Ever Onward

by Wayne Mee

  Heller squeezed up beside him. “Christ! That’s a good half mile away!”

  “More like a quarter,” Swan corrected.

  Heller ignored him and called for Jenkins to bring up the 309. Private ‘Gut’ Jenkins, stripped to his overflowing waist despite the cool wind, struggled over the rocks with the large weapon. Setting up the bi-pod, he unslung the belt of heavy shells and fed them into the slide.

  “What’s the target, Capt’n?”

  “That shit pile of rocks up there just below the falls,” Heller barked.

  Jenkins laid down and squinted along the perforated barrel, his massive stomach crushing the moss covered granite. “Shit, that’s a long one, Roy. Can’t guarantee no accuracy.”

  “Just fucking do it!”, Heller growled.

  Jenkins hawked up a wad of phlegm and spit. “You’re the boss, Cap’n. Hey, Nose. What d’ya figure? Two thousand yards?”

  “One eighty, but allow for a 5% wind drift to the right,” Swan said.

  Jenkins nodded and adjusted the rear sight; first the elevation, then the side thumbscrew. “Only 5%? I think maybe 7 or 8…”

  “Jesus H. Christ!”, Heller exploded. “When you girls are through finger fucking each other, will one of you shoot the goddamned gun?!”

  “But I can’t see nothin’ up there but rocks,” Jenkins complained.

  “Then shoot the goddamn rocks!”

  Blowing air out his chubby cheeks, Gut Jenkins yanked back the slide and let her rip. A copper cascade of spent shell casings ejected out the side as the .309 stitched a slanting line of led across the distant jumble of boulders.

  A quarter mile away rockchips flew as the heavy shells slammed into the granite giants, ricocheting away like angry wasps. Cobb, tucked into a crack with his head between his legs, waited for the barrage to finish. When it did he sighted on the cloud of drifting gunsmoke far below, a look of intense concentration on his hard face.

  “Come on you one-eyed bastard,” he whispered. “Show yourself.”

  As the smoke cleared, Scar and Heller stood up. From behind, Corporal Dutch Muller, eager to see what Jenkins was shooting at, scrambled up beside his fat friend, passing Scar in the process.

  “Hey, Gut. What the f...”

  Cobb’s second shot took the corporal in his skinny chest, passing clean through the heart and exiting just below the seventh vertebrae. The tumbling slug, its momentum spent, thudded into Scar’s Kelvar vest with all the force of a skinny grandmother and fell at the one-eyed man’s muddy boots. Private Dutch Muller, dead on his feet, sagged slowly down to lay atop the bullet that had killed him.

  Roy Heller, cowering behind a house-sized boulder, watched as Scar casually wiped Dutch’s blood from his ruined face. “These buggers are starting to piss me off.” The look in his good eye made Roy flinch. Scar turned and strode back down the trail, bellowing for his radio-man. “Givens! Haul your sorry black ass up here!”

  Corporal Phil Givens, radio strapped to his back, hastened to obey. He’d heard that tone in Scar’s voice before and knew it usually meant someone wound up bloody. Seeing Dutch Muller a crumpled heap only deepened his conviction. Slack-jawed, he looked at the one-eyed man.

  “Get me Jocco. I want that air support and I want it NOW!”

  “As I’ve already told you, Major, for the next few hours there is no air support to give you.” Despite the roar of the copter’s rotor, Jocco’s voice was deceptively low. Only the throbbing of his left temple showed the rage that smoldered within. “Even you should be able to grasp the fact that a plane needs gas to fly. Until they return from refueling at Bakersfield, I’m afraid you’ll just have to make do with me.”

  “Ya?”, Scar growled into the mike. “Well, where the fuck are you?” Static crackled and Scar punched Givens hard on the shoulder. The radio-man winced and fumbled with a dial.

  “... approaching ...’s Gate. We should be... minutes. When you... a flair. Ace will try to....” The voice was drowned by a rising tide of white noise.

  Scar drew his .357 and pressed the long barrel into Givens' ear. “Fix it.” The clicking of the hammer being pulled back was the loudest sound Phil the Wiz had ever heard.

  A home boy from Frisco’s Needle Park, Givens had gotten into electronics by boosting CB’s and car phones from the yuppies in the posh Bay Area. He’d learned the hard way that fences tended to pay more if you knew what the fuck you were selling. Now, with Scar’s Desert Wind about to blow his brains out, Phil ‘the Wiz’ Givens found himself suddenly preying to a God that only his mother had believed in. Long fingers danced over the dials. Snap. Crackle. Pop! Jocco’s voice was suddenly crystal clear. Hallelujah!

  “ --- read me? Scar! Heller! Answer me!”

  Scar lowered the gun and thumbed the mike. “Loud and clear, Your Kingship. We had a little trouble, but my man Givens here saved the day. He’s black you know.”

  “I don’t give a shit if he’s black and blue, just shoot up a goddamned flair when you see us! Ace says we can’t land, but we’ll lower a harness for you. Since you’re so eager to face the good Professor, I’ve decided to give you a lift up to Devil’s Gate. There you can settle things one way or the other. I’ll even send down an old friend of yours to help out. Now, did you get that, Captain Shithead, or did I go too fast for you?”

  Scar chuckled, a wry smile twisting his already twisted features. “Ya, I got it. Demoted back to Captain. Like I give a fuck. But Jocco, does this mean the honeymoon’s over?”

  Jocco’s velvet laughter came from the mike. “Believe it or not, Captain, I still intend to send you back east. You have certain skills that I need. So either kill Williams or drive him to me, I don’t care which. But be warned, Scar, the good professor may still have a few things yet to teach you.”

  “Maybe, Jocco,” Scar said arrogantly, “but don’t bet on it.”

  “I only bet on sure things, Captain, and either way I win. Now, put Heller on the line.”

  As Scar handed Roy the mike, he saw a helicopter come over a rocky peak several miles to the south. While Heller yelled for a flair to be shot up and listened to Jocco’s instructions, Scar readied himself for this final confrontation --- a confrontation that he’d been running from for over a year.

  “But you can’t!”, Walter Pinkton screamed.

  “Oh, but I can,” Jocco grinned, stuffing a snub-nosed .38 into the front of his advisor’s pants, then offering him a leather harness. “I can do any fucking thing I want. Now, I suggest you to put that on, for one way or the other, you are going out that door.”

  Eva Madeau pressed an Uzi into Walter’s crotch. “Oh, Lord Walter!”, she said with mock surprise. “Is that a gun you’ve got there or are you just glad to see me?”

  Reluctantly Walter stepped into the harness. A hundred feet below him Scar was already being lowered to a wooden platform built alongside a roaring waterfall. Spray dripped from a large sign at the back of the platform.

  DEVIL’S GATE

  Second largest waterfall

  in the State of California

  Please stay behind the railing!

  Scar’s boots slipped on the spray-slick wood as he unsnapped the umbilical cord holding him to the chopper. Looking up he saw another form dangling high above him. The man’s mouth was open and he was obviously screaming, but the thunder of the falls tore his words away.

  Scar’s old boss, Lord Walter the Wicked, came kicking and screaming into a world of pain. Scar went over and freed the cable and the copter sped away.

  “Well,” scowled the one-eyed man, “my daddy always said Life sucked. So far he ain’t been wrong. What the fuck are you doing here?”

  Walter scrambled to his feet, his glasses misted, his long hair plastered to his skull. “Reaping what I’ve sown, Captain, just as we all do.”

  Scar shrugged and pointed at the .38 sticking out of Walter’s belt. “You know how to use that?”

  “If I have to.” The voice was a defiant whine.

  “Sur
e. And I’m Prince Fucking Charming. Here, try this.” Scar handed Walter his 12 gage with the pistol grip, showing how to work the pump and where the safety was. “Now listen up, good buddy. I don’t give a shit what’s going down between you and Jocco. What you’ve got to remember is you’re down here with me now, and if you want to get out of this alive, you do exactly what I say when I say it. You got that?”

  Walter nodded, clutching the shotgun to him like a holy relic. Scar unslung his H & K Battle Rifle and checked the 50 round banana clip. His Colt at his side and the Desert Wind in his shoulder holster, Scar and his unlikely sidekick were loaded for bear.

  “What...what do we do now?”, Walter asked, his teeth chattering.

  “Well, for starters, we get the fuck off this platform. Find a place warm and dry and wait.”

  “Wait for what?”

  “Judgment Day, good buddy. Now, move your skinny ass down that hill. And Lord Walter, point that scatter gun anywhere near me and I’ll blow your fucking head off.”

  “They getting any closer?”, Cobb asked.

  Josh shook his head. “No. Ever since that chopper passed over they’ve been hanging back.” Josh swung the binoculars around, focusing on the notch in the mountains less than a half mile away. A long white line of tumbling water filled his sight, making the dancing spray seem almost close enough to touch. A steep set of steps snaked their way up the right side of the falls. In some places there was even a handrail.

  “What about up there?”

  Josh lowered the glasses and looked at his quiet but deadly friend. “I don’t like it. That chopper buzzing back and forth. Smells like a trap.”

  Cobb shrugged. “Jocco’s a sly bugger and this is his game, so he’ll know that gap is the only way through these mountains. If I was him, I’d be up there.”

  Josh sucked in air and glowered, the simplicity of it striking him like a fist. “Just like a bloody tiger hunt! The peasants beat the bushes and drive the tiger right into the king’s sights!”

  Cobb’s weathered face broke into a sly smile of his own. “Well, how about these two tigers try a little creative thinking? If we can find another way up those falls, we could catch King Jocco at his own game.”

  Josh quickly scanned the steep trail ahead. To the right the stone steps dipped and climbed over rough but passable rock. To the left sheer, spray-slick cliffs dropped almost straight down from the top of the notch, a good hundred feet higher than the platform on the right.

  “It’d be one hell of a climb,” Josh grunted.

  Cobb’s grin widened. “Only a fool would try it.”

  “Or a pair of fools,” Josh quipped.

  Cobb fingered the braided climbing rope strapped to his pack. “You ready?”

  Josh’s grin matched his friend’s, the tired old cliché somehow fitting. “Born ready.”

  Twenty minutes later they had made their way to the base of the waterfall. Over the ages, the force of the 200 foot cataract had gouged out a large pool at its base. Spray filled the air and mist made the far shore a ghostly outline. The roar was deafening. Above them the left hand side went up like a wet wall.

  “You ever do any climbing?”, Cobb asked, untying the rope and pulling two harnesses out of his pack.

  “A bit. Jessie got into it at camp when he was thirteen. We took a beginners course together. Nothing like this, though.”

  Cobb’s eyes flashed. “Well, teach, looks like you’re about to take an advanced course. I’ll go first. All you have to do is follow.”

  It sounded easy, and for the first fifty feet or so it was --- as long as you didn’t look down. Cracks and splits offered places for hands and feet. Cobb led the way, seeking out the easiest route. Half way up they found a narrow ledge and took a breather. Wind-blown mist shrouded them, blocking out any view of the far side of the cascading water.

  “Stay put!”, Cobb yelled in Josh’s ear. “It get’s a little tricky from here on. I’ll drive in a few rock clamps and tug on the rope for you to come.”

  Josh gave Cobb the thumbs-up sign and played out the rope as the younger man scrambled up the slick surface. While waiting, Josh looked back down the trail they had come. Beyond the swirling mist, the sun was shining. Josh though he caught the glint of light on metal far below, but couldn’t be sure. Zipping up his vest he’d taken from the ranger’s cabin, he felt a tug on the line. Cobb was beyond his view, so, trusting in a fate he had never truly believed in, he started up. To still his racing heart he thought

  about his son, waiting for him somewhere on the other side of this mountain. Flame’s face floated before him as well, her long red hair streaming in the wind, her green eyes smoldering and mocking at the same time.

  Did he love her? Even now he wasn’t sure. He cared for her, but nothing like he had for his wife. Flame, like her name, somehow seemed burn too bright for such a tender concept as love. Lust then? Perhaps at the start, but he wasn’t a kid anymore and such feelings soon cooled. He was sure of one thing; he did trust her, trusted her with his life. In a world suddenly gone mad perhaps trust might just be the rarest feeling of all. But, regardless of what he felt for her, he’d save both her and his son --- or die trying.

  Just then his foot slipped and he slid back twenty feet before the rope went tight. Heart pounding, knees and finger scraped, he hung sideways. Swallowing an unvoiced scream, he righted himself and searched for a handhold. Cobb’s voice floated down to him; the content torn by the wind, the concern intact. Tugging twice on the rope, he began to climb. Cobb pulled from above, and when Josh came at last to where the other was waiting, both men collapsed on a wide ledge spongy with wet moss.

  “Thought you’d bought it that time!”, Cobb panted.

  Josh, too spent to reply, merely rolled on his back. It was then that he saw the helicopter. The noise of its rotors drowned out by the falls, it hovered several hundred feet above them like some giant dragonfly. Through the swirling mist he saw the rotating barrels of the 50. caliber canon swing out the open bay door; then the heavy gun began to speak.

  “See anything?” Sitting in a crack on the right side of the falls, Walter was cold, wet and thoroughly miserable. Just above him, Scar was watching the lower trail through the scope of his rifle.

  “I said, do you see anything?” Walter’s wining voice held more than a touch of impatience. Over the last year he had grown accustomed to having his every whim granted. People jumped when Walter the Wicked spoke. People showed him respect!

  When “Shut the fuck up!”, drifted down to him, Walter’s grip on the .38 tightened. He’d fix Jocco for this; fix him good! But first there was Captain Scarface to deal with! Then, through the roar of the falls, a new sound reached his ears --- the rapid staccato of a heavy machine gun. Turning, he saw a helicopter hanging several hundred feet above the falls, smoke and fire spitting out its side door.

  From his position higher up, Scar was fumbling with his walkie-talkie. Holding it to his ear, the sound of gunfire undercut Jocco’s message.

  “I’ve found the professor and his friend, Captain,” the velvet voice said, as barbed and condescending as usual. “They were climbing the unclimbable. I told you Williams still had a few things up his sleeve.”

  Looking up at the hovering chopper, Scar growled. “Just tell me where the fuck they are!”

  “Above you, captain, on the far side of the falls. But don’t worry, I’ll soon...” Jocco’s voice suddenly stopped, replaced by shouts and screams. Scar saw the chopper’s nose rise abruptly, then fall away at a steep angle, taking it beyond his view.

  “What’s happened?”, he yelled into the mike. Seconds dragged by, static and curses crackling out of the radio. Then Jocco was back on, the velvet edge of his voice stripped away. “The bastards shot my pilot! Press harder, bitch! If he dies we’re all fucked! Scar, are you there?”

  “Ya.”

  “Ace’s been hit in the shoulder! We’re heading back to the lodge. It’s up to you now. Kill those fuckers and you can wr
ite your own ticket --- screw up and I’ll have your balls!”

  Scar smiled coldly and called down to Lord Walter.

  “What’s happening?”, Walter demanded as he scrambled up the rocks.

  “The shit’s hit the fan, good buddy. It’s them or us now.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  Scar worked the slide on his H & K. “Kick some ass.”

  Chapter 49: ‘ACTION OF THE TIGER’

  Devil’s Gate

  Sequoia National Park

  California, May 26th

  As the 50 caliber rounds from the chopper slammed into the cliff just above them, both men returned fire. Too far for the riot-gun, Josh drew the heavy Browning. Back to the wall, he fired all thirteen rounds at the hovering machine. Kneeling, Cobb switched the M-16 to triple burst and began firing in a steady, methodical manner. Smoke hung in the air; the taste of cordite bitter on the tongue. Suddenly the chopper dipped and then veered away, dropping down the far side of the mountain. Brushing the sweat and rock chips from their eyes, the two men grinned wolfishly at each other.

  “Close!”, Josh said.

  “Too damned close!”, Cobb replied, shouldering his M-16 and coiling the trailing rope. That done, both men continued to climb. Less than fifty feet above them the summit waited.

  “So near and yet so far,” Josh quipped.

  Cobb, glancing downwards, suddenly spotted two figures scrambling over the jagged rocks far below. “Company’s coming.”

  It took a moment for Josh to locate them through the mist and spray. “I see them,” he said. “They don’t seem in any rush to catch up?”

  “Probably waiting to hit us as we climb in the open or as we go over the top,” Cobb said.

  “So? We can’t just sit here!” Josh was impatient to get moving, to save his son.

  “We won’t. But they’re expecting for us to go up --- so we go down instead.” Cobb pointed to a steep cut that jagged off to the right. It looked like something an angry giant with one mother of an axe and a kick-ass attitude had hacked out of the mountain side. “Once in there, we’ll be out of their line of fire. We can probably work our way down the cut and maybe catch those assholes from behind.”