by Dave Hazel
“You can count on that,” Larry replied. “This sucks. This is the largest group they’re throwing at us and we don’t have tricks or surprises left. I hope the pit slows them down, cuz we might wanna think about getting ready to split.”
“Stay strong my people,” Towbar yelled as he raced down the length of the pit. “We will be victorious.”
The continuous roar of war cries grew and drowned all other sounds. Despite the devastation and total humiliation suffered thus far, the Sosos didn’t seem deterred. They looked committed to taking the Pass at all costs. On the other hand, it was disheartening and intimidating that their commitment and aggression seemed to grow after receiving such a brutal beating.
“Pay attention. Be ready,” Jake called out into the radio. “This group is twice as large as the last.”
“Our only hope is for those soldiers to get here before we’re all killed,” Sam griped to Mykal as Doninka ran to Mykal.
“Start hitting them with the 203s again,” Jake spoke through the radio. “Everyone else, fire when you feel you can hit your target. Make every shot count. Don’t waste ammo!”
Mykal caught sight of a vehicle driving not too far from him. The Ford Bronco moved toward his position. ‘Cool, they’re coming to this side of the Pass to help,’ Mykal thought. He then realized Edwards and Mansfield were preparing to drive off. Due to the positioning of the dirt mounds they had to drive the Bronco toward Mykal before they could turn south to drive away. The Bronco turned, making it clear the cowards were escaping.
“The hell you are!” Mykal snarled. With hateful anger he raised his rifle toward the fleeing vehicle. He squeezed off six shots, all of which struck the vehicle. Two of the rounds struck the front and rear tires of the driver’s side, blowing them out. The other four rounds struck the general location of the engine. He smiled triumphantly watching it swerve to a halt.
With the war raging toward him, Mykal realized he couldn’t concern himself with the two cowards who would allow everyone else to die to save their own hides. He turned his rifle back to the field of battle and began picking off Sosos one by one. He scanned the attacking force for archers. Like other riflemen, Mykal’s top priority was to take down archers before they could let loose their deadly weapons of war. No Shay-lonk, death arrows, were fired.
Suddenly a row of dirt flew up beside Mykal and Doninka. He heard the burst of automatic rifle fire from behind. Without looking Mykal knew Edwards or Mansfield shot at him. He grabbed Doninka’s arm and pulled her around the front of the dirt wall with him and a second burst of automatic gunfire erupted. The would-be deserters tried to kill him for stopping their escape. They wouldn’t fight the enemy, but didn’t have a problem trying to shoot one of their own in the back.
From the second blast of automatic fire a couple of rounds struck the dirt where his chest rested against the wall. Mykal would have been killed had he not run. He raged with hatred more than fear. Mykal felt tempted to turn from the battle and finish them off once and for all, but everyone committed to the battle needed him with them. ‘There’ll be a time for revenge.’
“My 60’s jammed,” Jackson cried out when Mykal pulled Doninka beside the Peacekeeper for protection. “My 60’s jammed,” he shrieked. He slapped his hand against the stock of the quiet weapon. “Help me, I can’t get it,” he howled frantically. In a fit of panic Jackson pounded his fist on the stock of the M-60.
“Calm down and fix it,” Jake yelled up to Jackson who stood in the turret panicking like an inept rookie. “You’ve trained on this. Get Davis to help you,” Jake ordered between taking shots.
Mykal stood beside the Peacekeeper shooting quickly and accurately. He kept looking over his shoulder expecting to see Edwards and Mansfield to come up behind him in another attempt to murder him. The chickens didn’t show up.
Mykal watched the effects of the 40mm High Explosive grenades. With each explosion Sosos fell in all directions, creating a circular clearing from five to ten meters across. Each blast killed four to eight Sosos and wounded others. Many more dropped to the ground in fear of the blasts.
Mykal heard the sweet sound of the M-60 machine guns over everything else. Jackson’s happened to be the only M-60 not shooting. M-60s chewed through the Sosos creating what looked like a choreographed interpretive dance performance. The arm extensions, leg kicks and the pirouettes weren’t voluntarily beautiful, but forced spasms conveying pain and death.
Sosos dropped like rain in a spring shower but there seemed to be no end of them. They kept pouring in and stomped over the bodies already bloodying the ground. Some wounded were crushed and stomped to death by other Sosos. Those who tripped or fell had to get up quickly or be trampled by fellow countrymen.
Sosos who made it to the pit tried to jump the ten foot crevice but none made it across. As previously, some were killed in midair, others were bludgeoned when attempting to climb out. Bodies began to pile up in the pit. Not all were dead, but suffered tremendously. The cries for help and muffled screams carried a distinct sound. Vicious resistance at the edge of the pit resulted in fatal beatings and lethal stabbings. Meanwhile the bodies mounted making it easier for Sosos to climb out. The locals took advantage of their upper hand, giving out death as if it were free advice.
Mykal noticed a few death arrows get through. He watched some land harmlessly into the dirt. Despite all the noise around him he distinctly heard the clinking sound of arrows hitting the armor of the Peacekeeper where Jackson continued to panic in his attempt to get his machinegun un-jammed. One arrow hit the top of the metal Peacekeeper and deflected upward near Jackson’s face. The near miss resulted in Jackson losing control mentally, but he responded in vocal hysterics.
Mykal saw several townspeople fall under the last volley of arrows. Most remained motionless. Black shafts protruded from their lifeless forms. “The archers!” Mykal yelled as loud as he could. “Get the archers!” His words were swallowed up by gun fire and war cries.
Sosos began getting topside in the area of Jackson’s Peacekeeper. His silent machine gun left a void that would have cut down the enemy and beat them back. The townspeople fought the Sosos but several were taken out by death arrows, weakening the overall strength near Jackson’s Peacekeeper. Mykal feared the battle would turn, at least for his area. He knew the Sosos saw this as their first opportunity to inflict damage.
“Get that 60 shooting,” Jake ordered while reloading.
Suddenly automatic gunfire erupted. Mykal heard Jackson’s weapon join in the chorus, singing death to the invaders. Now somewhat relieved, Mykal continued picking off targets oblivious to the fact Doninka held onto his web belt like a child in a crowded mall so as not to lose him in the chaos.
While taking aim at an archer Mykal noticed all the people in front of Jackson’s Peacekeeper were being mowed down. People in the pit and on this side of the pit. Sosos and townspeople alike fell under Jackson’s attack. Mykal couldn’t believe his eyes, in Jackson’s panic he targeted anything, and anyone, that moved.
Mykal saw a farmer fighting a Soso at the edge of the pit. Mykal watched a couple 7.62mm rounds slam into the side of the ‘good guy’. Before the farmer doubled over the rounds ripped through his body killing the Soso as well. The farmer hit the ground and his insides spilled out of the gaping hole the bullets made. A grisly sight indeed, but it repeated itself several times around the Peacekeeper. Mykal couldn’t understand why Jackson killed good people with the bad people.
Mykal screamed for Jackson to cease fire, but Jackson kept shooting. He waved his arm but Jackson was blind and deaf to his calls. Mykal watched in horror as more than twenty locals and numerous Sosos were cut down despite his yells for Jackson to stop. The fact they were close enough to differentiate the good guys from the bad guys didn’t matter.
Mykal’s words screamed mutely under the roar of machine gun fire. Mykal watched Jackson gun down a member of Jackson’s own fire team. Airman Gomez reloaded his M-203 grenade launcher and prepared to
shoot. Before Gomez squeezed the trigger, the steel of his military helmet ripped and twisted like a paper hat and half of Gomez’s head splattered away. Part of his brain seemed to just dangle in midair while his body fell to the ground. Gomez never knew what hit him.
Mykal’s frantic screams didn’t get through to Jackson. He saw the wide-eyed terror of Jackson’s expression twist into a bizarre panic while Jackson continued laying down heavy fire in front of his vehicle. Jackson cried hysterically with dry tears. Clearly Jackson wasn’t taking any chances. Mykal knew he had to be stopped. Without any hesitation he raised his rifle and aimed at Jackson’s head.
Within a split second, Mykal’s whole body seemed to recoil in slow motion when he squeezed the trigger. Just as suddenly, the machine gun fell silent. Mykal hit Jackson in the side of his head just under the rim of his helmet. Jackson’s head jerked with a fine crimson mist escaping through the top of the metal helmet. The black airman’s lifeless form slumped over the weapon drenching blood over the cover and down the pistol grip. Mykal’s heart thumped louder than the noise around him. This wasn’t a Soso; this was a fellow American, a fellow Air Force member at war with the same enemy.
Again a weak spot in the defense of the pit appeared after the M-60 had been stilled again. Many of the defenders had been taken out by friendly fire. Mykal feared all hell would break loose. Davis, the assistant gunner, needed to man the machine gun. “Where the hell is he?” Mykal yelled at Jake who knew what he referred to. “Davis, get on that friggin gun. Davis! Davis!”
Mykal didn’t know if the assistant gunner had been killed or if he exited the vehicle, but Mykal had to do something or this side of the pit could be overrun. He pushed his rifle into the hands of Doninka. “Stay here!” He pressed her against the armored vehicle and immediately climbed on the hood.
Mykal knew that rapid fire power of the M-60 could save a great many lives. He also knew he would be exposing himself while climbing the vehicle. He felt death arrows flying around him but he had to get the M-60 roaring, spitting burning lead. He fought the temptation to drop back to the ground to leave the area. He’d never allow himself to be like Edwards and Mansfield.
He pushed Jackson’s body down inside the Peacekeeper, then climbed down into the open turret. He saw Davis, the assistant gunner, seated, screaming like a crazed lunatic. Jackson’s limp body slumped near Davis’s feet. Davis shrieked in sheer terror.
“Shut up and pull your ass together,” Mykal yelled and kicked Sr. Airman Davis in the side.
“Oh momma no,” Davis wailed after Mykal’s kick caught his attention. “Help me,” he begged. Davis’s yell verged on ripping his vocal chords. He grabbed his own blonde hair and pulled.
Mykal grabbed the wet, sticky, pistol grip. Without looking he knew his hand was red. With the M-60 jerking and kicking he knocked the Sosos back down quickly. In a few moments the area came back under control. He glanced at the ammo belt which depleted rapidly, making the belt shorter and shorter. “Davis,” he yelled between bursts. “I need more ammo.”
Davis didn’t move. Davis couldn’t hear him or didn’t want to hear him. Davis stared at the blood pooling around Jackson’s head near his feet on the floor of the Peacekeeper.
“Davis, I’m talking to you,” Mykal shouted when Davis failed to respond. “I need more ammo!”
“What, what? What?” He yelled back.
“I need some friggin ammo,” Mykal yelled as the belt neared empty. “Kurt,” he yelled between bursts when Kurt jumped in view at the edge of the pit. A Soso tried to climb out and Kurt placed his rifle against the Sosos face and squeezed the trigger. The Soso’s blood must have splattered back up into Kurt’s face and lips. He watched his friend spit and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Kurt, take this 60.”
“Yeah baby, throw it down,” he said while shooting Sosos climbing from the pit.
Davis loaded the new belt into the machine gun while Mykal disconnected it from the turret. Mykal handed the twenty-six pound weapon down to Kurt from the carrying handle and jumped down with the last can of ammo so Kurt could reload on his own.
“Johnny Rambo, here I come,” Kurt laughed when he grabbed the pistol grip with his right hand and held the belt of ammo in his left hand. First Blood was his favorite new movie. He had gone to the movie theaters eight times in the first two weeks of it being released the previous year. “Let’s rock n roll, baby,” he yelled and began shooting. “Yo Adrian, I did it,” Kurt yelled doing a poor imitation of Sylvester Stallone from Rocky II. It was his expression of thanks for using the M-60 on full auto.
Mykal stuck his head in the driver’s door. “Davis, get your ass out here and start shooting or we’re all gonna be killed.”
“I can’t. I’m scared.”
“I’m scared too! Get the hell out here now or I’ll shoot you like him,” he said in hopes of scaring Davis to help. Mykal ran to the rear of the Peacekeeper where Doninka had moved to.
Mykal grabbed his rifle and ran to the front of the vehicle to see Kurt struggling to untwist the ammo belt. Four Sosos had gotten through the gap and charged at Kurt. Mykal panicked, a ‘family member’, Kurt, faced real danger. Mykal couldn’t get his rifle positioned quick enough and dropped it. He drew his .357 magnum from his holster like a professional gun slinger just as Kurt dropped the ammo belt and took his 9mm from his waistband.
Kurt squeezed off four rounds. The first two rounds hit one of the Sosos in the chest who spun and fell to the ground gasping for air. Kurt’s third shot drilled a hole into another Soso’s right eye and smashed it all the way through the back of his head. The Soso died before hitting the ground.
Kurt’s fourth shot hit a third Soso in the face just as Mykal’s first gunshot hit the same Soso in the side of the head. Both rounds twisted the Soso’s head to a bloody mess. Mykal’s next two shots hit the fourth Soso in the chest and stomach. The bullet that bore through his stomach easily went out his back, but the round that struck the chest stayed lodged somewhere in the chest cavity. The Soso hit the ground still alive.
Mykal holstered his pistol and grabbed the rifle Doninka retrieved from the ground for him. Mykal saw the wounded Soso try to crawl away on his side. Mykal’s rage boiled over. This savage would’ve killed one of his best friends. He wasn’t about to let him get away. Mykal grabbed a discarded battle axe from the ground. The weight of the weapon surprised him. He couldn’t imagine using such a heavy weapon in battle, swinging it over and over. It impressed him the Sosos used the weighty weapon with such ease.
Mykal raised the axe over his head. The Soso saw him and rolled over raising his arm to protect his head. His other hand held the bleeding pain in his chest. Blood and saliva drooled from his mouth. Bubbles of blood frothed from his nostrils with each breath. Mykal felt no pity for the savage murderer after all the brutality he had seen committed by other Sosos. The Soso let out a moan when Mykal chopped down. With a killing crunch Mykal ended the Soso’s murderous way of life. He buried the heavy blade through part of the forearm and forehead of the bearded butcher. The blade split skull and eye socket, and it didn’t bother Mykal. Mykal realized the transformation of his heart and mind became something sinister and extremely ugly.
“Kill or be killed,” he mumbled to justify his cold heart.
Kurt straightened the belt of ammo for the machinegun and returned to mowing down Sosos with rapid fire action. He leered like a wino given a free, all-access pass to a fully stocked liquor store. Kurt easily killed hundreds. It seemed that his adrenaline sky rocketed. “Boris can’t catch me now,” he laughed maniacally, referring to a killing competition with Boris. “C’mon, stupid dirt bags,” he howled. Sosos kept charging in, and he continued to cut them down.
Sosos began to breach the defense and cross the pit at many areas down the line. The locals fought heroically but there were far too many Sosos advancing and climbing out of the pit to keep them back. Sosos who managed to engage the townsfolk one on one took that defender off the line. Fight
ing one on one, the Soso had the advantage being the superior warrior, thus usually the victor. Mykal’s people did great work of killing the Sosos, but there were far too many coming out of the pit all at one time.
Mykal ran down the line shooting Sosos climbing out of the pit. Doninka followed behind him. She carried a dagger in one hand and a short sword as her main weapon. When she had the opportunity she would stab Sosos in the throat or the back of the neck before they could get out of the pit. The Sosos she had difficulty with were shot by Mykal. Without a word spoken they worked together like a well-oiled machine and did their part to slow the tsunami of savages.
Mykal shot a Soso climbing from the pit and caught sight of Franklin Perry fending off a Soso using his M-16 rifle as a club. Armed with a sword and an axe, the Soso growled and lunged at Franklin. It suddenly occurred to Mykal he never gave the ammo back to Franklin from the previous night. ‘The poor kid’s outta ammo,’ Mykal yelled mentally. Holding the rifle by the barrel Franklin swung for his life.
Mykal took aim with his rifle just as Franklin’s rifle crashed into the Soso’s sword. Mykal heard Franklin’s desperate cry when the steel and plastic collided. Mykal squeezed off the round before the Soso could counter with the axe in his left hand. The bullet hit the Soso in the head. Franklin’s terrified eyes couldn’t believe he saw the Soso’s head jerk away and then fall to the ground dead. His acne covered face expressed grateful relief and his eyes widened in happiness.
Franklin turned to see Mykal saved him and gave him thumbs up. Mykal yelled for Franklin to come and get his ammunition but two more Sosos charged at Franklin. “Look out!” Mykal hollered and raised his rifle. One Soso swung a razor sharp sword while the other thrust a seven foot spear at the pimply faced kid.
Franklin smartly raised the rifle over his head with both hands and blocked the chopping attack of the sword. He also side stepped avoiding the spear thrust at him. Mykal squeezed the trigger but nothing happened. With all the noise he didn’t realize the bolt had locked to the rear. His last round had been spent, his rifle was empty.
