48 Hours by William R. Forstchen

Author:William R. Forstchen
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

PART VI

Of all the wonders that I yet have heard,

It seems to me most strange that men should fear;

Seeing that death, a necessary end,

Will come when it will come.

—William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar

13

SPRINGFIELD, MISSOURI · 1:00 P.M. CST

“DARREN, it’s coming.”

He did not need to be told. Even through the steel door, he could hear the high-pitched turbine whine of an M1 Abrams tank. It was a sound he and his comrades often prayed for when pinned down at Fallujah; it meant the armor guys were coming up, offering shelter, and then blowing the crap out of the enemy.

But this time? This time, it filled him with dread, for unless something radically changed, their brief defiant stand was about to end.

Over the past few hours, maybe upward of a thousand or more local civilians had arrived with children in tow. A perimeter of MPs was holding them back out on the far side of the chain-link fence and parking lot.

Some locals who knew how to get in had slipped in via the three escape hatches at the other end of the facility, but even those had been sealed off in the last hour. The few who had gotten through reported that the tension between the military police and parents who wanted to get their children in was about to explode.

He turned to face those who had agreed to stand with him and Darla. “I want all of you to get back. Get all the way down to the first level. When that door blows, the projectile will cut right through it; that and the debris will be deadly. I’ve seen what it can do; there is no standing up to it. When they storm in, drop your weapons. Don’t try to fight them; it will be futile.”

He heard the tank’s engine go into idle, and he looked back out through the view port. The tank had stopped just inside the barrier of the cyclone fence. The two Bradleys lined up behind it.

It was an older M1 relegated to the National Guard years earlier, its main armament a 105 mm rifled barrel. A single armor-piercing round from that gun would cut clear through the steel door, and followed by a couple of HE rounds, it would be blown apart.

There was no stopping it. The game was up.

“Everybody back down the tunnel now!” Darren shouted. “I want you beyond the first turnoff—and wait there!”

Some hesitated.

“No debate; move it! If he fires, everyone here is dead. Move it!”

Captain Harrison added his voice in agreement, physically shoving several of the men standing near him, and finally the group began responding, more than a few calling for Darren and Darla to come with them. Darren did not respond, attention still focused on the view port as the turret of the M1 lined its gun up on the door, making a fine adjustment so that it was aimed dead center.

Darren looked over at Darla. “Sweetheart, please go back with the others.”

“Like hell.” Darla unslung the M4 at her shoulder and held it up to the ready position.

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