by Joe Nobody
Zach turned and peered into his prisoner’s eyes, finding them full of hatred and burning with anger.
“A comrade of yours?” the ranger asked.
Ghost nodded and then pleaded. “Let me go, Bass. Unlock these cuffs and give me my knife. I promise you’ll have one less ISIS prick to deal with.”
The ranger was tempted but didn’t. Ghost was just too damned sneaky. For all Zach knew the man would go sell the ISIS shooters information about their weakened, ammo-starved position in the ditch.
Ghost seemed exceptionally frustrated with the ranger’s decision.
It was 20 minutes before they came again. Zach spotted the first three using the original avenue of approach. The Turk watched three more approach from the north.
But it was the two from the south that managed to get dangerously close before Zach spied them. Rolling hard to his left, the ranger was chased by puffs of silt as the two assaulters opened up.
Zach didn’t have time to aim – they were that close. Sweeping several rounds right to left, he did his best to knock the flankers out of the fight. One man went down, but the other kept coming.
In a flash, the attacker was up close and personal. Zach ducked a whistling rifle butt, his right leg striking at the foe’s knee. The shimmering steel of a knife blade slashed by Zach's face as the Texan palmed his .45. Zach retreated two steps before the big pistol cleared his robe. The aggressor went down after a second shot to the chest.
As the Texan bent to pick up the fallen man’s rifle and ammo, the desert erupted in tiny geysers of stinging sand and zipping lead. The other two teams of ISIS thugs were now almost on them.
Zach abandoned the weaponry, diving for the gully as the incoming fire hounded his leap. The major and the Turk were pumping covering fire, but it didn’t seem to slow the attackers one bit. Splinters from the wagon’s wooden sides created a storm of biting shrapnel as the ISIS fighters honed their aim.
Regaining his feet, Zach joined their defense, the third weapon quickly turning the tide. Once again, the remaining assaulters faded away.
It took a bit for Zach to get his breath, the Texan drinking in lungs full of the hot desert air. “You know they’ll wait for nightfall, don’t you?” Ghost said from the ditch. “They’ve got a good feel for your defenses now. They know exactly what they’re up against.”
“You almost seem happy about that,” Zach snapped back. “I wonder who they’ll behead first. Me or you?”
Major Hoffer interrupted the banter. “Zach, our Turkish friend has been hit.”
He hadn’t uttered a word of complaint, the major accidently noting the growing circle of blood on the pilot’s shirt. “I am fine,” grumbled the swarthy flyer. “It is only a small thing.”
But the ranger found that not to be the case. A bullet had shattered the man’s shoulder blade and entered his chest. It was bleeding badly.
Zach and the major did their best, applying pressure and makeshift bandages while taking turns keeping a lookout. Ghost continued his narration.
“If he dies, the Turkish government isn’t going to believe you did your best to save him. That’s going to look very odd in their eyes.”
“Just a minute ago, you were sure all of us were going to die. What difference does it make who goes first?” Zach retorted.
When Ghost didn’t answer, the ranger’s gaze returned west. It would be dark is less than two hours, and he knew the terrorist was right. They would come in then, and the chances of stopping them were next to zero.
“I’m down to 11 rounds,” the major announced, adding to the melancholy scene.
Zach checked his rifle and found the situation even worse. “You’re flush,” he informed the Air Force officer. “I’m down to eight.”
“I’ve got movement,” announced the specialist, his eyes glued to the pedestal-mounted optics, or big eye binoculars. “At 1400 meters west by southwest. Not sure what it is, though. It looks like a horse.”
Several men were scrambling now, rushing to their fighting positions. The sergeant, after making sure his squad members were all in the right place, approached the observer. “Did you say a horse?”
“Yes, Sergeant. That’s what it looks like. There’s a lot of heat mirage with the sun so low, but it sure looks like a horse to me.”
“What are the hajis up to now?” another voice from down the line chided. “Suicide horses? Does it have an explosive saddle?”
The remark drew a few chuckles, everyone but the sergeant finding the concept humorous. “Let me have a look,” ordered the NCO.
The two airborne troopers exchanged places, the sergeant’s eyes moving to what amounted to a massive set of binoculars mounted on a tripod. After a minute, he announced, “Well I’ll be damned. It does look like a horse. I would’ve thought the locals would have eaten them all by now.”
Again, nervous chuckles sounded from the line of defenders.
Their fighting position was located on the western edge of the Texas Airborne’s occupation of the Tabqa dam. All along the massive structure, the invading parachute infantry had constructed berms, sandbagged pits, and excavated a complex network of trenches to deny ISIS access to the dam, and more specifically its critical turbines and rectifiers.
For the first few weeks, the local ISIS contingent had tried an assortment of tactics to dislodge the Texans. There had been skirmishes, suicide bombers, mortar attacks, and even women approaching the lines – complete with vests laced with explosives.
The rules of engagement given the Texas soldiers were simple. No person or thing was allowed inside the warning zone. Period. End of story. Anyone or anything that crossed that line was to be engaged and destroyed. “Light ’em up like Bagdad on a Saturday night,” the commander had ordered.
The horse, spurred by the smell of the lake behind the dam, was getting close.
“Turn away,” the sergeant mumbled as if the animal could hear him. “I don’t want to shoot such a magnificent steed. Turn away and go back home.”
But the horse didn’t listen and couldn’t read the warning signed posted in front of the Airborne’s positions.
“Damn it, he’s going to come in,” the NCO complained. “And he’s a good-looking mount. A real Arabian chestnut with a high step. What a shame. I had one like that back home. It took first prize in the Cass County 4-H Fair when I was a kid.”
The stallion eventually progressed to a point where the sergeant could get a good look through the massive lenses. It was a curiosity for bored men who spent endless days scanning the empty desert.
“He’s got a hat tied to the saddle,” came the next report. “What the hell… that’s a Texas Longhorn hat. Where the fuck did that come from?”
The discovery created quite the curiosity up and down the line. It was the specialist who spoke next, “Sir, wasn’t there something in the briefing about a Texas Ranger trying to bring in that downed pilot?”
The reminder drew the sergeant’s face away from the eyepiece, a scowl wrinkling his forehead. “Get me the LT on the radio.”
As it turned out, the officer on duty liked horses, too. In an unprecedented breach of a long-standing order, with the commanding colonel’s approval, of course, a lone HUMVEE raced from the Texas perimeter, bouncing across the desert floor toward the still meandering mount.
The animal was lured closer by a handful of sugar. As the sergeant tied the stallion to the Humvee’s bumper, the driver radioed back. “This hat has the initials Zebra Baker written inside the brim. Can somebody get on the horn with battalion and find out what that ranger’s name was?”
Ghost was lucky to be alive. Damn lucky.
Zach’s nerves were shot, his temper short. The ranger was exhausted, thirsty, and quite sure he was a dead man.
That made every snarky, smart-ass remark by the terrorist strike bone. Zach counted the rounds remaining in his sidearm. Surely sticking a barrel in Ghost’s pie hole and pulling the trigger won’t affect the outcome of the upcoming battle
, he pondered. Nothing but bullshit ever spews forth from that mouth. Zach could fix that.
The ranger’s line of thinking commandeered him along a bumpy mental road. In due course, he psychologically arrived at the recollection of Hinton’s death and Ghost’s contribution to the tragedy.
In the mad rush to rescue the downed pilots, Zach hadn’t had the opportunity to debrief his prisoner on the events of that day. While they rushed around preparing for a quick insertion into Syria, Zach had managed to quiz the contractor about several things. He was saving Buck’s death for a time when he could extract every little detail.
And Ghost was talking.
About the oilfield equipment… “One of my better ideas, and quite inexpensive to execute. My clients got a lot of mileage out of that one.”
About the auctioneer’s death… “That one is on you. If you and your lovely partner hadn’t been such bird dogs, that old man and his wife would still be alive.”
Between gathering equipment, caring for the injuries both men suffered during their fight, making travel arrangements, and procuring weapons locally, there hadn’t been all that much time for debriefing the international mercenary. Now, Zach wanted to explode the man’s brain, not pump it.
I’ve already got the files, Zach thought, building justification for an execution.
For a hired killer who was such a fussbudget about erasing his tracks, Ghost had maintained extremely detailed documentation of his adventures. Encrypted, digitalized, and impossible to access without the proper codes and passwords, the terrorist had provided the ranger with a copy. The two memory sticks had already been shipped to Major Putnam. Zach could kill him and still unravel the details later.
The parallels of their current situation with that day in Arkansas came to the ranger’s attention. The terrorists, along with Ghost, had been in the farmhouse. Or at least that’s what Zach, Buck, and Sam had believed.
The lawmen had been positive they had their quarry pinned down inside the structure.
And yet, in a matter of seconds, the trappers had become the trapped.
The ranger was confident that little trick had been all Ghost’s doing. He had to hand it to the man – he understood small unit tactics.
Now, the boot was on the other foot. Now, it was Zach and his team who were waiting for the final assault that would surely overrun the gully. They were the ones pinned down, just like Ghost’s men back in Arkansas.
Then an idea popped into Zach’s weary mind. Why couldn’t they pull off the same trick? Could they make the trapper the trapped?
Zach watched as the last quarter of the sun slipped below the horizon. They would be coming soon. And it would be over quickly.
“Why not?” Zach hissed, standing abruptly and scanning down the gully. “Why do we have to be here when they come in? Why can’t we pull a Ghost?”
The ranger then checked the level of light. He couldn’t identify the vehicles on the ridge; they probably couldn’t see Zach. “Get up,” he whispered to Hoffer and Ghost. We’re moving.”
“Well it’s a miracle,” Ghost responded, understanding the plan instantly. “The Texan is using his head and not his brawn.”
Zach and Hoffer carried the Turk between them, the four men staying low so as not to alert the ISIS shooters. Forty feet down the gully they stopped.
The ranger returned to the overturned wagon, arranging the few articles they’d left behind into human outlines. It was weak, but if it bought them just a few seconds, it was worth it.
Thirty minutes later, three shadows rose from the ground, less than 20 feet from the wagon, and began spraying automatic fire into the gully. Zach and the major dropped all three using less than six shots, the ISIS muzzle flashes making excellent targets against the black night.
Zach’s trick had experienced limited success. Whoever was running the show on the other side hadn’t sent in all of their men, and now they knew their prey had relocated.
To make matters worse, the ranger would have sworn he heard engine noises during the brief firefight. No doubt, the ISIS troops were being reinforced. He was down to a handful of rounds, as was the major.
Zach lost track of time, his eyes desperately scanning for the final assault, the ranger’s mind working overtime, trying to figure a way out… a way to live.
The ground erupted in front of the ranger’s face, signaling it was on. The Texan spotted the white twinkles in the night and used them as aiming points. And then the AK was empty.
He threw down the worthless long gun and raised his pistol.
The incoming fire was overwhelming and relentless, driving the Texan down and into the bottom of the ditch. The major’s rifle was empty as well, the officer hugging the bank, his pistol poised for the final showdown.
Zach’s eyes remained fixed, his weapon ready for that first head to appear over the edge. He’d take one more with him… one last shot before the ISIS fighters sprayed the bottom of the gully and killed all of them.
The volume of gunfire seemed to increase, echoing and rumbling through the ditch’s narrow banks. Zach wondered why they were wasting so much ammo. And then, from behind them, a body leaped over the gully and vanished before Zach could pull the trigger. Then another… and then a half dozen men were flying over the ranger’s head.
The sounds of battle continued but seemed to be moving away from the holdout’s trench. Zach replayed the surprise appearance in his head, a smile lighting up his face. “Throw your gun down and act dead, Major. Go on. Do it.”
A few moments later, all the shooting stopped.
“You in the ditch, identify yourselves,” a voice demanded in English. “You are surrounded by the Texas Airborne. Identify yourselves immediately, or we will kill you.”
Zach inhaled, speaking loud and clear to the desert night. “Zachariah Bass, Texas Ranger, and party. Stand down; we’re coming out. God in heaven, please don’t shoot us.”
Zach watched the medic working on the Turk and Major Hoffer. Once satisfied the two pilots were being well cared for, he left in search of Ghost.
“Where’s the fourth man from the ditch?” the ranger asked a nearby lieutenant. “He was handcuffed.”
The young officer seemed confused by the question. “There were only three of you in the ditch, sir. You and the two pilots.”
“No,” Zach replied, shaking his head, “There was a fourth man… my prisoner.”
To be double sure, the officer called over a sergeant and two privates. They all confirmed that only three men were pulled from the slight gully.
Ghost was gone.
“He can’t be far,” Zach hissed, scanning the area. “He’s critical to my investigation and unraveling this entire mess. Help me find him.”
The LT started barking orders, a few of the troopers grumbling after thinking the operation was over. Zach observed men strapping on night vision and moving out in small groups, weapons at the ready.
Thirty minutes later, the LT updated Ranger Bass. “Sir, there’s no sign of your man, but we did locate your handcuffs.”
“Where?”
“They are around the neck of a dead guy up by the vehicles. Damn near squeezed the dude’s head off.”
Maybe it was the adrenaline bleeding off, perhaps just an emotional reaction to being alive. Zach started laughing.
“Ghost,” he shouted to the desert night. “You son of a bitch. I know you’re out there. We will meet again… you’ve got the word of a Texas Ranger on that.”
Ranger’s Bass and Temple stood at attention in front of Major Putnam’s desk.
“Welcome back, Rangers. Your satisfactory performance during this last episode will be noted in your files. I know President Simmons and Colonel Bowmark wanted to be here personally, but they are in Galveston, welcoming back the first of our troops returning from Syria.”
Satisfactory? Zach thought. That’s high praise from the major.
Putnam closed a folder and then continued, “Turkey has pledged to close i
ts border as part of our agreement to withdraw our forces. While I’m actually quite skeptical that our new friends will keep their word, everyone over in the capital building wanted out of that mess anyway. And we did hurt ISIS significantly. I heard one of the commanding generals speculate that our efforts set them back at least a year.”
Don’t mess with Texas, Zach wanted to say.
“As a result of the files you recovered from this Ghost fellow, the international community now has a face dripping with egg. While the formal apologies haven’t exactly flooded our inboxes, most of the import bans on our products have been lifted. There are even a few rumors of additional contracts in negotiation.”
Sam cleared her throat, “Sir, what about the U.S. troops on our border?”
Putnam actually chuckled, an occurrence that Zach would definitely mark on his calendar as history making. The major reached in his drawer and produced a photograph. “I’m going to have this framed in honor of the event. One of our rangers on the Oklahoma border sent it to me yesterday.”
Zach and Sam detected a large group of men standing around a massive meat smoker and several BBQ grills. The crowd was a mixture of U.S. Army soldiers and civilians, most of the non-military wearing western hats. Practically everyone was saluting the cameraman with a beer.
“It seems the confrontation at the border has turned into the world’s largest rib cook-off. President Clifton announced her troops would begin returning to their posts tomorrow.”
She’s probably worried her elite fighting men will get fat and slow after all that rib meat and beer, Zach thought.
“Any questions?”
Zach spoke for the first time, “Sir, I’d like to get back up to Crenshaw and finish up that case.”
Putnam frowned and shook his head, “I’m afraid that’s not going to happen, Ranger Bass. The attorney general has decided not to press charges.”
“Sir? Those men are corrupt and taking advantage of.…”
The major raised his hand, stopping Zach mid-sentence. “With all of the bad blood between Washington and Austin, higher powers decided an extensive trial isn’t in the Republic’s best interest right now. A trial, I might add, that would expose Texas officials taking advantage of U.S. citizens. Some of the people in the president’s office think the timing is terrible and that a lot of publicity might open wounds that are just beginning to heal.”