The day after: An apocalyptic morning (144 page)

              "Are there any questions?"

              There were many, so many in fact that the meeting lasted another hour. And even then, most of the people weren't sure if they had all of the information that they needed. Everyone had doubts about what was going to happen tomorrow.

              While the pre-battle briefing was occurring in the Garden Hill community center, another meeting was taking place in the hills to the northwest of town. Most of the troops had bedded down for the night (although anxiously awaiting the first of the air attacks - they had no reason to believe they would stop tonight). Others were walking the perimeter, taking their turn at guard duty (one of these was actually in the process of slipping away - he wanted no part of what was to come). Near the center of the mass of soldiers, three of them were sitting dangerously close together in the partial safety of a grove of trees near the base of a hill. These three were the only surviving lieutenants of the Garden Hill expeditionary force: Stu, Colby, and the technical second-in-command, Lieutenant Mitchell.

              "There are 188 of us as of nightly role call," Stu said, taking a slug of water from his canteen. "That'll be more than enough to take that little shitpot town in the morning. Especially now that we've reorganized the squads and the platoons again."

              "I agree," said Colby, who agreed with almost everything Stu said. "We'll split into two elements at dawn and hit them from the north and the west."

              "I'll lead the group from the west," Mitchell said, his fingers nervously playing with his own canteen. Mitchell was a competent enough tactician, having served a tour in the Marines in his former life. He was also, like most former Marines, an expert with his rifle. "We'll stage just on the outside of the far ring of hills and then move in once the other group is ready."

              Before they could discuss any more elements of this plan, Stu broke in and scuttled it. "I don't think that splitting the men up is a good idea," he said. "We've lost enough of our numerical advantage that we should just charge in as one big group."

              Mitchell looked over at him (or at least in his direction - he couldn't actually see him since it was dark) as if he had gone insane. "What the hell are you talking about, Covington? If we split ourselves into two elements, that means the enemy will have to split into two elements to counter us. It'll make it twice as hard for them to coordinate and each of our own groups will be up against less resistance."

              "That does make a lot of sense," Colby said, uncharacteristically agreeing with someone other than Stu for once.

              "It'll also make it much harder for us to coordinate with each other," Stu said. "We need to take the most advantage we can here and charge them from the north, where the going is the easiest. We send the bulk of the troops right through the gap between their guard positions."

              "That doesn't make tactical sense," Mitchell said in bewilderment. "You should know better than that."

              "Actually," Stu countered, "it makes a lot of tactical sense. The northern route has much smaller hills and a lot fewer trees. There's less room for those bitches to hide and snipe at us. If we get them to dedicate their entire force in that area, it's just a Micker of clearing each hill with flanking maneuvers. Remember, we're dealing with bitches here for the most part. They'll cut and run as soon as we close with them."

              "That doesn't have anything to do with dividing into two or not," Mitchell said vehemently. "Jesus fucking Christ, the same principal applies to both plans. We need to hit them from both directions so that their forces are split. It's the only thing that makes sense!"

              The argument raged for better than thirty minutes, with neither Stu nor Mitchell giving any ground. Colby seemed to swing back and forth in opinion, tending to agree with whomever had just finished talking at any given time. He made a few points of his own from time to time, but nothing that was original in thought.

              "Look," Stu finally said when things started to get really heated, "why don't we just shelve this discussion for the moment and get some sleep? The air attacks are going to start any time now and we're all bunched up."

              "We need to make a fuckin' decision before morning," Mitchell said, directing his comment at Colby, who was the one that would ultimately have to do that.

              "Well..." Colby started.

              "We can sleep on it," Stu insisted. "We'll be able to make better decisions in the morning and we'll still have time to brief in the troops before we move out."

              "What?" Mitchell said, wondering what kind of madness Stu was talking now.

              "Yes," Colby said. "I think that's a good idea. We'll pick this up in the morning, before daylight."

              "We need to decide this now!" Mitchell said. "Goddammit, we..."

              "In the morning," Colby said, more firmly this time. "The air attacks will be starting soon and we don't want to be bunched up like this. Let's separate for now."

              And so they separated, each of them moving far enough away from the other so as not to invite the attention of the gunship. The decision remained unmade for the time being.

              It is debatable which decision Colby might have made. Mitchell's arguments were based on solid military logic and carried much weight, perhaps enough to swing the favoritism that Stu enjoyed. As it turned out however, Stu's plan was the one that would prevail. Stu knew that this plan entailed more military risk but he was afraid that a mass desertion - perhaps led by Mitchell himself - would take place if the militia were split in two. Again, whether or not this would have occurred is very debatable.

              But after the first air attack of the evening - which took place shortly after 9:00 PM - Lieutenant Mitchell was found to be among the three dead, a victim of three rounds in the chest that were assumed to be from the helicopter gun. His body was stripped of weapons and supplies and then dragged off to the side with the rest. As with Bracken before him, no one noticed the blood on the back of his head.

              Stu was now second-in-command of the remaining militia and the sole military adviser to Colby.

              The community center was quiet but restless as 10:00 approached. Most of the Garden Hill residents were sleeping downstairs, either in the cafeteria or the adjoining rooms. They were laid out on the floor, covered with blankets, their heads on pillows, their bodies tossing and turning on the edge of slumber. They tended to be bunched together by the squads and platoons they had been formed up in, adhering to the bonding that comes in such circumstances. A few of them however, had slipped off with their spouse or spouses to other parts of the building, knowing that this would be the last chance they had to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh before the battle tomorrow.

              Steve Kensington and his two wives were in an upstairs storage room, all of them naked. Sarah and Lori, the wives in question, were not into lesbianism and, as such, Sarah was patiently waiting her turn at the throttle while Steve pounded in and out of Lori atop their blankets.

              In yet another upstairs storage room, Ted Eljer and his wife Carrie were busily involved in a threesome with Jenny O'Riley, who they had been having such relations with for the past week. Ted and Carrie had no intention of inviting Jenny permanently into their relationship at any point; they were just enjoying the freshness of her young body. They had gone through several such third persons in the last month, doing the Garden Hill equivalent of playing the field. Jenny, though she desperately wanted to be a part of their union - of anyone's union - knew that they were just using her for their own enjoyment but she consented to it anyway. She craved the release of sexual congress as much as anyone. Especially on this night.

              In the main food storage room, which was the domain of Sara and Stacy, the two women were using their privileges to pass through the locked door to full advantage. Some weeks before they too had discovered the joys of female-to-female sexuality and often they indulged in sessions of heated passion both with and without Jack. In this case Sara was kneeling between Stacy's legs, licking her contentedly while running her hands over her huge belly. Stacy's due date was February 4, just over a week in the future, but her impending delivery did not detract from her sexuality. She had to muffle a scream as she came, her hands tearing into Sara's hair. When Jack arrived a few minutes later, fresh off his first mission of the night and under orders by Skip to get some sleep, he quickly joined in the fun, sliding himself into Stacy from behind while she returned Sara's favor.

              And down in the cafeteria, near the corner where Jessica had once tried to kill Skip, another such pairing was in the works.

              " Christine," Maggie whispered, having slid her body a little closer to her squad leader's. "Are you awake?"

              "I'm awake," Christine whispered back, opening her eyes to look knowingly at her friend. The ambient light drifting in from the lanterns in the nearby locker room was just enough to see the hungry look on her face. "What's up?"

              "I... uh... need someone to hold me," she said softly, putting emphasis on the word "hold".

              Christine knew well what she meant. Since their first episode nearly two weeks before, after their first day of hit and run missions, Christine had made love to Maggie five additional times. They never talked about it, never made allusions towards it. Maggie still pretended each time that she had not planned on it occurring. But she always asked for it the same way - telling Christine that she needed some comforting, that she needed someone to hold her.

              Maggie trembled in nervous, guilty excitement as Christine smiled at her and told her that they should go find an empty storeroom. "You wouldn't want anyone to see you while you're... uh... upset, would you?"

              "No," Maggie said, slipping out from beneath her blankets. "I wouldn't want that at all."

              And so the two women, both dressed in clean pairs of jeans and heavy flannel clothing (after all, the call to arms could come at any moment) but absent of boots and socks, padded upstairs, slipping silently between the groups of other people on the floor. Maggie was under the impression that no one knew where the two of them were going or what they were going to be doing - or at least she pretended to be. Christine was under no such illusions. Garden Hill remained a very small town where everyone knew everyone else's business.

              The storage rooms of the community center had long been a place for illicit or semi-illicit sexual activity. This practice stretched all the way back to the days before Skip, Christine, and Jack showed up in town. Since most of the rooms did not lock, a system had developed by which lovers inside the rooms could let others know that they were occupied and therefore avoid the embarrassment of being walked in on while work was in progress. This system developed without anyone ever verbalizing it to anyone else or writing it down, almost by telepathy.

              "Can't use this one," Christine whispered upon coming to the first door. The sign of occupancy was clearly visible in the light of the candle she carried. A hair scrunchy that belonged to one of the women inside (it was Jenny's) was hanging from the doorknob. In the Garden Hill community center this served the purpose of a motel's DO NOT DISTURB placard.

              They moved further down the hall, coming to another storage room. The doorknob was empty on this one and Christine opened the door, allowing her candle to show the inside. This room was about twelve by twelve feet and had once housed spare linen. It was now nearly empty of this supply since much of the linen had been converted into sandbags for the trenches.

              "This should be good," Christine said, standing aside and allowing Maggie to enter. "We'll be able to... talk... without being bothered by anyone."

              "Yes," Maggie said with an almost straight face. "I'd hate to have anyone walk in on us while we were talking."

              Christine took off her own hair scrunchy, allowing her blonde strands to fall to her shoulders. Her scrunchy was very distinctive looking. Instead of a solid color favored by most of the town women, it was red and pink and had a small silk bow sewed into it. She twisted it around the doorknob and then entered the room, allowing the door to shut behind her.

              Once inside she set the candle down on an empty shelf. Maggie was standing nervously just behind her, biting her lip a little and wringing her hands.

              "Come here, Mags," Christine said gently, holding out her arms to her. "Tell me what's on your mind."

              The two women embraced, Maggie burying her head against Christine's neck, her body already heating up as she felt the press of breasts against hers through their clothing. "I'm just anxious about tomorrow," she said, smelling the scent of her friend and trembling, telling herself that she really did just come up here to talk and to be held.

              "There's nothing to be anxious about," Christine told her, guiding her over towards a pile of old towels in the corner. She ran her hands up and down her back, caressing her in a manner that was more than just friendly. "We're gonna kick ass. Don't worry."