The World On Fire

by Boyd Craven III

  “Get your teams in place. We do not have enough men,” he said and then nodded to Caitlin who was rolling her eyes, “and women, to stop this. I’ve already alerted Laughlin, and they have some Apaches they moved yesterday as a ‘just in case’ measure.”

  “How’d you pull that one off, sugar?” Caitlin asked her accent thick in the Alabama man’s ears.

  “I’m still a wanted man,” he told the group, “but if I’m giving intel, they’re at least listening.”

  “You hope,” Tex said with a grin.

  “They didn’t share their plans with me,” John said, “but I think they’re at a heightened state of alertness at least.”

  “Instead of what?” Caitlin, the former model, asked.

  “Instead of head in ass syndrome,” Tex answered, and then laughed when she flipped him off.

  “Hold on,” John said, putting a finger over his earwig to listen harder, “Ok here comes the push. We don’t have the numbers to stop them, but I want to bloody them and make them pay for every inch.”

  “John,” Tex asked, “Sandra was asking earlier if we’d heard from the advanced team. I haven’t, but I was wondering if you had any last minute intel?”

  “No, I haven’t. Whoever they are must have balls the size of this state though.”

  “Wait, you don’t know?” Tex asked him stunned.

  “No, who is it?” John asked, knowing he was going to hate the answer, judging by the way the couple in front of him were suddenly interested in their combat boots.

  “Michael and King,” Caitlin said when Tex didn’t answer.

  John wanted to stomp, curse and throttle the boy, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to lose it in front of his team, but he was close to it.

  “How do you know?” he asked finally.

  “I was relaying messages back to the Homestead earlier when you were on call to Laughlin. I had one earlier from them, much earlier, and passed it on to Sandra. She wanted to know if they had checked back in, but I hadn’t heard anything.”

  “What the hell are they doing? What was King thinking?” John was furious.

  “Well, about that… Apparently King and Sandra have some history.”

  “Really?” John said mildly, trying not to let the anger and sarcasm boil over.

  “He was her war daddy.”

  That stopped John dead in his tracks.

  “Are you sure?” A chill ran down his spine, making his skin break out into goosebumps.

  “She said war daddy,” Caitlin confirmed.

  John ran his hands through his hair. He needed a cut and a shave, but he hadn’t had time for that. They’d been fighting small sorties and worrying Khalid’s scouting teams off and on for weeks. They had been planning to stage an assault team near Spafford where the auxiliary airfield was, but it was just an abandoned stretch of asphalt now, with the real action fixing to push across the border in their way.

  “You seem to respect this Sandra,” Tex said, “and if Michael is with the guy who trained her… You got no worries.”

  “What if he becomes like us? What if he becomes like me?” John said quietly.

  Michael had already had to kill, on more than one occasion. The kid had a natural talent with the pistols, but the really dangerous part of the kid was his fearlessness. He was a quick study and had mastered just about anything he’d set his mind to. That made John think of his own son, and felt a pang of guilt knowing he was in a safer country than either America or Mexico now. Still, Michael had almost been like a second son to him and he didn’t want to see him hurt.

  “What, a good soldier, leader and man?” Tex asked, an eyebrow raised.

  “If they’re out here, where’s his mother?” John asked, diverting.

  They’d all grown close, but only John had known the whole family.

  “I think she’s at the Homestead. Some lady with the same last name was sitting in for David, with Patty teaching her how to work the comm gear.

  John sighed with relief.

  “We have the traps and the escape routes all set?” ge asked suddenly, changing the subject as things got uncomfortable.

  “Gone over them a dozen or more times.” Tex said.

  “Good, let’s get ready, because here they come.”

  * * *

  Portable mortars had been brought in by trucks and ATVs, and every member of the New Caliphate who marched, carried rounds for them. Their first strike would have to disable the airfield and the helicopters that were parked there. Many of the mortars had been set up days in advance, and teams left hidden in the heat, for the bugs and spiders to chew on as they waited. They knew the time was close, and they were anticipating the orders at any moment. Their biggest worry was if any of the aircraft were loaded out, or any of the Apaches took off, the New Caliphate’s main thrust into the country would be thwarted.

  “Begin operations,” Khalid’s voice spoke from the radio.

  The first targets had been the helicopters. When they had been moved a day ago, the teams had moved some and then redone their aiming and measurements. Three teams all started launching at the two Apaches sitting there.

  An air raid siren went off, and men on base started running. Then the mortars and Artillery opened up from a distance. The men of the New Caliphate rose up out of their hiding places in the desert and started marching the last mile to their targets, knowing that many of them would have to take over the mortar teams jobs if one should fall. Each carried at least one or two rounds to be dropped off to selected teams.

  Explosions, gunfire and screams filled the air. Men on both sides of the fence died, but the losses from the shelling was horrifying. Many of the men and equipment had been stashed a long while back. Raiding teams had come and gone across many border states of Mexico probing, but this stretch had seemed to Khalid, the easiest way of flooding into the country, so the plans were drawn. When the cargo ships full of Jihadists landed, they moved en mass to designated points. The cartels had handled the organizing from the beach front and, other than food and day to day supplies, the New Caliphate had been armed for war.

  “Sir,” a voice with an Afrikaans accent told Khalid, “I’m getting reports of landmines and IEDs. Another force is attacking us from the East.”

  “What? How large?” Khalid demanded.

  “Small, maybe twenty or thirty individuals.”

  “Wipe them out if they become more of a nuisance,” he said. “Our priority is to dismantle and disable that airfield and any equipment that can be scrambled.”

  “Yes sir. They seemed prepared for our guys on landing, but initial reports are showing that the artillery barrage has worked well. All helicopters are disabled and the airfield is being shelled to make it impossible to land a plane of any sort.”

  “Good,” Khalid said, putting the binoculars back up and surveying from a distance. “Very good.”

  13

  “How many do you see?” Michael asked, putting his pack down.

  “Two,” King said, meaning the tent where they’d seen the two prisoners being held.

  They’d almost moved out when the pair had been dragged out of the tent, but there was a sudden burst of activity and many of the men in camp had started breaking things down, or loading stuff into pickup truck beds.

  “I count two myself,” Michael said, “and about eight or ten more walking, but I can’t get a good count.”

  King lowered his pack as well. They’d been kneeling, the powdery sand sticking to their sweat-soaked clothing and skin.

  “Take a few mags. Don’t rattle,” he said, looking the boy over.

  “You think I’ve got too much?” Michael asked.

  “Probably. You’re young. Maybe you like the pain.”

  “No, no sir,” Michael said with a grin, “I’ve been watching the tent flap. When the leader walked out, they were sitting and tied to the center pole.

  “Saw that,” King said. “We either take the two men out silently, or we take on the whole camp. Yo
u any good sneaking?”

  “Just what you’ve taught me,” Michael said feeling for his knife, a bowie.

  “Good. I’ll go first, you back me up. If hell breaks loose, stick to the plan.”

  “No problem.”

  King looked the kid over and nodded. He’d shouldered his M4, but his colts were within easy reach. So was the big knife the kid had carried since day one after breaking out of the camp. He started moving slowly, using the natural brush to cover him, as he made his way closer to the camp. A lot of it had been taken down with the move, but the men who were left were packing up what remained, with exception of the command tent and the one where Brad and the girl, Maria, were being held. Everyone else was busy, so they weren’t paying attention.

  Neither was one of the guards. He’d pulled a stool up and rested against a support rope. His head kept nodding as he woke up and fell back asleep in a pattern that many would liken to an infant fighting off bedtime. Still, the other guard was the more alert of the two. He kept shooting disgusted looks at his partner and would kick at his feet until the sleepy man pulled a pistol and aimed it at him.

  “Ok, here I go,” King said.

  King pulled the stiletto out of his boot, and advanced slowly. The alert guard had turned his back and started walking towards the command tent when King fell into step behind him. The others were looking the other direction and, when King grabbed the man, one meaty hand crushing his throat and picking him up, no one noticed. It was when the neck snapped that the sleepy guard looked up. Almost seven feet of ugly was staring at him.

  “I— “

  Michael moved quickly, plunging the knife deep into his back between the third and fourth ribs, one hand over his mouth. He could have crushed the man’s windpipe like King did, but he had thought it out. When the man quit twitching, Michael pulled his knife free and rubbed a handful of sand on the blade before wiping it with his own pant leg.

  “Why not his?” he asked as Michael started arranging the body.

  “He went to go dig a hole and kill a tree,” Michael said pointing with the bowie, “this one fell asleep.” He kicked the powdery loose dirt over the blood so it wasn’t so sharp.

  The moist red liquid was swallowed by the dry sand immediately, and he pushed more over it so it wasn’t obvious.

  They dragged the body inside the tent and dropped it in front of the man.

  14

  I could tell that Maria had fallen asleep. The leering guard hadn’t been back, and her breathing had deepened. I could feel the rhythmic rising and falling through her back and her soft snores should have been the first thing that alerted me. Truth was, I had been straining to listen so hard, I was now hearing things. I was trying to pick up the explosions in the distance, the rattle of gunfire and imagine if it was Khalid and his men getting cut down, or was our side? The sounds of the men outside had been confusing as well. He couldn’t understand much of it, but when one of the coyotes had spoken up about making sure to pack the Commander’s tent last, he got it.

  They were fixing to move on. Would the Commander honor his promise? That I didn’t know, and I looked around to see if there was anything I could do, or something I could use to get out of these zip ties that wouldn’t hurt the girl. Then something curious happened. The back of the tent fluttered and I heard a gurgle, softly, but it was there. Maria straightened up suddenly, having heard it too.

  “What was that?” she asked me in a whisper.

  “Shhh,” I said, “Liste—“

  A man the size of a tank strolled in with a dead Jihadist under one arm and tossed him on the floor next to me. His head was twisted at a funny angle but, other than that, he looked like he could have been sleeping. With his eyes wide open.

  “Don’t look,” he whispered to the little girl, and then pulled out a 9” stiletto.

  “What are you— “

  A younger man had followed him in and clamped a hand over my mouth and held a finger to his lips. Maria struggled for a second and then the pressure holding my hands behind me was gone. The young man nodded and put a hand in my armpit and pulled me to my feet. I was better than I had been earlier; the effects of the blow to my head had almost gone.

  “Shhhh, I’m King,” the big man said and nodded to his companion, “and Michael.”

  “Thank you mister,” Maria whispered as I felt somebody take my hand. I felt a little pressure on my wrists and then they were freed. “You rescuing us so I can go see my mom? She’s been sick.”

  “We’re here to get you out,” Michael said quietly.

  “They’re going to notice the dead guard,” I said rubbing my wrists to get blood flowing in them again.

  “Guards,” King spat, “Window dressing,” he said, using his thumb to point over his shoulder.

  “How many are left out there?” I asked, wondering if this was a suicide mission, or only delaying the inevitable.

  “Half a dozen or a dozen,” King replied and then held his hands to his lips to shush us, stepping to the side of the flap.

  The tent flap parted and two men entered, their AKs pointed ahead. Michael and I put our hands up immediately and half a heartbeat later, Maria did as well. The two were talking in Arabic and I didn’t understand them, but so intent were they on the three of us, they missed the elephant in the room. King surged and, like in a football tackle, he used his mass and power to push one man into another, causing all three of them to go down.

  The kid was faster than me, and he was already moving with a big knife flashing. One let out a short scream that was cut off quickly with a spray of blood and all I could do was pull Maria close to me so she wouldn’t see what had just happened. Outside I could hear questioning shouts.

  “We gotta move. You know how to drive a dirt bike?” King panted.

  “Yeah,” I replied.

  “Move.” King pointed.

  I followed and, almost as if it was a Kung-Fu move, King pulled the M4 around his body and started firing off three round bursts. The kid’s hands went into what looked like a quick draw - yeah, that’s exactly what it was - and he started shooting. I had missed that entirely; he had twin pistols, though he was armed with a rifle as well. I scooped up Maria to use my body as a shield and started running, following.

  They were headed to the only other structure still standing: the Commander’s tent. Three quick shots from Michael and two men who’d been loading a small trailer hooked up to a Honda 4trax fourwheeler fell. Parked next to it was a dirt bike.

  “Neither of us can drive the bike,” Michael said panting, “and King’s too big to ride in the trailer.”

  King literally grabbed and upended the trailer, dumping it, before hooking it to the ATV. Shouts rang out somewhere behind me and I kept shooting glances over my shoulder. I couldn’t see anybody, but that didn’t mean they weren’t just ducking and waiting for their moment. I did, however, see four dead bodies to the left of where we had exited the tent. So we had from zero to six men left to deal with.

  “I don’t want you to leave me,” Maria said as I put her in the trailer with Michael.

  “I won’t, I’ll be on that,” I pointed to the dirt bike, silently praying that it was gassed and would run. “I’ll be right with you.”

  “Are these guys like GI Joes? Mister King looks like the guy from the movie…”

  “Gotta move,” King said, firing up the ATV.

  I straddled the bike and prayed. It fired the first kick and I was relieved to see the filler cap showed a mostly full tank. When King took off, I followed. I noticed that Maria was in the front of the trailer with Michael in the rear, a pistol in each hand. He was going to be playing rear gunner while I was a no gunner. Just a moving target.

  The ground was uneven and I had to dodge clumps of sage brush, but when I chanced a look over my shoulder, I saw two groups of men waving and red flashes of gunfire. Somehow, we’d done it and, barring a lucky shot, we’d be safe. When King opened up the throttle more as the land smoothed out, I fol
lowed suit. We drove for a long while like that and, with any luck we’d be out of Mexico in no time.

  A dust cloud was kicking up ahead of us. King swerved off the two track we’d been following and slowed to a stop behind the outcropping. I pulled next to him and killed the buzz saw sound of the dirt bike’s 2-stroke motor and looked over.

  “Friends of yours?” I asked him.

  “Friends of yours. I hope.”

  I frowned at that, looking behind us. I hadn’t seen other ATVs or dirt bikes, but that didn’t mean they weren’t coming. Warily, I turned forward as first one and then another pickup truck seemed to materialize out of the haze of heat that made the distant ground shimmer. When the third truck came into sight I relaxed.

  “It’s Stu and Randolph,” I told them.

  “Your friend Mister Stu?” Maria asked.

  “I think so,” I said putting the bike on its kickstand and walking out towards the trail.

  “Stay here kid,” King said and pulled his M4 off his shoulder and took position so he could shoot over a low spot in the rocks.

  Michael took another position at the far end.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, not believing that they were drawing down on my family.

  “They could have stolen a truck. How do you know it’s them?” King said.

  That stopped me dead in my tracks and I turned back to stare at him. He was correct, of course; we’d been taken in a stolen truck.

  “Just don’t shoot until we know for sure,” I admonished them both.

  “If it’s Mister Stu, see if he has another candy bar for me,” Maria called.

  I looked back and she was smiling. Was I doing the right thing? I didn’t know, but I stood out and alone, ten feet from the two track, silhouetting myself. Almost as if synchronized the trucks all stopped and, when the dust had finished passing us by, I wiped the grit out of my eyes and saw Randolph with one sunburned elbow poking out of the rolled down window.

  “Excuse me folks, how do I get to Albuquerque?”