Escaping Vegas

by Dennis Elder

  Ivan tied his large white handkerchief to the end of a long stick and walked out into the middle of Northbound freeway. He waived he branch back and forth for a few minutes and then began walking forward. He left his rifle back in his tent. Even though the temperature was still close to freezing, he left his jacket in his tent as well.

  Fourteen of the remaining twenty five convicts collected along the top of the road and watched their brute leader walk down the hill and out onto the flat of the road. Beaver held his rifle at the ready and watched with anticipation.

  Mark and his crew watched the man walk toward them. Mark could see the white flag and knew what it meant. But he’d learned never to trust a man with a white flag. It usually meant they were desperate. Mark and his group didn’t react. He passed the word for everyone to keep down in their present positions.

  After a few minutes the man stopped about half way across the valley. He continued to wave his flag from time to time. Once and a while he’d motioned toward Mark’s group like he wanted someone to come down and talk - like he wanted to discuss something.

  “Maybe he needs wants to trade something,” he wondered to himself. “I’d be willing to trade if it would get rid of them.”

  After another thirty minutes of waiting, Mark finally decided he would go down and find out what the man wanted. The Major was also feeling pressure to resolve the current impasse. And to get moving again and find some decent shelter. He left his bushmaster inside his sleeping bag and talked with Frank for a minute.

  “We need to get going again, Frank,” said Mark. “We can’t last much longer out here. Maybe I can encourage the guy that he’s fighting a losing battle and that he should turn back.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” said Frank.

  “Maybe,” replied Mark. “But we need to do something to break this stalemate.”

  Then Mark turned to Frank.

  “You’re in command until I return,” said Mark as he set off down the freeway’s hill toward the man in the middle of the valley.

  “Just make sure you do,” said Mark, watching his commanding officer walk away.

  After walking about fifty yards the radio in Mark’s shirt pocket suddenly barked. It was Jake.

  “Scout one, scout one,” said Jake. “You read me Major, over?”

  Mark knew Jake would argue with him on this one. But he lifted out the radio and replied.

  “Loud and clear, over,” replied Mark.

  “You know this is not a good idea, sir, over,” said Jake.

  “Yea, maybe,” said Mark. “But I’m hoping I can encourage the guy to give up so we can get moving again. We’re running out of supplies and the weather is going to start killing us if we don’t find shelter soon, over.”

  Jake didn’t have any response to that. He just didn’t like the idea of Mark putting himself out on a limb like this.

  “Yea,” resounded Jake. “I hear ya. But I’ll keep an eye on him just the same. And by the way, he’s a pretty big guy, strong looking. So watch yourself.”

  “I noticed, and I appreciate the advice. But remember, hold on to your remaining rounds in case we need them. You know there is always one more thing in a situation like this. Leave the guy to me if he wants to fight. And that’s a direct order, over and out,” finished Mark.

  “Right, always one more thing,” said Jake to himself, slightly adjusting his position to try and keep warm. Mark always preached no matter how much you prepared for a battle, there was always one more thing.

  Jake watched the big man through the advanced sights on his sniper rifle. He tapped the magazine on the rock to his right and slipped the remaining six round clip into the massive gun. Then he tried to get comfortable.

  After a few more minutes Mark finally got close enough to the man with the white flag to appreciate what Jake was talking about.

  The guy was massive. His forearms bulged with huge meaty hands forced out at the cuffs. The shirt collar around his neck was stretched to its limit. He had a strange smile on his face, like he’d come to meet a long lost friend. His arms were outstretched and his hands were open, demonstrating he carried no weapon.

  Mark continued to walk forward. The only weapon he carried was his trusty special forces K-Bar fighting knife. When he was five yards away from the man he stopped.

  “Good afternoon,” started Mark. “Beautiful day.”

  Ivan grin grew every broader as reached forward with his hand out stretched, hoping for a handshake.

  “It is indeed,” said Ivan.

  When the big Russian took a step forward, Mark suddenly raised his hand.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, friend,” said Mark. He said it with such authority that Ivan stopped his forward motion.

  “Let’s get to know each other a bit before we press the flesh,” said Mark.

  Ivan didn’t lose his smile but relaxed his posture. He needed to distract the man for a while longer for his plan to work.

  “Of course,” said Ivan. “In my country we tend to embrace first and then talk. I forget you Americans are so formal.”

  There was a strange quiet between the two men as the next few seconds passed. Mark sensed something was up.

  “Ok,” said Mark. “You asked for this pow wow, what’s on your mind?”

  “Pow wow,” said Ivan, quizzically. “I find your language is so interesting. I can never find end to all the sayings. Pow wow is Indian term, correct. For talking, yes?”

  “Yes,” answered Mark. “And you asked me to come out here. So, what is it I can do for you?”

  Ivan continued to talk without answering Mark’s question. It was obvious he was stalling. Mark noticed the man had moved a little closer with each question. “He was good at it too,” thought Mark to himself. “Smooth.”

  “But for what,” wondered Mark, as he looked South across the valley and past the big man.

  Ivan noticed Mark’s gaze shift.

  “Do not worry, my friend,” said Ivan. “I am not sending more soldiers forward today. I am interested in peaceful exploration of mutual interests.”

  “What kind of mutual interests?” asked Mark.

  As promised Jake kept his eye and sniper rifle focused on the big man standing a few yards from Mark. He was worried about his commanding officer. Something didn’t feel right to him. The bad guys across the valley weren’t moving.

  “What was it?” he wondered.

  Then Jake jerked up straight. It suddenly dawned on him that there were only about 15 of the remaining 25 bad guys standing up at the South end of the valley. Jake had been keeping count of the convicts after each attack. Ten of the men were missing.

  The human eye is a magnificent device. It can focus and re-focus at close and distant objects in an instant. It’s self-lubricating and rarely needs maintenance. But the most wonderful thing about the human eye is its ability to sense movement. The twitch of a single leaf or a small animal running across a field is immediately noticed.

  When Jake temporarily pulled back from his sniper rifle’s scope, his eye noticed movement at the extreme right of his peripheral vision. He’d always had exception peripheral vision. He quickly turned his big gun ninety degrees to the West and search the ground below him. After a few seconds he saw the missing ten men. They had come around the hills on the West side of the valley and gotten around their flanks. They’d climbed up high above Tyrone and the others positions on the West side of the freeway. The man standing in the valley road below had been a distraction and had kept everyone’s attention on the South. The ten men were coming down the hill now with their guns in front of them. Jake had only a fraction of a second to react.

  The first fifty caliber bullet rammed through the chest of the first man, just as he brought his AK-47 rifle up to his shoulder. Luckily the big bullet also struck the man behind him in the hip, shattering the bone and leaving a fist sized hole where the back of his leg met the cheek of his right butt.

  The sound of Jake’
s gun reverberated through the valley. The suddenness of the sound turned Mark around instinctively. That was just what Ivan was waiting for. The big Russian lunged forward. In one sweeping move he had perfected over a lifetime of crime and murder, he pulled his big hunting knife out from behind his back and slashed out violently at Mark. The Major was certainly caught off-guard but his training taught him to rush the man instead of pulling back. This confused Ivan, and saved Mark’s life. The Major trapped the big man’s knife and arm under his left armpit and used his forehead to head butt the guy. Ivan was shocked at the impact. Ivan’s lunge forward, the one Ivan had used so many times had always taken his prey down with one quick stroke.

  The big Russian stumbled back a few steps to regain his composure. Then he smiled again.

  Mark couldn’t believe the guy was still standing. He’d only head butted a few people in his life, but nobody had every remained upright.

  Ivan bowed his head slightly in a gesture of respect.

  “You are good adversary,” said Ivan. “Strong too. So, you have my respect. No one has every escaped me before. I will enjoy killing you.”

  The Russian began to move around to Mark’s left side. But Mark moved the same way to counter. Ivan stopped. Nobody had ever done that to him before.

  Jake pulled back on the gun’s big bolt and sighted in on the next man to the West. He was running forward and bringing up his gun. This time the bullet caught the man in the throat and violently punched him back and down the steep slope of the hill.

  “I will kill you and your men,” shouted Ivan, hoping to intimidate. “Then we will take the women for ourselves.”

  Slowly Mark pulled out his K-Bar knife from the sheath he kept strapped along his back belt.

  “Well,” said Mark as he flipped the knife from one hand to the other. “You can certainly try.”

  Jake was still worried about Mark, but he kept his primary focus on the trail where the men had come forward earlier. He counted at least ten men earlier and he knew more might come forward anytime. Suddenly three men appeared.

  Jake took careful aim and shot down each man before they could fire down on Tyrone and the others.

  “Only one shot left,” said Jake to himself.

  Just then another man presented himself to Jake. But the man halted before going any farther. Jake could see the man’s face. He was looked down at his other five comrades that were dead on the trail in front of him. The man looked around and up the hill to try and discover where the gunman was that had killed the men at his feet. He was clearly panicked, not knowing what to do.

  Jake was also wondering what to do to. He had one bullet left. And then he remembered what Mark had said earlier about one more thing. “There’s always one more thing,” Jake remembered. He could shoot the man to the West easily, but he had a strong feeling he might need that bullet for something else. “Maybe that’s the one more thing,” he thought.

  And then the man in his gun sights, suddenly turned back and headed down the trail. He ran into a few others and vigorously waved them back. Then they all turned and moved back down the hill and away from Tyrone’s exposed flank. Jake kept the cross hairs on the last man’s back until the group disappeared around a rocky outcropping. When he was certain the men had given up, he turned his big gun back and focused on Mark and the big guy in the valley below.

  While Jake was away, Ivan had made several unsuccessful attempts to slash at Mark. He’d make contact only once and the wound was across Mark’s left thigh.

  “You move well for such big man,” complimented Ivan. “I am enjoying our game.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself,” said Mark. “I’ve been enjoying myself as well. Too bad we need to end it.”

  “And end it we will” shouted Ivan and he lunged forward again.

  Jake had his cross hairs on the big man’s chest. He could certainly hit the guy, if he would just stop moving so unpredictably.

  “Hold still you big jerk,” whispered Jake to himself. “Don’t you realize I’m trying to kill you.”

  But Jake was still struggling with even taking the shot. He only had one bullet left. He’d only get one chance. And Mark’s comment about one more thing was making him hesitate again.

  Down on the road the big Russian was getting a little tired. He realized he needed to end the fight soon. So, he stood up and faked that he would surrender.

  “I realize now that I cannot defeat you,” said Ivan, bowing his head in shame.

  But Mark wasn’t buying it.

  “Great,” replied Mark. “Then I’ll give you a choice.”

  “Choice?” responded Ivan. “What is choice?”

  “Leave the knife with me and tell your buddies back there to get the hell out of here!” barked Mark with real anger in his voice.

  Ivan hadn’t been threatened by anyone in a long time. It took a lot of composure to keep from running this man down and breaking his neck with his bare hands.

  “No one has talked to me like that for a long time,” said Ivan, as his grin disappeared from his face.

  Mark let the man stew a bit. Worst thing you could do in a knife fight is loose your cool.

  “Well I am, pussy boy!” shouted Mark, with an even greater derogatory tone.

  Something deep within Ivan broke. It was like a branch snapped in his head and all reason left. He moved fast with all the energy he could muster, charging and screaming at Mark. But the ex-special forces Ranger waited until the man’s weight was full forward. Then Mark stepped to the side, lifted his k-bar knife to about shoulder height and let his blade stretch out toward Ivan’s exposed neck. Then the man’s full 267 pounds worked its way across Mark’s razor sharp blade. Just simple physics.

  The move was so fast, so fluid that Ivan didn’t even realize he’d been cut until he’d turned back around again to face the man. Then he looked down suddenly and noticed the blood across his chest. When he reached up to touch his throat he found the right side of his neck had been cut wide open. He stood there defiantly gritting through his now red stained teeth. After a few seconds he finally fell to the ground and his favorite diamond handled knife clattered to the road. Two of the big diamonds came loose and settled in a road crack ten inches from Ivan face. It was the last thing he saw before bleeding out. Mark stood over the man for a few more seconds before finally sheathing his own knife.

  Beaver watched the entire fight through his binoculars. He couldn’t believe it when Ivan went down on the ground and stayed there. The man below had killed his leader. Enraged, the last Boy Scout pulled up his automatic rifle and shot down at the man standing over Ivan’s body. It was about half a mile to the center of the valley and his first burst of fire struck the pavement twenty yards in front of Mark.

  The bullets ricochet off the ground and a fragment of the second bullet caught Mark just above his right ankle. The pain was searing and he dropped to the ground.

  Although Mark could not hear him, Beaver shouted in triumph.

  “Got um,” he shouted. “Did you see that shot?” he shouted at the other men on the road near him. “Best shot I ever made,” screamed Beaver again.

  Jake also watched what happened through his big gun’s scope.

  “Shit,” he said to himself as he raised his fifty caliber rifle, scanning the South end of road for the guy who had shot the Major.

  Mark suddenly realized he might be in trouble. He couldn’t walk and he was out in the open. The only cover he could see was Ivan’s big body lying on the road a few yards behind him. He began to crawl toward it.

  Frank suddenly stood up from his concealed position. He’d been watching the fight with the big binoculars.

  “Come on Mark,’’ he said out loud. “Get out of there.”

  Tyrone stood up too. He’d been watching through his SmartScope. Tyrone dropped his rifle moved down the hill quickly and started running toward Mark.

  “Keep down Major,” thought Tyrone as he ran down to the freeway road as fast as he coul
d.

  Behind him came Frank, as fast he could too. But they were a long way away from their commanding officer.

  Beaver let off another three round burst and the bullets arched out and landed ten yards beyond Ivan’s body. They pinged harmlessly off the concrete. But the Boy Scout had the man below bracketed. He’d fired short and long and now he’d adjust the angle of his gun between the middle of both.

  Two of the next three bullets hit Ivan across his back. Thankfully the distance of the shot slowed the velocity of the bullets considerably, and so they couldn’t penetrate his thick torso and reach Mark, who had crawled up tight behind the dead man’s body.