by J. P. Castle
Dodi caught sight of Bastian’s movement. With no time to spring to his aid, he tightened his fist and watched along with the others, hoping, praying that Bastian hit the target.
General Given bailed left a split second before the missile impacted the vessel. Shards of debris flew like shrapnel from a grenade.
The ground quivered as other missiles on board General Given’s chopper exploded, echoing for miles. A large piece of metal severed his lower leg, ripping clean through flesh and bone.
Bastian dropped the cannon, keeled over into the dirt, and closed his eyes. Gotcha.
The last thing he saw before giving way to unconsciousness—General Given’s lower leg leaving his body. The decorated Major General fell to his knees and slumped over in defeat.
His men loaded their seriously injured superior into a truck and sped away before General Scott released his hell on them all. Everybody in the ditch line watched Declan hold his chopper steady beside General Scott. Both hovered above Bastian. General Scott lowered the massive bird enough for ten of his eleven troops to exit, four immediately surrounded Bastian. He kept one of his men on the M-60 to lay down plenty of fire.
“That’s . . . four-star General Atticus Scott,” said Dodi in awe of the man he’d only heard tales about.
“Engage,” commanded General Scott.
Missiles flew from the choppers one after another as they floated directly above Bastian’s body, daring anyone to come near. A sea of flames rose from the underbelly of hell east of the road. No way anything or anyone over there could’ve survived above ground.
Units from General Scott rolled into the camp at top speed, sliding to a stop one after another. Combat ready troops jumped from each Hummer, prepared to kill any soldier west of the road.
Dodi made a break for Bastian.
Hank followed, throwing his knife into the throat of a soldier barreling in from the south. He snatched the soldier’s gun and retrieved his knife. General Scott monitored from above. Drew circled the area in his Apache to make sure they had all of General Given’s men encircled.
Dodi and Hank drug Bastian by his shirt backward toward the rocks until they were under a veil of safety. The ground fight raged on for another ten minutes until the gunfire gradually faded away. Silence now—only the rotors from the choppers and the rain made noise. The fire heading their direction slowed to a crawl, distinguishing little by little.
“Apache Two, cover the perimeter,” commanded General Scott. “Apache One, go blow the pavement coming out of Cheyenne to stop all patrol traffic temporarily. Buy us time to get ‘em out of here. The General is landing to collect his cargo.”
“Copy,” said Declan and Drew.
Everyone watched Declan peel away at top speed through the steady rain and observed Drew continuously circle the area. The group had no idea what would happen next.
General Scott put his bird down between Bastian and the deep creek bed. He didn’t stop the engine, only slowed the rotors. Half of General Scott’s men scoured the area, killing any of General Given’s men they found alive. The other half pulled over to the creek bed to assist the wounded.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The Wounded
TROIAN, STILL TRYING to catch her breath, rose to observe General Scott exit the chopper. A tall, sturdy, older gentleman with layered white hair and a thick salt ‘n pepper mustache jumped out. He wore a long-sleeve denim shirt with pearl buttons, blue jeans, and brown cowboy boots. His stride exuded nothing less than total confidence. He rushed to Bastian’s side, followed by his medics.
The medics put an oxygen mask on Bastian, placed him on a stretcher, and loaded him into the craft.
Dodi saluted General Scott and followed him, “Sir, we have other wounded, may we board them on your craft.”
“I watched you and your partner over there rush through heavy fire to assist my nephew. Mister, many thanks,” said General Scott, holding out his hand.
Dodi shook the General’s hand, in awe of the legend standing before him, “It’s an honor to meet you, General Scott. I didn’t realize you were still, I mean, I’ve only heard folk tales, sir.”
General Scott grinned, “Yeah, I get that a lot. Get ‘em onboard quickly now, son. We’ll discuss the finer points of life later. The non-critical will ride back with the ground troops. I made sure there was room for everyone. I’ve been watching over this camp for weeks now, preparing to bring you all in.
“I couldn’t come before each person here had been properly vetted, including you and Hank. Where we’re going, I can’t and won’t risk putting anyone’s life in danger. I’ve monitored Girard, too. I genuinely believed you’d be safe for another week before I came. Then my sources confirmed he’d changed his schedule and was on his way. Unpredictable cuss. All I can say is, sorry I was late.”
Dodi saluted General Scott, “Thank you, sir.”
The event they’d endured here on home soil reminded him of combat overseas, things he wanted to forget. He’d never faced an army alone, especially without proper firepower to at least match the enemy. Being rescued from certain peril caused great emotion to wash over him, tears welled up in his eyes, though he didn’t let any fall.
General Scott knew all about Dodi— an outstanding soldier, a loyal, and honest man. He knew everybody’s history in the group per his Intel, which remained top of the line. The General saluted Dodi, then patted him on the back.
“Let’s don’t be so formal now, show my men to your wounded. We gotta blow this popsicle stand in short order before Girard tries to call in the Air Force, the Marines, or anyone else he can think of. I wouldn’t put it past him . . . if he’s still alive, that is.”
Dodi hailed Hank, “Get Troian and the kids to the chopper to ride with Bastian. Grab his bag.”
Hank picked up little Liam and Bastian’s black bag. “You ready to get out of here?” he said.
Troian nodded and carried baby Ezra, shielding his face from the chopper wind. She could hardly make out anything from the dirt and soot in her eyes. From what she perceived, General Given’s men lay everywhere, scattered about. On the way to the chopper, a dying man raised his hand.
“Help me, help me please,” he begged, laying there in a pool of blood.
Hank threw the bag onto his back and put his arm around Troian. “Don’t worry about him, don’t even look at him. Remember, that could’ve been us a few minutes ago. They would’ve shown us no mercy.”
Hank approached General Scott. “Sir, this is Bastian’s girl. Permission to load them, sir.”
“Granted,” he said, eyeing the black all over Troian and the children’s faces.
Troian climbed aboard the helicopter and quietly sat beside Bastian while the medic worked furiously on him.
“Is my new daddy gonna go to sleep like my other daddy?” said Liam.
Troian, still in partial shock from the horrors she’d witnessed, couldn’t find any words. Bastian had saved her life again; now, she might lose him. She placed her arm around Liam, who sat nervously beside her. “I hope not, Liam. This fine man here is trying to fix him right now. Let’s be still and let him work.”
LEDGER ADMIRED THE field of gently swaying grass. The air was fresh, not a cloud in the sky, many children played in the distance. He looked down at his arm, no bullet hole, no pain. He reached up to feel his face, no wounds. His skin was clean and unmarked, only peace surrounded him.
Where am I? What happened?
A grand tree, perfect in every way, stood alone in the distance. A young boy, not too far from the tree, motioned his hand for Ledger to join him. Ledger walked away from the darkness and over to the boy. He ruffled his hand along the tops of the field grass along the way.
“Lane, is that you?” he said, staring at a young boy that resembled his dead ten-year-old brother.
“Yes, Ledger, it’s me.”
“Where are we?”
“We’re in a safe place. There’s no death here, no pain.”
“Am I . . . dead?”
“You’re in between.”
“Where are mom and dad? Are they here, too?”
“Dad hasn’t made it yet. Mom’s here, but it’s too soon to visit her. She wouldn’t understand you being here right now. She hasn’t been here long enough yet.”
“Is Mary Beth here?”
“She is, and she wants you to know that she loves you, and you need to move on. She doesn’t blame you for not being at home that night. Now stop asking questions, it reminds me of when you were still eight. I want you to know that I love you, and don’t ever give up in life as you’ve thought of lately. And don’t be sad when you make time to think about me . . . as you so often do. I’m happy here, and I’ll be waiting for you. You can’t stay here, though. You have to go back.”
“Go back? Go back where?”
“It’s not your time, brother.”
Ledger watched his hands start to fragment and disappear. He faded away from this beautiful place to feel fingers pilfer lightly in his hair. His brain generated small bits of thought as consciousness slowly brought him back into the world.
Am I dead . . . is this what death feels like? Am I still breathing? Has life come back into me? Is that rain?
Cool rain pelted down on his face, into his ear, and seeped into the corners of his dry mouth. Rani’s hand made a subtle movement in his hair again.
Is she alive? He placed two fingers on her neck . . . a faint pulse. Blood dripped from his facial wounds onto her body. He raised his head cautiously, unaware the battle had ended. Quiet surrounded him . . . no gunfire . . . only the sound of a chopper—close by.
Have the others been captured . . . or killed?
“Rani, can you hear me?” he said in a low tone. He could half see out of one eye. “Rani, don’t leave me here alone, I need you.” He slid his hand gently across her bruised face to rub soot off.
Her pulse, though sluggish, gave him hope of life. “Don’t die on me, Rani,” he cried.
Tears spilled out of his swollen eyes, falling onto her face. His head hung low, inches above her chest as he wept, beaten, defeated by life again. No one to call for help. He decided he’d lay down right there and die with her if she wasn’t going to make it.
Soft words whispered. “Are we dead?”
Ledger’s hands trembled as he rubbed her forehead. “No Rani, no, we’re alive . . . you stay with me now. I don’t want to be here without you.”
She never opened her eyes, only touched his face before her hand fell back into the mud. “I saved you again, Ledger Thomas,” she mumbled with her swollen face.
Ledger cupped her head in his hands and cried, thankful to hear her voice, even though weak. “Somehow, we’re gonna get out of here.”
He tried to focus, surveying the creek for anyone else from the group. Where are they? They’re all gone. Only Mateo’s here, and he’s dead. Looks like more dead lay down the way. We’re . . . alone.
The creek bed now flowed with a solid three inches of water. Ledger looked down at his wet, dirty clothes. Dodi leaped down into the creek with soldiers behind him, splashing up a small bit of water. Ledger flinched back, certain General Given’s men had come to finish them off.
“Easy Ledger, easy now, it’s me, Dodi and General Scott’s men. Let’s get you and her out of here.”
“We have a critical here, needing oxygen and blood stat,” said another soldier, loading Mateo’s lifeless body. A few soldiers sprinted away with the stretcher.
Ledger fainted next to Rani. General Scott’s other men loaded them both onto stretchers and sped toward the chopper.
The medic stopped working on Bastian for a minute and immediately without saying a word cut Mateo’s shirt off. Mateo’s thready pulse and loss of blood had bottomed out his pressure to 60/40. The chest wound caused his left lung to fill with blood, drowning Mateo slowly.
The medic rolled him onto his side and jammed a chest tube between his ribs, into his lung to drain the blood away. Mateo’s pressure came up slightly, 70/50, he clung to life, breathing shallow. The man placed two I.V.s, oxygen, temporarily packed the wound, and returned to work on Bastian.
Another medic stopped the bleeding on Ledger’s arm from the gunshot wound, popped in an I.V. to revamp his blood supply, and slapped on an oxygen mask. The oxygen put a little more life back into his tired body.
The same man left Rani’s tourniquet on her leg, loaded her with an I.V., and administered oxygen. Ledger identified Bastian on a stretcher unconscious, Troian by his side. She cried when she saw the condition Mateo, Ledger, and Rani were in. She’d been strong as long as she could. Liam put his hand on hers as she wept. “It’s okay,” he said, “we’re leaving this bad place.”
Back out in the field, Mazel tried to keep Timmy awake. “Timmy, don’t you check out on me.” The soldiers placed him on a stretcher. “Is there room for me to go with him?”
“No, ma’am, you’ll ride with us. There are too many wounded in there.”
Timmy raised a finger, weak from blood loss. The soldier bent down to hear him, then turned back to Mazel, “He said to tell you, he loves you.”
Mazel covered her face and cried. She had no idea if he’d make it or not. He remembered. His last thought was of me, he remembered. Lord, please don’t take him from me.
Ledger laid his head on the wall behind him. He held Rani’s hand gently, afraid to jar her. Timmy arrived next on a stretcher. The medic prepared him for travel as he had the others.
Troian watched the medic continue to work on Bastian. The man hung blood on one I.V., antibiotics on another, and had blood volume expanders on a third.
“He’s critical sir, his pressures dropping, we gotta move now. Something more sinister than the gunshot wound is going on here. I’ve got another critical here, not sure he’ll make the trip. The rest are as stable as I can get them for travel.”
General Scott put the bird in the air. He hammered down for the compound. One of his soldiers remained on the M-60 just in case.
“Base this is General Scott.”
“Base to General.”
“Coming in hard with critical on board. Repeat critical on board. Prepare the operating rooms and a Level One trauma team for my nephew. Field medic says two critical and three seriously wounded. ETA 3.5 hours.”
“Copy that, sir.”
General Scott tipped the bird slightly left, cruising over 165 mph, headed for the Atticus compound in northern Montana.
MR. McCRADY WOKE to someone shaking his shoulder. “The shootings stopped,” said Ollie. “It’s raining, and I’m all wet.”
Mr. McCrady smiled and put his hand on Ollie’s leg, raising to lean himself against the bank of the creek. Everyone else was gone, then he saw Martin slide to a stop on the other side. Martin poised himself proudly on the edge of the bank, barking and wagging his tail. Thirsten appeared right behind him with help.
“They’re down here,” said Thirsten.
Thirsten leaped into the water to help Mr. McCrady up. “The Lord has spared us, my friend. He brought rain when we were all suffocating. He guided Bastian’s uncle to our aid with His angels. The fight is over, we’re loading up to get out of here. Can you stand?”
“Yes,” said Mr. McCrady. “Yes, I can.”
The soldiers loaded him, Ollie, Thirsten, and Martin into a Hummer.
“Where’s my sister?” said Ollie.
“She’s in a helicopter, Ollie. She got hurt, and they’re going to try to fix her,” said Thirsten.
Ollie nodded.
Amir, Youlie, and Mazel also climbed into the Hummer.
“It’s a long trip, thirteen ‘n a half hours from here, but we’ll do our best to get you all there safe,” said the soldier, pulling out for the journey.
Joaquin, Ginger, Lumen, Dodi, and Hank loaded into the next Hummer. Caleb and Bryce rode behind them in a third. All on their way to the Atticus compound, leaving the melee behind.
Caleb had his arm around Bryce, who
still hadn’t spoken any words. He put his nose in her hair, next to her ear, “We’re safe now, it’s over doll face,” he said.
Bryce, in shock and almost in a complete trance, said, “Did you . . . see my brother? Is he—”
“He’s alive ‘n airborne last I saw, with Troian by his side. Rani ‘n Ledger got messed up, too. So did Timmy. And Mateo was in pretty bad shape, got shot in the chest. They’ll be wherever we’re going way before us . . . I heard three hours in the air. I have no idea what to expect when we get there, but anywhere’s better than here.”
Bryce laid her head on Caleb’s shoulder and closed her eyes.
3 ½ HOURS LATER
“WHAT’S WRONG WITH him!” said Troian. “Why is he shaking like that?!”
“HE’S SEIZING GENERAL. I’m all out of magic tricks here,” said the medic. “His fever’s 105 degrees, he could suffer brain damage if it continues to rise.”
The shock from the earlier trauma had left Troian’s mind jumbled. The word ‘fever’ sparked her brain. “Kidneys, his kidneys,” she said. “He had a mass removed from his kidney last summer and had a fever the night before, um . . . 103, I think. That’s all I know.”
“Base do you copy,” said General Scott over the radio.
“Yes, General.”
“ETA five minutes.”
“Copy that.”
Bastian’s body continued to spasm as General Scott brought the big bird down, slowing the chopper blades. Troian couldn’t make out much through the dark. A team of people with multiple gurneys swarmed.
Bastian was first to go, several personnel whisked him straight away, into a garage connected to a nicely sized brick home.
Are we in a neighborhood? This can’t be Atticus, thought Troian.
Other personnel rushed Mateo away directly behind Bastian, disappearing into the garage. Minutes later, more people in scrubs came for Rani and Timmy. Each time the electric garage door opened, new staff appeared.
Are they inside the house now? This is making zero sense.
