He couldn’t wait to see them again.
Chapter 16
Dave didn’t even remember crawling into the bag. He had a vague recollection of blowing up the air mattress and wishing he’d thought to bring a portable air pump. He hadn’t blown up a mattress since he was in the Corps, and he’d forgotten how much effort it took.
It was pitch black in the tunnel and he reached around in the dark for his night vision goggles so he could see what time it was.
He wished he’d brought some small candles with him on his journey. But candles were just another one of several things he’d wished he had since he set out from San Antonio.
He could get along without them, just as he could get along without a watch without luminescent hands.
It was just past four a.m.
He could go back to sleep for a couple of hours, but in the process of determining what time it was he’d awakened himself completely. He was no longer sleepy.
What he was, was anxious.
Anxious to start battle. Anxious to save his family. Anxious to hold his wife and girls again.
Anxious to get them back to San Antonio and put this hellacious chapter in their lives behind them.
He put his hands behind his head and pondered a dream he’d had just before he woke up.
Dave seldom dreamed. On the rare occasions he did, he enjoyed them tremendously, even to the point he’d describe them in great detail to Sarah.
Sarah usually rolled her eyes, not really wanting to hear about his fantasized exploits of frolicking on the beach with whatever hot supermodel was currently in vogue. Or which engine he dreamed he was dropping in a cherry red ’57 Chevy.
“Oh, come on,” he’d plead. “It was so cool, I just have to tell somebody about it.”
Dave used to say his dreams were like going to the movies, only free and without popcorn.
“I’ve heard that dreams are black and white for most people,” he once told Sarah. “But mine aren’t. Mine are in vivid color. In Technicolor.”
She’d laughed at him then and told him he was silly. Sarah dreamed all the time. Almost every night. Most of them she kept to herself, either because they were intimate and private or because she wasn’t one to share something so personal.
But, being the caring wife and lover she was, she generally sat and listened as Dave went into great detail in describing his own dreams.
She even listened as he described his encounters with the supermodels, although she always had the sense he was holding certain parts of the dream back. Out of self-preservation, probably.
On this particular night, at the mouth of the tunnel, on that cold hard cement floor, Dave hadn’t dreamed of any supermodels.
Or classic cars.
He dreamed of Master Sergeant Billy Gene Holliman.
Chapter 17
Sergeant Holliman was legendary in the United States Marine Corps. Right up there with Archibald Henderson and Chesty Puller. Those who’d met Holliman bragged about it. Those who’d never met the man wished they had.
Dave had not only met Holliman. He was trained and mentored by him.
And threatened.
But that part Dave deserved.
MSgt Holliman was the go-to guy when it came to hand to hand combat. He could take a knife from a man twice his size and use it to slit the man’s throat before he knew what hit him.
But he only did that with people he was trained not to like.
The ones he liked, like his fellow Marines? He taught them how to do it too.
Dave was assigned to Holliman’s hand to hand combat class before his first tour in Iraq. He paid attention and learned all the moves, and graduated from the course with honors.
On Dave’s third day in country, Camp Freedom was infiltrated by an Iraqi posing as a Department of Defense contractor.
He was the worst kind of Iraqi infiltrator. He was in a hurry to see Allah and to get his seven virgins, and strapped a suicide vest under his flowing white thobe to help him get there faster.
Dave saw the man come through the gate and something about his behavior caught Dave’s attention. The soldier who inspected his pass was nearing the end of his fourteenth hour on duty and was getting tired and sloppy.
A tiny flaw in the English portion of the forged pass should have caught his eye. “Canp Freedom” should have been a glaring mistake. But it made it past the guard, and many people could have died were it not for Dave’s keen eye.
Dave remembered MSgt Holliman’s admonition, as he taught his students jabs, kicks and punches.
“Watch their eyes. Even when they do everything else perfectly, their eyes will always give them away.”
The Iraqi’s eyes flitted from side to side as he walked through the gate with other foreign nationals. He was nervous. And he was determined.
Dave walked up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. As the man turned, Dave hit him under the chin with a right uppercut. His punch didn’t stop when he made contact. Rather, he forced the chin upward, driving the man up on his toes and off his feet.
Just as MSgt Holliman had instructed him to do.
Then, before he could react, Dave grabbed the man’s right wrist with his right hand and used his left to force the man’s fingers backward until they snapped. The man howled in pain and his right hand was rendered worthless.
Dave grabbed the man’s left arm and twisted it around his back, forcing him to the ground and pinning him there by shoving his knee into the man’s spine.
Dave yelled, “Bomb! Bomb!” although he never saw one. He instinctively knew it was there.
Everyone within a hundred feet scattered and took cover behind concrete barricades or sandbagged bunkers.
Everyone except Dave and his captive, who by now was spewing a steady stream of curse words Dave couldn’t understand.
“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth, Achmed? You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Five minutes later an EOD team relieved Dave and took the inept terrorist into custody. His suicide vest was rendered inert and detonated in a nearby field, and Dave was hauled away to be debriefed.
His company commander asked Dave, “How did you know?”
“MSgt Billy Gene Holliman, sir. He taught me how to watch for signs in the guy’s eyes.”
“The MSgt Billy Gene Holliman?”
“Yes, sir. The one and only.”
Had Dave misread the Iraqi’s eyes and assaulted an innocent civilian, he’d have been court-martialed. But he did exactly as he was trained to do, and was hailed as a hero.
Word got back to MSgt Holliman, who smiled and said, “Well, I’m glad that young Marine picked that particular day to pay attention.”
It wasn’t the only impression the legendary Marine made on Dave.
At a company picnic a year later Dave was drinking a beer and gazing at a beautiful redhead sitting demurely under a tree.
Holliman walked up behind him.
“Hello, Speer. Where’s your lovely wife today?”
“She couldn’t make it today, Sergeant. My youngest daughter has ballet practice.”
“Pity. I wonder what she’d say if she saw you drooling, with your tongue hanging out, at that young lady over there.”
“I didn’t think it was that noticeable, Sergeant. But you have to admit, she is quite gorgeous.”
“Indeed she is, Speer. And I just happen to know her. Would you like an introduction?”
“Sure. I mean, I would never cheat on my wife. But with a girl like that, I could sure dream.”
“Come here, Marine.”
The two walked over to the tree where the girl was sitting. She stood up and said, “Hello, Daddy.”
Holliman kissed her on the cheek.
Dave pondered his future, and he suddenly didn’t like his odds of surviving to see the sun set.
“Corporal Speer, this is my daughter Roxanna. We call her Rocki, because she’s tough as nails and can easily kick your butt in a fair fight.”<
br />
Dave swallowed hard and shook Rocki’s hand.
“I’m very pleased to meet you, ma’am. I wish I could stay and chat, but I think I heard someone calling my name. I think it’s my turn in the horseshoe tournament.”
“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Corporal.”
“Same here, ma’am. Excuse me, Sergeant.”
Holliman called behind him, “Smooth move, Marine. And smart too…”
Dave recalled that day and wondered whatever became of Rocki.
He was probably better off not knowing. Still, as he recalled the vision of her, sitting under that tree, he couldn’t help but smile.
Then the smile faded as he got back to business and realized exactly why he dreamed of Sergeant Holliman in the first place.
It was his mind’s way of telling him to study up on his hand-to-hand combat skills for the battle he knew was coming.
He struggled to remember the basics of the lessons he’d learned. The various vulnerable parts of a man’s body and the best ways to target them. The best places to apply pressure to cause the greatest pain. How to apply a sleeper hold to cut the oxygen supply to a man’s brain. Various ways to disarm an attacker and then to use his own weapon against him.
He hadn’t used any of the techniques in years. And, with the exception of the attempted suicide bomber in Iraq, he’d never had to use it for real. In every other case, he’d either applied the techniques in formal training classes, or in passing on the training to his own Marines in the field.
Still, he knew that most of the techniques were no different than riding a bicycle. Once you learned how to do it, you never forgot. You might get rusty, but you remembered how to do it.
The real risk was applying the wrong technique at the wrong time. He no longer thought like a Marine. His mind was no longer on a war footing, expecting to be attacked at any time. He was now in a more relaxed state of mind, where he’d have to take the time to think about what to do if attacked.
And that worried him.
Chapter 18
Dave climbed up the steps at the end of the tunnel and took out his pocket knife.
As he saw it, he was at most risk when he opened the fiberglass box in the middle of the woods. Four double sided thumb screws held the door in place. It could therefore be locked or unlocked from either side. On the inside of the door was a latch, which would keep the door from opening even if the thumb screws were loosened from the outside.
So he wasn’t at risk of anyone sneaking in while he was inside the tunnel.
However, when he went to leave, there was a possibility of him exiting the fiberglass box right into the hands of aggressors who were either watching it or just happening by.
Fiberglass is very strong, but also very soft when drilling through it.
Even when the only drill one has is a pocketknife.
Luckily, Dave kept every knife he owned razor sharp, and the little four inch Weatherby he kept folded inside his pocket was no exception.
He crouched inside the fiberglass box and placed the sharp point of the blade against the east side of the box at eye level.
Then he worked it back and forth, slowly chipping away tiny bits, until it worked through to the other side. By turning the knife full circle it only took him a couple of minutes to create a tiny hole, a quarter inch in diameter, which was virtually invisible from the outside of the box.
But Dave, placing his eye against it, had a great view of the woods on the east side.
He repeated the process on the door itself, and the other two sides as well.
He was confident he had one way vision. Even if someone outside the box noticed one of the holes and peered into it, he would see only blackness. While the tunnel, several feet below ground level, was lighted, the box itself wasn’t. The box itself relied on outside light to illuminate it, and therefore was dark except when the door was opened.
And now Dave had a means of assuring the coast was clear before he opened the door.
He put the knife back in his pocket and checked his backpack. Trail mix and granola bars, both of which he’d come to despise of late. Water, which he hated to lug around but was essential to his survival. The Glock he’d gotten from his friend Red and two extra magazines of ammunition. Two magazines for his AR-15, his survival knife and a garrote he’d made himself of braided wire rope with a loop on each end. A crossbow rack, carrying six bolts, protruded from the top of the pack. He took it out and set it aside. He wouldn’t need the crossbow on today’s mission. Today was a scouting mission, and he didn’t expect to encounter any trouble. He’d go armed, just in case. But he’d also go light, so he could move quickly through the woods.
For the same reason, he’d leave the sniper rifle and ammo behind as well.
Once ready to go, he peered through the holes on all four sides of the box, checking for the slightest movement outside.
Then he slowly loosened the four thumbscrews, opened the door, and exited.
He hadn’t realized how stale it was in the tunnel until he got a whiff of the clean forest air.
He very quickly slipped the bolts back into place, tightened the thumbscrews, grabbed his bag and his rifle, and disappeared into the heavy woods.
Dave was looking for just a few more answers today, so he could put his mission plan together with a higher degree of confidence that it would work.
His plan was to go on the attack the following day. And as much as he wanted to get in there and kill every single one of the bad guys, he knew that going in unprepared was bad. Very bad. For it might result in some good guys being killed as well.
He wouldn’t risk that. It might happen on its own. But he was resolved not to do anything rash that would increase the chances of it happening.
He owed it to Sarah and to Lindsey and Beth.
From the tree line on the south side of the property, he could see the front of the house. He’d gotten fairly good at estimating distances in the Corps, and he put it right at a hundred and seventy yards.
There were several trees that blocked his line of direct sight, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. He might be able to use them to his advantage when it came time to make his assault.
He lingered at the location for more than two hours, only leaving once to creep back into the woods to relieve himself.
While there he made mental notes of several things: the all-weather surveillance cameras on each corner of the house that were pointing directly away from the house and not toward it. The number of windows that were opened to let the cool breeze in.
The trellis on the side of the house, covered with English ivy. And how it butted against the part of the roof which covered the porch.
Had the trellis been covered with something else, Dave likely wouldn’t have given it much thought. But English ivy is extremely heavy. Any trellis covered with it has to be built of heavy duty materials and anchored securely.
Probably secured well enough to sustain the weight of a fully grown man.
He also noted, once again, the frequency with which the sentries made their rounds on horseback.
Once again, the intervals were staggered. That was a smart move, and probably meant that at least someone on the inside had prior infantry experience. Of course, that was to be expected if they were escapees from a military prison.
He noticed, though, that although the sentries came through at irregular intervals, they weren’t bunched too close together. The shortest period of time between them was twenty minutes.
That was definitely a plus for Dave.
Twenty minutes was more than enough time for the first phase of his assault.
He was getting ready to change position to the east side of the house, deciding he’d gleaned as much information from the front of the property as he could, when he heard the “clop, clop, clop” of horse hooves on hard pavement.
On the public access road outside the perimeter fence a rider came into view.
Dave lingered a
little bit longer to see who it was and why they were here.
The rider pulled up to the compound’s main gate and stopped. He dismounted and took a package from the saddlebag, then carried it over to the gate.
He only stood there for a couple of minutes before three riders on horseback approached him at a fast gallop.
Score one for the bad guys. Dave surmised that either the security cameras were fully operational, or they had a hidden sentry whose sole job it was to watch the main gate.
Either way, it didn’t bode well for Dave. But at least he knew about it.
He watched as one of riders dismounted and approached the visitor. The other two stayed atop their horses. Both had rifles in their saddle sheathes, but neither of them drew them.
Obviously, they knew the visitor and trusted him.
The man inside the fence reached over it and dumped a handful of coins into the visitor’s hand. The visitor counted the coins, then passed the parcel over the fence.
Dave wondered what the men were trading.
And he wondered how long it would be before the man came back with another delivery.
As the four men parted ways and left the area, Dave brought the Bushnell binoculars back up to his face and scanned the area. For several minutes he panned back and forth, from one outbuilding to the next, until he finally saw a brief movement at the hay barn.
On the hay barn’s upper loft, just inside an open door made to stack and remove hay bales from the barn’s mezzanine, he could see someone moving around in the shadows.
He hadn’t seen it before, even after sitting in the same place for two hours.
He was already getting sloppy. And his war hadn’t even begun yet.
Chapter 19
Dave stayed on his recon mission until dusk, covering all four sides of the property.
It was on the west side he found the perfect place to begin his assault against the thugs who’d taken his family hostage.
The Battle: Alone: Book 4 Page 7