Next World Series (Vol. 4): Families First [Hard Roads]

by Ewing, Lance K.

  “In-bound is five minutes out,” called Steve on the radio. “I repeat, five minutes.”

  “Hang on, guys,” called out Lonnie.

  How are we three minutes apart? I thought. Like trying to score the game-winning touchdown in the Super Bowl with only seconds on the clock and five points behind. No field goal would do and no overtime. It was do or die, and nothing in between.

  I wished we had a few more time-outs to slow the clock on this peaceful river.

  They must know we’re bluffing, since we haven’t produced any people on our side, I thought. Still, I counted down the seconds, just as before.

  “One minute, 36 seconds,” I whispered.

  I took the last scan with my AR rifle scope as the seconds counted down in my head.

  “Fifty-six Mississippi…fifty-five Mississippi…twenty-one Mississippi…”

  Shots rang out from the direction of the highway; there were three initially, quickly followed by four or five more.

  After only a few seconds’ pause, I heard at least a hundred shots in about four seconds.

  “They fired on the Colonel I said out loud! They fired on the Colonel.”

  Boom! came the sound from across the river, just inside the tree line, followed by two more in succession as Mike set the dynamite off. Tree branches and parts of things I couldn’t bring myself to think about flew through the air and onto the far riverbank, with some debris making it into the water.

  The screams were deafening but were drowned out in seconds as Mel let the first of the Screaming Serpents fly. The scene is already complete chaos with not a single shot fired, I thought.

  “Get low,” said Jake. “It’s coming.”

  He was right, as almost immediately bullets zinged over our heads, bouncing off trees, rocks and lodging into the ground in front of our foxhole.

  “Stay down,” yelled Lonnie on the radio. “Stay down,” he called again.

  “They can’t cross the river and shoot at the same time,” I told Jake. As it turned out, I was only half right.

  The shooting in our direction slowed, and even stopped long enough to quickly pop my head up. I hope they don’t have any snipers over there, I thought, quickly surveying the scene.

  Mel had more fireworks lit, and the big ones zinged to the other side with large booms at the end. These were not shot high into the air as I had always seen at fireworks shows, but straight into the trees across the river, exploding and sending secondary multi-aerial shells in all directions.

  The flame started small, just behind their group, as I spotted with my scope but grew quickly in the dry brush.

  Ten or twelve men stepped out of the trees and towards the river.

  “Pick your shots, boys,” called out Lonnie over the radio, “and stay low.”

  This is too easy, I thought, just as the shooting started again from the tree line.

  The river crossers started 30 yards downstream in chest-deep water as they were covered by their shooters.

  “Careful boys,” called out Lonnie, “but they don’t get across. When they pause, everyone take two shots and then heads back down. I count 12…make that eleven” as one was swept away downriver.

  “Wait for it” Jake and I heard, having difficulty hearing over the gunfire.

  “Now!” he called out, just as the shooting stopped.

  Crack! Crack! Crack! came the only shots now from our side. I aimed mid-chest at the second man, with the first one having already been hit.

  They dropped one by one into the river, reminding me of that kids’ shooting game where you shoot the ducks all in a row. Three ran back towards their side, and I let them go. I would have been happy to let them all run back, but not Mike.

  He took out all three from the downstream side of the river, with only three shots fired.

  I heard four more shots from his direction, as he presumably took care of one or more of the floaters headed downstream towards him.

  I was surprised to see how big the expanding fire had become. Out from the smoke came dozens of men, firing and entering the river all at once, followed by another row, and another after that.

  “It’s revolution-style!” yelled Jake.

  I remember seeing Civil War reenactments where the front line fires and the man behind him takes his place, row after row, until they breach the barrier.

  “Are we ready with the 60?” I yelled at Jake, as I lifted the rifle.

  “We are!”

  Womp-womp! was the sound overhead, as we all opened fire on the enemy. I was still amazed at how fast the M60 shoots out rounds, with the shells pouring one after another above my right shoulder.

  The advancing pseudo soldiers dropped in succession, with another one appearing right behind. Only a handful turned to run back.

  I looked up at the thunderous machine overhead, whipping the treetops back and forth.

  The gigantic helicopter we had flown in not long ago looked like a metal Angel coming down from the heavens to restore the earthly balance once again.

  Its 20mm cannons opened fire in a barrage of bullets, decimating the other side of the river, taking only a few return shots.

  The trucks were now engulfed in flames, with the exception of the two by the river’s edge. The helo arced, making a wide circle and coming up from behind us.

  Hovering two hundred feet off the ground, they opened fire in a second round. The men in the river had nowhere to run, and the wall of bullets took the rest out in only thirty seconds.

  The copter circled twice over the next few minutes, occasionally firing a few rounds back across the river. Then, just like that, they were gone.

  Everything was silent. No screaming or yelling, no shots, and not even a bird could be heard—only the crackling of the growing fire.

  “You okay, buddy?” I asked Jake.

  “Yeah, I think so. You?”

  “That was crazy but I’m not hit.”

  “Everyone check in,” called Lonnie.

  “Jake and I are good,” I reported.

  “Us too,” called Mel, who was with Vlad.

  “Just twisted my ankle good,” said Tom. “Don’t see how, though.”

  Nate and his guys checked in safe.

  “Where’s Mike? Anyone seen him?” asked Lonnie.

  “Mike, if you can hear me, call in,” he said, with no response after several seconds.

  “Mike! Call in!” he repeated… “Has anybody seen him?” he asked again.

  “No.”

  “No, not me.”

  “Me neither,” we all replied.

  “Okay, guys,” said Lonnie. “Let’s get our gear loaded up and head back. We need to be prepared if this fire jumps the river. We will take the two bodies, as well, to be buried with honor for helping to defend this land.”

  The heat of the blaze was now uncomfortable, and I prayed it would burn away from our families and us.

  My leg was aching again, and I realized I had forgotten all about it while down by the river. The adrenaline dump over the last couple of hours hit me like a Mac truck.

  * * * *

  Reaching the top of the road and heading back to our camp, I heard the first sound of thunder and felt thankful it might rain and douse the expanding flames below. I looked up, seeing no clouds on this perfectly clear day.

  I was tired and confused as the second F-16 fighter jet crossed the sky with that same thunderous Boom!

  “What are they doing here?” asked Lonnie.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I thought it was over, at least for now.”

  “It’s either a show of force or they are protecting something,” said Jake. “There are not a lot of other reasons to have them up there, especially now.”

  We had our answer minutes later as the first firefighting plane flew low and slow over the river, dropping that red powder I had only seen in movies.

  “What is that stuff they’re dropping?” asked Tom.

  “It’s a fire retardant called Phos-Chek,” sai
d Mel. “It’s basically a phosphate fertilizer that helps to slow and cool down the fire. When mixed with water, it’s known as slurry and is dyed red to be easily visible from both the air and ground.”

  “So, kind of like pouring a big-ass cherry slushy on a lit match,” said Tom.

  “Sure, why not?” said Mel, laughing. “Here comes another one,” he pointed out, “coming across the horizon. The fighter jets are probably just a precaution since a few idiots over there fired on the Chinook already.”

  “I didn’t think they cared about us this much, to do all this,” said Steve.

  “They don’t,” I added. “They just can’t have fires burning out of control only 30 miles from the Trinidad FEMA camp, or any other, for that matter.

  “Ironically,” I said to David, putting a hand on his shoulder, “being this close to a FEMA camp may be the best thing for your group.”

  “I’m starting to think you may be right, but I’m still not honeymooning there,” David replied.

  “Hot food, showers and boxing,” I reminded him.

  “Not a chance!” he replied.

  We were joking around heading back to Beatrice’s house, but I was concerned about Mike, now the only man on our side not accounted for.

  It felt strange to be worried about someone like him. Maybe if I hadn’t owed him more than my gratitude and respect, I would have felt differently.

  The more I thought about it, the more I realized that we all owed him. Each of us for something different, but I couldn’t think of anyone here that he hadn’t helped in some way. He, of course, saved all three of my boys; he was the lookout on the trailer during the fire that saved Jake and Lonnie’s children. He was the lead on liberating Nate’s group, as well as Katie, Jonah, and little Javi. He literally won Vlad back in a boxing match, kept Sheila out of the hands of her abuser, and was adored by Beatrice in her own special way. He was the only one of us today on the same side of the river as the enemy, just to give the rest of us an advantage.

  Should I go back looking for him? Should we all?

  Lonnie, sensing my uneasiness, pulled me aside for a minute.

  “Me too,” he said. “I’m concerned about him too. If he’s alive, we will see him soon. If not, he helped us to get this far. He would be the only one of our group I would not go back to look for. Not because of who or what he is, but because he’s the only one here who is less effective with other people trying to help. If it were you or any other man here,” he said, waving his arm towards the rest of our group, “I would be back down there in a second.”

  He paused, looking past me, and smiled, shaking his head back and forth.

  “He’s standing right behind me, right?” I said, without turning around.

  “And eating a sandwich,” he added, now unable to control laughing at his own joke.

  “I’m tearing up over here,” said Mike as I turned around. “It’s just so nice to know that people care about me deep down in this area,” pointing to his gut and pretending to wipe tears from his cheeks.

  “Seriously, though, Beatrice makes one hell of a sandwich, and you guys have a lot of explaining to do to your wives about everything that happened.”

  “How did you get up here so quickly?” I asked.

  “While you and the Colonel were mopping up the bad guys, I was able to cross the fire zone and get back to our trusty log,” Mike continued. “It put me back up here, and a check-in with Jim told me you were all okay. After that, I just got hungry is all.”

  “Thanks, man,” I said. “The dynamite gave us a fighting chance, along with Vlad’s guy, the Colonel, of course.”

  “We stood our ground,” called out Vlad, “and turned them back. Today is a good day. Today is a Beluga Day!”

  We all laughed as only one can following a Hail Mary victory and living to tell the tail.

  * * * *

  I snapped back into focus, not forgetting my promise to the man who died in my arms only a couple of hours ago. I would talk with his family, his wife, and little girls who would never remember their daddy or have another day with him.

  “Excuse me,” I said, brushing past everyone on my crutches to reach Nate. I need the man’s name who died in my arms, and that of his wife and children.

  “It’s okay, I can tell them,” he said.

  “No, Nate,” I replied sternly. “I promised I would do it, and I will. What are their names?”

  We all walked slowly towards the house, with Vlad and me keeping up on our crutches. I was getting much faster with them now and caught a glimpse of everyone watching us approach the house from the front porch.

  I could feel the intensity as the women and children each scanned the group for their partners. I knew it would only be a matter of moments before the two spouses of our dead realized they were missing.

  The wife of my hole mate who ran off would surely be wanting answers also, but I had none to give her.

  I was right as the cries began, with more than a few of the adults pointing to one leg hanging out the side of the four-wheeler trailer. We had done our best to cover them, but it was all too late now. The men were gone, and their families would never be the same again.

  I met Joy’s eyes, and she was both relieved and sad.

  Her new friend under her arm was sobbing, as her two young girls looked on.

  “I’m so sorry, ma’am, about your husband,” I told her. “He was a brave man and helped to save all of our lives today. He told me you and your girls were the best things that ever happened to him, and he loves you all so much.” I realized I was paraphrasing now, but I was able to get the sentiment across.

  “What now?” she asked through her cries. “Where will we go?”

  “Please sit down,” I asked her. “Excuse me for just a minute, ma’am.”

  I pulled Joy aside and whispered, “I told you I would make it back. The man, her husband, well he died right in my arms, and I promised him that she and their girls could join one of our groups. Can you please help me with that?”

  “Leave it to me, and I’m so happy you’re back,” she said. “Are we safe now?”

  “I think so.” I replied, “I think we are.”

  * * * * * * *

  Chapter Seventeen

  Saddle Ranch

  Loveland, Colorado

  Cory, having observed the MacDonald house for another hour, radioed Mac.

  “We’ve got 50 or more people up here, most from the shootout you had with Ralph and those with him yesterday. Mr. MacDonald and his wife have been safely recovered, and they don’t appear to be searching for them. Drake Miller knows this area up here well and has offered to help devise a plan moving forward, if needed.

  “We will need to return to the Ranch soon with the MacDonalds, until they can safely return to their home.”

  “Okay, hold on for just a bit while I talk with John and Bill,” replied Mac, still feeling weak and tired from his recent near-drowning.

  Sarah, taking a well-deserved break from the hospital, drove Mac down to John’s house in Samuel’s truck for a quick meeting.

  “It’s good to see you up and around,” said Bill, sitting with John on his front porch.

  “I like to swim, but that was ridiculous!” joked Mac.

  Sarah gave him the “too soon look” taken from several comedians who would tell a joke about something serious and then say, “What? Too soon?”

  “Well,” replied John, “we’re just glad you’re okay. It was hard enough on our group losing Jimmy, and we can’t afford to lose another.”

  “I understand,” replied Mac, then relayed the “MacDonald incident,” as it would come to be known down the road.

  “I know Mr. MacDonald,” said Bill “and he’s a bit gruff, to put it kindly, but I don’t see a reason why he and his wife couldn’t stay for a few days until we can sort this out.”

  “What do you think, John?” asked Bill.

  “Sure, we can put them up for a few days, I suppose, but long term
I’m not sure about.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that,” replied Bill. “Mr. MacDonald will be back up at his place the very second it becomes vacant. He doesn’t like people all that much, and I’m sure he won’t ask to stay.”

  “Okay, let’s get them settled in. I’ll meet with the council if something changes and it becomes more long-term,” added John. “My bigger concern, Mac,” he continued, is what to do about 50 not-so-friendly people likely led by an unpredictable ex-employee of Samuel’s who is still accusing you of stealing his wife.”