Memories of a Murder

by Sid Kar

  “Tell me, Frank,” Joe said.

  Frank spotted a rest area ahead that was for use by both the trucks and the cars and he turned on the ramp.

  “You heard what that road trooper just said about them taking car lanes,” Frank said, “and I just realized why. Car drivers will get scared when they see a massive Semi barreling at them like a boulder down an avalanche and they can always fire at a stubborn driver to shoo them out of the way. But the truckers won’t be intimidated by another truck tailgating or honking at them. They will just get angry. And the truck driver sitting all the way ahead of a gigantic metallic container probably won’t even hear any bullets that splatter of his rear.”

  “I got you Frank. We gonna get ourselves a truck,” Joe asked.

  “Yep,” Frank nodded.

  Frank brought his car to a stop at the area for the trucks.

  “Grab all the weapons and the bags, Joe,” Frank said.

  While Joe collected their items Frank ran into the convenience store which also doubled as a truck repair and equipment shop. The truckers, shop workers and mechanics were all congregated around a large flat screen mounted on the wall that was beaming live video of the chase down the Turnpike. They spotted Frank and his uniform and turned to him.

  “What is going on with that, trooper?” a couple of them called out to Frank.

  “No time to explain. I need to buy a truck,” Frank said, “either one of you sell it to me or I will seize one for police emergency.”

  “You paying?” someone asked.

  “State will pay,” Frank took out a stack of his cards and put it on the counter table.

  Suddenly, a trucker tossed his keys at Frank.

  “Take mine,” the trucker said, “my boss been breathing down my neck. This will give me a reason to flip him off.”

  Joe walked into the store at the same time and Frank tossed him the truck keys.

  “Joe, you driving a truck,” Frank said. He remembered that after high school and before becoming a police officer Joe had taken a truck driving course and even held a CDL for a while.

  “Be glad,” Joe said.

  “I need all of your help to armor the truck for the battle,” Frank said to the crowd.

  The truckers and mechanics all agreed. They were already animated watching the chase on the television, but the idea of participating in it filled them with fervor. Frank walked over to the repair shop with the mechanics and identified a couple of large steel plates for protecting the truck’s windshield from the bullets. All the truckers and mechanics worked furiously to bolt the two plates upon the windshield glass just leaving a narrow opening at the top for Joe to see through. Meanwhile, Frank searched the yard behind the shop for discarded material that included a multitude of tires of varied sizes and spotted a massive 55 to 60 inch tire used on some large earth moving construction equipment.

  “Is there a crane around this place?” Frank asked the shop owner next to him.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Can you put that large tire up on the truck?” Frank said.

  “Will do,” the shop owner replied and left.

  After the crane hoisted the gigantic tire atop the truck, Frank climbed inside the tire with his AR-15, two dozen magazines, the radio and his bag. Joe and the truck’s driver were talking when they heard a mass of sirens screaming down the highway.

  “Goddamn…” Frank said, “Joe jump in, they are passing us by.”

  Joe scrambled to climb abroad into the driver’s seat.

  “What’s the plan, Frank?” Joe yelled out of his window as he started the truck engine and drove it out of the rest area.

  “I wanted to charge them head on, counting on the Renegade Squadron being mercenaries not fanatics willing to die,” Frank said, “but we are going to have to join the chase.”

  “Let’s go,” Joe said.

  As soon as Joe pulled up the truck on the Turnpike, he slammed his foot on the gas pedal. The truck accelerated much slower than Joe was used to with his police cruiser and he stomped it again and again till the truck had roared to life and was now racing down the highway catching up to the caravan of police cruisers.

  “We have another truck on our rear!” a panicked road trooper shouted on the radio.

  “Relax, this is Detective Frank and Joe joining the pursuit of the target,” Frank replied, “move out of our way, we are armored to take on the heavy incoming fire.”

  “Frank, Joe, you commandeered a truck?” Ed’s voice came on the radio.

  “Bought it for state police,” Joe chuckled.

  “Hang on everyone, we can see the target coming over the horizon,” Ken said.

  Major Kenneth Peck paced back and forth behind the two large, armored black SUVs that the SWAT team had set up facing each other across the car lanes of Turnpike South. There was almost no traffic on the Turnpike now as the State Police had closed the highway from here all the way up to Newark. A few stragglers were ordered to drive off into the truck lanes through the occasional openings in the guardrails or to pull up on the shoulder and wait it out.

  Ken had taken out his pistol but he knew it would be the least significant weapon in the coming battle. The 10 man SWAT team all had M-16s and had positioned themselves behind their vehicles.

  “Major Ken, it doesn’t appear they are slowing down,” SWAT team leader said after he lowered his binoculars.

  “At that speed we won’t have time to give them a warning,” Ken said, “we have to stop that truck by whatever means we can. Fire when in range.”

  “Yes, sir. Fire when in range,” SWAT leader repeated his words to his team, “on my command.”

  The SWAT police officers aimed their rifles at the truck that appeared ever larger in their scopes by the second.

  “FIRE!” the SWAT leader commanded.

  Three hundred bullets raced out of the M-16 in the next few seconds as the SWAT officers opened up on full auto. The bullets struck across the full length and width of the truck’s front. The damage was extensive but no members of the Renegade Squadron were hit. Major Richard and Driver Randy sat safely behind thick, steel plates they had bolted on front and Philip and Greg ducked under the large tire atop. The bullets bounced off steel and rubber.

  The police attached new magazines for another round of firing when the machine gun atop the truck started cranking. Greg was firing it while covering inside the tire and he unleashed a volley of over a hundred bullets at the two police SUVs in the next few seconds.

  Even the bullet proof windows could not hold against a massive torrent of metal striking at high velocity and glass shattered into shards everywhere. Multiple bullets punctured the armored frame, even penetrated the fuel tank and ignited both the SUVs.

  A few police officers had reloaded their rifles and again fired back from behind the cover. Others ducked and scrambled to avoid the incoming fire.

  Gregory attached another ammo belt and unleashed another volley from hell. A couple of SWAT members were struck dead. Four more sustained bullet or car fragment wounds.

  The truck kept coming at the same speed.

  Ken had been watching it all go down. He had not exposed himself but even his upper body was covered with glass and occasional metal splinters. The SWAT team was in disarray, the leader himself had sustained a knee wound and was on the ground clutching his leg in pain. Ken took a glance out front.

  The truck was hurtling at them like a runaway train. I wish I had my tank, Ken thought

  “Get out of the way! Get out of the way!” He screamed and personally dragged a couple of injured police officers over the concrete divider onto the other side. The leader crawled over towards the shoulder. Ken stayed till all eight of them had cleared out of the path, saw the truck seconds away from impact, ran and jumped over the divider.

  Two seconds later the truck smashed into the burning SUVs, pushing both of them aside like a two sided door being flung open with the force of storm winds. One SUV smashed into the divi
der and half of its frame flew off of its body. The other SUV was spun like a Top, and it collided with the guardrail on the other side and toppled over.

  Frank and Joe’s truck passed through the wreckage a minute later. The police cars were right on their tail but they stopped to check on the conditions and help the injured.

  “Major Ken, are you alright?” Frank asked on the radio.

  “Just some bruises for me, but others aren’t,” Ken said as he got up and wiped his uniform.

  “What the hell happened there?” Ed asked

  “Two dead, a few are injured,” Ken said.

  “My God…” Ed exclaimed. He was left speechless.

  “Frank, get them for all of us,” Ken said.

  “I will,” Frank replied. Frank dialed Joe on his cell phone, put it on speaker and set it aside next to him.

  “Joe, you have to catch up to them,” Frank said on the phone.

  “What do you think I am trying to do, Frank?” Joe replied.

  Joe stomped the gas pedal again and again till the engine started revving harder and harder to the point where the truck started shaking and they could feel the shudder. But they started catching up.

  Frank took out his binoculars and viewed the truck in front.

  “Heckler and Koch MG4 Machine Gun,” Frank exclaimed.

  Greg and Philip had sighted them and picked up the machine gun facing front and brought it to the rear. Frank had time to dive below the tire’s protection.

  Their machine gun started firing once again with its bullets splattering off the steel plates and the rubber tire which Frank had added on to their truck. When they stopped firing to change the ammo belt, he looked up, aimed his AR-15 and unloaded on full auto. Greg and Philip ducked below their own tire and waited for Frank’s magazine to run out.

  “Joe, I need you to close the gap so I can get on that truck,” Frank said on the phone.

  “Frank, you can’t be serious. What will I do without you?” Joe replied.

  “Joe, Joe, calm yourself,” Frank said, “we aren’t winning a firefight. They have lot more firepower.”

  Over the next half a minute – during which Greg fired off another belt of bullets and Frank let loose with a second mag – Joe switched to the right lane and caught up to the target truck. Joe’s tractor unit was now slightly ahead of the rear of the Renegades’ truck.

  “Give up now or die,” Frank yelled at them as they were now within hearing distance of each other.

  “Trooper, I am going to take your head off if you don’t break off,” Greg shouted.

  “You boys weren’t the only ones to take souvenirs from your time in the Army,” Frank shouted back, “Infantry combat 101: use grenades to knock off a machine gun nest.”

  Greg and Philip looked at each other with disbelief even as they scrambled to attach another belt of cartridges to the MG4.

  Frank took out five grenades from his bag, snuck a glance and tossed them in rapid succession at the top of Renegades’ truck. Two of them bounced off of the exterior of the tire and fell away. But three of them landed right inside the tire and Greg and Phil panicked. Neither wasted a single moment to jump out of the tire away from Frank and their boots clattered against the top of the wind deflector in the front.

  “What the hell are you two crazy bastards doing up there?” Richard barked in his radio. But he got no reply. Phil’s radio was left in the tire.

  Frank leapt out of his own tire, took a couple of fast steps towards the edge of the truck and then vaulted over the three feet gap between the two trucks to land at the top rear of the Renegade’s truck. He had dropped his AR-15 behind since he needed free use of his hands in case he missed the jump and needed to grab onto something. But he had his Glock pistol in his holster and drew it out the moment he had regained his balance on the truck.

  He ran to the large 55 – 60 inch tire in the front and soccer kicked the machine gun barrel sending it flying across the highway divider and crashing into the northbound lanes. Greg and Phil crawled around the tire and stood up. Frank took two steps back and aimed his pistol at Greg’s head.

  “Dunlap’s dog,” Frank said to Greg and fired two shots.

  Greg dropped down to his knees and both bullets went over him. Frank realized his mistake—he should have aimed for the chest. Greg promptly sprang forward and speared Frank in the abdomen and slammed him to the truck roof. The pistol went flying out of Frank’s hand, bounced off the truck’s edge and fell over. Greg got on top of Frank who raised both of his hands in a cross to parry Greg’s punches and then started throwing his own.

  “Phil, get our guns,” Greg yelled to his partner but Phil stood there. He was wary of the unexploded grenades that were there with their guns inside the tire.

  “This cheap fucker threw toy grenades to fake us out,” Greg exhorted his partner even as he and Frank traded more punches bloodying each other’s faces.

  “They are just old,” Frank yelled. He didn’t believe Phil would listen to him but he was fighting for time here. He had to get Greg off of him before Phil managed to get a gun. Instead Phil walked towards them.

  “Greg, you go get them,” Phil said, “two of us are enough to handle this sucker.”

  Meanwhile, Joe had watched Frank go over to the other truck. He was not happy missing out on the action and leaving his friend alone to face off against four enemies. He switched the truck to the cruise mode, opened the door of his own truck and scrambled abroad the hood. He pulled himself up on the wind deflector and then on to the truck’s roof. From there he saw Frank flat on his back with one man punching down on him and the other approaching him menacingly.

  “Frank, I am coming,” Joe shouted as he too jumped over the three feet gap and landed on his feet on top of the Renegades’ truck. He nearly lost his balance and wildly flapped his arms to steady himself.

  Phil turned to Joe and said, “What the hell is your fat ass going to do?”

  “Bastard, I won the states for wrestling. I will toss your ass,” Joe replied and charged at him.

  Phil kicked Joe in his left abdomen with his right leg and then kicked him in his right abdomen with his left leg. Joe leaned forward holding his stomach and crying in pain. Phil went for a straight kick to Joe’s face next but as soon as his foot came up, Joe jumped back, grabbed and twisted Phil’s foot in an ankle lock. It was now Phil’s turn to shriek in pain as he twisted around to relieve the pressure on his ankle.

  “I faked you out,” Joe grinned.

  Phil tried to kick Joe with his other leg but Joe gave a shove to Phil’s foot in his hand and sent it over the edge. Phil lost balance and fell overboard the truck, hitting the concrete dead on impact.

  Frank had been surprised to see Joe join him but having backup filled him with confidence. He stretched his arms wide and let Greg take a couple shots at him which bloodied him badly but gave him the opportunity to snap his arms back into Greg’s chest and push him back with all the force he could muster.

  Greg fell back and Frank jumped to his feet. Greg was back on his feet the next second too but Frank jumped on the tire, turned around and kicked Greg across the face and sent him flying straight to the road for dead on arrival.

  “Thanks for coming, Joe,” Frank said.

  “You always got my back. I got yours,” Joe nodded.

  Frank walked over to the large tire, leaned over and picked up his three grenades and a pistol.

  “Frank there is no pin in them,” Joe said.

  “My toy grenades,” Frank laughed, “Deception is part of the art of war.”

  “What are we going to do now?” Joe asked.

  “No reason why the same trick can’t work twice,” Frank winked.

  Frank walked to the front and laid down on the wind deflector as if he was doing pushups.

  “What the hell is going on up there?” Richard asked.

  “Your boys decided to quit on your mission,” Frank shouted, “you should too.”

  “Who the hell
are you?” Richard angrily leaned out of the passenger side to look up and saw Joe standing on the roof aiming a pistol at his face. He quickly yanked his neck back inside.

  Frank leaned over the driver’s side window and tossed in his three grenades into Randy’s lap and shouted, “five seconds boys.”

  Frank pulled himself back and jumped down in the space between the tractor cabin and the trailer container and Joe followed him. They wrapped their arms around the rods and braced themselves.

  Randy looked down and let out a murderous yell as he furiously fumbled with his hands to throw out the grenades. Instinctively his foot also reacted and stomped the brake pedal.

  The truck came to a halt with a tire shredding screech. The momentum slammed Frank and Joe against the outer back wall of the cabin. Richard and Randy were jerked forward and then smashed back into their seats like crash test dummies and even the huge tire atop was launched into air like a flying saucer taking off and nearly crashed into an incoming car which banked hard to the right.

  Richard was the first one to regain full situational awareness. He kicked open his door and jumped out with his G36. Joe was standing not too far behind on the tractor platform. He leapt on Richard’s back hoping to drop him to the ground. But Richard saw Joe coming from the corner of his eye, slightly bent forward and then flipped him over his shoulder and slammed him into the ground.

  Frank followed Joe with the pistol in his hand and saw Richard raise his G36 in Joe’s direction but when he saw Frank he quickly turned around and swung his rifle towards Frank.

  Frank fired five shots.

  Richard fell over backwards dead before impact.

  Frank got down from the platform and helped Joe to his feet. He suddenly realized he had forgotten Randy and frantically looked everywhere for any signs of him.

  Randy came around the engine compartment with his pistol drawn when Frank saw him. This was going to be close…Frank thought at the same time as he swung his pistol towards Randy. The time nearly stopped for Frank and he could see Randy’s finger on the trigger.

  Three shots struck Randy in the back. He dropped his pistol. His eyes gawked wide. He dropped to his knees and then stumbled forward.