by Justin Bell
“You all right, Menenedez?” Fields screamed over the weapons fire and Angel flashed a thumbs up which betrayed his pained expression as he scooped up the weapon, moving for cover by the tipped-over truck.
Another horse galloped across the road, Julie Swift holding tight to its reins, her arm extended, pistol in hand. She fired swiftly as the creature ran, but the Koreans responded just as swiftly, three of them slipping up over the rear of the Humvee and returning fire. Nobody saw which shot got her, but a sharp kick struck her in the upper chest and she cried out, toppling backwards as the horse continued its rampant charge. Commandos and gunmen scattered away as the stallion reared through their ranks, but it passed through them and continued running, off into the woods.
“Swift!” screamed Rebecca, looking over at the former FBI agent who lay prone in the street, rolled over on her left side. Jacques vaulted down from the final horse, landing next to her, Winnie jumping off on the other side and bolting toward cover. He slipped a hand under her and lifted her up onto his shoulder, then turned and ran, ducking low as broken chunks of roadway spat up at his feet.
Sliding to a clumsy halt behind cover, he laid her down less than gracefully and Fields ran over, then bent by her to check her vitals. She was breathing, but a wet rattle crackled through her pursed lips, blood already caking at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes were wild, roaming all about the horizon, as if desperate to find something she recognized.
“Not good,” whispered Rebecca to Jacques and he closed his eyes, lowering his gaze.
A scatter of weapons fire ratcheted from the side of the truck near their heads, sparks dancing along the edge and they drew back, ducking down for better cover.
“I thought they left most of their men behind!” shouted Rhonda. “There must be almost two dozen here!”
“Where were they?” asked Phil.
“A bunch in the Humvee, some in the back of that other flipped truck!”
The world was little more than a swirling concert of gunfire, the raucous rattling of gas fed weaponry mixing with the distant fading echos of gunshots from a few moments previous. There was no space for thought, no time for pondering or planning. Rhonda looked over and saw Max making his way toward the hood of the fallen truck.
“Where are you going?” Rhonda demanded.
“I’m flanking them!” he shouted back. “There are too many to take head on!”
“You’ll be killed!”
Angel shot a wave to her and bolted after him. “I got his back!”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
Angel shrugged. “Don’t make me feel much better!”
Rhonda shook her head and moved the other direction with her Beretta ARX, trying to get in a position to put the full auto to good use. She stepped over Swift and moved past Jacques, making her way to the rear of the truck, then swung around, lifting the next generation assault rifle, yanking back the trigger. The gun bolted upright, jerking wildly in her tight clasp, shell casings pinging off the bent and twisted door of the truck. Two approaching gunmen thrashed and fell backwards under the assault, sparks dancing along the roof of the Humvee, then she shifted and fired again, dropping a third. More gunfire exploded back at her and she withdrew just in time to avoid a barrage of return fire peppering the metal rear bumper of the tipped truck, puckering metal and sending flattened rounds ricocheting up into the sky.
“Do you see Lydia?” she screamed to Phil. “Or Brad?”
Phil shook his head.
“I’m kinda worried about the nuke at this point; anyone see that?” shouted Fields.
“It must be in one of the trucks!” Jacques shouted over the gunshots. He held his pistol firmly in two hands taking careful aim before squeezing off a trio of rounds at the opaque form of gathered commandos in the distance.
“Good news is, the crash didn’t set it off,” said Tamar. He was firing his own pistol as he moved over toward Rhonda. Winnie was just behind him, holding cover at the moment.
“We’ve got ourselves an old-fashioned stalemate,” hissed Rebecca as she moved toward the rear of the truck.
“So what happens now?” replied Rhonda.
“Keep fighting until we can’t,” replied Jacques.
“And hope the nuke stays quiet,” finished Tamar.
Not the most solid game plan, Rhonda had to admit. But at the moment, it was the only one they had.
Chapter Ten
The truck’s sharp left turn had surprised Brad and he leaned hard to one side to avoid tipping over, but when he felt the jarring whack near the front of the vehicle and heard the long squeal of tires, he knew something was about to happen. He didn’t have time to brace himself before impact and when the trucks collided, he was thrown hard into the front of the rear box compartment, his spine and shoulder smashing into the metal interior. Tucking his chin to his chest, he tried to absorb the impact of the whirling tumble as the truck slammed onto its side, throwing him like a doll from one side of the truck to the other.
Pain laced up his right side as he hit the opposite wall, slamming with a muffled thud. All around him, commandos sprawled and fell, four of them in the compartment with him, all trying to compensate for the unexpected shift in motion. Bodies flew everywhere as the truck drilled down hard into the road, jarring everyone inside. Just as Brad started trying to scramble to his feet, the left side of the compartment now acting as the floor, the Humvee had skidded and crashed into the back of the vehicle, splitting the seam between the doors, crumpling metal and tearing off the locking mechanism.
Light shone through the large crack between the two doors, glaring in upon the fallen commandos, two of them trying to find their way upright, while the other two lay prone and evidently unconscious. They were dizzy, unsure of which direction was up, but Brad was already moving, making a b-line for one of the discarded submachine guns that had sprung from an unconscious gunman’s hand.
“Hey!” shouted one of the operatives. “He’s going after a gun!”
The two who were still conscious fumbled around, looking for their own weapons, though the dimly lit trailer did them no favors and before they could lay fingers on one of their own weapons, Brad had his up and around. Wasting no time, he immediately opened fire, chewing into them both with the Daewoo K7. The integrated suppressor negated a large portion of the noise, the weapon rattling off gunfire in a strange, quiet whacking sound. As both men hit the ground, Brad charged forward, slipping over their bodies and hit the seam of the door with his right shoulder. The latch popped and the door sprang open, spilling him out onto the street.
Seeing a group of commandos behind the Humvee, the young boy back-pedaled, running clumsily backwards toward the other side of the fallen box truck.
“Brad!” the voice was sharp and sudden and he whirled around as he moved, eyes meeting Rhonda’s. “I’m so glad you’re safe!” she shouted and charged forward, gathering him up in a rough embrace, dragging him back toward deeper cover.
“Thanks, Ms. Fraser!” he shouted as they moved, sparks chasing them along the rough surface of the pavement. As two gunmen emerged to open fire on them, Fields adjusted her own aim and fired twice, dropping one of them.
“What did you see?” Rhonda asked desperately. “Did you see a bomb?”
Brad shook his head. “Not in my truck,” he gasped. “Maybe it’s in the other one?”
Rhonda nodded, her eyes shifting that direction and seeing Max and Angel moving around the front of their fallen truck, weapons raised. As she watched, several operatives peeled away from the Humvee and headed toward them, Angel moving around to Max’s right and opening fire with the M4A1. Max let some pistol shots fly as well and drove back the small group before they advanced too far.
“Did you see Lydia?” Rhonda asked.
Brad nodded. “I think so, yeah,” he said quietly. “I mean, I never met her, but there was a girl there. A girl who looked like that picture you were showing.”
“Did she
come on this trip?”
“I don’t know, I didn’t see much of anything.”
Bullets thunked into the metal of the fallen trunk, a rapid drumming of metal on metal punts. Rebecca broke away and Rhonda ducked, and Jacques came up on their left, firing his pistol in an expert two-handed grip.
“This is getting us nowhere!” Rhonda shouted. “They could easily just detonate this thing right here and now… then what will we do?”
“I’m open for any bright ideas!” shouted Rebecca.
All around them the weapons fire exploded.
***
Rita clamped her hands over her head and ducked low in the passenger seat as both windows on her side of the hatchback blew in, spraying gum caked safety glass over her shoulders and back. Bullets popped and smacked into the metal surface of the door, showering sparks up into the air.
“Get out of there!” screamed Park as he shuffled right, leveling his automatic and returning fire, a swift four round burst from the long barrel of his Daewoo. He bent into the opened driver’s side door and extended his hand, letting her wrap her fingers around his wrist before he stepped back, pulling her through the vehicle and out onto the shoulder. She ducked and stumbled forward around him, letting a short shriek fly as bullets ricocheted off the rounded roof of the small car.
“How many of them are there?” she screeched, going down a slight embankment into a low ditch at the side of the road.
“I don’t know, but less than we have!” Park replied, adjusting again and firing his rifle. He ducked away and spun, moving back toward the opened driver’s side door, and a sudden barrage of gunfire came from a different direction, up by the front of the first capsized truck. The driver’s side window exploded and he grunted, lumbering backwards.
Angel and Max worked their way around the truck, Angel’s M4A1 Carbine rattling off more gunfire toward Park and Kramer.
“Watch your back, kid!” Angel barked. “We’re in the thick of it!”
A commando turned toward them from behind the Humvee, spotting the new threat, but Max saw him first and shifted, firing his pistol. The man fired as he was struck, and as he slammed back against the Humvee, Max shouted in pain, a round punching into the fabric of his shirt near the left side of his chest.
“Max!” shouted Angel as the boy stumbled backwards, eyes wide and fingers slacking, his semi-automatic spinning away and clattering onto the pavement as he fell over backwards, rolling onto his side.
“No no no no!” Angel shouted, moving toward him. Rattling gunfire belted from the hatchback, the Korean intelligence agent recovering and firing his automatic. Chunks of roadway splashed up from the pavement in a straight line and Angel scrambled backwards toward the truck, his eyes focused on Max’s prone form on the ground. He lay still, unmoving.
“Oh no,” hissed Phil from the other side of the road. His eyes narrowed on Max laying on his side as Angel scrambled away, trying to move forward, but being kept at bay with return fire.
“Is that Max?” Rhonda screamed. “Oh my God is that Max?”
Brad drew in a deep breath and charged out into the battleground. “I’ll get him!”
“Brad, don’t!” shouted Phil, reaching toward him, but the boy was too fast, squirming past him and dashing out from around the capsized truck.
Tamar ran after him, legs pumping.
“I’ve got your back!” Winnie yelled, shuffling after Tamar, firing with her pistol.
“They’re distracted!” Fields said. “Angel and Max drew their fire away!” She pushed onward, firing her battle rifle, dropping another gunman and sending a second scrambling for cover.
Rhonda moved toward the Humvee, her ARX chattering automatic fire and as she did, her eyes narrowed on Max’s fallen body, but then drifted past it. Off in the grass, past the road’s shoulder, she saw them. From this distance, they almost looked like just two normal elderly people. Her large-framed, intimidating father and demure, but sharp-witted mother, making their way through the grass just beyond where their truck had tipped over, scattering glass and shorn bits of metal all over the pavement. She saw them. They were right there. And where they were, Lydia must be.
Her eyes tracked back to Max, still lying in the road, and her stomach clenched into a fist. To get so close to finding her daughter, only to lose her son? No. No, this wasn’t going to happen this way. It couldn’t.
Several feet to her left, Tamar fired again, three more shots, with Pietro Jacques coming up on his left flank, rattling off semi-automatic pistol fire, just trying to keep some heads down. Brad was moving toward the Humvee, a dangerously brave maneuver, his eyes fixated on the fallen body of his best friend, all attention on that one goal, with none of it where the true danger lay. The entire area was a war zone, pops of gunfire, sprays of ricochet sparks and shattering glass, but Brad’s eyes narrowed only on the body of his friend as he made his way closer.
Rhonda craned her neck left, seeing Brad, seeing Tamar and Jacques, then last, seeing Phil as he scrambled forward, desperate to keep up with them. Fields rained gunfire toward the Humvee, as Angel did the same from his angle, peppering the small group of remaining commandos with gunshots.
There was a heartbeat of silence. A brief moment where bullets weren’t flying and the world around her seemed to move in slow motion, as she looked forward at her parents in the grass and could almost visualize this tunnel forming between her and them. A connective tissue of the universe, tying her to them, leaving her all alone standing between them and what they wanted to do. She moved forward, flattened her palm on the hood of the Humvee, threw herself over it and broke into a run.
***
Fields ducked back behind the capsized truck and rammed a fresh magazine into her SIG rifle. As she spun back around she saw Rhonda vault the hood of the Humvee and run toward her fallen son and cursed to herself for her bad timing. Without wasting another moment she ran forward just in time to see a pair of gunmen move from the Humvee, raising their automatics toward Rhonda as she ran.
“On your left!” Fields screamed and Rhonda jerked right as Rebecca fired, her rifle letting off several successive shots. One of the gunmen spiraled left and tumbled away while the other scrambled for cover, the metal of the Humvee roof puckering in white flashes of bullet ricochet.
“She always keeps things interesting,” Rebecca said to herself as she sighted on another commando and fired another quick shot to keep him honest. Belting several gunshots toward the hatchback, Rhonda moved to Max, dropping into a low slide along the rough pavement, coming up next to his fallen body. Angel saw her and moved forward, drawing back toward the Humvee and opening fire.
“Max!” Rhonda screamed. “Max, are you okay?”
The boy didn’t answer as she bent down and grabbed his arm, then slowly rolled him over, bracing herself for what she was about to see. His button-up shirt was unbuttoned and the left flap fell away as she turned him.
But there was no blood.
She set down her weapon and dug her hands into his chest and shirt, checking for a bullet wound, bending low to investigate, and she saw it there. Her heart leaped when she finally focused on the slim, form-fitting shoulder holster nestled just left of his chest. A black, burnt singe of a bullet ricochet was scorched into the leather fabric where the round had struck the revolver and bounced away. The impact must have knocked the wind out of him, but Max was all right. He wasn’t shot.
“Maxie!” she screamed again, clasping him by the shoulders and shaking him. “Maxie wake up!”
Her son started to stir, his mouth moving and forming words she could not hear, his eyes fluttering.
“Angel!” she screamed, looking up at him. “He’s okay! He’s okay!”
Angel smiled and tossed her a thumbs up, then brought his weapon around and resumed firing upon the scattered gunmen that were left.
Glancing over her shoulder, Rhonda saw Brad making his way through the deadly crossfire and she waved to him frantically, arcing her hand back
and forth in the air, her throat raw from screaming.
“Brad, stay there! He’s alive! He’ll be fine!”
Brad narrowed his eyes toward her through the haze of gun smoke and the deafening rattle of exchanging gun fire. She wasn’t sure he could hear her, he was scowling at her as if he was trying to understand what she was saying, trying to appreciate the gravity of her words.
To her horror, she saw him scramble to his feet and start running toward her.
“No!” she screamed. “Stay there!”
Tamar moved up from behind Brad and wrapped his hand around his shoulder, dragging him backwards, wrangling him back under cover. Pavement exploded at their feet. Phil came up behind, reaching to pull Brad back as well.
“Max, are you okay?” Rhonda asked. “You need to get to cover.”
“I got him! Do what you gotta do!” Angel yelled, moving forward from behind the truck.
Rhonda lifted her head, her eyes narrowing at her parents in the grass, less than a hundred feet from her. They were right there. Looking over at Angel, she dipped her eyes.
“You’ll take care of him?”
“Trust me.”
She nodded, drew herself up, stepped over her stirring son and ran full tilt toward the two familiar figures on the grass just ahead. Her legs ached as she ran, cradling the rifle in two hands, moving fast through the growing fog of the battlefield. Slipping over the crunched hood of the hatchback, she landed on the road, leaped over the ditch in one long jump and hit the grass in a low, clumsy crouch. Ahead, the man and woman were wandering away, looking as if they were making their way toward the woods which ran alongside the narrow, two lane road through Delaware.
“Mom!” she screamed. “Dad!” she screamed again.
The two turned toward her, eyes wide, stopping in their tracks.
“We need to talk.”
