Hannibal is at the Gates

by David Kershner

  “What the hell is this?”

  “Beats me, Lieutenant,” the Sergeant yelled over the whine of the Wolverine bridging equipment’s engine as its tracks rumbled down the ramp from the plane. “All I know is we got a call from the Secretary of Defense, himself. We were told to have these heavy equipment tractors (HET) delivered by the time your bird touched down.”

  “And the five-ton? We brought everything we needed. What’s in that?” Lt. Stokes asked.

  “Oh, according to the SecDef, that truck’s was to loaded with gear on special request from a,” the man began to answer before reviewing his notes. “Here’s it is. That truck is to be delivered to a Marine Corps General Howard at the coordinates previously provided,” the enlisted man replied. The Lieutenant nodded and started to turn away, but the man stopped him. “I need you to sign this requisition, sir.”

  The Officer, junior as he may be, shot the man a look that told him all he needed to know. “Right,” the sergeant said. “Commanding officer was indisposed,” he concluded and snapped a quick salute.

  The Lieutenant gave a brief return and left the man to dismiss himself before barking at his men. “You’ve got ten minutes to get this bridging equipment loaded and locked down for transport. Move it people!”

  * * *

  Jesus watched the man for nearly an hour. Whoever he was, he seemed overly preoccupied with the radio and his watch. Just as he was about to try and retrieve some water from his canteen, without warning, his prey leaned over and adjusted the tuning knob on his radio, turned the device on, and spoke.

  “This is ‘Aalam’ calling ‘Sentinel’. Come in ‘Sentinel’.”

  He waited fifteen seconds and tried again. Still there was no response given. Jesus heard what he assumed were Arabic curses being muttered and the man tried several more times over the next fifteen minutes. Giving up, the man stowed the radio in his pack, checked his watch again, and sat for another few minutes. A short time later, a small rug was removed from his backpack.

  Curious, Jesus pulled back the cuff of his coat to see if he was right. It was approaching five o’clock. It was time for prayers. While the man began his prayer ritual, Jesus took the opportunity to approach the penitent man from behind. The chanting started shortly after the bowing. This afforded Jesus even more opportunity to get closer. When the man came back up from his latest bow, Jesus poked him in the back of his head with the barrel of his Sig Sauer 1911 Scorpion.

  As a test of the intelligence Josh and the others had gathered to date, and partly because he was playing a hunch, Jesus said, “Don’t move,” in Spanish.

  Not surprisingly, the man understood perfectly what Jesus had just said. Replying in his executioner’s native tongue, he answered, “May I finish my prayers before you kill me?”

  Jesus circled around in front of him kicking the man’s pack and rifle away as he did so.

  “By all means, continue, but first, what’s your name?”

  The man smiled a half smile and replied, “Suhrab, and yours?”

  Jesus returned the smile and replied, “Some other time, Señor Esfahani,” and gestured to the prayer rug. “Don’t let me stop you.”

  Suhrab’s face went ashen, but he didn’t react. He simply took a deep breath and resumed his ritual. A thought occurred to his would-be executioner and he stood directly in front of him. He couldn’t help himself and started laughing uncontrollably as the man resumed bowing.

  “What is so funny?” Suhrab asked annoyed at having his prayer interrupted a second time.

  The oldest Martinez son just stood there grinning ear to ear. Once he composed himself, he replied, “Because, Señor, you praying to Jesus!”

  Chapter 24

  Before departing the Wrigley’s, Abelardo stripped sheets off of the beds and covered the dead. He recited the Lord’s Prayer and crossed himself. He didn’t know what else to do for them.

  As the baby slept in the crib, he checked for any injuries or wounds. His untrained eye found none. He did notice the hospital bracelet however.

  “So, your name’s Declan Edward Wrigley,” he said to the wrinkled mass in front of him. “What a horrible name,” he scoffed. “I think I’ll just call you the Lil’ Hombre.”

  Much to Abelardo’s dismay, the newborn awoke as he tried to get him into the car seat. The tyke didn’t stop crying until he was half way home. Abelardo knew nothing of bottles, diapers, or pacifiers. He had never been as relieved as when the baby eventually relented and fell back asleep. The gentle swinging of the contraption and his constant humming of nursery rhymes soothed him on the walk back.

  He finished the brisk twenty-minute walk and entered his parent’s farmhouse to find the structure empty. Where’s mom? Where are the injured Agents? He peered out through the kitchen window and her car was still there. Maybe they all walked down to the cabin.

  Abelardo turned the corner to head toward the back door and went to reach for the keys. They weren’t there. He turned his head and slowly began surveying the kitchen. Nothing else seemed out of place. Something just didn’t feel right.

  He gently set the newborn on the floor and removed the binoculars from around his neck. Abelardo reached behind his back and withdrew the .45 from his waistband. He quietly and deliberately checked and cleared each room of the house. Empty. Where are the Agents? Where is everyone? Maybe Josh knows where they went.

  He picked up his walkie to make contact when he heard the shots.

  Mom!

  The fit young man flew through the house and went straight through the kitchen leaving the baby to sleep in the corner. With his pistol gripped tightly in his hand, he ran as fast and as hard as he could down the rutted farm road toward Josh’s cabin.

  The February chill felt like it was burning his lungs with every exerted breath. It seemed as if an eternity passed until he exited the worn tractor path just beyond the Three Sisters farmhouse. He rounded the hedgerow, but the tears induced by the cold air blurred his vision. He quickly wiped them with his sleeve and tried to focus on the distant shadows.

  Abelardo’s eyes began to adjust. In front of him he saw the four Agents lying in a clump on the ground at the side of the house. Josh’s daughters, Samantha, Emily, and his mother were lined up shoulder to shoulder against the cabin wall. Their hands were bound. Whoever was screaming at them had his back to the hedgerow. He could hear Basilia cursing back at the ‘coward’ in rapid fire Spanish.

  “Where are they headed? Where did they go? They are not at the tunnel! Where are they?” the man screamed at them.

  Abelardo closed the distance between the two as fast as he could before being heard. When he got within thirty yards, he raised his pistol. The women had seen him clear the brush and turn off the road, but had not acknowledged him. When he brought the weapon level, they instinctively scattered, ducked, and dove to the ground.

  The man renewed his demands when Abelardo’s first shot rang out and buried itself in the log of the cabin.

  Damn it!

  The assailant quickly spun toward the shot’s origin. The young mechanic was taking far more careful aim when the second shot discharged the weapon. The round hit the man in the shoulder and managed to drop him to one knee. Got ‘em!

  As he started to get up, Abelardo crashed into him and sent him face first into the snowdrift, landing on top of him.

  All of the young man’s fears and rage demanded to be unleashed. Abelardo began pounding him in the back of his head with his pistol. The man flailed and struggled to roll over onto his back.

  “Get his gun!” his mother screamed at him.

  His mother’s voice can cut through the fog and distraction. He barely slowed the beating as he reached over and took the weapon from the man’s hand and cast it aside. Only when the assailant stopped struggling did he relent.

  Abelardo had no idea how long he punished the man. When he finally stood, all he knew was that his mother and extended family were staring at him. He felt the heat of something on his face
and used his hand to wipe it off. It was blood.

  “Is he dead,” Emily asked.

  The young man turned and looked down at the body. “I sure hope so,” was all he said as he pulled a knife from the sheath on his belt and walked to his mother.

  In quick succession he released the group from their bonds.

  “How did you know we were down here?” Heather asked.

  “I heard the shots from the house,” he answered blankly.

  “Josh said you were watching the road. What were you doing at the house?” his mother asked.

  “Some guy stole old man Wrigley’s truck and followed the convoy. Josh had me check on them.”

  She walked over to her youngest child and lifted his chin so he was looking her in the eye. Her intuition told her he was withholding.

  “What was at the house, son?” she asked gently.

  She could see the tears starting to well up in his eyes. She wrapped her arms around her son and hugged him.

  “It’s okay. Everything’s okay. We’re all safe. What did you see at the Wrigley’s?” she quietly whispered.

  The dam behind his tear ducts broke and he began sobbing uncontrollably as he returned the embrace.

  “They killed them all, they’re all dead!” he wailed. Through the sobs and gasps for air he added, “I saw him pointing his gun at you and I don’t know what happened. I’m sorry, mom.”

  “Sh, sh, sh,” she said to calm him.

  The pair held each other for some time as the others looked on. With his breathing slowing and the sobbing less intense, Basilia began extricating herself from her sons embrace when she asked, “Can you walk?”

  He nodded then sniffed loudly and hocked a giant loogie.

  “There he is,” Katherine proclaimed.

  “Emily, help me get him to the house. Sam, you and the girls find something to cover the Agents,” his mother directed compassionately.

  “What do you want us to do with this guy,” Layla asked gesturing toward the man buried in the snow.

  Basilia glanced at her son for a long moment before she replied, “Drag him off into the woods. Let the wildlife have their way with his rotting corpse.”

  * * *

  James sat on the edge of the roadway in his ghillie suit and waited. When the Jake break sounded, he peered over the brush and hoped it was the Calvary. Thank God.

  He stepped out of the roadside brambles, slung his massive rifle, and raised his hand to the driver of the lead vehicle. I sure hope this works.

  The processions momentum slowly ground to a halt in front of the large camouflaged man. The passenger quickly exited the lead vehicle with his weapon drawn.

  “State your business,” the young man bellowed over the rattle of the diesel valves.

  “I’m here to lead you boys in,” James replied forcefully in order to be heard as well.

  “We aren’t expecting an assist,” the man answered as he started to lift his weapon.

  “Whoa, son! There’s no need for that,” the big man said surprised the soldier was drawing down on him.

  “Who are you? Who sent you?” the man demanded.

  “My name is Master Sergeant James Rooney. I’m here at the request of President Sarkes. There’s been a slight change of plans.”

  The young engineer relaxed slightly, but didn’t holster his weapon.

  “Look LT, we don’t have a lot of time. You boys need to gear up. What did you bring?”

  The officer didn’t reply.

  “Look, kid, I was standing right next to General Howard when the original request for assistance was made and I was there again when those orders were amended. You and your men were loaded at Bragg and flown to Rickenbacker. So give the über paranoia a rest, will ya.”

  The man hesitantly holstered his weapon.

  “Good. Now, what did you bring?”

  “We were told full combat loads,” the young man answered.

  “And your equipment?” James asked quickly. “We’ve got a big ass tunnel that needs to be blown at both ends.”

  The man smiled.

  “Got you covered there, Sergeant. We brought everything and the kitchen sink.”

  * * *

  Josh ordered the lead driver of the downsized caravan to slow his approach as they rounded the last bend.

  “The turnout is just up ahead. You’d never see it if you weren’t told where to look,” Josh explained.

  The driver made the turn at Josh’s direction and then pulled the truck off to the side to make room for the bridging equipment when it arrived. The other two trucks followed suit.

  Juan and Brent heard the vehicles approaching and left their position atop the tunnel. The General had sent Emily back to the farm while he observed with Juan. The pair worked their way toward Josh in an effort to alert them to the repeated calls from Jesus. Josh and the driver were startled as the men climbed their way up the banks of the creek.

  “What are you doing here?” he said as he directed the question to his former CO. “And what are you doing out of position? I needed you covering from above,” Josh questioned his friend.

  “I wanted to watch,” the retired General said sheepishly as he placed his hands behind his head to try and get more air into his aching lungs.

  “Patrón, check your radio. Jesus has been trying to reach you for over an hour,” Juan said out of breath.

  Josh removed the walkie from his belt. “Damn it,” he said as he inspected the device. “The battery’s dead. What did he say?”

  “He’s tracking a man headed this way,” Juan answered.

  “Anything else? Weapons or explosives?” Josh asked quickly.

  “Only that he abandoned a vehicle and is carrying a duffle and a rifle,” Juan started to reply when the woods suddenly erupted with gunfire. Josh and the other men ducked behind the haulers for cover.

  With the echoes of war erupting around him, Navid Kashani jumped, rolled, and scampered his way down the hillside as quickly as he could until he was lying prone in the ditch. He lay there trying to control his own breathing before arming his vest. He calmly checked his weapon and placed it on his stomach. He then connected the wire to the blasting cap and depressed the dead man switch in his hand.

  Josh listened and waited for the firing to dissipate before peering around the fender. No sooner had his sightline cleared the brush guard as the fusillade erupted anew.

  He quickly ducked back behind the steel obstacle and called out above the cacophony, “I count two shooters. Anybody got eyes on that?”

  The question was met with grumbles and the vigorous shaking of heads. The men utilized to handle the haulers hadn’t seen combat. These were ROTC reserve units and they were going to need some motivation.

  Josh looked over and saw the young man next to him trembling. He held out his Beretta and smiled. “Trade?”

  The lad had a ‘deer in the headlights’ look about him so Josh wrenched the weapon from his hands.

  Josh knocked the boot of a now prone Juan and asked, “You see anything?”

  “I’ve got a bead on one,” Juan replied.

  “Maybe you should pop your head back up there and let ‘em open up again,” came a snarky reply from the General.

  “Smart ass,” Josh responded. “Keep an eye on him, Juan.”

  Josh began to duck and cover his way down the line taking fire as he was exposed between each vehicle. As he encountered each of the young soldiers, he offered encouragement and direction. Josh’s driver watched as each man checked his weapon and summoned his courage. When Josh returned to his original position, he kicked Juan’s leg.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  “Whenever you are,” he answered.

  “Why don’t we just frag their ass?” Brent intoned.

  “That’d be great if we had any. Agent Monahan and his superior intellect didn’t allow for them to be outfitted properly,” his friend replied.

  Josh was about to pop up and draw fire from the tree line
when his weaponless driver grabbed his arm.

  “Can I have my weapon back, sir?”

  He squatted back down and looked him over. He appeared to have gotten over the initial shock of being shot at.

  “Sure thing, kid. I was just keeping it warm for ya,” Josh responded as he handed it to the soldier.

  “Sir?” he asked.

  Josh checked for some sort of rank insignia, but didn’t see any. He replied, “Yes, Cadet?” all the same.

  “What did you say to the other men?”

  Josh smiled at the question, “Oh, you know, just the usual rah-rah speech. You ready?”

  The boy nodded.

  “Here we go, Juan. Three… two…”

  The low rumble of the wide military tires on pavement could be heard in the distance. Brent grabbed Josh’s arm and said, “Wait.”

  Josh halted his countdown. What little light remained from the setting sun was extinguished when the massive hauler made the turn onto the abandoned rail line.

  No sooner had it crossed the threshold of the tree line and entered the clearing as it started taking fire. The driver quickly parked the giant machine and its trailer in front of the three diminutive trucks and jumped from the passenger side door.

  Before he even hit the ground, the command Humvee burst through the opening of the wood line. It too began taking immediate fire. Barely a second passed before its turret mounted Browning .50 cal. sparked to life and began mowing down saplings and removing chunks from the old growth forest trees.

  Without prompting, the reserve units found their courage, worked their way to the trailer holding the bridging equipment, and opened up with their M-16’s. A wall of lead was thrown into the woods and none was returned. Keeping their promise to Sam and Basilia, Josh and Juan stayed safely tucked behind the cargo trucks. Brent was sandwiched between the two.

  Empty clips started hitting the frozen dirt as the men reloaded. When the .50 emptied its first belt, the platoon leader yelled, “Cease fire!”

  Navid waited for the sound of the gunner reloading before he moved a muscle. When the ammo can hit the ground, he sprang up and shouted, “Allahu akbar!”