“Chad will be the relay messenger between them and the rest of us at the river. He will be posted here, along with Steve, and he will also serve as the last line of defense for our families if we are compromised down there,” he added, pointing towards the river. “All radio chatter needs to be kept to a minimum and only used to help our cause. I don’t want to hear someone radioing for a sandwich. What else, Lance?”
“Just a few things come to mind before we say a prayer. First, we all need to conduct ourselves as deer hunters. Assume you are being watched, and any sudden movements or talking will give your location away. Mike and Jake will be the only two floating around. Has anybody seen them?”
“No.” “No.” “Not me, either,” said another, as both men, in camouflage, jumped up from the ground only feet from where we all stood. Several men jumped back, with one falling, landing hard on the ground.
“What the hell?” asked one of Nate’s guys.
“That’s on you,” I told him. “Nobody else knew they were there either, but now you see the advantage we have with these two guys out of the holes and floating.
“Next, the Baker group and their scouts don’t cross the river, no matter what. No saving ammo, fireworks, or anything else if they are trying to cross. We dump everything we have on them to turn them back around. No shooting unless Lonnie gives the order over the radios.
“And last, remember what we are fighting for—they are all with Beatrice at her house. Each and every single person there is worth all of our bloodshed on this ground. Bring it in, guys, for a quick prayer.”
“I’m not a believer,” said one of Nate’s guys.
“Okay,” I responded. “You can choose to participate or not.”
I focused on the others and overheard another of Nate’s group telling the man, “You may not think it will help, but it surely can’t hurt, right?” He ducked into the group at the last second.
O Lord, we thank you for watching over all of our groups this day, and each day before. Today is a big day for all of us as we fight evil on our very soil. We ask that you be with us and surround us with your love and grace, giving us the strength and might to overcome those who seek to harm us and take what you have provided for our families. Watch over our families and let nothing penetrate the walls of Mrs. Jenkins’ house. It is in your name we pray. Amen.
“Amen,” said most of the men.
* * * *
The time on my watch read 7:57 a.m. as we headed down to the river. I looked back at camp. It was a ghost town, with everyone up at the house now.
“Let’s go,” said Lonnie. “Vlad, you and Lance get down on the four-wheeler and hide it as best you can in the brush. The M60s, with ammo, are already loaded on the four-wheeler trailer. Anything heavy we need to carry, including weapons, ammunition, water, and fireworks, can be loaded there as well. The rest of us will walk down on foot, keeping our packs with us in the foxholes. Beatrice and some of the other ladies have seen to it that each pack contains enough food that doesn’t need to be kept cold for several days—if we’re out here that long. There are boxes of shop rags, rain gear, and small garden shovels. No getting out of the holes once we’re in.”
The slow ride down on the four-wheeler with the heavy trailer was as close as I could imagine to the process of preparing for combat. I had never done this before.
Each man grabbed his things off the trailer as we passed each foxhole, with all set 30 yards off of the river’s edge, just inside the tree line.
There were 14 holes dug, all spaced approximately 10 yards apart at the most likely crossing point. We all did our best to dress in camouflage and dark colors, hoping to blend in with the dense brush.
* * * *
The first hour tested Lonnie’s patience. Several men moved around loudly and called out to each other. He used the radio to tell the offenders to knock it off and take their jobs seriously. One bullet headed in their direction will be all it takes to straighten them out, I thought.
My mind wandered to the “before times.” Family vacations, my kids being born, and meeting my soulmate, Joy, on New Year’s Eve of 2000.
A month ago, I was sitting in traffic at this time of the morning on my hour and a half commute to work, occasionally getting cut off by an aggressive driver. I would wonder what I should do for lunch and what time the boys had soccer practice.
Americans Going Home, and others on Audible, stuck in my head as I listened to book after book. Now I was the one in a real-life going-home scenario, except I actually left home and dragged a ton of other people with me.
I never imagined I would be sitting in a foxhole, “Red-Dawn” style, but I still felt I had made the right decision after hearing about my house and neighborhood being burned to ashes so quickly after we left.
I snapped in and out of focus, trying hard to concentrate on my breathing. Making a game of looking for anything moving across the river through my binoculars, I was able to stay present.
I remembered reading, or maybe hearing, that the birds in the trees, and even the squirrels, would tell you exactly what was happening in the forest from their uncompromised vantage point, if one would only listen.
Looking up and down the peaceful river, I now realized the chatter from both animal groups had been nearly deafening for the past hour, only now calming down as they were getting used to us bumbling around their homes.
“Listen to the birds and squirrels,” I whispered into my radio, hoping Lonnie wouldn’t mind. “When they get agitated, then get ready.”
I saw a few thumbs-up out of the other holes and heard a “That’s right,” reply from Lonnie. As the morning drew on, all was quiet.
I counted three rabbits, one fox, and a beaver all near the river’s edge. Brook trout and browns occasionally jumped out of the water in the calm part of the river before me.
Occasionally I caught a glimpse of movement from Jake or Mike in my binoculars, not being able to tell them apart, and then I would lose them in the trees. They were on the opposite side of the river, although I hadn’t seen them cross.
It made me nervous that someone on our side might get excited and start shooting haphazardly in their direction.
My watch read 10:46 when the air became still, and not a sound was heard. Everything moved in slow motion, and my heartbeat rang in my ears, thump, thump, thump, getting louder with each pulse.
Did anybody else notice the change?
My hole mate seemed to understand after my warning earlier.
Calm, I told myself, motioning to my ammo feeder to scan the far side of the river with his binoculars, as I was.
The birds’ chatter started, faint at first and far away towards the highway.
“Can you get a drone up and over the trees, Mel?” I whispered into my radio.
“Yes, it’s already set up in the clearing behind us. I can get it up high and have a max range of about 4 miles, but I can get video another few miles beyond that.”
I was hoping to see what was up on the highway. We were closer now as the crow flies, but I guessed it was six to eight miles still.
“Let’s get it in the air, Mel. We need some eyes on what’s coming,” I said.
“Will do,” he replied quietly. “We have 25 minutes on the battery before I have to switch it out, so it will be basic footage only for now. I’m going to climb a large pine tree near the clearing to get a visual when it’s airborne. Just let me know when I should start.”
“Now Mel, start right now and radio quietly what you see,” said Lonnie.
“Won’t that thing just draw attention to us?” asked my hole mate.
“No, they already know we’re here; it just remains to be seen if they choose to mess with us. Seeing a drone doesn’t change that one bit,” I added.
Minutes later, I could hear the familiar buzz of the blades turning and looked behind me to watch it rise up and over the tallest trees. I followed its path with my binoculars, wondering how long it would be before they tried to sh
oot it out of the air.
“We’re a go,” called out Mel intensely, switching his attention from his screen to watching through binoculars.
“I’m worried about what he will see,” whispered my feeder.
“Whatever it is will be better than being blindsided. Are you ready to feed the ammo belts?” I asked him.
“Yes, I think so, just like Mel taught us. But what if the gun jams?” he asked nervously.
“Then we clear it, or figure it out,” I said, pointing to our two ARs. We’ve got plenty of ammo either way. Maybe Mel will drop a few grenades off the drone on them and save us the trouble,” I added, smiling at my own joke.
My crude attempt at a joke bombed, and I watched the man look nervously from side to side.
“Stay calm,” I told him. “It’s going to be...”
I turned, hearing him shuffle out the side of the hole and run straight back into the woods.
“Was that part of the big plan?” I asked, looking up to the sky.
He didn’t even take his pack or rifle, I thought.
“Are you telling jokes again, Lance?” asked Lonnie over the radio.
“Only one,” I responded, “but I guess that was enough. My mate here just ran.”
“Can you feed the 60?” asked Lonnie.
“Yeah, I think so,” I replied, having participated in Mel’s training course just in case something like this happened.
Mike and Jake emerged on the opposite river bank, in full view of our group, even without binoculars.
Mike held up his right hand, opening and closing it four times before pointing towards the highway and holding up two fingers.
I took that to mean 20 bad guys at 2 miles out, and I hoped I was reading him correctly.
“It’s Go Time,” I said quietly, forgetting already that my wingman had abandoned me.
* * * * * * *
Chapter Fifteen
Raton Pass, New Mexico
Jim had been on the radio twice this morning with the Colonel but for only a few minutes each time. He was hoping to get a solid commitment of force, should it come to it, but so far, he was only ordered by the Colonel to radio with updates.
Having just learned about Mike’s signal and Mel having the drone in the air from Steve, he reached out again, with no luck.
“The cavalry is offline, guys,” he said quietly to Mark.
“Stay safe down there, Dad,” Mark said aloud.
The knock at the radio post door was Tina. She was followed by Joy, Nancy, and most of the other adults in the house, all asking for an update on the situation. Jim didn’t want to worry them, but a stern look from Joy made him relay the information he had, without filters of any kind. After all, nobody had asked him not to.
The children played games inside the house. Only Katie sat alone, identifying more with adults now than children, but not fitting in with either.
“I’ve got 15-25 not far from here,” called out Mel, “and they are not lost. I repeat, they are organized and all armed. That’s all so far, but I’ll know more in about five minutes when I’m at the end range of the drone.”
Mike and Jake crossed back over the river and went hole to hole, relaying what they had seen.
“They are coming right towards us and must have known about the fire road and this easy crossing. I think they are planning to cross here,” said Jake, pointing just in front of me towards the river, at the same spot my boys were brought back over only a few days ago.
“There’s no walking away from this without shots fired is what you’re saying,” I said, as more of a statement.
Mike nodded his head yes, without speaking.
“Mike and I will be downriver,” Jake said, “and if any shooting starts, you hit them from the front and we will come from the side. It may just split them up enough to give us the advantage.”
“Lord,” I whispered, “I hope you know these are bad men heading this way. I would not consider doing what I think I am about to have to do if they were your good children. I cannot let these predators get close to our families, and you know this. Forgive me, Lord.”
Seconds turned to minutes…and dragged on like hours.
Mel was back down the tree, carrying his drone and shaking his head side to side. He passed me first, and I demanded an update.
“We’ve got maybe 20 minutes before the first wave hits,” he said soberly.
“The first wave?” I asked.
“The 15-25 I already mentioned. But there are more behind them. Not the entire group that seems to be walking over the pass without stopping, but in between the two are another hundred or more armed and hunkered down, presumably waiting on word from their lead guy. They are about 4 miles out, near as I can tell.”
“No, no, no,” I said, louder than I wanted to. “That’s not what we need right now. There’s a big difference between 25 and more than 100.”
“I know, Buddy,” replied Mel, “but it’s what we’ve got. I’ll prepare the fireworks quickly since we’re out of time.”
“One battle at a time,” I told myself, missing the comradery of my friends but not forgetting they were close and getting the same news, as Mel worked his way down the line of foxholes.
I checked my ammo belt for the big gun, remembering how hot the barrel got after only a few hundred rounds the last time I shot one mid-summer in north Texas.
My heart beat loudly in my ears once again, as I waited nervously for the first sign, scanning across the river with my binoculars.
I started to see movement in the trees. At first, it looked like the wind, and then it grew into a wave of people fanning out amongst the trees.
That’s when I saw it…when we all saw her. A small girl of maybe five years walked out from the trees towards the edge of the river, carrying a megaphone. She looked back every few steps and called out for guidance.
I froze, as I expect we all did, for it was a dirty but effective tactic by ruthless men going to any length to secure an advantage. The young girl kept walking right up to the water’s edge, and I whispered into my radio. “Hold your fire, everyone. Hold your fire.”
She turned to head back into the trees, but she was waved to stay where she was. Her sweet voice over the megaphone was loud enough for all on our side to hear.
“Raton Pass Militia, you have taken our men hostage, and...” she paused, looking back for a minute before continuing. “We want them back!” She walked back into the trees.
Apparently, they haven’t heard of Mike yet, I thought, and they still think their guys are alive.
“You have exactly 20 minutes to produce them and send them back to our side,” called out an adult I couldn’t see.
Or what? I thought.
The men remained inside the tree line, pushing the young girl out front.
“Keep calm,” said Mike over the radio. “I’ll get the girl, but when I do, you all better cover my ass!”
I scanned the other side of the river intently, believing I either had twenty minutes or until Mike made his move.
The difference was split, and I had ten minutes before I saw the first firework arc into the air and across the river with an echoing Boom!
It was immediately followed by a combination of bigger ones, with Screaming Serpents, whistlers, and some kind of multi-bottle-rocket firework I had never seen before.
In the chaos of smoke and lights, I saw a blur as a figure ran out of the woods, scooping up the girl and running back from where he came.
“Mike,” I said aloud. “You are complicated and unpredictable, but you get the job done.”
There was a long pause, and for a minute I expected them to just turn around and head back from where they came.
The first shot came from their side; I was sure of it. It would be a debate at a future date among those of us left.
Lonnie was yelling “Open fire!” on the radio more than a few seconds after all of us did.
The M60s shot round after round onto the far bank, as th
e men came into full view.
I did not see any other children, or Mike and Jake, as the carnage continued.
Walls of bullets flew in both directions, and screams came from both sides.
I kept my head down as they passed right over my hole, popping up to shoot at each lull. The first time I shot one of these guns in Texas a few years back, I was shooting across a river at tennis balls. I remember feeling a bit like Rambo back then, but that’s easier to do, I realized now, when nobody is shooting back.
Next World Series (Vol. 4): Families First [Hard Roads] Page 8
