Bamboo Battleground

by Don Bendell

  Taps were played, flags presented, bagpipes played, and Gen. Jonathan Perry gave the most moving, inspirational eulogy Bobby had ever heard. There was hardly a dry eye in the house.

  The funeral was held in Canon City, Colorado, about one half hour south of Fort Carson. It was the closest city of any size, albeit small, to Boom’s mountain ranch, near Westcliffe. There were so many people, the ceremony was actually held at a large historical landmark in southern Colorado called Holy Cross Abbey. The abbey had been a private Catholic school for boys for decades, but the church shut the school down in the late eighties, and the many buildings on the grounds were rented out for a variety of uses. After the turn of the century, a vineyard and winery was started, attracting more tourists to the area, already a major tourist area in southern Colorado to begin with. The cathedral itself had beautiful architecture and was large enough to hold the thousand-plus people who attended the funeral. The real highlight was when the general completed his eulogy and then read a very moving tribute letter about Boom from the president of the United States. Official copies were presented to each of Boom’s five children and his sister.

  Bo really let the tears roll when all the Special Forces men in the room, including Bobby, snapped to attention and sang along, as a fantastic singer sang Barry Sadler’s “Ballad of the Green Berets.”

  For the first time, Bo really paid attention to the words, written by Robin Moore, who wrote the number one best-seller of the sixties, The Green Berets, which became a John Wayne hit movie.

  Bo noticed how straight Boom’s oldest son stood when he heard the song and how his chest puffed out and shoulders went back. She wondered if the young man was taking the words to heart. Little did she know, he had already been to the army recruiter at Fort Carson the day before and had dropped out of Colorado State University, with only one year to go. He knew he would pass the physical and mental tests to qualify, and he was going to enter the army as a PFC under their 18Xray program. He would have a guarantee for the SOPC (Special Operations Preparation Course), and after passing that, he would begin the Q-Course hoping to earn his own Green Beret.

  Many Special Forces legends were there at the funeral, most coming from Fayetteville, North Carolina. Bo and Bobby stayed at Boom’s ranch, and so did their Special Forces escorts, but they were relieved by two FBI agents. What all did not know was how serious Weatherford was now about getting rid of them. Nobody but the few knew the newlywed couple had been in Las Vegas, but through one of his sergeants, Weatherford passed it on to Muhammad and Tran that Bobby and Bo would be at Boom’s funeral, along with information on his ranch and a MapQuest map showing how to get there.

  The people at the small hotel in Westcliffe were very suspicious about the three Mideastern-looking men with the very thick Arabian accents, as they acted so arrogant and were so out of place in the town on the 7,900-foot-high valley floor of the Wet Mountain Valley. The 14,000-foot, 13,000-foot, and 12,000-foot peaks of the majestic Sangre de Cristo mountain range towered over the town to the west.

  Abdul Haq, Abdul Hameed, and Ziyud Yoonus all served under Usama bin Laden and grew up in and around the Hindu Kush mountains in Afghanistan, and especially the area around the Sefid Koh Range. All three started out as drug smugglers through the Khyber Pass and later joined the Taliban, and finally, the al Qaeda. They knew maneuvering and moving through rugged high mountains, much higher than the “fourteeners” in the Sangre de Cristos, so it was with great joy they saw Bobby, Bo, and two undercover FBI agents saddling horses to hopefully head out from the ranch and up toward the big range. The three al Qaeda had been camped out since the day before the funeral on one of the lower ridges at about 10,000 feet and were watching with a powerful spotting scope.

  The three were armed with one folding stock AK-47, and two SKS rifles, as well as bladed weapons, night vision devices, and pistols. They also had a number of HE (high explosive) hand grenades. All their ordnance had been smuggled into the United States across the Canadian border.

  The three had been working on an attack plan to move down to the ranch house and kill Bobby and Bo there, but they could see with their powerful spotting scope that the four were loading full sleeping bags, bedrolls, and saddlebags, so they assumed they were heading up into the mountains.

  Bobby carefully placed the urn with Boom’s ashes in his saddlebag. Boom’s sister oddly enough did not want to accompany them into the “high lonesome,” as cowboys used to call it, as she was scared to death of riding horses. She loved to pet, feed, water, and watch the horses Boom had at the ranch, but when she was a little girl on her first ride, the horse she was on spotted an open stable door and took off at full gallop. It frightened the wits out of her, and she never rode again.

  They headed westward from the ranch house as the towering snowcapped peaks loomed before them. Bobby Samuels treasured his childhood days spent at Boom’s ranch, mainly because of the untold wonder and beauty of these mighty mountains that stretched all the way down through New Mexico. Their Spanish name, meaning “blood of Christ” was not so named because they looked ugly at sunset or sunrise. It was because of the crimson hues on the snowcaps. Many considered this the most beautiful mountain range in the world.

  Bobby intended to ride up to the timberline to some land-locked lakes he knew to spread the ashes over. Boom loved going up there to catch native cutthroat and rainbow trout out of the pristine glacial lakes.

  Bobby held his wife gently under the arms, and she swung her leg over the saddle. He checked his own saddlebag and immediately pulled out his loaded Glock 17 9 millimeter and belt holster. He climbed aboard, and they turned their horses toward the big range. The pair trotted toward the trees followed by the two agents. An hour and a half later found them in a large bowl right at the timberline. They had seen a red fox on the ride already as well as a flock of wild turkeys and several mule deer.

  Bobby asked the FBI agents to wait while he and Bo rode up a ridge overlooking one of the crystal-clear ponds. The wind blew from the ridge toward the pond, and he and Bo prayed together and then tossed the ashes into the air, letting them blow all over the bowl down below. They spent some time up there reflecting on Boom, then saddled up and returned to the two agents. They had built a small fire already and had coffee brewing, having already drunk two cups.

  Bobby said, “Guys, my wife and I want to spend a little alone time, if you do not mind. We will be on the other side of the lake in the forest just below the timberline. Do you mind?”

  The two looked at each other and at Bo, and smiled at each other.

  One said, “Go ahead, Major. Just do not mention this to our boss. We are supposed to shadow you two.”

  Bobby winked, saying, “We shouldn’t be long. A couple hours. I want to show her a special place that Boom took me to up here.”

  “Take your time and relax,” the agent said. “We aren’t going anywhere.”

  Abdul Haq, Abdul Hameed, and Ziyud Yoonus were half jogging, half speed-walking as they followed the tracks of the four shod horses climbing up the rugged mountain trail. The snowcapped peaks, out of sight previously, were now in view through the trees.

  Bobby and Bo took off with a steep ridge covered with tall pines to their right and the lake to their left. Bo was amazed looking out at all the little streaks of red or gold or silver, as trout twisted their bodies in the sunlight and could be seen so easily all the way across the lake. She looked around at the snowcapped peaks above her on three sides and the clouds brushing across the tops of some. She was so much in awe of the mountains and the majestic views.

  They reached the end of the lake, and Bobby led her into a large grove of aspens, and they rode for ten minutes deeper into the trees.

  Finally, she had to ask, “Bobby, where are we going?”

  He said, “Right here.”

  Bobby dismounted and tied his horse’s lead line around an aspen tree. He helped her down and tied her horse, too. All she saw was trees in every direction with white b
ark and long straight trunks. The tiny leaves fluttered above them like nature’s whispering wind chimes.

  Bobby removed his saddlebags and hers, then removed the bridles from both horses, hanging them on nearby branches. He hoisted the saddlebags over his shoulders, and the curious beauty followed as he headed toward a large group of cabin-sized boulders. Inside the rocks, it seemed a little warmer, with the mountain breeze blocked off. Right in front of them was a small dome-shaped hut. Or, at least, that was how it looked to her. Now her curiosity was really piqued. A few steps beyond was a small pond, crystal clear with a small brook bubbling into it, coming down a low grass-and-flower-covered ridge. Bo could see the bottom and the tiny forms of cutthroat trout swimming in the pure water.

  Bobby smiled, saying to his wife, “Take off your clothes,” as he pulled off his boots, then unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly.

  She was amazed as she watched him crawl inside the hut, and soon she saw smoke coming from a small hole in the roof. There was a stack of cut firewood piled next to the hut.

  “What is going on?” she asked when he emerged from the hut.

  Bobby grinned, removing the rest of his clothes.

  “Come on,” he said, husky-voiced.

  She removed her clothes and left them in a neat pile. Bobby went back into the hut and emerged with a small metal bucket. He got water from the pond and led her inside. Bo could not believe the warmth inside. He sat her down in front of a fire ringed with large stones, which he poured water on. Steam filled the little dome, and sweat broke out everywhere on both of them.

  Bobby said, “This was built by a friend of Boom’s. He is a Jicarilla Apache. It is a sweat lodge.”

  She said, “An Apache. Does he live in these mountains? Is he . . .”

  Bobby laughed. “No, honey, he lives in Marin County, California, in a mansion. He is one of the top web designers in the world and is a multimillionaire. He comes out here for vacation.”

  “You’re kidding,” she said. “Why did he build this?”

  Bobby said, “For sweats. He is a modern-day success story, but he is also a traditionalist in many of the Apache ways.”

  She smiled and said, “Roots?”

  Bobby Samuels grinned, saying, “That’s a good way to put it. You know, many people in southern Colorado write and talk about the Southern Cheyenne, Utes, and Kiowas inhabiting this area, but many people are not aware that the Jicarilla Apache lived in this area, too, as well as in northern New Mexico.”

  “Wow,” she said, leaning back and enjoying her steam bath. “I always pictured them in, you know, treeless mountains and hot desert, like in southern Arizona.”

  “I know, most people think that way, but the Apache nation itself covered millions of square miles,” Bobby added.

  “Oh, darling, this is wonderful!” she cooed. “I feel all the stress just draining out of my body.”

  Bobby grabbed her right foot and took it in both hands, with the fingertips of both hands on the top of her foot and his thumb on the bottom. He gently but firmly massaged her foot, making tiny circles with his fingers and thumbs. She moaned in sheer pleasure. After fifteen minutes, he switched to the left foot, followed by her calves.

  After making love, they emerged from the sweat lodge holding hands and dived into the pool. Bo followed Bobby, but was scared, as it did not seem the pond was deep enough to wade in, much less dive in. To her surprise, it was over six feet deep in most places. Bobby crawled out before her and found a survival blanket in each saddlebag, which he spread out for them to lie on. There was also a small towel, which they both shared.

  They napped in the afternoon sun for a few minutes. Bobby awakened feeling refreshed like he had not felt in months, and it helped him with the very sad feelings he was having about Boom’s passing.

  Bobby had put food and utensils in his saddlebags, so he built a fire next to the pond while Bo slept.

  Mrs. Bobby Samuels awakened to the smell of eggs and bacon frying and coffee perking. She sat up and smiled while looking at Bobby’s broad back and wide shoulders. She really noticed all his scars and had a chill run down her spine, thinking about him receiving so many. He never looked back at her, but seemed to sense she was there, looking.

  “Staring at my flabby old butt, aren’t you?” he kidded.

  She laughed. “You have to be kidding, Samuels. You have the ass of an Olympic athlete. I love watching.”

  He turned, grinning, and raised one eyebrow with a sly smile on his face.

  “Hungry?”

  She hummed, “Ooh, am I? But what about the FBI agents?”

  Bobby said, “They told me they would be all right.”

  The three al Qaeda crept forward through the thick brush surrounding the low end of the lake. The two FBI agents sat by a fire drinking coffee and laughing. On a given signal from the leader Abdul Haq, all three stood and began firing with their automatic weapons. Although their bullets were 7.62 millimeter, they were far enough away that the multiple hits on the Kevlar vests on the two agents caused severe bruising but kept the bullet from penetrating.

  Both men immediately returned fire and ran toward the water, diving in. They swam as far as they could underwater while bullets tore into the crystal-clear liquid. Both kept swimming out toward the center of the lake, and surfaced treading water while the shooting stopped. The three terrorists were on the lakeshore and did not realize that the water was very deep where the agents were now treading water. They raised their weapons again and the two did whale rolls and went straight down. They saw bullets streak into the water high above, and they grabbed rocks on the bottom and stayed there, holding their breath as long as they could.

  Both pulled out their own Glocks and nodded at each other, kicking toward the surface and coming out of the water firing toward the terrorists. The three jihadists scrambled for cover, without thinking they probably would not get hit. This gave the agents time to catch their breath again.

  One whispered to the other, “How the hell do we get out of this? This water is cold. I don’t want to die of hypothermia.”

  The other chuckled, saying, “Yeah, but I’m not fond of bullets. In fact, I have one in my left calf muscle right now. How about you? Hit?”

  “Yeah, I have a broken rib,” the other said. “It hurts like hell. You know the background on Samuels and his wife. Maybe he can pull off some Green Beret heroics.”

  The other said, “I hope so.”

  A bullet splashed off the water between them and their eyes opened wide, as they whale rolled again. Bullets tore into the water above them, and again they grabbed rocks at the bottom, holding them with the insides of their feet. Both men felt like their lungs were going to burst, and they kicked off the bottom, guns in hand. They burst through the surface and aimed, but no terrorists. Bullets hit the water behind them and they dove down again.

  This time, they had to get air, so they immediately kicked off the bottom and came out of the surface facing their right rear where the shots had come from.

  They burst out of the water firing and the terrorists this time ducked behind shoreline rocks. They were now in front of a steep rock field that went straight up a thousand feet with two large avalanche chutes on it. Numerous boulders had rolled down here and dotted the shoreline. The weary federal officers would fire if any of the three started to rise from behind their rocks. This gave them more time to get their breath back.

  One of them looked up and said, “Son of a bitch!”

  One of the three men was behind a large boulder barely out in the water from the shoreline. He was also right at the bottom of one of the avalanche chutes.

  Both agents looked up as Bobby Samuels, holding the reins to his horse, stood at the top of the ridgeline at the apex of the avalanche chute. Bobby raised a boulder high overhead, tossed it down the chute, and quickly ran toward the next chute. The boulder rolled down gathering more rocks in its path, knocking them loose, and a large slide was starting. In the other chute where
there was more shade, there was still a large summer snowfield and Bo now appeared next to Bobby. They both emptied a magazine into the top of the snowpack from their own Glock 17s, and it was enough to wedge loose the avalanche that now started falling toward the second al Qaeda would-be killer.

  The three jihadists looked up and the one on the right could not even think to move, as tons and tons of rocks and boulders crushed him several feet into the bed of the lake.

  The middle one, Abdul Haq, smartly went out into the water, while Ziyud tried to scream but was choked by the falling snow, rocks, and debris that slammed into him. He had several broken bones, but panicked as the snow packed itself into his ears, nostrils, and mouth and he could not breathe. He felt himself immerse in water and was being crushed from all sides. He now realized he had just been buried under an avalanche and rock slide, and this would be his tomb. He wanted to scream but could not breathe.

  He suddenly remembered the U.S. soldier he executed in Afghanistan who looked at him and spat in his face before he shot him and said, “We are going to bury you ass-holes.”

  Ziyud suddenly realized that the infidel soldier was correct, and then he died.

  Abdul Haq looked up and saw that Bobby and Bo were gone from the ridge, but where were they? He was proud of himself. Once again, he had survived. Then, he heard a chuckle and spun in the water. The two FBI agents, pistols in hand, were swimming toward him.

  He turned and splashed and dashed toward shore, trying to get his feet under him. Panicky, Abdul scrambled out of the lake and ran back toward the trail, then realized his AK- 47 was behind the rock. He turned and ran back, and saw Bobby galloping through the water at the lake’s edge toward him. He turned and ran toward the trail again, pulling out his pistol.

  The FBI agents climbed out of the water. Bobby slid his horse to a stop along the shoreline.

  “Are you guys okay?”

  One said, “I got shot in the calf, and he has a busted rib. We’ll take care of ourselves. Go get him.”