We’d decided to fly through the canyon that almost split the mountain in two, and once on the eastern side, turn north and fly around the northern slopes. Dave would fly the bomber around and hit the intersection we’d practiced on the day before. The northern edge of Sheep Mountain was close to nine thousand feet above sea level and to maintain our agreed upon three thousand feet clearance above ground level (AGL), Dave had climbed to almost three thousand, five hundred feet above the ground. The battery pack was down to three-fourths power at this point. Not as bad as we thought it would be.
Dave spied the intersection and from his position flew to the southwest on a direct line to the juncture. The intersection altitude above sea level was about seventy-eight hundred feet, so Dave was almost five thousand feet above it when he began his dive. At three thousand feet above the intersection, he released one pack and turned to the northwest slowed rapidly and turned back to view the hit.
The intersection was in a ‘T’ configuration, with the tail to the west and the top of the ‘T’ running north and south. The pack hit in the southwest armpit of the ‘T’ and made a spectacular, dusty splat. We could see the hit clearly and yes, we got it on tape.
I gave Dave a high-five, and we were yelling. If that had been almost four pounds of C-4, it would have cratered the roadway - not a direct hit, but close, and would probably knock a vehicle over. The two of us were elated.
Dave spun the craft to the northwest and rose in altitude until he was thirty-five hundred feet AGL, about eleven thousand feet above sea level. He turned the drone to the south, found the roadway, turned, and came into the intersection from the west side. He made his dive and dropping the pack, sped to the east and quickly slowing, spun the craft to bring the camera to bear. The pack hit in the middle of the road on the downward leg of the ‘T’.
We gave each other another high-five with more yelling, as this hit was just as spectacular as the first. We could clearly see the dust ball and the spreading concrete on the dirt roadway. If a truck, hummer, or SUV had been there, it would have been destroyed without a doubt.
“Dude,” Dave said. “You have to try this,” and handed me the control panel.
I took over flying the bomber and as agreed, turned directly to the south and flew down Highway 11 about three quarters of a mile and turned for the intersection. I had to increase in altitude some and looking at the battery level, we were just above half charge. More than enough to allow two runs and fly back home.
I turned to the north and flew directly at the intersection. As I closed, I nosed over, flew down to the three-thousand-foot level and toggled the release on my first pack. I sped to the north and turned to watch the hit. More whoops and hollers as the puff showed I’d hit in the middle of Highway 11, on the north side of the ‘T’. Any vehicle there would certainly have been destroyed.
I flew on to the north and turning in place, flew back to the juncture and dropped the last pack. Watching as the pack hit in the opposite armpit from Dave’s. Again, we yelled and gave each other high-fives. Once we settled down, I flew the drone back to the front yard and set it down. It had one-quarter battery power left when I turned off the engines. What a successful test and we now knew the capabilities of the five bombers we had in our possession. Up to twenty bombs for the four of us to drop.
With more practice, we would be able to hit individual vehicles with no problems. We were already discussing flight plans with four of the bombers flying at once. It would be a problem to say the least. Using the ‘keep it simple stupid’ rule, we would use the cardinal directions, north, east, south, and west, for our maneuvers. The bomber dropping its load would continue at the low altitude and rise after the next drone dove in on its run. That would do.
At dinner that evening, we discussed the tactic with Julia and Ruth. Ruth said, “What if we miss the lead and drag vehicles? Won’t they be able to run some and make it more difficult?”
“Yeah, it would,” I answered her. “We just need to practice more so we don’t miss.”
“But the human factor will have a play in this,” Julia said.
Dave looked at her and asked, “What does that mean?”
“We’ll all be excited, nervous and keyed up for the attack,” the nurse explained. “Those factors will have an effect on our aiming.”
The four of us sat there thinking that over and knew she had a point. We could miss because we were nervous. On the other hand, even being overzealous we might drop too early or too late and totally miss.
“What do you suggest?” Dave asked Julia.
She looked at us somewhat sheepishly. Dave said, “No idea is stupid, lay it on us.”
She nodded her head and said, “I think we should start the attack with those Kamikaze things you talked about, hitting the lead vehicle first then the drag vehicle immediately afterwards. Ruth and I should fly that mission. Then you two,” indicating Dave and I, “would begin your bombing runs. If we get them pinned on the north-south stretch of the road, we’ll have them boxed in.”
I jumped up, startling the three, and ran into the library, retrieved the map we’d copied off the map app, and went back to the table, moved some plates around and setting the map down said, “We should hit them in another place, where we can really box them in. I say…uh…here,” pointing to a spot on the map that had a steep rise to the east and a steep drop-off to the west. “If we hit them here, they won’t be able to turn in any direction without flipping a vehicle or getting them jammed up on the slope.”
We were all looking at the map when Dave said, “No, here,” pointing with his finger to a spot further south than the one I’d chosen. “Look, it’s very steep on both sides. The west side is marshy and treed. The east side is almost a seventy-degree slope and at the apex here, and here, it’s almost forty feet higher than the road. We could set up Julia here and Ruth here, with their 240 Bravos and once the drones hit the convoy, they can rake it as they did in the ambush. They could fly the Kamikaze drones from those positions, hunker down and wait while we bomb it. We could use the hot mikes to communicate and let them know when to duck.”
“That makes a lot of sense,” I said. “You two up for some close combat again?”
Both Ruth and Julia nodded they were.
“Okay, we have enough drones so the two of them can crash one into a vehicle somewhere,” Dave said. “That way they’ll know what to expect. If we use enough explosive, we can stop the whole convoy on a dime. You and I can practice until we’re proficient with the bombing maneuvers and hit them good ‘n hard.”
“We need to be close as well,” I said. “We can fly those drones from anywhere, but we need to be close in case we need to back up Ruth and Julia. We can use the fifties again and after the bombing runs, kill the vehicles with the big rounds.”
“A lot to consider,” Dave said. “We need to think this out and part of that is to go over to this spot and look at it in detail, do ranges and such. And practice, practice, practice and pray, pray, pray.”
“Maybe we can use the Claymores like we did in the ambush,” Julia said. “Maybe putting them on the east slope, facing west and blow them during the bombing. We can set them to go off two or three at a time and set, say fifteen or twenty of them along the face. That’ll give ‘em something to think about.”
“That’s a good idea,” Ruth agreed. “And you and I can have a ready supply of grenades on hand to use if necessary. I’ll have my AR-10 with me, too.”
“I’ll have my M4 and a shotgun,” Julia said. “I figure a bag of grenades and another bag of magazines, the 240 with two belts joined like last time and one spare…we can clean their clocks together,” she said smiling at Ruth.
“I’ll do likewise,” Ruth said with a smile. “You boys can bomb them all you want…we’re going to cut ‘em up.”
Dave and I looked at the two women as if they were aliens or something. “I’m really glad you two are on our side,” I said slowly.
“And just think, w
e love you, too,” Julia said.
“Yeah, and tigers like fresh meat, right,” Dave said.
Ruth growled and gave me a demure look. “I’m sleeping in the barn tonight,” I said.
“I’m with you, buddy, we’ll be safer with the animals I think,” Dave added.
“You two are nuts,” Julia said.
“US!” Dave yelled. “Who’re you calling nuts? You hear what you were just sayin’? ‘Cut ‘em up’ you said. Sheesh!”
“Scaredy cats…” Ruth said.
“Enough of this for tonight,” I said. “Let’s sleep on it and think about it. We’ll visit the site tomorrow or day after and in the meantime, we’ll all practice with the drones until we can hit a spot anywhere. Let’s break for a nightcap and hit the sack.”
Chapter 11: Friendly Omen
‘Nemo, in modern Latin, literal translation, a nobody, no one, no man.
From old Latin, ‘ne hemo’, literal translation, no man.
Anagram for Nemo - Omen
The snow in the valley was almost gone. We’d had a few warmer than normal days, actually up in the sixties, and the white stuff melted rapidly. Dusty and I were riding out of the south pasture to eventually wind up at Dave’s place to check in with them. I decided to give Dusty the reins, letting him get some exercise. I had my M4 over my shoulder on its single-point sling, nine-millimeter and a shotgun in the saddle scabbard so wasn’t worried about Zs.
Dusty decided to climb the south mountainside. We zigged and zagged through the aspens, interrupting deer in their quest for foraging materials. Most looked up as we went through; some were not bothered at all by our passing. It made me think that human memories for the deer population were fading, as they were no longer afraid of us.
Dusty came out of the aspen grove into a meadow we frequented. It was at about ninety-five hundred feet in altitude and once on the top of the rise, one could see the valley spreading out to the north for miles until it began sloping up the mountains.
We stopped and reaching back in my saddlebags, I retrieved my binoculars. I often did this when in an area with a view so I could look for Zs and take care of them if they might become a problem. I began my scan to the east and could just make out the northern edge of the quarry, where I buried Z carcasses after killing them. I slowly scanned to the north and to the west of Highway 11, I saw three of the things almost in single file ambling along to the north.
They were heading in the general direction of the Malone’s place and that was not good, so I put the binos up and steered Dusty in their direction. They were more than a mile off and knowing Zs didn’t move too fast, I took my time and enjoyed the ride. I would break out onto the eastern flats of my ranch, cross the creek, and locate them again.
An hour later found Dusty and I wet from the creek crossing. Dusty stopped and drank his fill and for some reason wanted to play in the water, stomping his front hooves in the creek and splashing water all over the two of us. He gets playful like that sometimes and it’s better to let him get it out of his system than to try to get him to do otherwise. I let him go until he tired of play and on his own, moved off towards the east.
As long as he headed east, I let him have the reigns. I think he knew what we were doing and where we were going. Dusty was one of the smartest horses I had ever owned and was a real joy to be with and have as a companion.
I was wondering how close we were getting to the Zs when Dusty stopped and alerted, his ears forward and erect, listening. I stroked his neck and said, “Easy boy, there are three of them. We’ll take ‘em easy enough.”
I swung my M4 around and made sure a round was in the chamber and the safety was on then let it hang at my side. I drew my nine-millimeter, chambered a round and reholstered it. I decided to rack a round into the twelve-gauge just to be positive all my weapons were ready to go, withdrew it from the saddle scabbard and racked a round. I put the shotgun back in the scabbard and as I looked up, I was startled as a man…no, not a Z, a man…was standing about twenty yards in front of Dusty and I.
Startled wasn’t a good description of what I was at that moment. Dusty and I both froze, gazing at the apparition in front of us. He looked like he had antennae coming out of his back, but I quickly realized he was carrying a pair of Katana swords in an ‘X’ configuration on his back. He would reach over his shoulder to retrieve a blade. The rifle he held in his hands, aimed at me by the way, was an AR-15 with a thirty-round magazine. A revolver was on his right hip and a knife that looked like a K-bar was on his left. His chest rig held six or eight more magazines for his rifle and an ‘L’ framed flashlight that was green, attached to the left strap of the chest rig.
All that I saw in a quick glance, but the most striking vision was his face. Heavily wrinkled and with crows feet splayed out from his eyes like canyons peeling off the Colorado River. His beard, once black, was now a frosty gray with black streaks. His eyes were blue and piercing and I immediately knew that either I was in mortal danger or just being sized up. I immediately wondered if he had a black hummer nearby.
He wore a Stetson cowboy hat. It looked like he’d been wearing it for decades, as the rim was ragged and tattered. The color, once beige, was now marred with grime and fingerprints from long-time use.
He obviously was deciding to say hi or shoot and I didn’t know which, so I slowly raised my right hand, palm outward, fingers splayed some and said, “Peace, mister, don’t mean you any harm.”
That’s when I noticed movement to my left and another man, remarkably similar in appearance to the first, stepped out of the trees. I nodded to him and looked back at the first and felt, rather than saw, the third man standing just inside the tree line to my right.
Okay, so I was toast. If they wanted me, they had me. All three wore Stetsons and had beards. All three had eyes of steel and all three had AR-15s aimed in my direction. I couldn’t help but wonder where they’d come from. I hadn’t heard one sound from any of them to alert me to their presence.
I was looking at the first guy and addressing him again said, “Howdy, welcome to Paradise Valley, my ranch; you gentlemen hungry?”
The man in front of me relaxed just a small bit, I could tell. He looked at each of his…friends…and then back at me, saying, “We could eat. Your ranch you say?”
“Yes, sir, my place; I’ve owned it for the past seven years or so and built the house up on the ridgeline to the west of here,” I explained. I’d said sir, as he was obviously older than I was, and my parents had always taught me to respect my elders. I figured, in this case, saying ‘sir’ was indeed the proper thing to say since the man and his companions had weapons on me.
I slowly looked at the other two men, nodded, and noticed all three were dressed in jeans, ranch shirts, denim jackets, bandannas, and the Stetsons. All three wore what looked like combat boots rather than cowboy boots. They all looked like weathered leather with faces resembling the dark side of the moon. For some reason they all reminded me of professional soldiers, even though dressed more like professional cowboys.
For several tense moments, the five of us looked at each other. Finally, the first one said, “I’m called Nemo, but my real name is Daniel Norris, Dan; my friends are Jeff Jablonski and Jack Kagel, Ski and Keger – like a beer keg. We’ve been traveling for a long time and are trying to get to Cheyenne. We figure Laramie is close by and thought we could get a vehicle or some horses there.”
The two on my sides lowered their weapons and moved toward the first man. I noticed all three had their rifles on single-point slings and when the two stopped near their friend, they had enough spacing between them to bring their weapons to bear without endangering each other. They had obviously been together for some time as they moved with precision – team-like almost.
I climbed down from the saddle and holding Dusty’s reigns in my left hand, held out my right and said, “My name is Douglas Sutton, Doug. My wife and I live up the mountain some to the west.”
All three stepped for
ward to shake my hand and their hands took me aback. They were like hard leather, calloused tremendously. Another striking feature of the three was their eyes. Blue and piercing and looked like they could melt lead just by looking at it. They all had ‘Einstein’ eyebrows with hair going every direction. The three were between sixty-five and seventy years of age. None of the three wore glasses and their Stetsons were beige, black and brown and faded, tattered and well worn.
They individually introduced themselves and I relaxed. Nemo stepped up to Dusty and looked him over. Dusty didn’t flinch when the man touched him a clear sign Dusty accepted them as friendly.
“I’m sure you three know about the dead folks walking about, right?” I asked them.
All three said they did. I told them about the conditions in Laramie, Cheyenne, and in Colorado. I told them if they found horses to go ahead and take them and vehicles just as well. There was no one to care anymore. I told them about Ruth, Dave and Julia and our places.
“You three are welcomed to come stay a few days with Ruth and I and rest and get some good food in you. We have quite a bit to offer, really. We’d be happy to have guests as it’s been quite a long time since we’ve seen some friendly faces.”
“What do you mean by that, friendly faces?” Keger, one of the companions asked, giving me a serious stare.
“The people we’ve run into lately have been shooting first and not even introducing themselves,” I explained. “We’ve been fortunate so far and have won several battles with their forces.”
“Their forces?” Nemo asked.
I looked at him and explained, “Yeah, there’s…well we don’t really know how many of ‘em there are now, but they travel around in black vehicles – hummers, trucks and SUV’s – and they just start shooting at us. We have to be more on the watch for them now days than the zombies.”
“Zombies – I told you two they were zombies,” Jeff, Ski, said with a cackle.
I'm Tired of Zombies | Book 2 | Full Scale War Page 27