by John Grit
Deni got on the radio and asked for a Black Hawk, but was told none were available. Attacks on other areas of town were keeping them busy. The shooting from the woods had stopped, anyway. She didn’t know if that meant he had been taken out or if it was just because of suppression fire from the SAW keeping his head down.
Executing fire and maneuver techniques, Deni and two other soldiers worked their way closer to the wooded lot. She was grateful when they took no more fire. Still, she had no way of knowing whether the shooter was dead, had fled, or was just keeping his head down and biding his time, waiting for a clear shot.
The suppression fire had to stop when Deni and the other soldiers entered the woods, leaving her with a naked feeling. They spread out, staying just close enough to be in sight of each other. Immediately, they confronted thorny briars so thick they were forced to go around them. Bullying their way through would’ve made too much noise and let the shooter know exactly where they were. Keeping a close eye on the briar patch in case danger lurked there while moving on, Deni came to a small amount of blood, nowhere near enough to be debilitating, but evidence someone’s bullet had connected. More importantly to her, the blood provided a trail to follow.
Though a cool day, it was uncomfortably hot under her helmet and heavy body armor. A slight breeze cooled her wet face, but when it picked up and tossed the brush around her she wished it would calm down. A brush-choked patch of woods busy with movement would make it difficult to see danger sneaking within range.
Three rapid shots rang out, and she caught the impact of the bullets as they slammed into a soldier on her right. She hit the ground and then belly-crawled to him. He lay on his back, gasping for air. A frantic examination of his vest told her the bullets had been stopped by his body armor. When he moaned and turned his face toward her, she saw that he had taken a grazing round across his left cheek. “Shit!” She pulled a battle wound dressing from a pouch on her vest and pressed it against his face. “Hold that, Horowitz.”
“Is it bad?” he asked.
“No.”
The look in his eyes told her he didn’t believe her. “No shit. It’s not bad.” She searched the woods for more danger as she spoke into the radio. “We have a man down. Hostiles are still active.”
The other soldier kept vigil while Deni calmed the wounded Horowitz. “You’ll have a little scar to impress the girls. Nothing like a battle scar to give your looks character.” She stretched to see above the brush while on her knees.
The soldier to her left crawled closer, his nervous eyes checking Horowitz’s wounds. Blood poured from the soaked bandage and between his fingers to run down his forearm.
“Stay with Horowitz,” she ordered, her eyes narrowing as she turned to look in the direction the shooter had fled. “I’m going after him.”
The soldier gave her a what the… look.
Yeah, Deni thought. I know it’s nuts. But this bastard just shot one of my soldiers, and he’s not going to get by with it.
She didn’t move until she had examined every inch of the woods ahead and was certain no one was waiting for her, at least not within 20 yards. Gripping her rifle tighter, she got to her feet and charged forward, bending low.
As soon as she’d moved 15 yards, she dropped behind cover and repeated the process, examining every inch of woods as far as her eyes could penetrate the wall of green before her. Repeating the process twice more brought her to the edge of the wooded lot. She’d lost the blood trail, and that told her the the shooter wasn’t seriously wounded.
A quick scan of the open lot between her and the next house over gave her little comfort that death wasn’t waiting for her to walk out of the woods into the open. She stayed where she was and contacted the soldiers at the HUMVEE by radio. “Reposition and give me cover on the east side of the lot.”
The sight of Bartram with the SAW and another soldier taking position behind a house across the street overwatching the area between her and the next house gave her some reassurance, but she still involuntarily swallowed and asked herself if it was worth it as she stepped out into the opening. Yeah, it’s worth it. I can’t let this bastard get away. Besides, she wanted to know why he was shooting at soldiers. Was he part of the other attacks? What was it all about? Maybe he would be able to talk when she saw him up close, maybe not.
Rushing toward the house was a terrifying experience. She half expected to feel a bullet slamming into her at any moment. Someone could be watching from any of three windows on her side of the house, taking aim.
Not slowing down, she slammed her shoulder against the house wall, grateful to have made it to cover in one piece. She knew she was doing almost everything wrong. Despite everyone being busy with other attacks, help would arrive soon, and she should wait. Her indecision over what to do next ended when a shot rang out from two houses over. The shooter wasn’t aiming at her. She discovered that when Bartram rattled out a short burst and she looked that way to find another soldier down.
Damn it! As angry at herself for putting the soldier in danger as she was the shooter, she raced for the next house and cover. Two-thirds of the way there, a bullet shrieked by her head. She dropped to the ground and belly-crawled into two-foot-tall grass, which offered her concealment but not cover. Bartram’s SAW spoke, unleashing two four-round bursts. Deni raised her head just enough to see and peered through the top edge of the tall grass. Out of the left corner of her eye, she caught a man with a rifle running across a yard. A snapshot rewarded her with the sight of a spray of blood from the man’s upper torso just before he fell. A sense of extreme relief came over her. If the shooter was alone, the chances of another one of her soldiers getting hurt just dropped dramatically.
But was he alone?
One thing for sure, she was going to at least get close enough to the man she just shot to have a talk with him – if he was still alive. Why was this guy shooting at soldiers?
She turned her radio off to avoid it giving her position away and low-crawled to the next house, fully knowing there was nothing between her and a bullet if she were located in the tall grass. Making use of the shadow of a nearby fence, she made her way closer to the shooter, staying as low as possible. The wet gurgling of the wounded man laboring to breathe came to her ears, and she knew there was little time for her to reach him. It was most likely already too late. Even if he were alive when she reached him, he may not be able to talk. Still, she crawled closer.
Dirt exploded in her face.
A second shooter!
She rolled to her left until she landed in a depression and flattened herself against the ground. Another bullet kicked up dirt beside her. She saw a man with a rifle dash behind a house. The shooting stopped, telling her he may be the last one.
Taking a calculated risk that she would later shake her head over, she jumped up and ran to the man she’d shot, throwing herself on the ground next to him. He was still breathing and conscious. A quick look at his wound told her he probably wouldn’t live long enough for the helicopter to arrive. She saw his rifle lying next to him (a Mini 14) and threw it ten feet away. A precursory search for more weapons produced only a sheath knife.
“Why did you and your friend shoot at us?”
“Kiss my ass.” He coughed up blood.
“I don’t think so. We just met. I want to know why you shot at me and forced me to shoot you.”
He gave her a hate-laden glare. “Go to hell.”
“Maybe later.” Deni scanned the area for more danger. “You’re dying. Are you sure you don’t want to tell me why you shot at me?”
His voice became weak and difficult to understand. “I’m a POW and don’t have to say shit.”
She reared back a little, surprised. “What military are you with?”
No answer.
His chest no longer heaved and the wheezing had stopped. He stared up into the sky at nothingness.
“Damn it.”
Bartram came running up. He dropped to his knees then lay on
his stomach behind the SAW. “You’re pushing it, aren’t you, Sarge?”
“Has help arrived yet?” Deni asked.
Bartram mopped sweat off his brow. “Nah. No chopper, no soldiers. We’re alone out here.”
Deni’s face turned hard with determination. “There’s another one. Last I saw of him he ran behind that house.” She pointed.
“Yeah,” Bartram said. “I got a glimpse of him but couldn’t get a shot. He may be in another county by now – or aiming at us through a window.”
“Well, this one’s not going anywhere. I’m going after the other one.”
Bartram had been chewing gum, jacking his jaw nervously; he stopped and regarded her face in astonishment. “Now Sarge, that’s just nuts. Why do you want him so bad?”
There were two reasons, but she wasn’t about to explain herself to him. “You stay here. If help ever arrives, tell them I’m hunting the other one.”
“Damn it, Sarge. At least let me go with you.”
“Stay here like I said. Overwatch while I crawl to that house.” Deni eased along the ground, staying as flat as possible. She made it to the house the last man disappeared behind without getting shot at, but as soon as she leaned out just far enough to see around the corner, a bullet slammed into the wall only inches from her face. She jerked her head back to safety.
The shot had come from down the street. Ducking behind the house, she ran through several backyards, closing the distance. She managed to catch the shooter off guard and get a hastily aimed round off while he watched the street, dropping him. Catching her breath, Deni stood behind the house and waited for the man to bleed and weaken before approaching. She did want him alive, though, and therefore didn’t wait too long. Just as she started across the street, the man jumped up and ran behind a house before she could hit him again.
“Son of a –!” She noticed he left his rifle behind, leaving him with only a pistol, and he was bleeding from his right side. Without his rifle, he was a lot less lethal, so if she kept her distance, her odds weren’t bad. That changed when she started across the street and confronted a man who popped up from behind an abandoned car thirty yards away wielding a rifle.
He cut loose with a long string of wild shots just as she dropped to the ground. Trying not to panic, she fired from prone and put three quick shots into him, centering his chest and killing him where he stood.
Where the hell did the wounded one go? Deni concentrated on slowing her breathing and heartbeat. Damn it. I want at least one of these idiots alive. Something was going on, and she was willing to continue the hunt to find out exactly what.
The bottom of her uniform jacket felt loose on one side, so she risked taking her eyes off the danger zone and looked down to see a hole and below that loose, tattered cloth on the right side of her waist. The bullets had missed her by no more than an inch.
A pistol round ricocheted off the concrete curb ten feet away. Evidently the wounded man wasn’t so good with a pistol. His wound may have hindered his aim, also.
Where the hell is he?
A shot came from somewhere down the street. She had no idea where the bullet hit, but it didn’t hit her. She didn’t know exactly where the wounded man was either, but had an idea of the general area. Her main problem was every time she thought she was alone with only him to deal with, another man would pop up out of nowhere, and there was no way for her to know how many more were lying in wait.
By the time she had worked her way close enough to see him, she could hear a helicopter finally arriving, bringing reinforcements she hoped. He was in a driveway, peering over a concrete wall four feet high, trying to find her. His trouble was he didn’t look in the right direction, and she had come up on his right flank.
Moving a few steps closer, she aimed to incapacitate him, and fired. The man jerked as his weapon clattered on the concrete, and then he lay still. Deni approached cautiously, rifle trained on his inert body. When she reached him, she kicked his gun away. Her mind registered that he carried a military model Beretta. The next thing she knew, her legs swept out from under her, and she was on her butt. The shooter had used his good arm, sweeping against her ankles and she hadn’t seen it coming, realizing her error even as she went down. Her desire to bring him in alive for questioning may have gotten her into serious trouble. The pain from the impact shot up her back as she hit the hard driveway, but she ignored it and concentrated on maintaining her grip on her rifle even as she tried to roll far enough from the wounded man to train the muzzle on him and pull the trigger. Enough of this. To hell with bringing him in alive. As she rolled, her wrist struck the hard pavement and she lost her grip for a split second. He saw an opening and kicked at her while on his side, but she surprised him by doing some kicking of her own, planting the bottom of her left boot in his face.
She felt a satisfying connection with his nose and saw his head snap back, nasal area pouring blood. She followed it up with another brutal kick with the same boot and heard a crunch as his nose fragmented further and he fell on his back, lying inert.
On her hands and knees gasping, she thought it was over when the man sat up and punched. Her head snapped to the side and a blinding flash of light filled her vision as his fist smashed into her jaw, then she felt impossibly strong vise-grip hands wrap around her neck, preparing to choke the life out of her. She pulled away until she felt him resist, then instantly reversed direction and rammed the top of her head into his face, stunning him.
Deni followed with a thumb to the eye. Ignoring her aching body’s protest, she drove her fist into his bloody face before he had time to recover.
His arms fell away from her as they lost their strength, and she completed her follow-through by snatching his head in both hands and hammering the pavement with it. The impact seemed to have knocked him senseless, but she wasn’t playing with him any longer. Though still seeing stars and out of breath, she pulled cord out of a pocket and tied his hands securely behind his back.
Four soldiers ran up. “We got him, Sarge,” one said.
Deni fell back onto the concrete and sucked air. “Just in time to save me,” she quipped. “Watch it. There’s at least one more of them.” She took her helmet off and poured the contents of her canteen over her face while she gasped. “Please tell me that SOB’s still alive.”
A soldier reached down and felt the man’s chest. “He’s still breathing but unconscious.”
She collapsed, too tired to feel any sense of victory.
Chapter 22
After seeing how overwhelmed the clinic personnel were, Nate and Brian decided to stay and help. Mostly they carried stretchers, so soldiers could go back out on patrol sooner. Before he left with Tyrone, Chesty told them the fighting seemed to be over, and most of the attackers had been eliminated, the rest had fled into the countryside.
A Black Hawk landed in a parking lot beside the clinic, carrying more wounded. One of them was being closely guarded. The soldiers wouldn’t allow Brian and Nate to take him off their hands, insisting on carrying the stretcher themselves. They kept out of the way, realizing he must have been one of the attackers.
Nate nudged Brian. “Look.”
They watched Deni jump out of the helicopter.
She tried to smile at the sight of their ashen faces. “Damn. I must look terrible. Don’t cry guys. I’m okay, just banged up a little.”
Nate looked her up and down for injuries. He said nothing, but the look on his face was saying plenty.
Brian rushed to her and put his arms around her. She held him for a second and let him go. “Calm down guys. I told you I’m okay.”
Nate pulled him back. “She’s on duty. Give her space.”
“I’m telling you I’m okay,” Deni said, smiling. “See you later. I’ve got a prisoner to keep watch over.”
Nate’s head jerked around and he watched the wounded man as he was carried into the front door of the clinic.
She saw death staring at the man. “Whoa! I worked hard
to take him alive.”
He turned to her. “They already have a live one. Supposedly it’s some kind of self-proclaimed antigovernment militia.”
Deni slumped. “You know how to make a girl feel better, Nate. I went through a lot to take him in.”
Nate wished he had kept his mouth shut. “Sorry. Two talkers are better than one, anyway.”
“Yeah,” Deni forced a smile. “Nice try.” She straightened her back. “I’ll see you guys later.”
The two kept busy for nearly two hours, knowing Deni was busy and she would be one of the last to be treated, since she wasn’t seriously wounded. Though both were nervous and worried, the work helped to keep their mind off the horrible sight of her bruised and battered face.
~~~
Dr. Brant approached the father and son in a hallway. “I just treated her and she wants to see you both.”
Their faces were displaying the same worried question mark.
Dr. Brant answered it. “She just has a lot of bruises, no broken bones, nothing that won’t heal in a week or two. Obviously, she was in a hell of a fight.”
“That was all about her taking one of those idiots in alive.” Nate stared up at the ceiling for a second. “It wasn’t worth it.”
“I wouldn’t tell her that,” Brian warned.
Nate almost smiled. “Good advice. Let’s go see her.”
Dr. Brant had a smirk on her face but said nothing. She watched them walk away and then went to her next patient.
~~~
Nate touched Deni’s face gently as she sat on the examination pad. “He almost broke your jaw.”
“Na. Not even close.” She smiled. “Stop feeling sorry for me. I’m a soldier, remember?”
Nate started, “You’re my… friend.”
She obviously thought his hesitation to say what he almost said was amusing. “Enough of this. Dr. Brant says I’m good to go.” She stood. “So let’s go.” She regarded her two worried admirers. “But you can carry my pack for me.”
