I put my horse to a trot and the hounds picked up the pace. As I rode in the dark, I considered my options. This was going to be harder than when I had ambushed the men in the cattle trucks. On top the Bench was not a bottleneck that Zackary Williams and his lieutenants must pass through. There were more than half dozen cattle trails that cut across the rough land and Zackary’s men would each take a different one. They would not be bunched in a group where a sniper might take out several at once. No, they would come spread out, and at night.
With their night vision, Zackary and his lieutenants would be lethal to those guarding the basin. I had taken the night vision optic off the DHS agent that I had shot. It was used by Dan. He had insisted on taking every night guard, again making me proud, but it would not be enough. Five with night vision coming against one with night vision still made the odds five to one.
On top of that they had thermal imaging. A man hiding in camouflage or behind foliage can escape detection from one looking through night vision devices. But thermal imaging reads the heat signature of the body. That made it possible to see a person that was hiding in thick foliage. I had to try to even the odds.
I must engage them here, here in the rough terrain of the Bench, away from my family. If I was able to take two of them out, it would make the odds three night visions to one. Three to one, when it came to the lives of those you loved, was still terrible odds. But it increased the hope that I had—the hope that not all my posterity would be cut off, that some would live to see better days.
With all the different paths that they could take, I needed more eyes. More eyes, ears and noses. My hounds could give me all three. They could smell things coming even when they could not be seen or heard.
I now used my knowledge of the terrain. I rode to the deepest ravine that cut through the land between the road and the ranch. Here I would engage them. I would pull them into a game of cat and mouse. Both sides of this deep draw were choked with scrub oak and the bottom was thick with willows. To get across it, without using a chainsaw, you had to follow an existing cow trail. The problem was that the ravine was long and there were too many trails for me to cover by myself.
At the north end I stopped and chained Blue in a patch of oak that was on the rim of the ravine. Here was a good trail that crossed the draw and I left some food and water for him. This could take several days before things played out. With a final hug and a scratch of Blue’s ears, I rode south.
I rode for a mile where the ravine was even deeper. Here I placed Red with her food and water. Another hug and a scratch of the ears. This was hard. They would give me warning when someone tried to cross anywhere close to them, but once sounding the warning, they would be taken out. So many sacrifices to be paid and those payments were taken from the most tender places of the heart.
I then rode back to the middle where another good trail crossed. This is where I positioned myself. I chose this place for several reasons. First, it had a good cow trail that crossed the draw. Second, it was the most likely place that at least one agent would cross. The road on the far side was less than a mile away. That made this spot the closest point between road and ravine. Lastly, there was a large sandstone outcropping with good cover in front of it.
That sandstone outcropping was important to me. It would help me to counter their thermal imaging devises. The large rocks gathered the heat of the sun’s rays during the day like a great heat sink. In the night, by lying next to them, my body’s heat signature would be washed out. Once I left the cover of the rocks, however, their thermal devices could pick me up.
Here I turned my horse loose, and settled down for the wait. I took the time to make my position comfortable and well concealed. It was sandy at the base of the outcropping with enough brush and foliage for my camo to blend in with. The outcropping rose above me a good ten feet.
My night optics was already on my AR and I turned the switch on. I removed the rubber shroud that covered the front lens. The light in the scope’s tube glowed green. Placing the rifle to my cheek, I looked across the draw. Plain as day, I could see the cow trail on the opposite side of the draw. It wound down the steep bank, in and out of the thick oak. As the trail descended it completely disappeared from view as it entered the thick willows. The far rim of the draw was no more than seventy yards away. I hoped I would be lucky enough to have an agent pick this path.
I panned my scope to my right. More than three hundred yards off was another trail that dropped into the deep ravine. There were only three spots on that trail in which the oaks gave enough of an opening for me to see the trail. The first opening was at the top, as the trail started its descent. The other two were close together not far below the first. It was the last opening that gave me the best shot. The clearing was a good fifteen feet across. Maybe an agent would cross there.
I took the time to make me a rest for my rifle, a rest where my rifle would line up on that spot. This is where my six power night vision scope gave me great advantage over their single power.
Panning my scope to my left there was nothing but scrub oak with branches just beginning to bud out. Beyond my sight was Blue, a half mile away. The deep bellow of his bark would easily carry across this distance in the night air.
I thought of the hunts we had over the years. As a seasoned hound man, the individual voices of my dogs were as distinctly different from each other as Dan’s was to Cathy’s. Not only that, when they barked the tone of the bark told me what they were doing. Whether they were trailing a cold track, a hot trail or had jumped a lion, each bark was different. I may not have tactical communications like Zackary’s team but I had communications nonetheless. Blue had my left flank and Red had my right.
I settled down and waited. Patience was the key now. In the history of the Bonhams they had fought Comanche, Apache, and Navajo. There was an old saying that had been passed down from that fighting and I took it to heart. “He who moves first, dies.” In guerrilla warfare the first one to move often gave away his position and was the first to take a bullet.
I would wait. I would be patient. They must move. They must pass by me.
The hours passed and the world turned. I picked out the North Star and it stayed fixed as the other constellations slowly trekked across the night sky. This setting was not strange to me. Lying alone beneath the stars of heaven had been too much a part of my life in these last years.
My thought turned to my family and Sandy. Would I see them again? Would I see Sandy again? I thought of my life. My forty seven years had passed so quickly. They had been good years. Good horses to ride, a beautiful land to ride in. So many fresh sunrises. So many sunsets with cloud formations and colors uniquely arranged and painted by the hand of God. But of them all, it was my family that filled my life with the greatest happiness. I wanted the rest of them to live. I didn’t want to lose one more, not a single one. I wanted them to live, to marry, to raise a family. I wanted them to taste of the joys that I had as a father and the pride of watching their own children grow into strong men and women.
This was beyond me. It was beyond my abilities and skills. These five that were coming had done this kind of man-killing most their lives. They had successfully pitted themselves against the best in the world.
I too had prepared. I had not been negligent or slothful. I had done all I possibly could do, but I was still out of my league. I prayed that the hand of Providence would once again smile upon me, upon my family, upon this land.
The night gave way to sunrise and no one came. The morning sun rose to a noon sun and then an evening sun and still no one came. The night came again followed by another day and a night. I could not remain awake, and slept in short stretches, trusting my dogs to alert me.
* * *
I was now starting the third night of my solitary watch and the night was young. A breeze rose and then died leaving it very still. That was good. The stillness maximized my ability to hear sound and I did hear something. In the far distance the faint sound of
a vehicle could be heard. There were no lights to be seen but I expected none. I would not have to wait much longer.
The sound of the vehicle ceased. How far out? A mile? More? They were coming. I waited. I watched. I listened. I did not move. The anticipation grew and I hoped that one of them would choose the trail before me.
My senses strained as I looked and listened. My heart rate was picking up and my calloused palms grew sweaty. How many minutes had passed? Fifteen? Twenty? Then, the soft sound of sliding sand.
In the green light of my scope I studied the far bank. More sound of sliding sand. I couldn’t see anyone. He was there somewhere, somewhere in the thick cover of the scrub oak. If I had thermal imaging I could pick him up in the thickness of the oak. There! A movement on the slope to the left of the trail. I looked more closely through my scope. Sand slid again on the steep slope and a foot was revealed below the thick patch of oak. Now I could see him. Inside the oak patch a man was looking through a hand held thermal imaging monocular.
A careful man, he did not step into the open trail. Slowly he panned the bank where I lay. The large heat signature of the rocky outcropping was troubling him. I watched as he would pause each time he passed my location with the thermal imaging device. The monocular was tethered around his neck on a lanyard cord and now he let it hang free as he reached up to pull down his night vision that was strapped to his head. That was the distraction I was looking for. He was just releasing his grip on the night vision that he had pulled over his right eye and my red crosshairs were on the base of his throat. I pulled the trigger. My Hornady V-Max ball was a frangible bullet designed for varmints like coyotes. It would expand and fragment upon impact, creating massive tissue damage. The man crumpled without a sound.
A silent prayer of thanks. The man had been delivered front and center for me. Four more to go.
Through the cool night air, Red’s deep voice now pealed to my right. One or more men were now crossing the ravine at the hound’s location.
“Thanks ol’ boy for letting me know,” I said ever so softly to myself. I now had a bead on the general location of at least one more bad guy.
The intensity of the barking increased, then a sudden yelp and silence.
“Red, I’ll meet you on the other side, ol’ boy.” I found it hard to swallow. There seemed to be a lump in my throat. I swallowed harder. It was time to move. Whoever was there knew that their position was now given away. They would contact each other by their tactical comm and one of them would not answer. They would know that one of their team members was down. That was good. They must now stop their advance on the basin. They had an enemy in their midst and they could not leave an enemy sniper to their rear.
Blue’s rich voice sounded now, off to my left. That meant that not all the remaining agents were crossing on my right. I now knew that I had agents to my right and left. I was in the middle and that was not good but not knowing that I was in the middle would have been much worse. Blue had done his job and pegged the location of another agent. I could now move out of a pincer move that would get me caught on two sides. They would know that I was in their middle because the dead agent in the middle would not answer them.
Blue’s barking picked up tempo and then, without a yelp, went silent.
“Blue, tell Red hi for me. I may be along soon and I’ll scratch both your ears.”
That darn lump was still stuck in my throat. Pushing up from my position, I quickly and quietly moved off. Taking a backward angle, I headed towards Blue’s side of the draw. Now that I knew the proximate location of the agents, I double-timed it north, making a loop in front of the agent or agents that had crossed on Blue’s side.
Looking at my watch, I checked the time of my travel at double-time speed. I needed ten to fifteen minutes to get on the far side of them. I ran for six more minutes and pulled up beneath a cedar tree. I was sure I now had all the agents to my south.
I rested a moment, listening, while I got a bearing on my location. Again, I was glad to be fighting in my backyard. I quickly knew where I had stopped. There would be a small knoll not far ahead and that is where I went. Within a few minutes of travel the cedars trees gave way to a natural clearing of sage brush and grass. Several hundred yards into the clearing was a small tree-covered hill. There was a good hiding spot with brush and trees at the top of the hill. I didn’t go there. I left that as a decoy. Rather, I took a less obvious hiding place on the left side of the hill. Here I once again waited. There were four wolves out there looking for one fox. And with their thermal imaging and night vision, the wolves had the longer fangs.
This time I had no large rocks to wash out my heat signature but I did have distance. The trees at the edge of the clearing were about two hundred and fifty yards away. I crouched down behind a large stump of a cedar tree that clung to the edge of a shallow wash. The old tree had been cut down by someone using an ax. It was an ancient stump and I would bet that it had been chopped down by my great grandfather.
The tales I had heard in my youth of my great grandfather came to mind. Where had he made his last stand when he was killed by the Navajo warriors? I wondered if it had been close to where I was now.
“Grandpa,” I said quietly to myself, “I would like to have known you in life. It is a strange circle that we have passed through. Where you once were, I now am. I may meet you soon and I have a question I have always wondered about. Why was it important that the Navajo warriors were buried next to you?”
Immediately the face of Sandy appeared in my mind. It was indeed a strange circle. I thought of our chance meeting in that night blizzard. Was there a connection between her and the warriors?
From birth to death, I had watched men travel between the eternities. There was so much I did not know but I did know that there were things that could not be seen. I knew that death did not cut off the love between the living and the dead.
Laying my rifle across the top of the stump, I was able to see above the sage brush and into the trees. It was on my second sweep with my scope that I saw the man. He was just inside the tree line and was looking at me with his thermal device.
I was quick with the crosshairs and the trigger. The man went down and the sound of the impact of a bullet hitting a living body carried back to me. I had shot enough deer to recognize the sound. He was still moving and I put three more bullets into him.
“Blue, those are for you. Your life was not wasted.”
I panned the area again and didn’t see other agents. I needed to choose a new spot and I stood up.
The bullet hit my leg before I heard the shot of the rifle and the leg buckled. My body crashed over a sage brush and into the shallow wash. A hail of bullets cut through the bush above me. The shock of the bullet hitting me had caused me to lose my grip on my rifle. In panic I felt for my gun. It had not fallen into the wash with me. I edged up to the bank and felt for the rifle. With relief my fingers wrapped around its barrel and I pulled it to me.
Something was wrong with it. In the darkness I ran my hand over my gun. A bullet had hit my scope and taken out the front lens. Several more bullets had hit the gun with one going through the receiver. I was without a rifle. And without my scope, they owned the night.
“Damn it to …” I stopped. It was silly, but I didn’t finish the string of swear words as if I was afraid my girls would hear me. I did move, using my elbows and one good knee.
Chapter 36
CROSSING OF SWORDS
March 26th
The sun was rising, my leg hurt and I needed rest. I was surprised to see this day, for it had been a long night. The three remaining agents had worked the angles. One would put pressure on me while the other two would try to flank me. Several times they had pinned me down and only my intimate knowledge of the land had allowed me to slip out of their hands.
The sun warmed my cold body and I was grateful for it. Not only did the sun warm me, now their night optics and thermal devices did not give them an extra advantage.
My 45 Sig Saur was running low on ammo, with my remaining magazine down to seven bullets. But I was getting close to my destination. For the moment I had again slipped away from them but I had left a good blood trail. All night I had worked my way westward, closer to the edge of the Bench. It was not far now but my leg was bleeding badly. Again, I needed to try and stop the bleeding.
Ahead of me was a short ravine that was choked full of scrub oak and brush. It was steep and emptied into a deep wash with a broad sandy bottom. The broad sandy bottom stretched forty yards and then bent out of sight behind the massive roots of a dead ponderosa pine tree. There were not a lot of ponderosa pines on the Bench but the ones that grew here were big. This one had been a patriarch of its time but was now dead. It had fallen, ripping its roots from the right bank of the wash. How old this tree was, I could only guess but it had died long before my father’s time. The bark had fallen off the trunk and the bare wood was weathered grey with golden streaks of pitch running its length.
I worked my way down into the thicket of the small ravine and sat beside a large sandstone rock that the rainwater had exposed. I pulled my pack off my back, took out my canteen and finished off the last of my water. Next I took out my first aid kit. This was the second effort to wrap the bullet wound. In the night I had scarcely been able to find the time to put a wrap around my leg.
Now I took the old bloody wrap off my leg and cut away part of my pants to examine the wound. It was not a pretty sight but I could tell that they were shooting FMJ ball. Full Metal Jacket. That was fortunate, for the bullet had passed cleanly through my thigh without fragmenting. Had they been shooting frangible bullets, like the ones I shot, I would now be dead from blood loss.
With two fresh pads of gauze and a new roll of vet wrap, I re-wrapped my leg. I could stand and put pressure on my leg. I could even make a hobble run for short distances. I was glad for that, as I may need to do so before I reached the Indian cave.
Only by Blood and Suffering: Regaining Lost Freedom Page 25