One Man's War

by Thomas J. Wolfenden

  “That had to have been a mistake! My men were supposed to secure it, not shoot it down!” came the panicked reply.

  Tim took a look up into the sky, and through the clouds of smoke, could see buzzards already starting to circle the carnage before him, drawn, perhaps, by the stench of burning flesh. He keyed the radio again. “Be that as it may, asshole, soon you are going to be a tasty brunch for the buzzards, along with the rest of your men. You killed my family, and for that, you’re going to pay.”

  Without waiting for a reply, he turned off the radio, and pocketing it, hefted his rucksack, picked up his rifle, and ran in a crouch to the wood line, in the direction of Jimenez.

  * * *

  The sergeant sat, face drawn, looking at the radio. The handful of men around him had heard the conversation, and now they stirred uneasily. He looked over at Colin, who was cowering behind a tree. He motioned for the big man. “You, come over here!”

  Colin slunk over to the sergeant, and when he was close, sat down.

  “Are you sure they only have only a few men?” the sergeant asked.

  “Yeah, I swear. It’s him, and a couple of other blokes. That’s all.”

  “You’d better be telling me the truth.”

  “I am! Fucking oath! That’s all they’ve got!”

  The man that the sergeant had sent out to scout came scurrying back, crouching down in front of him. “There’s a railroad bridge just to the south, about twenty yards into the woods. It crosses the gorge there,” the man reported breathlessly.

  “It’s still standing?”

  “It looked like it was wired, but for some reason it didn’t blow.”

  “Or maybe it’s another ambush, and they want us to start across it before they blow it,” the sergeant said.

  “I don’t think so. The wires look like they’ve been cut,” the man told him, “It looks like they were all wired together, but the wires were cut before it could all blow.”

  The sergeant came to a decision. “Follow me!” He led the way towards where his scout had come, the men following reluctantly.

  * * *

  Tim had made his way through the woods, following the sound of Jimenez’ methodic rifle fire. It did indeed sound like a man on a rifle range, and when Tim came through the brush behind him, he saw that Jimenez was in the prone position, just outside of the foxhole they had dug, calmly firing round after round at the dead, along with the dying.

  As not to startle him, Tim slowly approached from behind, and squatted down beside Jimenez.

  “Taco,” he said. “Cease fire.”

  Jimenez squeezed off another round at a man two hundred yards to his front who was crawling out from underneath one of the burning trucks, where apparently he’d taken cover earlier in the ambush.

  It was a perfect shot, and Tim was impressed by the marksmanship, and he thought to let him know later, but now wasn’t the time. He had to get this man under control, and now. He was finding it hard to keep himself under control as it was, and he still needed the young Marine.

  The bolt on the M14 that Jimenez was firing locked back on an empty magazine, and he calmly thumbed the magazine catch, releasing the empty, inserted a fresh magazine into the rifle’s magazine well, and released the bolt.

  As he took aim at another unseen target, Tim placed his hand on Jimenez’ shoulder and squeezed gently. “Taco. Cease fire. They’re all dead out in front.”

  Tim could feel the man’s muscles tense, and they felt like steel cables stretched to the breaking point. Jimenez sagged a little, and rolling to his side, looked up at Tim through red rimmed, tear-streaked eyes.

  “They fucking killed them, Sar’ Major! Robyn, Holly, Walter! All of them!”

  “I know, Taco. Now is not the time. We’ve still got a job to do.”

  “How the fuck can you be so fucking calm!?” he screamed back at him.

  Tim lowered his face to inches from Jimenez’ face. “Taco, I am not fucking calm,” he hissed angrily, “not by a long shot! And if you don’t keep your fucking voice down, I will skull-fuck you!”

  Jimenez snapped out of the funk he was in, wiped his eyes, and sniffled the snot that was dripping from his nose.

  Tim grabbed the handset to the PRC-77. “Get your shit together, Taco, and get ready to move out.” He pressed the push to talk button on the handset. “Izzy, you and Ian okay?”

  The radio crackled to life, “Yes, Tim. We’re okay. And yes, we saw,” Izzy replied sadly.

  “Stand by for another fire mission. Taco and I are getting ready to move to the secondary. Prepare to shift fire.”

  “Roger. Good luck.”

  “You too, Iz,” Tim replied, standing and picking up the radio. He turned back to Jimenez, who was looking back at him with a deep hatred burning in his eyes.

  “Let’s get to Hum-Vee,” Tim said.

  “As long as I can kill a few more of the fuckers, I’m with you,” Jimenez replied, and they headed out into the forest to the place they’d left their vehicle, leaving the burning carnage behind them.

  * * *

  The sergeant led the way across the double-tracked railroad bridge and took cover on the west side of the span, waving the rest across. He looked down under the structure in shock. The amount of TNT blocks placed there would have taken out a skyscraper. No wonder the other bridge had blown so spectacularly. He grabbed the first few men across, and had them stay with him while the rest ran past and into the woods beyond.

  When they were all across, he turned to the three he had stopped, and pointed down underneath the trestle. “I want you three to go down there and start pulling wires. I don’t want this bastard to go off and leave us stranded on this side. Got that?”

  The three men looked down at all the explosive charges placed all over the bridge and didn’t reply right away, making the sergeant angry.

  “It wasn’t a fucking suggestion. Do it, now!” he shouted, leaving them at the bridge and making his way a few yards into the brush. The rest of his men were standing around as if they were waiting on a bus to arrive. No over watch, no security, nothing. His head was pounding from a tension headache that threatened to tear the top of his skull off, and he wanted to scream at them, but then realized they weren’t real soldiers at all, just a bunch of scared men with machine guns, and that was a very dangerous combination.

  He had to get around to the rear of his quarry, try to find out what the hell had happened up at the airport, and why the specialist hadn’t reported back yet. He motioned for everyone to gather around.

  He was about to formulate a plan for a counterattack when a sound drew his attention away. It was a metallic clink, and then the sounds of a wooden crate being opened. It was coming from several hundred yards to the southwest, the opposite direction that he had planned on heading. There was the sound of a radio’s squelch being broken, then another metallic clink.

  He smiled for the first time that day, and looked around at the faces of his men.

  “Come with me.”

  * * *

  Tim pulled the Hum-Vee up and parked it where it was hidden from view, within walking distance to their positions overlooking the intersection on I-40 and Route 64.

  Route 64 wound its way south from the Grand Canyon, passing under Interstate 40, where it curved westward, turning into the main street of the town of Williams a few miles further on. Tim had selected a spot on the overpass, looking down on Route 64 and northward.

  The two men lugged their gear up the embankment towards the highway and made it to the top before they could hear the chatter of automatic weapons fire. They looked at each other, mouths agape. They could hear the high-pitched crack of M16s and M4s firing three rounds bursts, and then heard the reply of a deeper crack, crack, crack of what could only be Ian’s L1A1, then the staccato chug of Tim’s M3 Grease gun that he’d given to Izzy.

  “Ah shit!” Jimenez said, climbing over the guardrail to the shoulder of the highway. “We’ve got to go back and help them!”r />
  “We can’t, Taco. By the time we get back to where they are it will all be over. We can’t fucking help them, alright?”

  Tim climbed over the rail and started off towards the westbound lanes and the shoulder overlooking Route 64. Jimenez followed him, and when he was set up, pulled a pair of binoculars out and scanned the horizon to the north. Seeing nothing yet, he lowered them, and then checked his watch.

  He was surprised to see it was only 9 AM. Only forty-five minutes had passed since he’d tripped the ambush. He wiped his brow, and then sighed. “Three weeks, Taco. We needed three weeks. Jerry could have been here and things would be a lot different.”

  “Let’s just kill em’ all, and then let God sort them out,” Jimenez said.

  “I thought you and I were of the agreement there was no god?”

  “I’m starting to reconsider.”

  “How? For fuck’s sake, look around you! Would a loving god let all this shit happen to us?”

  “I don’t know, Sar’ Major.”

  “Or is it that you might just hope to see Robyn on the other side? Is that it?” he asked incredulously. “Taco, she is fucking dead, okay? She’s not coming back, she’s not in heaven or hell, she is fucking dead, along with Holly, Walter, and Paula, end of fucking story!”

  “Maybe I just want some poor, sorry-assed motherfucker to sort out all the sorry fucks I’m going to kill today,” he stated flatly.

  “We’ll deal with that later,” Tim said.

  “Look!” Jimenez shouted, pointing over Tim’s shoulder to the road heading north. Tim spun, and in the distance, could see a lone Hum-Vee speeding southward towards them.

  “Get ready!” Tim ordered, and Jimenez grabbed an AT4 and prepared it to launch at the approaching vehicle.

  Both men readied weapons. “Steady, Taco. Don’t fire until I tell you to.”

  The vehicle drew nearer, reaching about four hundred yards, when Tim said, “Hold on a minute, Taco. Cover me!”

  Tim leapt over the guardrail and bounded down the berm towards the road below.

  Jimenez watched in amazement as Tim made it to the road, and casually strode out to the middle, straddled the faded double yellow line and faced the speeding Hum-Vee.

  Though the vehicle made no indication it was going to stop, Tim never flinched as it came closer and closer, and then, when it looked like he was about to be run down, it skidded to a halt a few feet from where he was standing.

  A man clambered up awkwardly through the top machinegun mount and manned the big .50 caliber weapon and trained it on him. “Who the fuck are you?” the man shouted.

  Tim slowly walked toward the Hum-Vee, hands raised over his head, and made it all the way to the driver’s side door. “Hi there!” he said with a grin. “I’m with the local Volunteer Fire Department, and I was wondering if you gentlemen had any spare change to donate. It’s a good cause!”

  “Stay away!” the driver said.

  Tim ignored him, placing his left hand on the roof and leaning in. The man on the roof mounted machinegun couldn’t see him anymore, and he was too close now to depress the barrel of the big gun down at Tim, effectively placing him completely out of the equation.

  Tim looked into the interior. He saw two more men, the driver and a passenger, and then saw Robyn in the back seat, unconscious, battered and bruised, bleeding from a gash on her head. With his right hand, he slowly reached behind him, the men distracted by his boldness.

  “Actually, I’m from the local Rotary Club,” he said, as his hand felt the butt of his .45 automatic in his waistband.

  “You’re him!” the driver shouted, and made a move to gun the gas when Tim, in one fluid motion, pulled the pistol out, pointed it at the face of the driver and squeezed off a single round, blowing his face off in a blast of smoke, bone, and blood.

  The pistol recoiled in his hand, and even before the slide had slammed home on a fresh round in the chamber, he pointed it at the passenger and shot that man in the face also.

  Slow to react, the man on the .50 caliber machinegun tried to grab his own pistol, but a single crack from Jimenez’ M14 resounded, and a 7.62mm bullet hit the man in the chest, blowing a gaping hole out his back. Eyes wide with disbelief, he died, slumped over the gun.

  “Get down here, Taco!” Tim shouted, and then walked hurriedly around to the passenger side, opening the door and leaning in over Robyn’s crumpled body. He brushed some hair away from her once beautiful face, which was now battered and swollen, turning an angry purple.

  “Baby, it’s Daddy. Can you hear me?” Tim whispered. The girl stirred, face contorted with pain, then her eyes fluttered open.

  “Daddy, I tried to stop them, but I couldn’t. I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t you worry about that now, baby,” Tim said softly.

  Jimenez arrived at this time and looked into the vehicle in shock. “Robyn, you’re alive! Oh fuck, I thought you were dead!”

  “Daddy, it hurts so bad!” Robyn cried, tears welling up in her swollen eyes. She was sobbing now, and then coughed a few times, wincing in pain, and spat out a gob of blood.

  “It’s okay, baby, Daddy and Taco are here to take care of you now. It’s going to be alright.” He turned to face Jimenez. “Get those bodies out of the Hum-Vee. We’ll take her to the house.”

  Jimenez manhandled the bodies free, and dragged them to the side of the road. He then climbed atop the still running vehicle, and with some effort, was able to dump the man’s body that he shot over the side, where it hit the asphalt with a sickening thump.

  They piled in, ignoring the blood and brains all over the interior, and Jimenez headed out. When they were under the overpass and heading in the direction of town, Jimenez asked, “Do you really want to go to the house?”

  “Yes,” Tim said, suddenly feeling bone tired.

  “We’ve got to get Izzy,” Jimenez said, speeding through town, Robyn wincing with every bump he hit.

  * * *

  “Cease fire, cease fire goddamn it!” the sergeant shouted over the din of the rifle fire, and while not as fast as he’d have liked, the men finally stopped firing their weapons.

  He came out from behind the tree he’d been using for cover and looked ahead to where the mortar was positioned. The cordite smoke was still thick in the air.

  One of the placement’s occupants was slumped over, quite dead, a long semi-auto rifle the sergeant had never seen before clutched in his hands. Movement to his left drew his attention, and he brought his M4 up to the ready.

  He saw the figure of another man, white shock of hair on his head, crawling slowly away, dragging a leg covered in blood. He approached the figure, and when he got to him, he kicked the weapon in his hand away.

  “Don’t you move, or I’ll spread your brains all over the ground!” the sergeant commanded, and the man rolled over onto his back, facing his tormentor.

  “Can you stand?” the sergeant asked.

  “I doubt it, you’ve shot my knee off,” Izzy replied, wincing in pain, defiant all the same.

  Another of the sergeant’s men came up to the pair, and the sergeant spat, “Get that Aussie fucker up here!”

  The man retreated, and the sergeant returned his gaze to the supine man. “Do you have anything you want to tell me?”

  “Not really. If it’s all the same to you, you might as well put a bullet in my head now,” Izzy replied, jutting his chin out, anger in his eyes.

  “Sorry to say, old man, but I need you right now.”

  Colin came up to the pair at this time, and when he saw who was lying on the ground, his face split into a wide, toothy grin. “Well, well, well! If it isn’t my old mate the good doctor!” he said, looking down with glee. “Sergeant, he’s one of the cunts who was going to string me up!”

  “Oh, really?” the sergeant asked.

  “That we were,” Izzy said. “I don’t know what he’s told you lot, but this man is a rapist and a murderer.”

  “You’re full of shit, ma
te! He’s lying, Sergeant.”

  “Oh, no I’m not. He lured a poor retarded girl off into the forest, where he viciously raped, tortured, and then killed her,” Izzy said, trying to sit up.

  “I ought to shoot you right now!” Colin shouted, bringing his rifle up. The sergeant slapped the muzzle away from his prisoner.

  “I’ll have none of that shit, okay, asshole?” he told the big Aussie, who backed away. Seeing the M3 lying on the ground, Colin walked over and picked it up.

  “I’ll just take this as a souvenir,” he beamed. “I always saw it with that bastard major sergeant, now it’s mine.”

  “You do that. Now go and get a couple of men to carry him,” the sergeant told him.

  “Carry him? Carry him where?” Colin said in shock. “You should kill the cunt here and now.”

  “Just fucking do what I told you to do!” the sergeant spat. Colin walked away, giving Izzy an evil glare, and then returned with two men. The sergeant told them to pick Izzy up, which they did none too gently, completely ignoring Izzy’s shouts of pain.

  “Now where is this compound they have?” the sergeant asked Colin.

  “It’s not too far, just over that way.”

  “Lead the way,” the sergeant said, waving him forward.

  * * *

  Jimenez drove through town, and made the left hand turn onto the road towards Colman Lake, trying to avoid the cracks, bumps, and potholes in the deteriorating road the best he could. Robyn shouted in agony every time the tires hit another, and he hated to see her like this.

  “Hang on, baby, we’re almost home. We’ll get Izzy to fix you up good as new,” he said loud enough for her to hear.