Primeval egt-5

by David L. Golemon

  "Did he say…?"

  Before Will could get the whole question out of his mouth, heavier caliber rounds slammed into the windscreen, and then he heard some more pinging and whacks coming from the two engines above.

  Ryan struggled to add power to the two engines and started pumping the flaps back as the seaplane started to rise back into the air. He managed a look out of the side window, a single bullet passed through the glass and just missed his head, but it did tear the twin throttle controls on the upper control panel out of his grip as they both sheared off and went flying into Mendenhall. The engines were now at full power and unless Ryan cut the fuel off, they would crash into the trees or the river at full speed.

  Ryan cursed and tried to look through the shattered glass. What he could make out was several men down below up on the riverbank kneeling and firing into the seaplane.

  "We have men on the ground, a dozen feet from the river," he shouted for the benefit of the colonel and the others in the back.

  Jack and Everett beat everyone into action as thirty holes stitched themselves through the plywood hull of the flying boat. Three would have hit Sarah if she hadn't had two rolled-up sleeping bags piled in front of her; still, the powerful rounds knocked the wind out of her as goose down went flying in all directions.

  Collins started throwing camping gear everywhere as Everett joined him, unceremoniously throwing Charlie Ellenshaw into the small aisle. The Grumman lurched and went almost upside down and then righted itself, throwing Jack and Everett off their feet. Jack stood and grabbed the first M-16 from the plastic container that had been buried under the rest of the gear. He threw the short-barreled M-16 over his head, not caring if it hit anyone. Sarah, finally getting her wind back into her lungs, ducked as an arm shot out and took the airborne automatic weapon. As she turned, she saw Henri Farbeaux holding the weapon and then throwing himself over three folded tents as he quickly smashed out one of the small round portholes that lined the side of the aircraft.

  "Here, Punchy," Jack shouted as he threw him another M-16. "I expect you remember how to use one of these," Collins said as he reached for another just as a red hot round tore through his jacket at the shoulder.

  "If I don't, I better remember damn quick," Alexander said as he didn't bother to smash out one of the portholes, but instead sent several 5.62 millimeter rounds through the glass before throwing himself prone and opening up at anything along the fast moving riverbank.

  Everett took a weapon and slammed home a magazine. "Jack, I don't think someone down there is all that impressed with Alice's plane."

  Collins heard a loud creak and then a bang as one of the engines froze up. When he looked up, he could actually see the holes in the upper cabin where engine parts had blasted through the wood.

  "We're hit!" came a shout from the cockpit.

  "Ryan really has a way of stating the obvious," Collins said as he started slamming the butt plate of the M-16 against the thin marine plywood hull. It only took about six hits before he had a hole large enough for he and Everett to fire from.

  "Alright, give 'em hell," Everett screamed above the damaged engines.

  * * *

  Deonovich was satisfied when he saw the starboard engine of the seaplane burst into flames just as the rising Grumman went flying past at a hundred feet and climbing. The Russian saw large chunks of wood careen into the air as his men continued to pour accurate fire into the old wood of the plane. Then his expression quickly changed as something caught his eye. He knew he must be imagining the sight he was witnessing: The ancient aircraft was actually returning fire. That observation was quickly punctuated and verified by thirty rounds striking the rocks and gravel of the riverbank. Two of his men screamed in shock and fell backward onto the ground, two holes each in their chests.

  Deonovich decided that retreating to a covered position was probably the healthiest choice he could make in the next few seconds as the aircraft continued a withering return fire at their antagonists. Whoever these people were, they surely were not your ordinary fishermen.

  * * *

  Ryan was struggling with the dying plane. The river ahead looked shallow in too many places and the bends in the Stikine looked to be too close together for a straight in landing.

  "Goddamn it, there's no place to set this bitch down!" he said through clenched teeth as the wheel assembly started shaking in his hands. "We have to turn around and land in the deepest part of the river in front of the fishing camp."

  "Hey, buddy, I don't know if you noticed or not, but there seemed to be some not-so-nice people back there shooting bullets at us!" Mendenhall said, feeling really out of place without a weapon; so he did the next best thing — he pulled his seat harness as tight as he could.

  "Colonel, I have to come back around, I suggest you clear those people from the beach!"

  Collins didn't answer, he knew Ryan had to do what he had to do and didn't bother the navy pilot with what he really wanted to scream out—Are you nuts! Instead, he reached down and tossed everyone fresh magazines.

  Everyone in the cabin was tossed to the left side of the plane as Ryan turned the Grumman for everything the old girl was worth. The one remaining engine screamed at full power as the other burned through its wing mounts. The smell of burning wood and its smoke started to fill the cabin and the cockpit. Still, the old seaplane responded as Ryan completed the turn just as the colonel and the others opened up again on the approaching beach.

  Ryan knew a catastrophic failure was only a second away when he heard the loud crack of the wing header just above them.

  "Oh, shit!" Mendenhall yelled as he heard the same horrifying crack. "That didn't sound good at all."

  Ryan pushed the wheel all the way forward, bleeding off altitude as fast as he could, even threatening to bury the Grumman's nose into the river below. They were being raked by machine-gun fire but not at as heavy a volume as before thanks to Collins and the others. However, Ryan knew that was the least of their problems at the moment.

  The seaplane flared out, nose up just as its right-side wing float was shot free. It fell off and struck the water and then bounced up into the fire-damaged wing, creasing it along the line of bolts that held it together with the fuselage. The old plywood structure was not meant to sustain that much damage or debris impact, and so, just as the boatlike prow of the seaplane hit the river, the right-side wing let go, shearing off at the cockpit. The seaplane hit and spun in the water, the left-side float hit and dug into the fast-moving river and, even though the Grumman was traveling in the same direction as its southern flow, the float dug in and then tore free, but before it did, it was like sticking a ball bat into a large fan — the plane spun, tearing off the remaining wing and smashing the fuselage into two pieces. As quickly as they had hit the water, the old collector's item was in pieces.

  As Deonovich saw the destruction before him, he stood from behind the tree where he had taken cover. He shook his head at the tenacity of whoever was inside of the destroyed plane. It had been surprising that his antagonists had put up such a quick and terrible defense. He looked around and saw that three of his men were down and one other was injured.

  "Remarkable," he mumbled as he stepped toward the Stikine to watch the debris of the seaplane as it started its run down river. "Utterly remarkable."

  * * *

  As the Grumman rolled over onto its back, the tail section and most of the cabin sped by the cockpit in an out-of-control rush down the Stikine. Inside the cabin, Collins had had the M-16 he was holding smash into his shoulder as he was firing, coming near to separating it. As the water rushed inside, he saw Sarah as she fell from what had been the cabin's floor. In a flash, he saw the Frenchman grab her and then they both vanished in the rush of water. Collins knew that Sarah could be in no better hands other than his own.

  "Charlie!" Everett shouted.

  Collins looked around as the cabin slid completely under the rushing water. He still held the M-16 in his right hand as he
used his feet to push off of a shattered rib strut. He felt the river grab him as soon as he was free of the cabin. He felt another, and then another person slam into him as he fought to get to the surface.

  "Goddamn it, those bastards are still shooting at us!" Everett shouted as he surfaced, and then his words were cut short when he swallowed a mouth full of water.

  Jack felt the rocky bottom of the river and tried to gain what balance he could. He felt a strong arm pull him fully back into the water. It was Punchy Alexander; he had both hands free and was pulling Jack as close to shore as he could get. All around them, geysers of water were shooting skyward as bullets from upriver struck all around them.

  "Did anyone get Charlie out?" Jack shouted.

  "Hell, I don't know, but if we don't get to the bank we're going to get our asses shot off," Alexander screamed.

  As Jack and Punchy gained the shore, he heard an M-16 open up somewhere in front of them.

  "That damn Frenchman is fast, him and that little girl are giving us cover fire. Now let's go, Jack!"

  Jack stumbled as he gained the rocky shoreline and fell, Punchy continued pulling him. "It would help if you got up and used that damn weapon in your hands."

  Jack realized he still held the M-16 and quickly rose to his feet just as three rounds narrowly missed his head. He saw Everett start firing from a prone position ten yards away. He quickly aimed at anything that didn't look like a tree upriver and opened fire.

  "There's only one left," Henri Farbeaux called from the tree line to Jack's left. "And he's decided to call it quits."

  Collins stood and saw a lone man shove a large Zodiac into the water and then jump in. Collins aimed and fired, but the man was too fast as he started the large outboard motor and streaked upriver, bouncing over the rough surface.

  "Son of a bitch used his remaining two men as a shield, stupid bastards." Punchy stepped up to Collins and looked him over. "You've got a pretty good gash on your forehead, old friend," he said as he turned and made sure the boatman wasn't making a return trip.

  "You all right?" Jack asked Alexander as he wiped blood from a six-inch gash just into his hairline.

  "Nothing a seamstress can't mend," he answered with a grimace as he pushed down a large rip in his right pants leg. Blood was soaking through the wet material in a pretty good spread.

  "Short Stuff, get over here and see if you can give Punchy a hand before he bleeds to death. Henri, Carl, let's see if we can find the doc, Mendenhall, and Ryan."

  "Goddamn it, Jack, we flew right into that one. We must be getting old," Everett said as he pulled the magazine from his weapon and looked in it. It was empty so he tossed it onto the rocky shore. "I'm out, so if that bastard tries again, I have to chuck rocks."

  "Well, this is the place for it," Farbeaux said as he and Sarah joined them at the river.

  Collins saw Sarah was fine, a little bruised, but intact. Henri was the same except for three large scratches to the left side of his face. He nodded his head at the Frenchman in thanks for pulling Sarah out of the plane.

  "I don't give your professor Ellenshaw much of a chance, Colonel," Farbeaux said as he checked the number of rounds in his own weapon.

  They all turned at once when they heard someone coming from the tree line.

  "Whoa, hold your fire! We didn't survive that magnificent crash just to get shot by our friends!" Ryan said as he, Mendenhall, and none other than Charles Hindershot Ellenshaw the Third held up their hands.

  Jack shook his head when he saw his people, happy as hell they had made it through.

  "You crashed, Mr. Ryan. So, tell me how in the hell that makes you a friend?" Jack asked, only half jokingly.

  "Now, how did you get into the tree line?" Everett asked as he assisted a limping Ellenshaw to the ground, relieving Mendenhall and Ryan of their burden.

  "Well, Will and myself took an 'E' ticket ride in what was left of the cockpit, skidding along the water, and then rolling to beat all hell onto the riverbank and then into the forest. Thank God for seatbelts." Ryan kneeled, still shaking from their ordeal.

  Mendenhall leaned down and patted Ellenshaw on the back, making a sloppy wet sound as he did.

  "As for the doc here, we found him playing dead about a hundred feet away from us." They all looked at Ellenshaw: He had lost his hat, his thick wire-rimmed glasses were bent so out of shape that one earpiece was dangling down the side of his face, and his hair looked at if a bird had started putting a nest in it.

  "I most assuredly thought I was dead, Lieutenant," Charlie said as he removed his bent glasses and then covered his eyes. "That was a horrendous way to land a plane, I must say."

  Jack was grateful everyone was alive. He looked at the river and saw no sign of the wreckage. The Grumman and all of their supplies would wind up in Vancouver by the end of the week. He took a deep breath and looked around. The store looked as if it had taken gunfire — the icehouse next to it was leaking what could only be liquid hydrogen from several gaping gaps in its woodwork. There wasn't any movement or other signs of life from the fishing camp and Jack feared the worse for the people here.

  "Well, let's go see what those people were doing here, and if they left anyone alive."

  * * *

  Jack, Everett, and Punchy Alexander moved separately into the open, spread out as far as possible to make sniping at them a singular event. Carl was the first to come to one of the four bodies that lay crumpled on the stony ground nearest the river. Everett rolled the body over on its right side, bending over and retrieving the AK-47 from the man's frozen grasp. He slung the weapon over his right shoulder and then turned and felt the neck for a pulse. The bearded face was frozen in shock and the eyes were wide open. The captain was getting ready to continue on when he saw that one of the bullets that had struck the dead man had hit him in the upper left arm, exposing something colorful underneath. Tearing away some of the material, Carl quickly wiped away the blood from the bullet wound and then exhaled deeply. Just under the hole where the 5.62 millimeter round had entered the arm, there was a tattoo. A red hammer and cycle, the old Soviet state symbol — only this one had a gold lightning bolt running through it. Everett released the arm and then looked around at the other bodies, betting they all had the same markings.

  "Jack," Carl called out, halting Collins in his tracks. "Check the upper left arm of that body."

  Collins, who had just checked the dead man at his feet for a pulse and then picked up the AK-47 and chambered a new round into its breech, leaned down and tore the camouflage fatigue at the shoulder. The material ripped away revealing a hammer and sickle, complete with a gold lightning bolt.

  "What the bloody hell is it?" Punchy asked a few feet away as he kept a wary eye on their surroundings.

  "Spetsnaz," Jack said looking around him, more appreciative of the enemy they had faced. "Old school; tattoos are from the old Soviet days."

  "What in the hell are Russian commandos doing here?" Alexander asked, becoming even more aware of his surroundings and now feeling far more vulnerable than he had just a second before.

  Jack didn't answer Punchy's question; he straightened and then continued toward the general store. He stopped a moment and looked back at Ryan and Mendenhall. They were huddled with the others just inside the tree line. Mendenhall held the only M-16 in the group and was watching the riverbank to their rear. Collins gestured to Ryan and made a trigger movement with his finger, indicating that he should relieve the other two dead men of their weapons. Ryan understood and sprinted from the trees toward the remaining bodies.

  Alexander was still thinking about the Spetsnaz and the rumors of their capabilities. As an intelligence officer, he had run up against the newer versions of the commando group, but most Western nations knew them to be a ghost of their former selves, sloppy and inefficient compared to the old fellas from two decades ago. He looked at Jack and saw that the element of the Spetsnaz hadn't made a dent in his hastiness to hurry their group along. He shook his hea
d and followed Collins.

  The colonel quickly went straight for the large front steps of the general store, waving as he did for Everett to go left and check the icehouse. Punchy Alexander followed Collins onto the large front porch and then to the left side of the open door as Jack went to the right of the still closed one. They immediately saw two bodies and Punchy recognized the green uniforms. He mouthed the word "Mounties." Collins took a shallow breath, shaking his head at the horrendous murder of more men, and then before his thoughts wandered even more about life's injustices, he quickly reached out and opened the door. A small bell chimed and Collins grimaced: He knew mistakes like that cost men their lives, and he had just made one of the biggest. He looked at Punchy who was standing there smiling and rolling his eyes.

  "I told you we were getting too old for this, but then again, I didn't think about that, either."

  "For whom the bell tolls," Jack whispered and then before he could think about it, went inside and then quickly to one knee as he scanned the interior of the large store. Alexander followed just a second later taking aim at the higher points of the store.

  Collins didn't see any movement as he slowly scanned the area to his front. Then he stood and gestured for Punchy to take the left side of the store, and he would take the right. The counter area is where he would have set up the initial stages of any ambush, so that was the first place he looked. He slowly lay down and then rolled silently toward the closest end. He saw a can of pork and beans lying on the floor that had fallen from a small display case after the glass from the plate-glass window had struck it. Jack closed his eyes as he easily reached the can, not daring to take a breath. He picked up the red and white labeled can and then opened his eyes, and then pulling it back as if it were a grenade, he eased it through the air until it struck the counter at the far end. As it did, he rolled the rest of the way around the far end of the counter and quickly aimed — nothing. Collins stood and shook his head at Punchy, who returned the gesture. Then he turned and looked to where Collins was looking.