by Jf Perkins
The convoy crawled through Manchester. It wasn’t that Wyatt expected people to be out on the streets in the middle of the night, but something was different from his usual Saturday night excursions into town. He couldn’t quite put his finger on the feeling, but whatever it was, it piled on top of the rest of his anxiety.
The rest of the trip was a slow ride down the darkened highway. A sliver of moon was falling to Wyatt’s left, and cast a faint bluish tint to the fields as they passed in the night. He finally spotted the end of the trees that marked the broad swath of overgrown fields that lay south of Teeny Town. Wyatt told his driver to stop before the end of the covering trees. His eight trucks followed suit, and the engines went quiet. His small band of men dropped from the truck beds and gathered with Wyatt at the end of an old driveway, the same driveway that Garrett Cox had used hours earlier. They waited nervously for the Dragons to hike from the end of the convoy.
Twenty minutes later, the largest army seen in Coffee County since the Breakdown was assembled. Wyatt took Gary’s signal that they were ready, and began the march into Bill Carter’s territory.
Chapter 10 – 13
Terry was miserable. Not only had he spent the night on a six-foot plywood platform, he had spent it wide wake. His best guess at the time was three in the morning when the muggy silence was broken by the deep rumble of engines. The low pitched sound was hard to locate, especially from inside the barn. Terry looked over his shoulder and saw Seth’s dim silhouette rise from the other platform. It looked like Seth was leaning out of the ragged hole in the barn wall. In a few seconds, Seth’s arm indicated the direction of the sound, and Terry understood that the enemy was approaching from the highway. Terry was no tactician, but he couldn’t help but think that was the most obvious approach, and the most stupid. Terry pulled up his mental map of the area, and understood that it would take a fair amount of time before the enemy was anywhere near his barn.
Meanwhile, he was picking up the sounds of his own men from below. They had obviously heard the convoy as well, and were getting jumpy. Terry spoke in a low voice that he hoped would carry across the barn. “Remember. We stay hidden. Be quiet and still, men. Seth, remind the men out back.”
Seth repeated the instructions and to Terry’s surprise, the men became quiet again. He could almost feel the anxiety wafting up from below and hoped that they could stay still long enough.
Bill was still perched on the roof of the front guard house when he heard the trucks. He was tired, and his wounded leg was throbbing from his long lack of real motion. He picked up his phone and made a call that was quickly relayed to a half dozen other posts on his domain. As he sat in discomfort, his watch post on the highway was making a count of the enemy and preparing to send a runner with the information. Outer patrols were making rapid sweeps to make sure no other groups were in play, and inner patrols were orienting on the Dragon army. Two main forces of less than two hundred men each were being called to positions. Gate guards were seeking covered positions, treehouse posts were being shuffled to the appropriate side of the community and the defensive barns were being checked to make sure the last of Bill’s forces were ready. As for Terry and his group of Manchester’s finest citizens, Bill didn’t know.
This was it, the point where Bill discovered if all his plans paid off, and if Teeny Town’s organization could triumph over brute force.
Kirk was standing on the western end of the open land. Behind him, the training ground structures were displaying the only blazing electric lights in the entire community. The hope was that the enemy had no idea where Teeny Town was located, and would come to the lights like mosquitos to a bug zapper. Kirk had also taken the step of letting his prisoners know that their friends were nearby, in the hope that they would help draw the Dragon army into a trap. The trap consisted of eighty of Kirk’s best sharpshooters hidden among the numerous tree platforms that comprised the training ground. So far, the runners were telling him the enemy was heading in the right direction.
The Dragons took their time crossing the semi-open fields. Bill watched through a massive pair of binoculars, as the intruders worked from cover to cover, displaying better discipline than Bill had expected. Bill was sorely tempted to turn Jeffry loose on them in hopes of rushing them into a mistake, but Kirk’s plan depended heavily on leading them into a very bad position. If it worked, Bill expected Kirk to do massive damage in a very short amount of time. Just to satisfy his urge, he asked, “Got a target, Jeffry?”
“Plenty of targets. The range is still extreme. I’d hit somebody, but no telling who,” Jeffry replied.
“Wait until they are past the barn, and tell me what you see.”
“Ok, Bill.”
Eventually, the Dragons flowed into the lower scrub surrounding the Carroll’s old property. Bill would have given a great deal to have one of the community-built Gatling guns at his fingertips, but they were mounted on the barn roofs in Teeny Town as one of the last lines of defense. On the opposite side of the Dragon army, Terry was having similar thoughts. From his post, the enemy was passing from right to left in a mass that stretched almost two hundred yards in length. He was sure that his men could pop out of the barn and do some damage while the enemy was less than a hundred yards away. He was also sure that he would only get one volley before the Dragons returned fire and wiped him out. He waited, controlling his breath against the close proximity of danger, and the thudding of marching boots. He prayed that no one in the barn needed to sneeze.
Gary Tucker was alert, as alert as he could ever recall. He was also cocky in the knowledge that Teeny Town was directly ahead, brightly lit up without a care in the world. What morons, he thought. He extended his confidence into thinking that he had managed to infiltrate the settlement without being noticed. He looked forward to the slaughter that was surely to come and the love of a God who clearly wanted him to win. Then, he caught a flash of light to his right. Off to the north were three identical houses. He held up his hand to stop the advance, and watched carefully. There it was, on the roof of the house to the right, a bounce of light from the electric glow ahead. He quickly passed orders and split his army.
Bill responded to the new pattern with the first item on the checklist. He said, “Oh, shit!” He picked up his phone as he spoke to Jeffry, “They’re coming this way. We need to get some distance between the two groups, so hold fire until I tell you.”
“Got it,” Jeffry replied quietly, concentrating on the world through his rifle scope.
Bill spoke rapidly into the phone, calling the second main group up to the front guard and requesting light signals to redirect the outer patrol in from the east. When he replaced the phone handset, Bill dropped from his chair and grabbed his rifle. He slid forward to the peak of the roof, peering over the ridgeline from his new position to Jeffry’s right. The second sniper was to Bill’s right, and two more pairs were positioned on the other two houses.
Bill was thinking at high speed. The spur of woodland held the nearest treehouse, over his left shoulder, but it was also lower in elevation and would not be able to provide a clean line of sight into the immediate area. There were men in the houses, of course, but certainly not enough to hold off the four hundred men on approach. In any case, the front guard was as safe as it was possible to be in this situation. When they had first begun the real effort of building a long term settlement, and tore down the other houses, Bill had made sure that the last three were armored with hidden steel plate in the front. Unless the enemy had explosives, they should be safe. Of course, that was assuming they were not completely overrun, or that the house didn’t burst into flames.
He could hear the quiet approach of his second main group as they filled in behind the fence surrounding the houses. The fences were covered in honeysuckle and Osage Orange to hide the fact that they too, were armored. If the Dragons somehow got through, then Mr. Hall would get the chance to play with his toys.
Having run through the layout in his head, Bill
began to calm himself enough to pay attention. The approaching Dragons were dangerously bunched up, but almost as soon as he noticed, they began to spread out across a long span of George Carroll’s old fence. Its weedy halo provided some visual cover for the Dragons, but no real protection to anyone behind it. Meanwhile, the main force of the Dragons was still working its way west, far out of range for the two groups to support each other. Excellent. Two separate battles would work better for Bill, who was sure that his organization was superior.
Wyatt was very nervous when Gary had split his army into two segments. His plan depended on having as many Dragons as possible, and that was aside from the simple fact that he believed the only way to win was to have overwhelming force in one place. Apparently Gary felt that he was overwhelming either way. None of these thoughts made Wyatt feel confident as the platoon-sized groups slowly took turns creeping towards the lights ahead. Trees to the left and the woods ahead made Wyatt slowly work his own men to the right of the column. There could be countless Carter forces in the open land in that direction, but it still seemed like a safer bet. If the Junior Dragon noticed Wyatt’s maneuver, he didn’t show it.
Gary could almost taste it now. The town was within rifle range, and he worked hard to control his desire to open fire. He would be patient and get closer so that when he did turn his men loose, there would be no warning for Bill Carter. No escape. His own discipline was breaking down. He stopped his careful leap frog approach, and simply hiked forward. His men took that as a directive, and followed his example. Other than the flash of light almost a half mile behind them, they had seen no one, encountered no resistance, and began to think of this as another cakewalk into unprepared territory. It was a scenario they had played out in their own county hundreds of times.
Gary crossed the threshold of the woods and stopped fifty feet inside the trees. Gray light was beginning to filter in from behind them, but it was nothing compared to the electric glare in front. He waved his army outward in both directions to build a wide skirmish line, a wall of irresistible force. He failed to notice that Wyatt had peeled off from the Dragon army at the edge of the trees. Gary stepped forward into a yellow cone of light, revealing his legs to the men in the trees. No way to avoid that. His entire army paralleled his movement. One more step and his face was exposed to the light.
A voice yelled from the darkness ahead, “Hey! It’s...”
Gary pulled the trigger. An instant later, the entire Dragon army was spraying rounds wildly into the woods. The smart ones were aiming for the lights. The rest were not aiming at all. Even to a man raised on guns and bullets, the sound was shockingly loud. Gary ran through a magazine in no time, and squatted to the ground to reload. It was in that brief pause of quasi-synchronized reloading that he understood. Bullets came in with shrieks and whispers, hitting his men with wet, meaty pops. He was fortunate to survive the first return volley. One hundred of his men were not. Gary saw the muzzle flashes high in the trees, but it didn’t make any sense to him in the darkness. Then it did make sense, and he shouted, “In the trees! They’re in the trees!” He rose to his feet and aimed by the afterimage on his retinas. His army adjusted their own aim upwards and began to hose down anything that looked like a target, but it didn’t help. The ghosts in the trees were invisible, but they could see the Dragon army with no trouble at all.
The crackle of gunfire to the southwest reached Bill’s ears seconds after he had decided the Dragons in front of him were settling in to wait for sunrise. If that was ever the case, it changed in an instant when muzzles began to flash right in Bill’s face. Once he recovered from the shock of all those rounds bouncing off the front of the roof and over his head, Bill said, “Ok, Jeffry, all yours.”
Jeffry never hesitated. His .50 caliber thundered at a target it was impossible for him to miss. A head disappeared in red mist, leaving a trucker’s hat tumbling in perverse slowness through the air. Bill’s second group joined the fight from behind the fence. In a very short amount of time, the remaining dragons were using the bodies of their fallen comrades for cover. Bill didn’t even bother to raise his rifle. The harsh popping of assault rifles blended in chattering rhythm with the steady sequence of booming sniper rifles. The pile of bodies became too confusing to target, until the Dragons began to run. It would be generous to call it a retreat. They bounded away from the fence like rabbits.
Once the firing began, Terry called his men to their feet. Seth passed the word to the men behind the barn. Terry could see that the Dragons were withering under Bill’s defense, and he could anticipate that at some point, the enemy would run for safety. What he couldn’t see was a way to bring his men into the fight without walking right into the fire from his own people across the road. Terry actually saw the friendly rounds plowing little furrows in the soil near the barn. He was pinned down.
The Dragons ran away from the fence, and it was the perfect time to intercept them. If only Bill would stop firing. Then the rain of Teeny Town fire stuttered to a halt, and Terry knew. He scrambled down the ladder hollering, “Let’s go! Fire on my command!”
Manchester men swarmed from the barn doors and out into the open. The men from behind the barn sprinted to catch up. Terry wasn’t the first out the door, but he managed to regain the lead quickly. Seth joined him within seconds. Who knew the big guy was so fast? The Dragon men were running directly towards Terry. Perhaps they had intended to use the barn as a place to regroup. As his men blocked the barn, the Dragons began to veer to Terry’s right, heading for the last safe place they could recall. The Dragons were too late. The Manchester men had angled around to cut off the retreat, and Terry was proud that not a single one of them fired on the trapped Dragon army. The intruders stumbled to a halt, and as if it were a single thought, dropped their weapons on the ground.
Gary was in a literal hell. In a matter of two minutes, his God had hung him out to dry. It was an odd thought considering he was thoroughly sprayed with the blood of his men. At his last glance, he realized that he was almost alone. God had left him for last to see the error of his ways. He did the only thing he could do. He ran.
In fact, it wasn’t God at all. It was Kirk who had given orders not to shoot Gary Tucker if it could be avoided. It was Kirk who sat through the short-lived battle in the shadows, and it was Kirk who chased Gary down. It wasn’t easy. Gary was running like the devil himself was on his tail. Kirk sprinted through his familiar woods, his feet knowing the way as well as he did. It was Gary’s fourth stumble over a protruding root that gave Kirk his opportunity. He leaped over the sprawling Junior Dragon and landed on the man’s hand with a distinct crunching of bones. The momentum tore skin from Gary’s hand and scrubbed the rifle away from Gary’s broken grip. Kirk swooped down in a blur and tossed the visible weapons from Junior’s prone form. With a knee between Gary’s shoulder blades, Kirk searched for hidden weapons and found a small revolver tucked into Gary’s waistband. Kirk used old fashioned stainless cuffs to bind the hands, and a forceful prod with his favorite handgun to get Gary to his feet. Gary was forsaken. He stood slowly with his head bowed low and blood from his hand dripping down the back of his pants.
Daylight was dawning on the field as Bill’s second group emerged from cover and met Terry’s men in front of the barn. Terry had led the split Dragon army away from their abandoned weapons and had seated them in the bare dirt. Seth had gathered some volunteers to frisk the men for hidden weapons, and found surprisingly few. Terry made a count and found that only seventy-nine Dragons had survived. He had no idea what remained of the other group.
Bill limped across the field. His leg was stiff from the long night, but still much better than a short week before. He extended his hand to Terry long before he arrived, and Terry was surprised when the handshake turned into a full strength bear hug.
“Perfect timing, my boy. Perfect!” Bill thumped Terry’s back as he spoke.
“Thanks, Bill. I thought we were going to miss the whole thing.”
&
nbsp; Bill stepped back and swept his eyes over Terry’s men from Manchester. “You missed the crappy parts, that’s all. But, if I had known you had the biggest army, I might have done things differently.” At that, Bill began to pick random men from the crowd to offer handshakes and profuse thanks to the smiling members of Terry’s army.
In the midst of Bill’s personal celebration, a teenaged runner showed up and tapped him on the shoulder. The boy whispered in Bill’s ear.
“What?” Bill responded with wide eyes.
The boy whispered again.
“Ok. Thanks, Jay. Tell Kirk we’ll be there shortly,” Bill said, turning to face Terry. “Go get your truck. We’ve got work to do.”
Chapter 10 – 14
Terry pulled Big Bertha up the slope, feeling quite thankful that his armored truck was unscratched by the battle. He pulled to a stop by the side of the barn and asked Seth to distribute the rest of the food to his men. Once the food was unloaded, Bill joined Terry in the truck. Terry dropped Bertha into gear and drove out through the front gate. As he turned onto pavement, he saw a sizable group of Kirk’s men standing in a huddle on the pavement. The gathering appeared to be almost even with the entrance to the western access road. Terry assumed that was their destination until Bill told him to follow the dirt track to the training ground.
Several minutes later, Big Bertha bounced into the edge of the wooded training grounds that the community had been using as a jail. Terry took one look at the carnage and focused very intently on the ground right in front of the truck. Unfortunately, he ran out of room and was forced to leave the safety of his driver’s seat and its limited view. Terry had never seen enough death in one place to truly experience the smell of it. The coppery tang of blood mixed poorly with other bodily excretions into a head pounding combination that had Terry swallowing silvery bile as fast as he could. Kirk was holding his personal prisoner in the best position to experience everything the aftermath of battle had to offer.
