the gun crews on the trailer. Buggies, bikes, and a couple of cars lay demolished around the trailer.

The sacrifice of the stricken convoy truck allowed the escorts to finish off the initial wave of Anarchists amongst the trucks. Soon the depleted convoy was speeding down the highway unmolested.

Everyone was beginning to run low on ammunition. The convoy would need to stop somewhere and set up static defenses if it was going to withstand another onslaught like the last one. So far, the convoy was lucky it had only lost one truck. The escort vehicles however were not so well off. They had lost seventeen leaving only twenty-eight escort vehicles and some of these needed repairs.

The Wrecking Crew was able to board, reload, refuel, and rearm the buggies and motorcycles on the road. However the cars and trucks of the escort force would have to make due until they could find a place to stop for the night.

Night, Scott could not believe that it was now getting close to sundown. They fought throughout most of the day and the lack of sleep and exhaustion on the crew was beginning to take effect. Occasionally a vehicle would start to weave when the driver dozed off.

"There should be a town up ahead," Scott said over the CB. "I believe the name is Valley City. Everyone head north on 8th Avenue Southwest just off the interstate exit and cross the Sheyenne River we can set up a good defensive line there.

"Mad Momma, have the pickets continue past the town for a few miles and then have them report back."

"Roger," Julia responded from the Armadillo.

The lead vehicles of the convoy were beginning to enter Valley City when an urgent cry went out over the radio.

"This is Picket One, my God! There are tanks heading our way. We need..." the radio message suddenly went dead with static as a loud boom punctuated the twilight.