by Ray Wench
Eighty-Seven
Mark won the race, but it was too dangerous to jump up and take the machine gun. Mark placed the rifle on the hood, lined up a shot, and fired. The lead runner fell. He switched targets and dropped a second man. The others dropped and tried to hide. Bullets pinged off the jeep. Bill and Caleb arrived and sat behind the jeep, both breathing heavily.
“I need to get up to the machine gun, but I can’t do it with all those guns pointed at me. I wouldn’t last a second. You two have to put down continuous cover fire. Can you do that?”
They both nodded with wide-eyed nervous bobs.
“Now!”
Mark fired several rounds and waited for them to get into a rhythm. When the heads in the ditch began to duck, Mark leaped up on the back of the jeep and grabbed the gun. He swiveled it and angled the sights downward. The two men still outside the ditch bounced on the ground as the bullets ripped them apart.
Mark walked the rounds to the ditch. At this distance he had no angle to hit anything. He stopped shooting. “Bill, can you drive a stick?”
Bill nodded again.
“Then drive me closer to the road. Stay low in the seat. Caleb, you walk behind the jeep and keep anyone from shooting in our direction.”
Bill struggled with the clutch, and the jeep lurched forward, almost throwing Mark to the ground. He grabbed the gun for balance. Bill turned the jeep head on to the road. Shots were once again coming from the ditch. Men came from around the house to add firepower to the barrage.
They were finding the range. Mark sighted the gun and shouted, “Bill, lie down. Caleb, keep the men in the ditch down.” Mark depressed the trigger and quickly sent the new shooters running for cover.
Someone was still alive in the house. Two of the intruders fell from shots fired from inside. “Okay, Bill, closer. Keep your head down. Just put it in gear and give it some gas.”
Bill complied, and the jeep jumped forward again. Mark held his fire. He only had limited rounds. A shot rang out from farther to the right. The enemy was using the ditch to flank them.
A cry of pain brought Mark’s attention behind him. Caleb had dropped to the ground. He was holding his leg and howling. Mark swung the gun in the direction of the shooters and let loose a long burst. The shooter was blown back into the ditch.
“Bill, stop the jeep. We’re getting too close. While I cover, you run back and grab Caleb. Hurry!”
Bill ran for Caleb. Mark shot a line across the top of the ditch to keep heads down. Bill dragged Caleb back to the jeep. Just then, two men broke from the ditch to the far right. Mark tracked them. He took down one of them but then the gun ran dry.
He jumped from the jeep and took up his rifle. He sat next to the others and reloaded his lone magazine. There was no telling how many attackers were left. However, they couldn’t wait to find out. If they didn’t move now, they’d be pinned down. Mark swung his gaze from the ditch to the woods and then to the lone man who had disappeared somewhere between.
With Caleb’s wounded leg, they wouldn’t reach the cover of the woods. Not unless he stayed to give them covering fire. But even then, it would be a risky retreat. Mark blew out a long breath. If they didn’t get some help, they’d all be dead.
Eighty-Eight
There was a small window in the side of the shed. Bobby took a quick peek and ducked. Two men were standing by the double doors in front. A riding mower took up much of the space behind them. One man had a rifle pushed between the gap where the doors met. The other had his faced pressed to where there must have been a hole in the wood.
Bobby motioned for the others. They ran to him. He held up two fingers and pointed inside. Becca nodded. Myron still looked stunned.
Bobby put his arm around each one’s shoulders and pulled them close in a huddle. “Sis, you go around the shed and stop at the door. I’ll go in front from this direction. Myron, you count to ten and then tap on the window to draw their attention. Let them see you.”
“Yeah, but don’t let them shoot you,” Becca added.
“When they come out, we take them with knives.”
“What if they don’t come out?” Becca asked.
Bobby frowned. “Myron, if they don’t open the door within five seconds, you say ‘go.’ That’ll mean we go in. Hopefully, they’re still looking at him. You pull the door from your side, and I’ll grab the gun that’s pointing out.”
Becca slid around the building. Bobby ducked below the window and waited at the corner for his sister. When she poked her head around the other side, Bobby moved to the front.
The tapping happened seconds later. They heard movement within, but no one came out.
“Oh geez! Go.”
Becca stepped to the front and grabbed the door. Bobby was already moving when she yanked it open. To Bobby’s relief, the rifle was no longer aimed outward. He rushed through the door, feeling Becca close behind.
The two men turned as they entered. The man with the rifle spun toward Bobby, who dived at the man, knife held out in front like a spear. The gun went off. A sharp pain exploded in Bobby’s side. His momentum carried him forward and he crashed into the man before he could fire again. The blade impaled the man. The force of the contact drove him back against the wall.
Bobby turned fast as the body slumped to the floor. Pain shot through him. He grabbed his side and looked for Becca. She was involved in a fight, but all he could do was slide down the wall and watch.
Becca followed Bobby and flinched when the gun went off. The delay gave her opponent the chance to pull a handgun and aim it at Bobby. With no alternative but to save her brother, Becca flung her knife at the man. It hit and staggered him, but did not penetrate.
Before he could regroup Becca was on him kicking, clawing, and screaming like some wild animal. She clasped both hands around the gun side wrist and sank her teeth in. Her opponent screamed and beat at her head with his free hand.
One of the blows connected solid and dazed her. Becca’s grip relaxed enough that the gun was ripped from her grasp. She staggered sideways. Her foe backhanded her on the side of the head with the gun, knocking her down. When she looked up, the gun was aimed at her head.
The first arrow drove her would-be killer two steps back. The second hit him in the eye.
Eighty-Nine
To her great relief, Myron stepped into the shed with a third arrow ready. The small room was crowded with five people and the riding mower. He reached a hand down and Becca took it.
Bobby rose, stood and gasped, collapsing to his knees.
Ignoring the blood streaming from her face and the pain in her head, Becca rushed to her brother’s side. “Bobby!”
He lowered to the floor and rolled onto his back.
Blood-stained shirt. Not the smear of someone else’s blood, but the wet and growing spread of his own.
Becca yanked the shirt up to see the blood’s source. They both gasped.
“Oh God, Myron, he’s been shot.”
She wiped at the blood with her hand, trying to see the wound. It covered again. “I have to stop the bleeding.”
Myron removed the quiver from around his neck and pulled his shirt over his head. He handed it to Becca. She took the shirt and cut it into strips, leaving one section whole. Using the scraps, Becca wiped away the blood. She turned her brother slightly, remembering what Lynn had done and said. She was relieved to see there was an exit wound. Folding the extra material, she pressed it to the wound on top.
“Myron, push down on this.”
He squatted and held the cloth in place.
Becca did the same on the back and wrapped a cloth strip around it to hold it in place. She used every strip she cut to secure the makeshift bandage in place.
“Becca, we have to move,” Bobby said. He sat up and winced. “I’ll be all right.”
“Bobby, you got shot. You’re not all right.”
“I’m gonna have to be. Now help me up.” He groaned as Becca helped him stand
&nb
sp; He walked to the open doors. Becca stood next to him. A gun fight still raged outside, but the machine gun was quiet. No one was in the backyard at the moment. “Let’s go,” he said and ran from the shed before she could stop him. Bobby went around the back of the garage. Becca followed. They stopped at the far corner. A side door near the front stood open.
In front of the house men were firing across the street. She couldn’t see their target, but suspected it was her father. She kept watching the men as they advanced toward the door. If any of the shooters turned around, the trio would be in the open.
Bobby slid along the wall until he reached the door. He peeked inside. Bobby held up two fingers and prepared to enter. Becca touched his arm. When he looked, she made a gun with her finger and pumped her thumb up and down. Her brother was in no condition to go hand-to-hand. It was time to shoot. He nodded, spun into the doorway, and leveled the rifle. He pulled the trigger as he walked inside. He kept firing until both men were down. Becca followed him in, sweeping her gun arm to the rear of the building to make sure no one else hid inside.
“Here they come,” Myron shouted as he jumped through the door following Becca.
Becca looked through the garage door windows and saw six men running toward the garage from the front yard. Bobby looked at her.
She smiled. “Oh well, brother, we came looking for a fight. Now we got it.”
Ninety
“Caleb, can you still shoot?”
“Hell, yeah.”
“They’re gonna rush us from the front real soon. You keep watching the guy behind us. If he pops up, you take him down. Lie down and use the scope.”
Bill said, “Hey, hey, they’re moving up this side.”
Mark looked to the left. “They’re flanking us. The charge will happen soon. Bill, you take that side, I’ll watch the front.”
Voices filled the temporary silence. Mark couldn’t make out many words, but the ones he heard were English. Mark knelt and sighted across the front seats of the jeep. Six men climbed the slope and charged the jeep.
“Here they come.”
The flank opened fire. Bill shot rapidly. He was shouting.
Mark yelled, “Control your shots, Bill. Make them count.” He sighted the front man and punctured his chest. As quick as he could, Mark shifted to the next target and took him down.
Bullets were flying from every direction. As Mark switched positions, he noticed Bill was dry firing. He was sobbing, out of ammo, but perhaps too afraid to notice. The flank was pouring fire onto the jeep. It wouldn’t be long before a bullet found one of them.
Mark returned a quick shot to the left, and then turned to the front. He fired in rapid succession missing one and wounding another. Four more men were out of the ditch now. They would be hand-to-hand soon. He set the rifle down and pulled the handgun. It would be faster and better for up close work.
He stood straight up, sighted, and banged out five shots. Bill groaned and slumped to the ground.
“Caleb, cover the flank.”
Mark fired again catching more men approaching from the corner of his eye. He fired until the magazine emptied then pulled his knife. The first attacker came around the jeep and Mark drove the knife into his belly, ripping it upward and out.
A second man jumped onto the jeep and launched at Mark. He sidestepped the human missile and slashed down across his back. He landed next to Caleb. The boy turned on his side and shot the man in the face. Mark turned to face the next one. A sudden burst of heavy firing made him duck behind the jeep. With the few seconds’ relief from attack, Mark slapped home another magazine and stood ready to fire. To his surprise, there were no longer any targets. He moved left to right and lowered the gun.
Across the street, Jarrod and Lincoln stood. Adam’s group had found and joined them.
Jarrod waved and shouted, “You’re welcome.”
Mark turned and looked behind him. “Caleb, did you get that guy behind us?”
“Yeah, he’s down.”
Mark checked Bill. He was dead. He pushed the sorrow aside. There would be time for grieving later, when he had to tell his wife. “You stay here.”
Mark ran across the street to join Jarrod. “What about that building?”
“We took care of that. It’s all clear.”
There were still gunshots coming from the rear. Since Becca and Bobby weren’t with Jarrod, those shots had to be them. He took off at a run.
Ninety-One
Bobby and Becca pushed the barrels of their guns through the window frames. “Myron, close the door and don’t let anyone inside. Ready, Sis?”
“Let’s do this, Bro.”
“Now.”
They opened fire and cut down two men. The remaining four found some place to hide and returned fire. Bullets plunked into the wood door, and some ripped through. “We’re not gonna be able to stay here much longer,” Bobby said. “Some of those shots are getting through.”
“What do you suggest? We can’t go out the side door. There’s no other way out.”
Myron said, “There’s stairs leading up. It might give us a better angle.”
“Yeah, but if they got inside we’d be trapped.” A bullet tore wood from the frame next to his face. He ducked and swore.
“Bobby, the guys in that building are coming out. There’s four more there. I don’t know if we can hold them all off.”
Bobby fired. “We have to try.”
“Bobby, you’re the better shot. You go upstairs and Myron and I will keep them out.”
“Okay.” Bobby hobbled for the stairs, taking them as best he could fighting back the severe pain. The upstairs was floored and with enough room to stand. There was no window; however, there was a vent in the front peak.
He rushed to the end, sat down, and kicked until the vent fell away to the ground below. By the time he was ready to shoot, some of the attackers below were already directing fire upward.
Bobby took his time, trying to ignore the bullets striking the wood around him. He lined up his first shot and planted it an inch from the head of a guy lying down behind an elevated wooden sandbox. The man panicked and tried to crawl away. Becca shot him in the ass. Bobby finished him.
The shooter standing at the corner of the house made the mistake of stepping into the open to shoot at Bobby. He got the shot away before Bobby hit him. That bullet hit the wood just below Bobby, throwing splinters into his face. He screamed. The shock and initial pain sent him rolling on his back and clutching his face. He fought for breath, but when he pulled his hands away only a small smear of blood showed. Forcing his breathing to a more normal rate he examined the damage with his fingers and winced when he found the small pieces of wood sticking out from his skin.
Myron was getting antsy. The gun battle raged around him, which was bad enough, but he just stood there doing nothing. He watched Becca line up and take one shot after another. She was amazing. Not only for her skill, but because nothing seemed to phase her as it did him. She never showed fear, while Myron had enough for both of them.
He stood near the door, not sure what to do to help.
“Ha, gotcha,” Becca said.
Then the door blasted open, almost knocking Myron over. A man stepped in and leveled a rifle at Becca.
“Ahhh!” Myron screamed and leaped on the man’s back. The gun spat out a bullet that hit between Becca’s feet. She jumped and let out a squeak.
Myron wrapped his arms around the guy’s neck and squeezed tight. His opponent tried to pry Myron loose, but couldn’t do it with one hand. He lifted the rifle over his head and fired. The bullet ripped the braid and feather from Myron’s head.
Shocked by the closeness of the bullet, Myron released his hold and slid to the floor. The man spun on Myron who had no way of defending himself. Myron threw a wild punch landing on the man’s cheek. The blow turned his head, but was nothing more than a slap.
He pushed Myron backward, but before he could level the gun, his head looked at the cei
ling and his mouth dropped open in a silent scream. The rifle fell. He clutched at his back and dropped to his knees. Becca stood behind him, her face alive with color and rage.
She pulled the knife free, placed a handgun against the back of his head, and without pause pulled the trigger. Myron looked from the body to Becca in relief and astonishment.
“I got your back, Myron.”
“Yeah, I see that.” He accepted her hand and she hauled him to his feet.
Increased fire from out front brought their attention back to the window. She scooped up the rifle and aimed it through the window. Myron’s heart beat so hard his chest hurt. Would the killing ever stop?
“Oh, thank God!” Becca said, and lowered the rifle. She looked at Myron and smiled. “It’s my father. I think it’s over.” Wrapping her arms around him, she squeezed tight.
Myron held on, closed his eyes, and whispered, “Yes, thank God.”
Ninety-Two
Becca and Myron guided Bobby from the garage. Mark’s heart flipped at the sight of the wounded boy with the bloody face. He rushed to him.
They sat him down at a picnic table.
“He’s all right, Daddy,” Becca said. “The bullet went clear through. He’s got a bunch of splinters in his face though. I couldn’t do anything about those, and the big baby won’t let me touch them.”
Mark bent and examined his son’s face. Streaks of blood came from a dozen places. The splinters were small and close to his eyes. Some would have to be removed using a magnifying glass.
“Becca, I need you and Myron to go across the street and help Caleb. Bring him over here.”
When they went, Mark turned to everyone. “Is anyone else hurt?”
No one spoke up.
Jarrod asked, “Where’s Bill?”
Mark shook his head.
The woman with Jarrod had been a nurse. She examined Bobby. When Caleb arrived, she checked him and bandaged the wound.
With the battle over, General West and the remaining eleven soldiers came out of the house. Many had wounds of different degrees.
