by Chris Pike
I imagined I was safe with my dad on a boat somewhere on the bay, listening to the water gently lap the sides, the moon casting a dim glow on the bay. Lights on the shore twinkled like Christmas lights, and muted laughter and music echoed over the water. The stars were overhead, and I’d lay awake searching the heavens for a shooting star to streak across the sky.
Lying here exhausted, my breathing slowed down, my eyelids became heavy, and I could no longer keep them open.
The engine vibrations and noise drowned out my thoughts, and soon glorious sleep blessedly called me where vivid dreams filled my consciousness.
The air was misty, the wind brushed the trees, and colors of the woods segued from morning brightness to late evening shadows, obscuring my vision. I was running through the waist high field of oats in the pasture behind the ranch house. I stopped to look at my dad standing on the porch yelling words I couldn’t understand. His words were garbled like he was in an underwater tunnel. He waved his arms for me to return. I laughed and waved back at him, skipping through the wheat, letting my hands weave through the feathery florets.
As I reached the edge of the pasture, dark clouds rolled in, bringing thunder and a sprinkling of rain. A cold gust of wind washed over me, blowing my long brunette hair around. I shivered and goose pimples appeared on my arms. I crossed my arms, rubbing them briskly with my hands, trying to warm myself. Leaves rustled, and my gaze darted to the woods where the shadows grew longer and reached out to me as if warning me of impending danger. A shiver captured me, tingling my spine. I jerked my head around in all directions, thinking I was being watched, though by what, I wasn’t sure.
A gunshot rang out, then another zing of a bullet sounded, and I struggled to comprehend what it meant because it was unclear if the gunshot was in my dream.
A voice I did not recognize shouted angry words.
The pattering of many feet running came closer, and I jerked awake and opened my eyes, my senses on high alert.
Chapter 18
I didn’t dare move, except for my eyes roaming around the engine room.
I took my time to gather my thoughts about the unfolding situation, wondering if what I dreamed was real or not.
Everything was normal. I mused my dream was the accumulation of years of being forced to watch old black and white westerns my dad loved. Paladin, Josh Randall, the Rifleman, all containing episodes of masked train robbers, jumping off their galloping horses and scaling the roof of the train came to mind. I was surprised I had absorbed enough fictional cowboy mayhem to cause me nightmares.
Calming my rapidly beating heart, I remembered Travis telling us this was a short freight train that didn’t transport valuables, except for the Pod, and I didn’t think anyone would know about that. The train had a number of metal boxcars for freight, hopper cars for bulk dry goods, and several tube shaped chemical railcars. Missing were the new model cars being transported and intermodal container cars destined for a seaside port.
Imagining the different cars was like counting sheep. I planned to remember that the next time I couldn’t fall asleep. My heart had calmed down, yet the bolt of adrenaline I experienced left me wide awake.
Travis was at the controls, and a freshly brewed pot of coffee got my attention.
Rising, I asked, “Is there enough coffee for another cup?”
“Sure,” Travis said. “Help yourself. The caffeine won’t do you any good for getting back to sleep though.”
“I’m wide awake now.” I poured the coffee into a foam cup and took a sip. If I had any hair on my chest, it would stand up. “Wow! This is strong.”
Travis smiled. “Said the girl whose last name is Strong.”
I laughed. “You can’t imagine how people have teased me about my last name.”
“Enjoy it now, because when you marry, you won’t have it anymore.”
Travis was transfixed on the view, squinting into the darkness.
“What are you looking at?” I asked.
“There’s a fire in the distance. I’ve been keeping an eye on it.”
“A fire on the tracks?”
“Yeah, and a big one, too.”
“A grass fire?”
“No. That wouldn’t make flames high enough for me to see it. This is a purposeful fire. One that can damage the rails. I’ve been slowing the train down, because if we jump the track, we’ll be in trouble.”
“Someone is trying to stop the train?”
“Yeah,” Travis said. “I think we’re about to have company, and not the kind you serve coffee to. Ella, do me a favor. Go tell the others to get ready.”
“For what?”
“Nothing good. Tell everybody to have their weapons ready.” Travis unloosened his checkered shirt to let it hang over his belt. I guessed he had a gun hidden under his shirt.
I rushed to the freight car where the president and the others were resting. They were awake and listening to President Sayer, probably hoping they’d hear some White House secrets that would be excellent for party conversations in the future.
“Hey, everybody. Travis thinks we may be facing train robbers, so better get ready for a fight.”
Kyle immediately reached into his pack, and President Sayer swung open what appeared to be a clamshell briefcase. It contained equipment secured in place by closed cell foam. There weren’t any boxes of ammo, but a number of transparent amber magazines were filled with rifle type ammunition.
The president looked up at Kyle and I, who were studying the contents of the case. “These are FN P90 submachine guns in 5.7 x 28 caliber,” he said. “They are silenced and use fifty round magazines. The ammo is government issue armor piercing since the bad guys tend to use body armor these days. One gun was intended for my Secret Service agent and the other was for me in a dire emergency.” He pulled back the ambidextrous cocking handle and let it slam into the battery. “Remember the rounds will penetrate a body.” With that warning, President Sayer handed Kyle the first gun and half of the loaded magazines.
The president charged his gun and showed Kyle the peculiar rotating safety selector below the trigger. He put half of his magazines into each of the outer pockets of his suit coat to balance the load. Kyle watched him with increasing interest, which didn’t go unnoticed by the president.
“Kyle,” he said. “You were more than a medic, weren’t you?”
“Yes I was, Sir. I was a Navy corpsman supporting one of the SEAL teams. My dad gave me this 1911 when I came home,” Kyle said, checking the pistol to make sure it was in good order. “I’m using Wilson 9 round magazines in this 10mm.”
“Interesting. You’re quite knowledgeable on your weapons. I had been briefed about the SEAL teams using Navy medics for certain operations.”
May had been intently listening to the guys talking. “Can I have a gun? If we are about to be attacked, I need a weapon.”
“Can you shoot?” Kyle asked.
“Not very good, but I’m a quick learner.”
“May,” Kyle said, “the time to learn about guns is before you need to use them. If we gave you one, you might accidentally shoot one of us. The best thing for you to do is to hide behind good cover. We’ll take care of everything else.”
I was looking directly at May to make sure she understood. She dropped her head. “I guess you’re right. I always avoided Dad’s offers to go shooting. I never dreamed I would need to shoot anyone. Don’t forget I’ll be hiding while the bullets are flying.”
“We won’t. Be sure to stay completely quiet and we’ll come get you when it’s over.” Kyle led May to where a bunch of crates were stacked. “You’re little, so get in there and stay low. Can you do that?”
“Yes.”
Kyle moved a heavy crate in front of her then whisked away the tracks left in the dust on the floor.
Kyle, President Sayer, and I made our way to the engine compartment. Tommy was nowhere in sight, and I spotted May sneaking out of her hiding place. I didn’t want to make any noise, s
o I motioned with my hand for her to stay back and out of the way.
Travis had slowed the train to a crawl, and not much distance remained between us and the fire on the tracks.
“What’s going on?” President Sayer asked.
“Not sure,” Travis said. “I’ve been trying to assess the damage to the tracks but the flame is too bright. It’s blinding me, and ruining my night vision.”
“Can you tell us anything about our situation?” Kyle asked.
“The flames are high enough and I’m betting hot enough that the metal rails could have been seriously damaged by warping.” Travis shook his head. “It’s impossible to see details of the rail. I have a feeling we’ll be meeting a large force the minute we step off the train.”
“What can we do?” I asked. “We’re like sitting ducks. President Say—”
“Call me Charlie. If any of the bad guys hear you calling me the president, I’m dead.”
“Okay. We’ll all be sure to call you Charlie from now on. Got it everybody? Including you too, May.”
“Got it,” she said meekly, peeking from behind a chair.
Charlie gathered us around. “In a situation like this, we should be the ones with the surprises. Since they plan on taking over the train, which means the engine room, if we are in here, it’ll be like shooting fish in a barrel.”
“Why would they want this train?” I asked.
“The pod and me, or what’s left of me.”
Nobody said a word.
“I’m guessing there was a traitor among my close circle of confidants. Or someone in the Secret Service knows more than they should.”
I shook my head. “That’s terrible.”
“Anyone can be bought for the right price,” Charlie said. “Once they secure the train and the pod, they’ll repair the track and steal the train. My proposal is to get out of the way until the train is ready to move, then we’ll be the hijackers.”
“Aren’t you worried we might lose control of the pod?” Kyle asked.
“Yes, Kyle, I do want to deliver the pod intact. But we also have a contingency plan.” Charlie tapped his wrist. “This bracelet is a transmitter. The pod was set on self-destruct as soon the pod and I were ejected from Air Force One. If I venture more than five hundred yards away from the pod, it will explode with enough force to take out this train. So while we can defend the pod, we also have a backup plan to ensure the bad guys won’t get it. I’m willing to take a chance if you are, but the choice is yours.”
“You’re a smart man, Charlie. It’s clear why you are the pres…oops, I didn’t mean to say that.”
“So what’s it going to be? If you want to leave now, it’s okay.”
“We all took an oath, Charlie,” I said. “I’m in.”
“Me too,” Kyle said.
“Count me in as well.” Travis saluted Charlie.
“I’ll do my part,” May chimed in, stepping forward. “There’s one person missing. I haven’t seen Tommy in a while.”
“Anybody know where he is?” Charlie’s question was met with silence. He mumbled an obscenity under his breath and punched his fist into a cabinet.
“I’ll go look for him,” Kyle offered.
“No, we can’t risk you.” Charlie put a hand on Kyle’s shoulder. “If your brother is lost during this mission, then you can put the blame on me.”
Kyle shook his head. “The blame is my brother’s, not yours. He made his decision to hide instead of fight. I vote we stick to your plan.”
“Okay, then. Let’s go.”
The group, including May, silently moved to the back of the train then slid out into the surrounding dense brush, some twenty yards away from the tracks. We hid close to the back of the train to avoid running into our attackers by accident. Charlie had said the hijackers’ concentration would be on the engine room and the flatbed carrying the pod.
Absolute silence was required while we waited, crouched, hidden among the tall grass and brush. Any unusual noise, like a sneeze or a cough, could alert our attackers to our location.
While we waited, Kyle gave me a silent lesson on how to use the HKS speedloaders for my Ruger .357. He whispered, “When you use up your two fast reloads, use these loose rounds for reloads.” I pocketed the extra rounds.
Travis was busy blowing accumulated dust from his WWI vintage 1911. When he finished that, he added a few drops of oil. Later, I learned he had two original spare magazines issued with the gun, evidenced by the half blued finish. He told me his great-grandfather, like so many other WWI veterans, had liberated his issue pistol when he left the Army. This time the government would get back their money’s worth since he’d be helping to protect the president and the prize.
It was obvious Kyle was a gun guy from the start and he had complete confidence in his abilities with the 10mm 1911 he carried under his shirt in front of his right pelvic bone. His FN P90 was less familiar, so he practiced turning the safety switch until it was second nature.
I whispered, “Which one is the best?”
Kyle pointed to the FN P90. “It’s quieter, so it will be my primary weapon. But the 1911 is a close second.” He put his index finger to his lips, tapped everyone on the shoulder to get their attention. “Shhh. No more talking. They’ll be coming soon.”
Under the cover of darkness, we waited.
Chapter 19
I estimated close to an hour had passed. The glow of the track fire in the distance, visible through the brush, diminished to the point where it was no longer noticeable, leaving only the crackle of heated embers as evidence of its original size.
Voices and footsteps came close to our hiding place. We were lying flat on the ground. I lifted my head only enough to peer through the bushes. Two men were walking the track, using flashlights to search the grounds. One was mid-fifties, the other in his twenties. Each man was armed with an M-4 carbine.
The fiftyish man with salt and pepper hair had on a Hawaiian shirt with large red and white flowers. The younger guy wore an identical print Hawaiian shirt except his had large blue and white flowers. His jeans were dark-washed. I briefly thought the shirt and jeans were odd until I recalled a history lesson learning about militia wearing similar colored clothes to distinguish themselves from civilians. The Hawaiian shirt and dark-washed jeans must be their uniforms. Either that or the guys were in town for a luau. Anyone else could be considered the enemy, therefore could be shot on sight. The man in the red shirt must be the leader.
So this was what battle was like. It was both frightening and exhilarating, and I was determined to do my part.
The younger of the two men said in a perfect American accent, “Sir, are we sure this is the right train?”
“Our intel is correct. The locator beacon on the pod works like the black box does on an airplane that has crashed. Once we were able to locate the pod, it started moving. We couldn’t understand why, until it became obvious it wasn’t traveling on its own volition.” The higher ranking man swiveled his head, searching the darkness. “The president has to be close by. He wouldn’t abandon the pod.”
“They must be playing possum, Sir. What are your orders?” His American accent and correct usage of the southern expression was too good to be anything other than American.
“We have waited long enough. I doubt a train conductor or anyone working on this train has the wherewithal to put up much resistance. We need to do a slow and thorough sweep of the two targets.”
The commander silently gave directions for his subordinate to search one area, while he did the other.
A minute later, identically dressed men in blue Hawaiian shirts and dark jeans sprinted to the train from four points of entry from the surrounding woods. The first shots echoed into the engineer’s compartment. Bullets were fired indiscriminately and errant zings bounced off the metal exterior. We ducked for fear of being hit by ricocheting bullets.
The freight car was filled with the din of two lines of soldiers unleashing automatic hell
on everything except the pod. The wooden shipping crates comprising May’s hiding place were shot to pieces. I cringed at the thought if she was still there, the floor would have been covered in her blood.
“Pod team clear!” a different American announced, leaning out the car containing the pod. “Pod secure. No damage and no casualties. And no resistance.” The American ran his hand over the smooth surface of the pod, admiring it.
Another voice yelled, “Engine team clear! Engine secure and controls operable. No casualties and no bodies.”
The man in the red Hawaiian shirt emerged and spoke to his team. “Engine and Pod teams, secure your positions. Where’s the pod team sergeant?
“Here, sir.”
“Send four men for track repair.”
“On it, sir.”
“You,” he said, pointing to the engine team leader, “prepare the train for travel to the transfer site. The rest of you find the president! He has to be close by.”
We were lying as still as possible when Charlie whispered through clenched teeth, “Get ready.”
My heart was beating at breakneck speed, adrenaline flooding my body. My muscles were twitching for whatever I had to do. I glanced at Charlie and the others. May had her head down, while Travis and Kyle had their eyes trained on the militia.
“Attack.” Charlie’s voice was low, calm, and to the point. The way he held his gun over his head toward the freight car was worthy of a recruitment poster.
We shot up, and sprinted forward like a fire had been lit under our butts.
The side door to the freight car was wide open. The soldiers guarding the pod held their carbines at the ready, yet the sight of the President of the United States running forward with a submachine gun in his hand distracted them.
Charlie and Kyle held the triggers back on their P90s, the suppressors sounding like a cross between a pellet gun and a new muffler. Bodies slammed against walls, fragments of wood and metal splintered into the train car, encased in the bloody flesh of dead men. Travis and I brought up the rear.