* * * *
There would be no sneaking onto Hanson’s property today, so they walked right up the driveway and were met by him and a few of his neighbors finishing up the damming.
The water in the year-round running river was backing up and filling in areas around it that were long ago carved out but always dry since Hanson could ever remember. It raised, visible to the naked eye, and climbed the steep embankment on either side.
“Eventually, this thing is going to blow,” said Hanson, reaching out to shake hands.
“Looks good,” called out Sergio, reaching out as well. “I think you already pissed a few of them off down in the valley. Any of them come poking around up here yet?”
“Nope, we haven’t seen anyone yet, but I’m sure all that is about to change.”
“You can be assured of that,” replied Sergio. “By this time tomorrow, they will be here, right here, and probably won’t be asking a lot of questions. Of course, even if it wasn’t dammed, the scouts would be here anyway, looking for supplies and females,” he said in a lower voice and nodding towards the house. “If I were in your shoes, I would pack up tonight and leave at first light—headed north at least 20 miles to be safe until this thing is over.”
“This is our home. I’m not just going to let them take it! No, sir, but I do see your point about my wife and daughter. We have some friends up north, Stove Prairie way. Maybe it’s far enough, and they can take the horses and make it in a day’s time. As for me, I’ve never run from anyone before, and I’m not about to start now, so let me know how I can help.”
His friends declined to volunteer themselves. They will no doubt hit the road themselves by morning or die on their own property by noon, thought Mike.
Hanson’s wife and daughter made a meal fit for a king for them, and his new friends, thinking it could possibly be the last. After dinner, Sergio drew a crude but accurate map, with Hanson’s help, of the valley and the last known location of the trucks carrying the game-changing cargo.
“We need to go tonight and see what we’re up against,” Sergio began, having just stepped back inside after a call with Ronna. “As I suspected, he wants everything intact but not operable, of course, right now. So, we pull wires, not cut but remove and save everything to be reinstalled later. If we do it right and those guys are bumbling, like the last crew they sent, we may get it done without even being noticed.”
Mike was anxious; some might call it antsy. He didn’t mind the mission and thought it was probably a better idea long-term than blowing everything to smithereens, but he needed some action. A good fight maybe, or a conflict only he could solve his way.
“There will be plenty of time for all that,” said Sergio, looking at Mike as if he had said something out loud.
“Yeah, I know,” Mike replied, with a slight smile, like he had been caught bluffing in a poker game.
* * * *
Sergio, Mike and Hanson slowly navigated the empty river, with the exception of standing water pools with not enough slope to run down.
“Follow the music,” said Sergio, recognizing the classic rock tunes blasting, nearly synonymous with the Baker group as a whole. He didn’t mind as he hummed along to a classic CCR tune called “Fortunate Son.”
The music speakers at Baker’s camp were always top-notch, and these were no exception, swirling sound off the valley walls and back to the source. Mike laughed, having seen this before on Raton Pass with more of Baker’s men.
“They are sure not trying to sneak in,” said Hanson, not even lowering his voice and getting a nod from the other two.
“It’s perfect,” said Sergio. “They can’t hear us, and they are likely to be drunk as skunks like before, since Baker isn’t here yet. It’s the last night to let loose, and they know it. They’re dumb, all right, but not dumb enough to rat each other out for some partying with the boss gone. It just makes our job easier, is all.”
A bonfire clearly showed the two dozen or so men all drinking and carrying on.
“The best thing about coming up on people around a fire at night is that they are easy to see, but they can’t see more than ten, twenty feet at the most. So a man, or three men, could stand completely in the open 30 feet away and be undetected,” added Hanson.
Sergio motioned for them to go around behind the old farmer’s now-occupied house and sneak up on the trailers for a closer look. He counted three men half guarding the trucks and talking together and asked Hanson to hang back.
“We won’t get another chance at this,” he told Mike. “I’m sure you won’t lose sleep helping me take these guys out.”
“I thought you only killed those who were trying to kill you first?” queried Mike in a whisper.
“They are trying to kill me, just not today,” he said, crouching low and underneath the closest truck trailer.
“Quick and quiet,” said Sergio, barely audible above the thump of the bass speakers only 50 yards away.
They could clearly see three sets of legs underneath the trailer as their eyes adjusted to the nearly full-moon night sky.
“I’ll sweep left to right,” said Sergio, “and you right to left. Once they are down, don’t let them make a sound.”
Mike had always been a loner and wasn’t used to taking orders, except in the department, but Sergio held a spot for him that would give him a future where he could feel comfortable. So he followed orders, swept right to left, and a quick blade to the throat of the first man, and then a second, caught Sergio’s attention.
“I had planned on taking two to your one,” he admitted, “but you beat me to it! Good job.”
They waited a full three minutes to make sure they hadn’t stirred up any of the other men and called Hanson over when all looked clear.
“Okay, gentlemen,” said Sergio. “We are partially dismantling these machines, from front to back. Keep all wires intact and put them into the bag,” he added, pulling out three gunny sacks—like the kids used to hop race in—from his day pack.
“Think of it like pulling the distributor wire from a truck, and a few other things they won’t be able to easily replace. Start with what’s on the trailers, and we’ll disable the trucks at the end. Let’s stick together and only one trailer apart. Give a signal if you see anything, and have fun, gentlemen.”
Sergio took the third trailer down, followed by Hanson, then Mike bringing up the rear. Mike partially uncovered what looked like a two-seater crop-duster plane and worked the engine compartment open. He wasn’t sure what he was looking at and had a flash of his Sheila, thinking she would know exactly how to disable it. He remembered helping his brother, Arthur, set up a new TV Mike bought him with streetfighter winnings and how Arthur was so concerned about getting all the wires connected properly that he took Polaroid pictures—the kind that would need to be shaken as they came out of the bulky camera—of the back of both TVs before letting Mike switch the cables. He didn’t need it, but it made his brother happy, and that was all that mattered. Now he wouldn’t be concerned with how to put everything back together, for that would surely be someone else’s job, he thought.
“Hey guys,” said Hanson, trying to keep his voice down. “I think you’re going to want to see this,” he said, gathering them for a look at his trailer.
“It’s an Apache helo, right?” asked Mike.
“Yeah, that’s right,” said Hanson. “I used to fly this exact model—a few years older, of course—but they haven’t changed all that much, I hear. And they carry these,” he added, pointing to the rockets mounted on the side closest to them. “I’m guessing there are more on the other side, showing they’re serious about their business.”
“I’ve got an idea,” said Sergio, smiling like a 6-year-old boy who found out a foolproof way to sneak a cookie.
“Oh, no… I figured you were going to ask me something like this,” said Hanson, backing up two steps.
“All I’m asking is, if we got this thing unstrapped and started, could you fly it
?” asked Sergio.
“Would I, or could I?”
“Could you?”
“Yes, but to what point?”
“Well, I say we disable all the rest and take this guy as a trophy, maybe give Bert a friend to hang out with. Just give her a once over and see if she can fly as is,” coaxed Sergio.
“Okay, but keep the tarp over the top. I need to turn the gauges on, and I don’t want to draw any attention,” replied Hanson. He only used his flashlight once, completely under the heavy tarp.
“I’ll keep an eye out if you want to keep going down the line,” Mike told Sergio.
“Sounds good, buddy. Back in a few.”
Mike sat on the ground, leaning against the trailer tire with his rifle across his lap. He felt around the bodies of the men guarding the trucks and shook his head back and forth in the dark, realizing none of them had weapons to retrieve.
“Guys! Hey, guys!” came a call from towards the river. “Are you ready for a shift change?”
Two figures walked towards the trucks, not alarmed yet from what Mike could tell.
“Hey guys, we need to do a shift change before I pass out,” said one, cursing and stumbling through the field without a flashlight.
Mike’s ears perked up as he got into a crouched position. He didn’t bother signaling Sergio or Hanson. He didn’t care that he was alone against two men, meaning to do his new adopted family great harm. Their approach slowed as they now both called out to their fallen comrades without a response.
“Where are they?” asked one. “Did they take off?”
“Maybe they’re sleeping on a trailer?” questioned the other now, both within feet of a crouched Mike.
“Nope and nope,” Mike said out loud, grabbing one man and spinning him around to face his friend.
“I have some questions,” he said, “and if I hear you scream or call out, it will be night-night for you both. Now, who wants to start?”
Both men stayed quiet, breathing heavily but not risking making a sound.
“I’ll start then,” said Mike, wondering if they even knew anything.
“The machines on these trailers. Are they ready to roll?”
Both men were silent.
“Okay, I’m a betting man,” said Mike. “Let’s try this one more time.
“Are they ready to go, right off the trailers?”
“Don’t tell him anything,” said the man facing Mike, as he spit over his friend and into Mike’s hair.
“Wrong,” said Mike, spinning his captive in a split second and grabbing the other man in a chokehold. “Stay right here and don’t make a sound,” he instructed.
The man he held first watched helplessly as his comrade slowly lost consciousness. “This would be it if he hadn’t spit on me,” said Mike, continuing the chokehold for another minute.
“You’re not asking me to stop; that’s interesting. Either you’re too scared, or you two just work together and you could care less what happens to him.”
“Bo…both,” the man choked out, not moving a muscle.
“It’s good you didn’t run,” said Mike. “Now, I may be a lot of things, but I’m no liar. You tell me what I want to know and help me out and you can wake up tomorrow with a hangover and a bad memory of tonight. Your choice. I don’t much care either way,” he spoke casually. “Oh, and I need your radio.”
“Okay, I’ll tell you whatever you want,” he begged. “Just let me live,” he added, holding out his shaking hand with the radio.
In the span of ten minutes, Mike had more information than he had before and felt it credible, for the most part.
“Watching another man die right in front of you gets a man talking,” he would later say to Sergio.
“I hear all the machines, including this one,” Mike said to Hanson, poking his head out from underneath the tarp, “are ready to fly.”
“Maybe this one,” said Sergio, coming up from behind, holding the filled gunny sack with black, red, and blue wires poking out the top, “but not the others.”
“Sergio,” said Mike’s new friend in a gasp, “I didn’t know you were here! Please,” he continued before Sergio could reply…“please don’t tell Colonel Baker we’ve been drinking. We just got carried away is all. It won’t happen again.”
“What have you heard about me?” asked Sergio, wondering if it may be a ruse.
“Well, we haven’t met because we’ve all been out at the airfield for the last month, but I know you carry the brand and are number four to the top. I guess I’m not surprised the Colonel would send one of his top guys to oversee our progress.”
“How did you recognize me?” asked Sergio, still on the fence.
“They made us memorize all of the Colonel’s top men and their ranking. He said some of you might check on our airfields, and we should follow orders like it came from him. Plus, I saw you at the field with Colonel Baker a week ago, and you, too,” just realizing it and looking at Mike.
“How many others are here?” asked Sergio.
“Just the drivers and a few more to start plowing the runway into the field.”
“Stand over there,” commanded Sergio, pointing about ten yards away, “and don’t move.”
“I’ve got a better idea than flying one chopper out of here,” he spoke quietly to Mike and a relieved Hanson. “Let’s see what the other guys know.”
* * * *
They all four walked towards the house, with Sergio holding his rifle down but at the ready. Gathering everyone from the house of Hanson’s former friend and those near the now nearly dry river, they had a chat with Sergio’s former crew inside. They all cowered at his presence, giving Sergio the confidence that they hadn’t heard about his defecting from Baker just yet. He gave Mike a subtle wink.
“When the Colonel finds out you all have been boozing it up, he will have your heads. You know that, right gentlemen?”
Most stood with blank stares, and a few shook with the realization they had been caught.
“Now, before you go trying something stupid, I’ll tell you I’m not Colonel Baker, and I’ve been known to have a drink or two in the past. We have a change of plan. I just got the orders from the Colonel, and we are moving the trucks to a safer place, for now, just a couple of miles up the road. He wants it done by noon tomorrow, but I have other things to do, so I want it done tonight. Give me a hand with it, and I’ll pretend I never saw a bottle to your lips.”
He whispered something to Mike and they walked out of the house before speaking again.
“All those who are ready, line up here,” said Sergio, stepping back inside and pointing towards the east wall of the medium-sized living room lit by two antique gold lanterns. “Those who are not, stand over there,” he added, pointing towards the far wall.
To his surprise, one man lined up opposite the others.
“Are you sure about your decision, son?”
“Yes, I’m tired, and I don’t drink,” he replied, keeping a straight face.
Sergio thought about handling it as an example to the others but ended up just smiling, saying, “All right, get some sleep. The rest of you will be back here in a couple of hours, and you can sleep off your hangovers then.”
* * * * * * *
Chapter Seventeen
The Valley ~ Colorado
Mike got to the trucks first, as instructed, moving all four bodies far enough under the trucks to be hidden from the drivers.
“Now, where are the truck keys?” asked Sergio.
“Inside,” said more than a few men together.
“All right. This will be easy,” he said, walking them up to the lead truck.
“There are eleven trucks and twelve of you. One of you can ride shotgun, I’ll take the first truck. Hanson, you ride somewhere near the middle, and Mike rides in the rear. Take it slow. There’s no hurry. And if any one of you wrecks a truck or what’s on the trailer, the drinking will be the least of your worries.”
The caravan headed slo
wly up the dirt farm road, with a few bumping over something they couldn’t make out in the dark, and kept moving. The lead truck turned right on the paved County Road 27, headed unknowingly to the northern border of their soon-to-be battle opponents.
They stopped, single file, 100 yards from the barricade, with Mike walking up to meet Sergio. The drivers idled the trucks, with most not openly questioning the last-minute late-night move.
“I can’t believe this worked,” said Mike, trying hard to keep a straight face.
“I know Baker is going to flip his lid!” replied Sergio.
“Get these trucks turned around now!” demanded what appeared to be the lead guy on duty at the entrance to the Valley over a megaphone.
Next World Series | Vol. 6 | Families First [Battle Grounds] Page 14
