by Joe Nobody
Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, he felt a heat pouring over his body. It took only a moment to realize that much of the smoke surrounding his position was because the camper was on fire. A quick glance confirmed the flames were spreading quickly, the inferno threatening to engulf his position. If he didn’t move, the blaze would turn him into charcoal before Culpepper’s men ever had a chance to shoot again.
But there was no place to go.
He was parallel with the bat cave, his situational awareness screaming that he’d never make it across the open ground between the camper and the rock shelter. Besides, he’d been trying to draw the assault away from Terri’s hide, not lead them to it.
The flames grew more intense, his neck feeling like someone was pouring hot oil over his head. The heat was becoming unbearable.
The constant chorus of the rancher’s gunfire suddenly changed, a new voice of violence sounding in his ear. Bishop chanced rolling away from the camper and its curtain of smoke, his heart stopping at what he saw.
Terri was against the bat cave’s exterior wall, her AR blasting away at the attackers. He watched in horror as she would fire several shots and then duck back, just as rounds would strike and splinter the surrounding stone.
He had to get her back into the cave.
Bishop managed his feet, leaving his now empty bag behind and tucking his carbine into the nook of his arm. It was the fastest he could ever remember running, sprinting across the open spaces and waiting for the bullets to knock him down. His mind conjured up a childhood nightmare, visions of snarling, snapping wolves chasing his legs as he moved in slow motion across the unprotected ground.
He was halfway there when Terri popped out, raising her rifle to give him covering fire. She no more managed to shoulder the weapon when her body twitched, shuddered, and then she went down.
“Nooooo!!!!” Bishop screamed as he slid to a stop over his wounded wife, trying to shield her body with his own.
Relentlessly and without mercy, another broadside of fire snapped at Bishop as he grabbed Terri by the shoulders and pulled her back into the safety of the bat cave. In a whirlwind of crazed movement, he slammed and barred the heavy, steel door, and then dropped to his knees at Terri’s side.
The desert surrounding the ranch suddenly became silent.
Despite having just come off an exhaustive mission, Nick couldn’t keep the other members of Bishop’s SAINT team off the Blackhawk. When Cory, Kevin, and Grim had heard their leader might be in trouble, all three had been waiting at the airfield before dawn.
It had taken far too long to get the pilots up to speed on the search grid he’d laid out the night before, even longer to convince the Army lieutenant commanding the two rifle squads that his SAINT team would be just fine on its own.
They’d finally taken off from Alpha fifteen minutes ago, the wasted time frustrating all concerned. Despite still being several minutes from the designated search area, all four of the Alliance men were scanning the desert passing beneath the airborne machine. Kevin was using his sniper optic, Grim and Cory intensely searching with binoculars.
It was Cory who noticed the smoke.
“Got something burning over here, Nick,” he shouted over the passing wind and rotor wash. “Can’t tell what it is. Sure seems awful big to be a signal fire.”
After scoping out the large column of black smoke, Nick ordered the pilot to change course.
They were over a mile out when Nick realized they were approaching Bishop’s ranch. He’d only visited there once before, but the layout had impressed the big man. The camper had been torched, ash and flame reaching to the sky, a good indicator they had found the missing couple.
The images of men carrying rifles didn’t become distinct until they were a half-mile out, their presence confusing all aboard.
The pilot spotted a flat area that was suitable for landing, only a short distance away from the fire. As they began to descend, Nick noticed the round patterns of grenade blasts in the sand. It was too late to avert the already-committed touchdown. “This place is hot!” he screamed over the engine noise. “Shoot anybody you see moving.”
Grim leaped off the platform while the helo was still five feet in the air. He was firing before his boots hit the ground. Nick was right behind the contractor, jumping out the other side and rolling away just as geysers of sand exploded next to his head.
Kevin glanced at a very frightened Cory and shrugged his shoulders, following his father into the fray. Cory, having no desire to remain alone, bailed as well.
Random shots sparked and pinged off the Blackhawk’s skin as it pulled away, the copilot wasting no time in calling the other birds to the location.
Realizing they had just dropped into the middle of a hornet’s nest, Grim and Nick unleashed a fury of violence against the yet unidentified foe.
The Culpepper men, already bloodied by the extended fight with Bishop, began to fall back.
Fighting against a lone defender was one thing, taking on a military aircraft full of very aggressive reinforcements another. It was all over in less than a minute, the SAINT team quickly finding themselves without any targets.
But where were Bishop, Terri, and Hunter?
Nick almost shot the Texan, the squeaking protest of the metal cave door prompting the big man’s rifle to take aim.
Lured into the open by the sound of the helicopter, Bishop came into view, his shirt covered in grit and blood. “’Bout time you showed up,” he sputtered weakly.
“You hit? You okay? That your blood?”
“Terri’s been hit, but not bad,” came the reply.
Cory was the first inside, finding Terri sitting against the wall, her arm wrapped in bandages. Her easy smile let him know she was okay. Nick didn’t want to take any chances, getting on his radio and ordering their Blackhawk to return for a medical evacuation.
The big man then entered the bat cave, finding Grim and Cory fussing over Terri’s wound. “Bishop and you will be able to sit around and compare your battle scars to entertain the grandkids,” Grim teased.
“It doesn’t look like the bullet hit anything critical, but you better go and have it checked out anyway. Infection can be a nasty thing. The chopper is on the way,” Nick reassured her.
The copter hadn’t gone far, the roar of the aircraft’s descent soon filling the canyon walls. It seemed like everyone was trying to help Terri to the Blackhawk.
They loaded her on the helicopter’s deck, Bishop climbing aboard. Nick ordered the pilot to make all haste for Fort Bliss, but Terri overrode the command. “Belay that order. I’ll be fine with the doc in Alpha. Take me there; this injury is not that bad.”
“But ma’am, the hospital at Fort Bliss is still the best facility in the Alliance. You should go and make sure there are no complications,” Cory protested, concern written all over the young man’s face.
She glanced over at her husband, memories of that horrible day when he was shot in the chest. That helicopter ride to Fort Bliss had been one of her worst nightmares. “Take me to Alpha,” she told the pilot.
With a look of horror, Bishop reached out and grabbed Nick’s arm. “Hunter!” he shouted. “Hunter’s in the cave!”
“Don’t worry about him,” Nick yelled back. “Diana and I will take care of that young whippersnapper.”
Nick stood next to Grim as they watched the bird lift off. “I sure wouldn’t want to be those cowboys after she gets that arm looked at. Bishop’s got to be pissed to the extreme.”
“It’s not Bishop I’d be worried about,” Nick replied. “He’s a fuzzy pair of bunny slippers compared to his wife. Come on, Uncle Grim, we’ve got a babysitting job to do.”
Mr. Culpepper saw the helicopter return and lift off, but didn’t react. Turning, he spurred his horse to catch up with the dejected line of men riding back to the ranch.
More than anyone, he felt the foul fog of emotion covering their withdrawal.
For the first hou
r of their ride, he seriously considered taking his own life. The loss of men suffered at the hands of Bishop had been bad enough, but when he saw the woman go down, the old rancher knew it was all over.
Something about the vision of a woman falling to gunfire initiated a wave of remorse that shook his soul. He knew the rest of the men felt the same way. She had been an accidental target, appearing out of nowhere, surprising his boys with an unexpected entry into the fight.
Despite his depression and sense of loss, he still had to wonder what type of woman will pick up a rifle and willingly join such an intense battle. Probably thought her husband was about to fall, he considered.
As they plodded along the open desert, Culpepper wondered if the military men would hunt them down for revenge. He didn’t care, completely dejected by the loss of life and the failure to save his ranch.
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” he whispered to the sky, the apology going unanswered.
Whitey, his arm wrapped in a handkerchief bandage from a shrapnel hit, came alongside. “What now, boss? We lost 8 men back there and have another 4 or 5 out of commission.”
“I don’t know, son,” the rancher replied. “I fear I’ve lost everything. Give me some time, I need to think it through.”
Whitey peered over his shoulder, thinking about the arrival of the helicopter and the unbelievable resistance they had just encountered. I hope you have some time, he thought. I have a feeling we just kicked a hornet’s nest.
Chapter 13
The sound of nervous whinnying woke Mr. Culpepper, years of coexistence with the animals giving him an ear tuned to their language.
He remained still, barely breathing, listening to their conversation. What was making them so skittish?
He didn’t need a clock to tell the time, the view of the eastern sky out his window letting him know the sun would be coming up within the hour.
There was no anger in the man as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Sleep hadn’t been a companion since the battle at the camper. For a brief moment, he wondered how many days his ancient body could endure the insomnia before his heart gave out. I hope not many more, he thought.
The single action Colt revolver laid on the bedside table, the weapon’s primary purpose having changed since they had returned from the gunfight with Bishop. Until that point, it had been a defensive piece, loaded and ready should a Tejanos assassin make it past his men. Now, he eyed it every morning and night, trying to work up the guts to use it on himself.
The only fortunate news had been a sudden lack of activity by his enemy. Bunkhouse morale had been at an all-time low since their defeat, and any large-scale engagement with the Tejanos would have surely meant the end.
Yet, for some unknown reason, his foe on the other side of the river had been unusually quiet. A blessing? The calm before the storm? Only God knew.
He pulled on his pants, then boots, moving to the window. A renewed round of chatter from the corral redirected his thoughts to the stock.
There hadn’t been a mountain lion in these parts for years. Coyotes were too shy to approach the structures, too heavy with the smell of men. For a moment, he wondered if the Tejanos had finally arrived, ready to murder them all.
He walked calmly to the front door, pistol at ease against his leg. In the early morning’s light, he could barely make out the profile of the barn.
He opened the door, stepping lightly onto the front porch, grip tightening on the pistol.
“Good morning, Mr. Culpepper. Please put down the gun,” came a voice from the darkness.
He started to raise the weapon, expecting to see a crazed Tejano charging from the night, but the voice’s owner was right next to him, pinning the old Colt against his leg. “Please, Mr. Culpepper, don’t make me take your life.”
He released the sidearm, a quick hand from the stranger catching the barrel before it could fall to the wooden planks of the porch.
“Please walk to the corral, sir.”
As he stepped down onto the packed hardpan bordering the house, he sensed another presence from behind. Silent. Stealthy. Ominous.
Whoever they were, he was positive it wasn’t going to end well. They continued to escort him out to the corral, where he was sure a painful, excruciating death awaited. Go out with honor, he thought. Don’t beg. Those animals won’t show you any mercy, regardless of how much you plead. But the fear was difficult to squelch.
The pre-dawn light began to reveal strange images around the corral, odd, dense shadows that hadn’t been there before. He couldn’t quite make them out.
He was guided toward the gate, one of his captors gently pushing his arm in the right direction. It was difficult to put one foot in front of the other, his legs weak with terror, the sweat of fear forming on his brow.
The vague outline of men began to come clear to the rancher as the light increased, their shapes oddly distorted – almost ghoulish in nature. They didn’t seem human, odd bulges, malformed heads, and thick chests.
He then could identify other figures, dozens of shorter outlines against the corral’s fence. A female voice sounded from the darkness. “Good morning, Mr. Culpepper.”
He knew that voice, but from where? The fear was inhibiting his thought process, making cognitive reasoning nearly impossible. Just kill me, and get it over with, he prayed.
He was steered to the corral’s oak plank fence, a strong hand pressing down on his shoulders. “On your knees.”
Finally, he reasoned, finally, they are going to put a bullet in my head.
He closed his eyes, whispering the Lord’s Prayer, readying for a sharp pain. Would there be pain? he wondered. What was it like on the other side?
He stayed there, partially aware of movement around him, the shuffling of bodies, whispered commands, and the brush of cloth. He kept his eyes closed, praying the pain wouldn’t be too intense.
After a while, the prayers changed. Culpepper pined for another chance, entreating his maker for a fresh start. He promised to do better, not to make such a mess of what he had been given.
The female voice was back, interrupting his holy wish list. “You can stand up now, Mr. Culpepper.”
He did as instructed, opening his eyes that had been squinting tight from praying. The sun was almost up; he could see clearly.
Dozens of soldiers were on his ranch, men with helmets, night vision goggles, body armor, and combat vests. All of his men were there as well, on their knees, against the corral fence. It was clear to the old rancher that most of them had been taken by surprise, rounded up just like he was shortly before sunrise. Few had their hats; many were in long johns, or merely wearing skivvies.
“I wish I could say it was nice to see you again, Mr. Culpepper, but that would be dishonest of me. The last time we met, you, or one of your men shot me.”
He spun around, staring blankly at Terri’s smirking face. “So you didn’t die in the shootout. Thank God.”
She tilted her head, not quite understanding his meaning. He tried to clarify, “We never intended for you to be harmed. That would have flown in the face of my ultimate goal… of leveraging you and your people into helping us defeat the Tejanos.”
“I see,” she replied coldly. “And this is supposed to make me feel all warm and fuzzy?”
“Perhaps,” he replied. “I just don’t want anyone thinking I would ever deliberately hurt a woman.”
“How honorable of you, Mr. Culpepper,” Terri said, her voice thick with sarcasm. “I am sure the widows in the Tejanos village appreciate your kindness.”
“War is war,” he countered. “All is fair.”
Terri shook her head, already tiring of the conversation. “I’m not going to run around in circles with you, sir. I’m here on official business – putting an end to your little war.”
Spitting on the ground, Culpepper’s voice was full of hate, “There can’t be any peace with those animals. You can just come down off your high horse, Missy, and forget about it. Never goi
ng to happen.”
“I don’t think you grasp the situation as it currently exists. Perhaps it’s too early. But I assure you, I’ll make it all crystal clear in a few minutes.”
A distant thumping noise sounded over the nearby hills, progressively getting louder and turning into a steady, powerful rumble. All eyes turned to the west as a line of Blackhawk helicopters appeared over the ridge.
Raising her voice over the din, Terri glanced at the rancher and announced, “Ah, our other guests are arriving. Please follow me.”
Culpepper hesitated, having no desire to corporate.
Terri noticed his reluctance and turned to one of the huge men that were obviously her bodyguards. “Butter,” she said sweetly, “I think Mr. Culpepper’s legs aren’t functioning properly, and he requires your assistance. Could you please throw him over your shoulder and bring him along?”
The muscular young fellow nodded, his expression making it clear the rancher was going to accompany his boss, voluntarily or not. Culpepper decided to forgo the embarrassment, stepping forward on his own two feet.
“That was wise, sir. I’m not in a trifling mood this morning, and my large friends are convinced that you tried to kill me three days ago at our ranch. They love Hunter and would hate the thought of seeing him grow up without a mother.”
Without waiting for a reply, Terri turned to watch the first helicopter land, a wall of dust and sand rising into the air from the downdraft. In they came, one after the other, each depositing soldiers, and then Bishop’s SAINT team appeared through the airborne debris.
After the copters had lifted off, she made for her husband, taking careful note of the tall man with a dark complexion and Latino features. The stranger was bound, Grim keeping a vigilant eye on the prisoner as he trailed behind Bishop.
“Terri, I would like to introduce you to Rocco, the undisputed leader of the Tejanos,” Bishop said. “He’s still a little upset that we rousted him out of bed this morning, but not nearly as mad as the señorita who woke up to find six armed operators in her bedroom.”