The Dying Time (Book 2): After The Dying Time (46 page)

Michael pointed the knife at himself.

“I ask a question.”

Michael flicked the knife into the tree so close to Allen’s head that the man felt it shave hair. Allen flinched and his bladder let go. He closed his eyes and tears of humiliation seeped from between them. Michael smelled the urine as he leaned forward and pulled the knife from the tree. For a brief moment, he was ashamed of himself and embarrassed for his captive. The man was a rabbit. In some ways this was worse than slicing up No-Ears. Michael could sympathize with Allen.

Nonetheless, he wiped the warmth from his face and leaned close, hissing like a rattler and the lightning-like switch from pleasant, almost friendly, to cold and deadly terrified Allen. It was a variation on the theme of good-cop, bad-cop, with Michael playing both roles.

“And what do you do?”

Allen swallowed twice before he could get his voice to work. His mouth had gone very dry.

“I answer it,” he croaked.

“Fully and truthfully,” Michael added. “No evasiveness. No calculated omissions. Complete and honest answers. You understand?”

Allen nodded.

“Good!” Again Allen was impressed by the sincerity of a single word. He means it, Allen thought. He’s really nuts, but he means it. He doesn’t want to hurt me. But he will if he thinks I’m lying. Allen trembled.

Michael gave the Captain a sip of water: back to good cop.

“Now, where can I find Prince John?”

“I don’t know where he is. He’s the Prince and he can go anywhere he likes, but he’s usually at his headquarters. The last I knew that was in Spanish Fork, but he really does move it around, and sometimes he goes back to Nephi to attend Governor Rashid’s parties.”

That name caught Michael’s full attention.

“Would Governor Rashid be a skinny bag of bones named Jamal?”

“Yes, sir, but now he usually just calls himself the Governor.” Allen said, hating himself for calling Michael “sir”. It had just slipped out.

“Thank you, Allen,” Michael said as he stuffed a gag in the man’s mouth. “Those were intelligent, thoughtful answers. I wish I could trust you just to sit here quietly until you’re found but I don’t think you’d do that.”

Allen’s eyes widened as he watched Michael take out a hand grenade.

“Listen, I don’t want you to get into any trouble and I don’t want it to look like you should have done more than you will to escape after I’m gone. So I’ll leave you this excuse to sit perfectly still until you’re found.”

Michael stuck the grenade between Allen’s legs and pulled the pin. So long as Allen didn’t move enough to dislodge the grenade’s arming lever he would be safe. Michael laid the pin on the ground in front of Allen, where the man could see it.

“When they find you all they have to do is stick the pin back in and you’ll be fine.”

Michael pulled Allen’s uniform on over his own. The pants were too loose and the jacket was too tight across the shoulders but it would do. He was just glad he’d made Allen undress before he peed himself. He looked up at the stars. Time to get moving.

Michael cupped Allen’s chin in his hand and looked into the man’s eyes, observing with satisfaction the tear-filled sense of betrayal he saw there.

“Trust me,” Michael said. “You’ll be all right.”

Allen had no way to know the grenade was a dud.

Michael melted into the darkness, wafting through the woods like a gentle breeze until he was back to his weapons stash. He tuned the dial on the dead Lieutenant’s radio until he heard enemy chatter, then he broke in.

“Colonel Janko to HQ,” he said with a smile.

“Headquarters,” came the one word reply.

“Get me Prince John.”

“C’mon Colonel. You know I can’t summon the Prince on your say so.”

Michael’s smile widened.

“Soldier!” he snapped. “You get the Prince and you get him here now if you know what’s good for you. Tell him I’ve got Whitebear. He’ll come.”

“Yes, Sir!” The radio operator, a Corporal, turned to a nearby private.

“Go tell the Prince to get his...” he bit his words off so fast he almost took off the tip of his tongue. He gulped. “Respectfully request the Prince return to the radio room to receive an urgent message from Captain Janko concerning the man Whitebear.”

“Sure thing, Corporal,” leered the private.

Less than five minutes later, the private poked his head into the room and yelled, “Attention!”

The Corporal snapped to attention and saluted just as the Prince strode into the room.

“Well?”

“Your Highness, a most urgent message from Colonel Janko. He says he has Whitebear.”

“Get out of my way,” the Prince demanded as he moved to the console. The Corporal leaped aside, then snapped back to attention. The private wisely removed himself from the room and stood guard outside the door.

“Prince John here.”

“About time you got your Royal Ass here. It’s not nice to keep your betters waiting.”

“Whitebear?” The Prince was stunned.

“You stupid bastard,” Michael sneered. “You sent a bunch of supply clerks and mechanics to stop me? Maybe you should send the marching band next. I’m still coming for you, Johnny boy.”

With that, Michael used a piece of twig to jam the transmitter button down. That was two frequencies they wouldn’t be using for awhile. He shouldered the M60 from his weapons cache, picked up a box of ammo and faded into the night.

*

The Prince laid the microphone down and stared at the radio. He dismissed the Corporal, then, as soon as he was alone, glanced nervously around. A flush crawled up his cheeks at this first flicker of fear. He decided he would move his HQ to Springville. In fact, he would head up there now. He truly felt like killing somebody, something, anything! His rage erupted as he sped out the door.

“General Marsh!” he bellowed. Supply Clerks? Mechanics? Goddammed Marsh.

He still wouldn’t admit it to himself, but for the very first time in his life he was uneasy at the challenge of another man.

*

Michael spent almost half an hour rigging his booby traps between the two enemy encampments. Then, making certain he was well outside their crossfire, he launched several grenades inside each perimeter. The blinding explosions were closely followed by screaming men and the sounds of gunfire as the two enemy camps shot at each other. The heavy rattling of the M60 split the night. Someone had wandered into that trap. The gun would fire until it ran out of ammo or the barrel melted. The counterweight the trip-wire had started swinging would play the gun’s field of fire back and forth between the two camps, keeping things lively.

Michael chuckled softly as he slipped rapidly down the mountainside. That ought to let everyone in the country know he was still alive and kicking, as well as sending a message to the Prince that he’d better start looking over his shoulder. Psychological warfare could be such fun!

*

Adam and Bob Young, Daniel Windwalker and a few other officers were wrapping up a conference outside the Allied Command Center in Provo. The night was clear and the stars were intense. Adam had already sent Captain Parsons and his remaining artillery northward to counter the threat from that direction. Daniel’s scouts had been dispatched to ferret out any information they could about the size and composition of the North Threat, as it was being called.

As the evening wore on and plans were finalized, men left the group, until Adam, Bob and Daniel were all who remained. It was 2:45 am. Bob Young turned his head toward Edge Mountain, which was lit up like a Christmas tree.

“You think he’s still up there?” Ever since Michael’s crash-landing on Edge Mountain had been reported to him by Faith Gilcrest he’d been concerned about the man.

“He’s still up there,” Daniel said. “If he wasn’t, they wouldn’t still be there.”

Adam chuckled. “Wherever he is, it looks like he tied up better than a battalion today.”

Both of the others smiled at that. There had been reports of sporadic firing from Edge Mountain all day.

A pair of bright flashes appeared on the mountain, followed by the twinkling lights of gunfire too far away to be heard.

“What the hell?” asked Bob.

Adam and Daniel looked at each other, eyes sparkling and their grins widened.

“I’d say he’s stirring the pot,” Adam explained.

“I know one thing,” Daniel added with feeling. “I’m glad he’s on our side.”

“Do you think we should try to send some of your scouts in to help him?” Bob asked.

“Are you kidding?” Daniel snorted. “He doesn’t need help. I practically had to sit on Dan Osaka and Lady Di today to keep them from charging up there and getting themselves killed.”

“Maybe they could have brought him out,” Bob insisted.

Adam laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Bob, you don’t understand men like Michael. I’m not so sure I do either. But I’ll tell you this. Daniel is right.”

Adam turned to stare at Edge Mountain.

“Michael doesn’t need help. They do. Hell, I have a sneaking suspicion he’s enjoying himself.”

Chapter 45: Return of the Prodigal

Michael stepped out in front of the jeep, forcing the driver to screech to a stop.

“You crazy asshole!” the driver yelled. “What the f...,” his voice faded as Michael hopped into the passenger seat and the man noticed his Captain’s bars. Oh, shit, I’ve done it now, he thought.

“HQ and step on it,” Michael commanded, ignoring the outburst.

“But Sir...” the driver started to protest. How could he explain to this Captain that a full Colonel ordered him to go into town for more cigarettes and coffee. Then he noticed the cold, hard look coming from those strange golden eyes. Made him feel like a bug about to be stepped on. Suddenly, the Colonel could wait.

“HQ. Yes, sir.” He put the jeep in gear and pulled out, then stomped on the gas when he remembered the Captain had said step on it. Twenty minutes later, he pulled up in front of the church that housed Prince John’s headquarters. The Captain hadn’t said another word, except to command the men manning the barricades at the guard posts to get out of his way. They hadn’t argued with him either.

Michael climbed out of the jeep and turned to the private driving it.

“Dismissed, soldier.”

“Sir!” The man saluted and took off. Something about that Captain gave him the willies. He sure didn’t look like a quartermaster. Those guys were usually soft and tame. This guy looked about as tame as a hungry timber wolf. He put the Captain out of his mind, turning it to more important matters, such as how to avoid having to share that six pack of beer he’d found in a house that morning with his buddies.

As Michael mounted the steps, the guard at the top saluted and opened the door. Christ, Michael thought, what excellent security. He entered the church. Dollies piled high with boxes of paper and gear were being wheeled out a side door and down a ramp into a waiting truck. Headquarters was obviously being moved.

Michael wandered toward the offices at the back of the church. Entering a hallway, he noticed an open door. He stuck his head inside what had been the Situation Room. A couple of noncoms were packing papers into boxes and a Captain was putting maps in a briefcase. The officer gave Michael a questioning look.

“Prince John?” Michael asked.

“Up at the front, leading the mop-up operation in Springville,” the man replied. The two noncoms left the room, carrying boxes of papers. The Captain continued to shove maps into the briefcase. Michael’s eyes lingered on the briefcase.

He slid on into the room, closing the door behind him.

“Could you be a little more specific?” Michael asked as he edged closer. “I’ve got an important message for him from Colonel Janko up on Edge Mountain.”

“Sorry,” the Captain said, not even looking up from his task. “Try the radio room.”

“I’ll do that.” Michael was close enough now.

The Captain looked up from his work. For the first time, he noticed the ill fit of Michael’s uniform.

“You know,” he sniffed, “if you’re going to see the Prince, you might consider sprucing yourself up a bit.”

“Good idea,” Michael grinned and your uniform looks like a much better fit. He whipped the stiff, callused edge of his right hand into the man’s neck at the base of his skull. The blow hit with a satisfying smack. Michael caught the unconscious Captain as he fell and dragged him through an open door into an empty adjoining room.

He returned for the briefcase and that was when he noticed Mariko’s scalp on the Prince’s trophy case. He grabbed it and tucked it in his shirt. An 8x10 photograph of a Hollywood-beautiful, blue-eyed blonde in a heavy gold frame caught his attention. She was wearing nothing but a sexy pout. The inscription read, “With love to my Prince, Ashley.” Michael grabbed the picture and stowed it in the briefcase. Who knows? Might come in handy. He had no way of knowing that Ashley had been John’s favorite toy. Or that she was still horribly, unrecognizably, alive.

He shut the door behind him as he moved back into the room where he’d deposited the Captain. He swiftly stripped the man. Then he pulled off Allen Hoffman’s clothes and used them to bind and gag the unconscious officer, shoving the Captain into an empty closet. The nametag on the Captain’s clothes read, “Berkhauser” and they were a much better fit.

Michael strode purposefully out of the church. He gave a hard stare to the only man who even looked twice at him and that Corporal promptly found something else to look at. He walked through the night toward a building that sprouted a cluster of antennas. He’d noticed it on the ride into Spanish Fork and figured it for the radio shack. As he continued toward the building a plan formed in his mind. It would mean abandoning his hunt for the Prince temporarily, but he had a feeling Adam Young should know what was in the briefcase. A gut feeling.

Meanwhile, in Springville, Prince John was climbing into his APC for the ride back to Spanish Fork. In another few hours his staff would have his headquarters relocated, but just now needed to get to the radio room so he could scream at that idiot Janko. John cast another glance at the firefight lights twinkling on Edge Mountain and shook his head in disgust. Couldn’t the stupid shit see his men were shooting at each other? John settled himself in the seat beside his driver. “Communications and move it.”

Michael returned the salute of the Private standing guard outside the door to the radio shack and went inside.

The Corporal on duty at the radio jumped to attention as Michael entered the room.

“Urgent message for Prince John,” Michael growled.

“Sir!” The Corporal replied stiffly.

“Beat it, son,” Michael added in a kinder tone, “You’re not cleared for this.” The Corporal snapped a sharp salute and marched toward the door. “And Corporal,” the man paused. “This will take a few minutes. While you’re out, round me up some transportation to Springville. I think the Prince will want to see me after I’m done here.”

“Yes, Sir!” He saluted again and left.

Michael opened the briefcase and quickly studied the maps and documents inside. He smiled widely as what appeared to be the Prince’s entire plan of battle unfolded before him. One item in particular caught his eye. The Prince had sent a flanking force around behind Provo. He had to get that information to Adam.

Michael spun the tuner on the radio. If only Provo had set up a new receiver.

“Whitebear to Provo,” he called. The reply was immediate.

“Michael?” The voice was familiar.

“Bob?”

“Christ, man, we’ve been worried sick about you. Where the hell are you? How did you come up with a radio?”

“I’m in Spanish Fork using the Prince’s radio,” Michael whispered. “But that’s not important. This is. The Prince has launched a flanking attack that’s supposed to hit us from the north tomorrow morning.”

“We know,” Bob Young shot back. Michael checked the notes scrawled on the map.

“Well, did you know the force consists of six thousand men, one thousand horses and no armor or artillery?”

“No,” Bob grunted. “But how did you...?”

“I walked into their headquarters and lifted their situation maps.”

Bob rolled his eyes upward. Of course. It figures. Half a regiment hunting him on Edge Mountain, so he strolls into town and steals their battle plans. Bob sent a man running to fetch Adam.

“Listen, Bob,” Michael continued urgently. “That force is due to hit our airport tonight, but its main mission is to keep us from retreating up Provo Canyon. Two other things. First, from what I can see on these papers, our fallback plan is a go. And second, one of these maps has the Prince’s order of battle for tomorrow. I’m going to try to bring that one out to you, so tell our forward-area gunners that any single vehicle they see coming at them at high speed will be me, okay? I’ll also need a path through the mine field on I-15 and if you haven’t blown the bridge over Provo Bay yet, try not to till I get across.”

“Gotcha. Now get the hell out of there, you nut-case.”

“In case I don’t make it, the attack’s scheduled for 5:07 a.m. and their armor will be coming up the old Denver & Rio Grande Western railroad grade.”

Michael spun the dial back to the Prince’s frequency. One more thing I can do, he thought. He removed the back of the set and popped loose a circuit board. Now the radio wouldn’t work. He pulled the pin from a grenade and wedged it into the set in such a way that when the back was removed to repair the radio, the grenade would blow. Michael shoved the maps back into the briefcase and closed it. As he finished, he heard a vehicle pull up out front.

Michael walked out of the building. The Corporal and Private leapt to attention.

“Your transportation, Sir,” the Corporal said proudly, indicating a beat-up, metal-top jeep. He had good reason to be proud. Even in the King’s army, it was quite a feat to come up with a vehicle, instead of a horse, on such short notice.

“Good work, Corporal,” Michael said, playing his role to the hilt. “I’m sure the Prince will show his appreciation for your efficiency.”

Michael knew he wouldn’t want to be in the man’s shoes, if the Prince got wind he had given Michael Whitebear a jeep after giving him run of the radio room. If the Corporal was lucky, he’d be the one who opened the radio.

Michael hopped into the jeep and sped off toward Provo, the briefcase lashed to the seat beside him. He had to swerve to avoid an APC pulling up to the curb as he was leaving.

*

Captain Parsons supervised his troops as they set up the Allies last remaining M102 howitzer. Thanks to the way earthquakes had devastated the area around American Fork and Pleasant Grove, there was only one feasible route for the enemy to take on their way through Orem to Provo and that was old U.S. 89. The road was far from intact. His men had already blown the bridges that, just a few years before, they had built when they believed they were rebuilding civilization. But intact or not, 89 was the only clear way through the rubble. Parsons had his gun emplaced near the powerhouse on the east side of the now-dry North Union Canal.

His artillery spotters were out. He and Major Cheryl Cummins had strung out the two thousand men assigned to defend the north flank along a hastily erected defensive embankment that paralleled 16th North Street from the Orem cemetery to where the old steel plant stood. A rider from Adam Young had informed them they would be facing about a thousand cavalry and five times that many infantry.

The Captain wondered briefly how they’d come up with those numbers, but mostly he was just thankful they wouldn’t be facing armor. The rider also told him the army coming at them had orders to take and hold the mouth of Provo Canyon. Captain Parson’s orders were to prevent that at all costs. Parsons glanced at the ammo boxes of high explosive ammunition he’d brought along. He also looked at his ace in the hole. Only six shells, but he hoped they’d be enough. He’d been saving them as a last resort and if this wasn’t it he didn’t know what was.

Dan Osaka and Sergeant Buell were up north laying an ambush for the enemy column. They had half of Daniel Windwalker’s scouts with them as well. The plan was to slow the “North Threat” down without incurring too many casualties themselves.

Even as he watched, his men went about the business of demolishing those few standing structures that might interfere with his field of fire. Behind him, mule trains and litter bearers helped the wounded up Provo Canyon. Adam had ordered the hospitals and aid stations evacuated earlier. It was disheartening to Captain Parsons, as it was to many of the troops. So many had died and still they were being forced to retreat and it was likely they would have to retreat again tomorrow. The enemy never seemed to run out of men, whereas the Allies were scraping the bottom of the barrel. Hell, half of his men, himself included, bore superficial wounds. Everybody, men, women and children over twelve, who could walk and pull a trigger with at least one hand was on the line.

Suddenly, he was sick of it all, the poor food, the lack of sleep, the endless fighting; but most of all he was sick of retreating. He decided right then and there that unless he was specifically ordered to give ground, this was where he’d make his stand.

*

Farther north, General Carswell was deciding how he would spend the gold the King would reward him with after this battle was over. His men were advancing undetected and, he chuckled, unsuspected toward the enemy rear. He’d been mildly disappointed the air base at Lehi had been abandoned, but then the Prince had suspected they were out of planes. In another hour or two, his troops would be in position and it would be light enough to begin the attack.

He rubbed his hands together in delight. It often amazed him how far he had come. Before The Dying Time, he had been a supply sergeant in the Air Force, at Vandenberg. His access to those supplies and his “business” friendship with arms dealer Joey Scarlatti, were the only things that enabled him to survive those first years.

And now look at us, he thought. Joey is a King and I’m a General. Though he admitted to himself the latter was due more to his support of Joey than to any military expertise of his own. At least that was what he’d thought until now.

His thrust out his chest and tried to sit more erect in the saddle. He decided, to his surprise, that he should get into the field more often. Judging by the results so far, he was really quite good at this. Of course, there were drawbacks. He missed his favorite concubine, Consuela, and in spite of having soldiers heat water for a bath he still didn’t feel clean. Nothing beats a good hot shower. He wasn’t very fond of horses either and the feeling was mutual. Around him, they tended to become all hooves and teeth.