The New Madrid Run

by Michael Reisig

  “Dickens, this is Reynolds. I want an all-points bulletin put out on a vehicle—a late model, blue Ford van with Arkansas plates. I want everybody we’ve got to know about this. You’re looking for two big guys; one in his late forties, the other maybe fifty-five or so. There’s a good-looking woman with them—reddish-blonde hair, nice figure. There’s a Jap and a Latin guy with them, too. Find ’em for me, Dickens. Find ’em—you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Reynolds hung up, sat back and thought about the situation for a moment, then decided to go over to the colonel’s office and fill him in. These were some pretty tough characters he was dealing with. If something went wrong, he didn’t want to be the only one around to take the blame. He had seen how Rockford dealt with that kind of incompetence.

  Rockford was not happy to hear that the opposition was fighting back. He was livid when he heard that his men had been made fools of in town. He pushed his chair back from his desk and glared at Reynolds standing in front of him. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight. A group consisting of an old Asian, a Mex, a woman, a guy with a crutch, and one able-bodied man, did this to our soldiers?”

  Reynolds lost a little of his aplomb in the assault. “Colonel, I know how it looks, but these guys are –

  “Shut up,” the colonel barked. “You just get your ass out there and find them. I want to know the minute you locate these people. I’ll be in on this when we go for them. When we’re done, no one will try this again.” The colonel stood, put his hands on his desk and stared hard at Reynolds. “Don’t disappoint me on this, Captain.”

  An hour after his conversation with Reynolds, Dickens, the Communications Officer, was on the radio to the outpost adjacent to Travis’ property—the house that had belonged to Jeb and his wife. Newton, the officer in charge there, took the message, then walked into the living room where the others were lounging around. “Got some hot info here, boys. We’re to watch for a blue, late-model Ford van and a handful of people Reynolds and the Colonel want found: two big guys, a good lookin’ woman, a Jap, and a Mexican. We’re to pay attention to the local roads in the valley. Sounds like they want this bunch real bad, so keep your eyes peeled.”

  “Think I seen that van,” a voice said. Newton looked at the man in the back of the room who was cleaning his pistol on the kitchen table. The soldier paused, putting the gun down. “I saw a blue van turn into the property next to us a couple days ago.”

  “You sure?”

  “Well, I’m sure it was a blue Ford van. I ain’t sure it’s the one you’re wanting.”

  “Okay,” Newton said. “Take Carlin and Blair and go over there.

  Borrow a cup of sugar or something and check the place out.”

  “All right, soon as I finish cleaning my gun.”

  Newton went around quickly to the front of the table. “Hey, mister, I said now! Not tomorrow! This comes straight from Reynolds and has top priority, understand? That means if you don’t do what you’re told, when you’re told, you could end up feeding the colonel’s dogs—and I don’t mean handing them the food.”

  “Okay, okay, I’m going,” the soldier said reluctantly. “Blair, Carlin, let’s go!”

  Christina and Carlos were in the garden with Will, trying to get some tomato plants started, when she saw the three men come off the path and into the clearing. It was obvious that they were NPG military. They strolled over with the cocksure attitude of soldiers who know that their actions, however inappropriate, are afforded complete impunity. The Gestapo Syndrome, she thought .

  As the soldiers approached, Christina rose and brushed down her skirt. Carlos and Will stood on either side of her. Ra, who had been playing with Todd, lay in the tall grass about twenty feet away, watching—not moving.

  Corporal Eastern, the soldier who had been ordered to the house, was not in a terrific mood. He was a man with a quick temper and he was already on edge. He stopped in front of the woman and her friends. “You folks own that van over there?”

  Christina paused for a moment, wishing Travis were there. “Yes, it’s ours.”

  “I’m looking for a big guy, dark hair. Is he here?”

  Christina tossed her hair back. “That’s a pretty broad description. It probably fits fifty percent of the men in Arkansas. If you can give me a little more information, then maybe I can tell you I haven’t seen him.”

  The corporal stepped forward menacingly. “You’d be wise not to give me any trouble, lady. Now just answer my question and don’t jerk me around.”

  “Or what? You going to put me against a wall and shoot me?” The man’s eyes narrowed, but before he could do anything, Will stepped in front of Christina. “I think you fellas ought to leave now. Far as I know, working in the garden ain’t illegal yet, even by your standards. So, unless there’s something else we can do for you . . .”

  The corporal’s short temper ignited when Will stood up to him, and he lost what little control he had. “Yeah, there’s something else you can do, old man. You can get the hell out of my way.” He grabbed Will and threw him to the ground, then reached for Christina.

  Ra covered the distance between himself and the men in three bounds, like a wounded lion coming out of the tall grass on the Serengeti. The corporal had just enough time to turn pale before Ra hit him in the chest in typical Rottweiler fashion, using his body weight to knock his opponent down. Few people do well with a snarling one-hundred-fifty-pound dog on their chest, and the corporal was no exception. He lay there in an excellent imitation of a frozen fish filet, as Ra stood on him, a slow, throaty growl issuing from his bared teeth.

  As the other two started to raise their guns, bringing them around toward Ra, Christina pulled her hand out of her apron and, aiming her trusty nine millimeter, fired a shot into the dirt between them to get their attention. “I wouldn’t even consider shooting that dog, gentlemen. If you’re not convinced that I can take you, look over at the house.” The sensei was at the front door with an M16 and the preacher was at the window, rifle in hand. Christina stared at the soldiers. “It’s your call, boys.” The two men looked at each other, then down at the corporal, and slowly lowered their guns.

  Christina smiled grimly. Now drop your magazines and empty your guns.” They did as she requested. She looked at the soldier on the ground, “Okay, Ra, let him up. Back, boy.” Reluctantly, Ra moved off the corporal, who exhaled shakily and slowly rose to his feet.

  “This was a mistake, lady, a big mistake on your part.”

  Christina glared at him. “Personally, I think the mistake was not letting him rip your throat out, but I could fix that—Ra!”

  The growl from the huge dog was enough to put the three men in full retreat.

  “Okay, okay, we’re going,” said the corporal as he moved backward, “but we’ll be back.”

  Christina, looking braver than she felt, stared him down.

  “We’ll be here.”

  By late afternoon, Turner and his group had mapped out a political battle plan to initiate after Rockford and Delta Camp were eliminated. They knew that the new Alpha Camp would also have to be dealt with, but it was staffed by fewer personnel, and they figured, with the head of the snake gone, dealing with the tail would be easier. They all agreed there was no point in delay. Cody would prepare and arm his aircraft that night. The following morning, he and Travis would attack Rockford.

  Cody Joe dropped off Travis and his cherry tree after they agreed to meet at Cody’s just before dawn. As Cody Joe drove away, Christina came out of the house and, although she gave him a big hug, the look on her face told Travis something was wrong.

  After a brief embrace, he held her at arm’s length. “What is it?”

  “Come on in Travis, supper’s almost ready. I’ll fix you a whiskey and tell you about our little brush with the Colonel’s boys today.”

  “The Colonel’s boys?”

  Christina sat him down in the living room and told him about the incident with the soldiers, Ca
rlos and Will adding to the story. When they were done, the preacher limped over and sat down noisily. “Way I figure, it’s a damned good thing we’re goin’ after them, ’cause it’s a sure bet they’d be comin’ for us real soon.”

  Travis nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. But with any luck at all, by day’s end tomorrow, Rockford and his camp will be history.”

  “Amen,” the preacher said. “May the Lord guide and protect you as you serve as His scythe of retribution on the wheat of the damned.”

  Travis smiled. “Amen.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Rockford paced across the room, then turned sharply to Reynolds and his two lieutenants. “So you’ve found them, eh? Good. I want this bunch.”

  “No more’n I want ’em,” Reynolds replied, lounging in the big high-backed chair by the colonel’s desk. The other men sat stiffly on a nearby leather couch.

  The colonel looked out over the encampment from the picture window, dismissing Reynold’s statement. “We’ve encountered resistance before, but these people smack of professionalism. Three times you’ve had contact with them and three times they’ve made your men look like fools. This is it, Reynolds. This is where it ends.”

  “You’re right there, Colonel. “They’re as good as dead.”

  “No, I want them alive—or most of them alive, if at all possible. I need examples. There’ll be a public hanging. The folks around here are going to see first-hand what this kind of opposition buys. Now tell me, what intelligence information do we have on these people?”

  “Well, after my men located them and reported to me, I put two sentries in the woods watching the property. They’re all there now— the big guy showed up with that Cody fellow about four that afternoon. Cody left and headed back to his place about half an hour later. We can deal with him and his boys after we finish with this bunch. I’ve got my best men standing by. I figure to hit ’em first thing tomorrow morning—surround the house and burn ’em out if necessary.”

  “Right, Reynolds, but we take them alive if we can, you understand? Alive! I’m going to direct this personally. I want you and your soldiers assembled and ready at oh-six-hundred hours. All right, Captain, you’re dismissed.”

  Reynolds got up and executed a shoddy salute. “Roger, Colonel. We’ll be ready.” His lieutenants stood up, snapped salutes, and followed the captain out.

  Rockford clasped his hands behind his back, and stared out the window at the compound below. He suspected these people were tied to Congressman Turner somehow. They had to be if they were protecting Judge Harcourt. All along, Turner had represented the greatest threat to his control over Arkansas. The man was smart, Rockford had to give him that. He had managed to consolidate strong support among the surviving politicians, while avoiding the hit squads the colonel had sent for him.

  Rockford smiled grimly. “That’s okay, Turner,” he muttered. “First I’ll get your dogs, then I’ll take you.”

  When Cody returned home, he called together the people who worked on his planes with him and told them what he intended to do. He assigned part of his crew to fueling the aircraft, arming and testing the .50-caliber machine guns, and checking the plane mechanically. He and the lumberjack twins took two fifty-five-gallon drums of fuel and mixed several gallons of liquid soap into each one, creating a highly effective ersatz napalm. After achieving the right jelly-like consistency, they transferred the solution to the large wing tanks of the P51. When the wing tanks were full, they sealed them and carefully glued the dynamite blasting caps on the noses and sides of the fuel cylinders. The impact on the caps would provide sufficient detonation to set off the napalm. After sealing the tanks, they attached the lethal cylinders to the quick releases under the wings of the plane.

  When they were finished, Cody stepped back, looked at the P51, and grinned. “The colonel’s gonna get a wakeup call from hell tomorrow.”

  While Cody Joe worked on his plane, Travis and his people reviewed their plans for the following day. The sensei and the preacher would take Travis to Cody’s in the morning. On their way back, they would stop in town and pick up diesel fuel for the generator at the house. Carlos and Christina would stay by the CB radio at home, waiting for word from Travis. Everyone would remain armed throughout the day.

  When Travis and Christina finally excused themselves for the night, Chris closed the bedroom door and pressed her back against it, looking at Travis, who stood by the bed. Her green eyes danced with the fire and the urgency of need, compounded by a clear and poignant desperation—a fear of the impending dawn and what it held for her man.

  “God, I love you,” she finally said, summing up the turmoil in her heart. “If you do anything stupid, and –”

  Travis moved to her and took her in his arms, kissing her hair and her neck. “You talk too much,” he said softly as he picked her up and carried her to the bed.

  Dawn came sooner than Travis wanted. The new sun crested the surrounding mountains, promising a clear and cloudless late spring morning. In the chill of the early hours, they all drank a cup of coffee. There was no breakfast—no one was hungry.

  The preacher and the sensei climbed into the van as Travis gave Todd a hug and ruffled his hair affectionately. “I’ll see you soon, son,” he said, for the first time using that term of endearment with the boy. “Next week we’ll go catch some more of those smallmouths.” The young man smiled bravely and hugged Travis again.

  Travis knelt and gave Ra an affectionate rub on the head, then rose and turned to Will and Carlos, “Hold the fort down, you two, and keep a sharp eye out.”

  “Sí, Jefe,” Carlos said.

  Travis took Christina’s hands, pulled her close, and she clung to him. Then she pulled away and shook her hair back in that typical fashion of hers. “Travis Christian, get this done and get your ass back to me, you hear?”

  “I love you too, Chris.”

  He got into the van and they were off. Travis looked back as they pulled out of the driveway. Christina and Todd stood holding hands, watching, with Will and Carlos next to them. For a second, as he looked at them, he was hit with a wave of discomfort, like someone had splashed a few drops of cold water down his back. Travis returned to his driving and the feeling passed, but left him slightly unsettled.

  “Are you all right?” the sensei asked from the seat next to him.

  “Yeah. Yeah, I guess. Listen, I want you two to get back to the farm as quickly as you can. Drop me off, get that gas, and get back there, okay?”

  The sensei nodded. “Hei, Travis-san. We will.”

  When they reached Cody’s place, he and the plane were ready and waiting on the strip. Cody Joe, ever the showman, had on his worn flight jacket and a leather aviator’s cap, complete with goggles. With his long hair protruding from the bottom of the cap and falling across his shoulders, he looked like a cross between a small Viking and a World War II flying ace. His bright eyes danced with anticipation.

  “Glad you could make it,” shouted Cody, motioning Travis with a sweep of the arm toward the foot-up on the wing. “Now let’s go bare some teeth and bite the balls off that New Provincial dog!”

  Travis laughed, waved goodbye to the sensei and the preacher, then climbed onto the wing and into the specially designed rear seat of the cockpit. Cody settled into the cockpit in front of him, handing him a set of headphones. “Put these on so we can communicate while this whole thing is happening.”

  In seconds, Cody had the big engine fired up. The twins removed the chocks from the wheels and a moment later the plane was rolling down the strip, engine roaring in their ears as the tail of the aircraft came up off the ground, enhancing the increasing speed.

  Cody applied a little more right rudder, offsetting the asymmetrical thrust of the propeller and keeping them centered on the strip, while applying more back pressure to the controls as they reached optimum takeoff speed.

  “Hang on, buddy, here we go!” he shouted as he drew the controls back and the plane leapt from the ground a
nd streaked toward the sky. Cody took it up to three thousand feet, did a wing-over, then rolled it upright again to check the controls. He fired a quick burst from the machine guns to double-check their operation. “We’re good-to-go. Now let’s go find Rockford.”

  In a plane that cruises at close to four-hundred MPH, it doesn’t take long to travel seventy miles. When they were about twenty miles from the camp they saw a small convoy of two trucks and a Jeep headed away from the compound. They debated hitting them, but it seemed too small a force to bother with. Besides, it might spoil the surprise attack on the main camp, so they flew on.

  Rockford looked up as he heard the roar of the ’51, three thousand feet above him and about half a mile to the west. “Where in hell did that come from?”

  “Don’t know, Colonel,” Reynolds replied. “Seems to me I heard someone in the valley owned one. I just don’t know who.”

  “Find out!” Rockford snapped. “Now how much longer?”

  “Maybe an hour. No more.”

  ***

  Christina made herself busy around the house for the first hour after the men had left. Carlos and Will were outside working on the new smokehouse, something the family would need. She was doing her best to appear calm and organized for the others, especially Todd, but she was so worried she could barely concentrate. Taking a World War II fighter plane out with homemade bombs—no parachutes, no way to communicate with her if something went wrong—to attack a camp bristling with men and automatic weapons. It was idiocy! God save her from boys who never grow up and their heroic aspirations. But what was a woman to do, really, when she loved the boy?