by Rob Buckman
With his monocular, he could scan the road and the house from his position. And would have some indication of what they were doing, at least during the day. By nightfall, he had counted ten new faces arriving at the house. The only one he recognized was Will Bonner, who greeted each new arrival. The two women puzzled him until he remembered a conversation he'd overheard about them a few years before. Both very gay and very good, a long and short team if he remembered right. He would have to be careful around those two. They could smell a man twenty feet away and hit him coming or going. That was not to say he should take the rest of the group lightly either. For a while, he thought of trying to send Max away, then gave up. The chances of making him understand he should stay away were nil, and tying him up was out of the question. It would give him an edge that they hopefully didn't know about and would be a God send at night. Night optics were good. But sometimes it was almost impossible to pick up a man, or woman dug into a well-concealed hideout in the bushes. With Max around, he'd spot them in a second, no matter how well they were hidden. That sniffer could smell a mouse fart from half a mile, or follow a trail better than a bloodhound on his best day. The game had started, an old familiar one to him, and one he loved to play. The fact that his life was at stake didn't bother him at all, it only made it sweeter. Now, for the first time in years he felt alive, free. He could do what he was good at without having to worry about the legalities. It was kill or be killed played with people who knew the rules. It was good day to die, for somebody.
Nightfall came and Mike moved back up into the high country, finding a sheltered spot in a pile of boulders. Scattering hockey pucks around the perimeter a hundred and fifty yards out, he marked their positions carefully in his mind. If he had to bug out in the middle of the night, he didn't want to step on his own traps. Max and Maxine sniffed them and turned their noses up. Not good to eat, and just for luck Maxine pissed on three of them. Mike shook his head in disgust. Hoping there was rain again tonight and it washed them off. There was and it did. The rain was blown by a cold icy wind out of the Northwest that cut right through clothing. But with the two wolves cuddling up to him, he had no trouble keeping warm. Sleep came easy that night, so did the dreams. Dreams about her, his mind conjured up images of her swimming naked in a clear mountain pool, or brushing her hair in front of a mirror, crying.
Crying! Why was she crying? Who... what... why is she unhappy. With a breaking heart, he called her name, asking her not to cry, but she couldn't hear him. Dejected she stood up and walked to the bed that didn't have any covers and lay down. As she walked to the bed, he noted the heavy gold chain around her waist and each ankle. Puzzled, where had she'd got them from? A man entered the room, a whip in his hand and stood looking at her. Mike tried to see his face but couldn't. The image becoming blurred and indistinct. Kat looked at him a moment, then rolled over on to her stomach, placing her hands over her head, burying her beautiful face in her arms, tears in her eyes. The man walked over, flexing the whip, standing over her. He raised it...
"No!" Mike yelled and sat up looking out into the darkness still seeing the whip raised to strike. Max and Maxine jumped up, looking around growling, then back at him.
"It all right guys. It was just a dream." He said shaking his head. He lay back down with a sight. 'Thank god it was just a dream.' was his last thought. The remainder of the night passed uneventfully, this sleep undisturbed until just before dawn, when the bugs started bothering him. Mosquitoes buzzed round him for a while after the rain stopped and he brushed them away in his sleep. They all vanished except a big one that wouldn't go away. Even after many attempts, it kept buzzing around and around and around, digging deeper and deeper into his subconscious. He came out of a deep sleep, woken at last by the uneasy growling of both animals, each pushing against him, hackles raised.
"What the hell!" He snarled, grabbing his rifle.
The giant mosquitoes turned out to be a 'Jet Ranger' flying about a quarter mile out, and some five hundred feet up. It flew an inward bound spiraling circle with his hideout in the pile of rocks as its center point. Low hanging clouds, mist, and light rain had cut the visibility down to just about the same distance. Patches of denser mist moving across the landscape, bringing visibility down to zero in places. That they had found him was obvious, the question was not so much how, but how many others were closing in.
"Shit!" Air support was the one weapon he didn't think they had. He was wrong, and about to pay the price. He'd been lulled into a false sense of security with the two wolves present, knowing he should have known better. By this time he should have been deep in the forest, playing the old game of hide and seek with his enemy instead of here.
This location was too exposed for day work. He had to get back down to the tree line or he was in a heap of shit. Slinging a bag over each shoulder, he settled them on his hips, clipping them to his belt. The chopper swung round in a slow imperfect circle and Mike waited for it to reach its farthest point before popping his head up for a good look. Carefully standing, he peered over the top of the rocks, using his glass. The chopper was all black with no markings on it, an oddity in itself, suspecting magnetic or peel-off decals for traveling across country. The bird was obviously a special job, probably incorporating armor over all the vulnerable spots, advanced avionics, and heat seeking equipment. That would explain how they had been able to find him in so short a time. As he watched, the side door slid open, and he managed to get one quick look inside before a shit storm landed in his location. He and the gunner seeing one another at the same moment. Mike threw himself backward and prayed, landing on his back almost on top on Max and Maxine as the rocks around him dissolved in a stinging shower of hard rain. Rock chips and dust flew around him as he crawled into a corner, swearing a blue streak, bullets, and rock fragments pinging and whining off in all directions.
In the fraction of a second, before he did his back flip he saw something that sent shivers up his spine. Some smart bastard had mounted a 'Vulcan' mini-gun in the chopper. A 5.56 mm 'Six-Pak' by the look of it, and was now churning out about three thousand rounds a minute in his direction. That turned his safe camp into a hell hole that was literally disintegrating around him. The firing stopped and the chopper continued its lazy circling, every few seconds popping off a few rounds, as the gunner found a new spot to shoot at. It became obvious that the intention was to keep him pinned down until ground forces arrived. And with his head stuck down a hole, he had no way of telling when that would be—one hour or one minute. The mist closed in and the firing stopped, not that it would give him enough time to get clear. Then the sweet Lady of fortune turned her wheel again, and three events happened at once. Maxine, who was getting a little upset at all this noise and rock chips flying around took off running. Max was caught between two emotions—go after her, or stay with his friend. Mike started out after her, a moment later changing his mind and diving back in again. What the rabbit was doing there was anyone’s guess, hiding down a hole most probably and looking for another quieter place to live in. As Maxine broke cover, so did the rabbit who immediately spotted her and took off running. Maxine spotted the rabbit and took off after it in hot pursuit. In its panic to get away, the rabbit ran right over a 'hockey puck'. It exploded, sending the rabbit five feet into the air. Mike heard the note of the choppers main rotor blades deepen as the pilot pulled up on the collective, pulling it into a tight turn.
Human nature being what it is, the pilot had registered the movement and explosion, and moved into a better position to see what had happened. Now was his chance. Flicking the L80 to rock and roll, he jumped up and pulled down on the chopper, sighting on the open door, fast swinging away from him. He did get off a few rounds before he lost the sight picture. The rest of the mag he used to punch holes in the body work with no apparent result. He watched the machine swing away, the pilot’s instinct telling him, he was taking incoming fire. Even with the armor, he didn't want to get his bird shot up. Mike didn't need a second invit
ation. This was the only chance he was going to get. In a split second, he took off running, hearing the blades digging into the thick air as it continued to come around. Counting five in his head, he cut right, feeling before he heard the 'Six-Pak' open up. Five more seconds, and he cut right again, seeing the turf tear up beside him at the chopper roared by overhead. Chucks of dirt or something were hitting his clothes. 'Right or left next time' he thought. He'd cut right twice already and they might be expecting him to do the same again, thinking he was running in panic. The sound told him that they were coming at him again, more on his left side. It was this that decided his action.
"FIVE!" He yelled and cut right then left. The move caught them flat footed, the gunner starting to shoot, leading his target that wasn't there. It had ducked out of sight beneath him. Twenty feet to go to the tree line, the heavy bag pounding his hips mercilessly, his breath rasping in and out of his lungs. On the count of five, he cut left again, away from the trees, running parallel. Again, he got lucky as the chopper was out of position, having expected him to run directly into the trees for safety. The ground erupted beside him, a long shallow trench magically appearing as the gunner tried desperately to cut him down. The moment he heard them turn to come at him again, he skidded to a halt, reversed direction. Cutting left and right as he ran until at last he reach the relative safety of the trees in a long dive. The moment he did he went to ground behind a pine tree with a large boulder at its foot, laying there gasping for air. The tree started to disintegrate over his head as the gunner chewed his way across the tree line. His clothes soaked with sweat and rain, his shoulder and side bruised and on fire as he lay there, sucking in a great lungful of air.
"Bastard! Bastard! Bastards." He kept saying over and over again, his heart pounding as bullets whipped through the trees and brush around him. For the first time in a very long time, his hands shook as he stripped the mag from the weapon and dropped it into his bag.
"I'll teach those fuckers to come after me in a chopper! God damn them to hell! He screamed over the ‘whop’ ‘whop’ sound of the chopper blades, his anger and fear warring with each other. He fumbled in his bag, picking up first one magazine then another until he found one with yellow tape around it. Now he'd get a chance to see that these could do. Using his teeth, he ripped the factory seal off the top, checking the rounds.
"Fucking Perfect!" He muttered. "Let’s see if they like some of their own fucking medicine."
* * * * * *
Turning once more the pilot keyed the mike switch in the control stick. "See him?" He asked.
"Shit No. But, he didn't go far. I think he went to ground just inside the tree line behind that big sucker over there." The gunner pointed to the tree Mike was hiding behind.
"Switch to the other side and I'll come round again. Put a few in there and let’s see if we can get the bunny running again."
"You got it. Where's the ground team?"
"The last report has five of them coming up the slope about half a klick out."
"Shit they better hurry or this rabbit is long gone. Did you see him run?"
"Hell yes! The guy suckered me, twice, but stop worrying! They have him in the box, plus if we stay on top of this he's in the bag." The door gunner switched sides, opening the other side door and swinging the weapon round, switching the 'Six-Pak' motor on. The eight barrels whirled into life, spinning up to three thousand RPM. Settling into the seat, he scanned the tree line hoping for something to shoot at, loving the feel of these babies in his hands. He wished he'd had them in Nam. The story would have had a different ending.
Mike slipped the magazine home, setting it with a light tap on the base, setting the selector to single shot. Curling the sling around his left arm, he pulled it tight into his shoulder, settling down in the gap between the boulder and the tree. He was going to wait for them to come into his line of fire rather then get into a position where he could see them. It eliminated the danger they might spot him first. The sound of the chopper grew as it slowly traversed along the tree line, short bursts of fire coming from the mini-gun. Mike knew it was an attempt to get something running, but he didn't move. His right side was covered by the old pine tree, his left by the boulder, rifle poking between some dead branches, invisible among so many other pointed objects. Slowly, it came, working from right to left across his field of fire.
"Now let’s see how good their armor is."
The nose came into view, then the left door, seeing the pilot’s upper body, but he let it pass. The mini-gun was large in his sight as he squeezed off the first shot at the gunner, then a second and third before switching back to the pilot. He let him have three rounds before switching to the engine and lastly the tail rotor.
The 7.62 mm sabot rounds that tore into the helicopter were something entirely out of the ordinary. The flechet was Teflon coated and made of boron with a depleted uranium core, thereby delivering many times the energy for its size at the target. It snapped through the armor plate and body armor as if they didn't exist, chopping the gunning into hamburger, then the pilot and then the bird. The engine self destructed at about the same moment the tail rotor did a vanishing act. It never had time to do a complete 360 spin before it crashed to the ground, exploding into flame. The un-fired round going off inside like popcorn.
"Holy shit!" Even Mike was impressed by the destructive power of the round. No wonder he'd been told to use them sparingly. Why waste good ammo. Max woofed and wagged his tail in agreement, appearing as if by magic before bouncing off down the hillside. Mike got the message and took off after him, followed the same zig zagging pattern, being nowhere near as quiet or as fast. He stopped when Max did, going to ground and freezing into position. At one point Max shot into a hole under a fallen tree. Mike followed a moment later, trying to bring his breathing under control. That's when he found out that he hadn't gotten away scot free. Feeling something wet and sticky running down his side and leg. He ignored it, as he heard footsteps. Quietly he pulled the 'Beretta' out, thumbing back the hammer.
"Well it looks as if we lost the air support!" A female voice said with a chuckle.
"Guess so. You hear anything just then?" A second female voice answered.
"Thought I did. Had the impression I saw something as well?"
"I wish this fucking rain and mist would clear away. It's difficult to see anything."
"You 'Ladies' see anything?" A Tinny voice asked, issuing from a field radio.
"Shit no faggot. It's as quiet as your fucking mother’s whore house over here."
"Watch your mouth bitch!"
"Shut up the both of you!" Another radio voice cut in. "Keep radio silence from now on unless you see something. By the way, we lost the chopper."
"No shit Sherlock. You figure that out all by yourself or did Dr. Watson help you." As there was no answer, Mike figured she hadn't keyed the mike.
The footsteps moved on and Mike stopped gritting his teeth, breathed and gasped as the pain hit, almost doubling him over. Max crawled out of the hole and stuck his head back in, looking at him.
"I'm all right Max. Let’s go." But he was scared. He'd been shot before but it didn't help, the pain still doubled him over. There was no way he could stop right now to find out how bad it was.
With difficulty, he climbed out and looked around, but nothing could be seen outside their immediate vicinity due to the ground mist. Max took off more slowly now and within a minute, he was joined by Maxine. Mike followed, limping and holding his side. Gritting his teeth against the pain. It helped, but not much. Slowly, painfully he made his way down the mountainside, Max finding a hole in the perimeter for them to slip through. Mike following Max and company, trusting to their ability to smell, see and hear people before he did. To his surprise, they led him back towards the ranch and the road, as if by instinct knowing that was where he wanted to go. A small rock outcropping gave him shelter from the rain and a dry place to doctor his wounds. Not that there was much he could do, besides some an
tibiotics and a pressure bandage around his side and leg. Both holes were clean, thank God, with both an entry and an exit wound. He was betting that he had a busted rib by the feel of it. A shot of whiskey and a pain pill did a hell of a lot more good, making him feel half human at least. Pulling his glass out he surveyed the house, noting the limo pulled up in front of the main door. The visibility was poor, with streamers of mist and rain obscuring the view as he watched. The next clear view he got of the car, he found that the back door was open and, based on the cloud of exhaust hanging in the air behind the vehicle it had already been started. He then saw three men exit, followed by Kat Ballard, who in turn was followed by a fourth man. The three men and Kat, entered the back, the other man walked around to the passenger side and climbed in. As he did Mike recognized him, Edward.
"Son of a bitch! I'll be dammed if I let that fucker drive out of here." He wondered where Rolass was, knowing he was not one of the men in the back. "It looks as if it's payback time. First the car and his playmates, then the girl." He smiled, anticipating the pleasure it would give him. He was going to teach that double crossing bitch a lesson she'd never forget as long as she lived.
Getting up, he move back across the hill side and down closer to the road, picking a spot just above a bend. Here the trees thinned out, leaving open ground for some fifty feet to the fence. There was nothing but a few clumps of bushes out there, and a perfect place to hide. Picking a clump at random, he crawled under. There not being much room, Max and Maxine soon went back to the relative dryness of the woods and settled down with their usual patience to wait. They knew that sooner or later Mike would move. The rain water dripped from the concealing bush, soaking, and cold, but it was forgotten the moment the car came into view. Scanning the vehicle through the telescopic sight, the cross hairs tracked on the left front tire, then jumped ahead to the shooting point.
