Holding Their Own XI: Hearts and Minds

by Joe Nobody

  Bishop kept the pickup well back, cautious of giving the men in front of them any hint that they were being followed. It was stressful work, each small town and intersection slowing the head of the inch-worm and causing the Texan to react and avoid the ass slamming into the head.

  An hour later, the convoy made an unanticipated turn. “What the hell?” Nick grumbled, looking at the map with his red-lensed flashlight. “They should have taken a right back there if they were heading to Alpha. This road runs south and east. Where the hell are they going?”

  Tagging along, the duo was now completely stumped. It was 4 AM when the convoy’s brake lights signaled they were stopping. Bishop did the same.

  “Now what?” Nick asked, not really expecting his driver to answer.

  “Piss break?”

  “Lord knows I could use one,” Nick agreed, reaching for the door handle.

  “Wait,” Bishop snapped. “If you open that door, the dome light will come on.”

  Nick glanced from his friend to the plastic lenses mounted on the roof. Clenching a fist, he punched the offending light once, twice, and then crushed the bulb with the third strike.

  “There. You happy?”

  “Yeah… I happy I’m not your insurance agent.”

  “When a man’s gotta go, a man’s got to go,” Nick replied, opening the door and stepping out into the night.

  After a 30-minute stop, the Lewis forces were again on the road, most likely with empty bladders.

  The cat and mouse game continued across northern Texas, Bishop and Nick eagerly watching every turn and marker, trying to predict the imposters’ final destination.

  “Should we use my Sat-phone and call Sheriff Watts?” Bishop offered at one point.

  “And say what?” Nick replied. “That we’re following a group of men in Army uniforms riding in an old church bus, and we’re positive they’re up to no good? Even if the good sheriff could muster a few deputies, what are they going to do? Execute a traffic stop and then get ambushed and killed?”

  Bishop had to admit, the big guy had a valid point.

  “We’ll call for the cavalry once we’ve figured out what they’re up to. Until then, given the time of night, putting the entire territory on alert just doesn’t seem prudent.”

  A few more miles had passed before Nick reconsidered. “Give me that phone. There is one precaution we can take.”

  After Bishop had fished the high-tech device out of his pack, Nick dialed a number from memory. A sleepy sounded voice answered, “Hood, Duty Officer, state the nature of your call.”

  Nick said his name, a special code word, and then stated, “I want four rifle squads on ready-5 status. Unknown, armed force of approximately 60 men in Texas Army uniforms traveling south from Oklahoma.”

  Bishop listened as Nick continued his report, giving the location and additional details of the caravan they were following. The head of Alliance Homeland Security ended the conversation with a forceful, “Now listen carefully, Captain. When I call the next time, even if there’s been a shift change, I want rifles in the air within five minutes. Got it?”

  Evidently, the response was what Nick wanted to hear, the call ending shortly after that.

  “Smart move,” Bishop commented, keeping his eyes on the distant taillights in front of them. Just then, a roadside sign drew his attention. “It looks like were heading toward Fort Worth. That sign back there said we were only 20 miles outside of town,” he added. “Now what in the hell would they be after in…”

  “Oh shit,” Nick barked, his face blanching pale. “The gold.”

  “The what?”

  “The gold we’ve been gathering to back the new Texas currency. The repository is just outside Fort Worth in an old bank building.”

  Bishop knew the gold he’d captured from the bank robbers had been moved from the bat cave to some unknown location. He’d also heard that the council had been sending men to various bank vaults to gather as much of the precious metal as possible. The fact that the stash was in Fort Worth was a surprise.

  “Why there?” the Texan asked.

  “It was the only vault large enough that had one of the old fashioned locks. We found an old, retired guy who was a locksmith who remembered how it worked. The newer, electronic mechanisms weren’t stable enough, and there’s no source of spare parts, so we choose this location.”

  “How well is it guarded?”

  “There are normally about 20 soldiers surrounding the place. We tried to keep their presence low profile so no one would start asking a lot of questions. No armor or machine gun nests, but more than enough to hold off the typical robbery.”

  “Well, hiding in plain sight didn’t work out so well. I think Chase knows your secret, and the party he’s getting ready to throw is a bit more potent than the typical heist. You’d better be calling the cavalry,” Bishop recommended.

  “Let’s make sure. I don’t want all those birds buzzing half of Texas in the middle of the night if we’re wrong. Even with the men they have on that bus, it would take them a while to overcome the security and blow the safe.”

  “Unless he has the combination,” Bishop countered.

  Sure enough, the lead convoy pulled off the road less than a mile from the old bank. Bishop followed suit, quickly finding a good place to hide the truck.

  Again, the duo was pulling on packs and weapons. A few moments later, they were trotting off into the night.

  Evidently, Chase and his men were confident that their little scheme remained a secret.

  Bishop and Nick managed to get very close without encountering any sort of sentry or picket line. The old grocery store parking lot, selected as a jump-off point for the bank robbers, was bustling with activity.

  After watching the proceedings for less than a minute, Nick said, “Let’s get in front of them. We can spring a little ambush and warn the bank’s security force. We’ll call in the Blackhawks from Hood as soon as I’m positive of their objective.”

  “You’re the boss,” the Texan replied, double-checking his extra magazines.

  Four hundred meters from the repository, Nick spied the perfect place to set up an ambush.

  Two stout-looking buildings sat at the intersection, neither appearing to be occupied by much more than cobwebs. Nick quickly pointed to the distant bank and said, “That’s our rally point after we spring the ambush. Cut them up as best we can and then hightail in that direction. I’ll call Hood as soon as the shooting starts.”

  Then, much to Bishop’s surprise, Nick said, “Wait. Hold on a second. We can’t do this… at least not this way.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “We can’t just cut down a bunch of men walking along the street, fake uniforms or not. What if they’re on their way to rescue a long, lost relative? What if they’re reenactors, or making a movie or something?”

  Bishop was stunned, not believing his friend’s restraint. “Really? Seriously? Do you want to just walk up and ask Chase if he’s trick or treating for Halloween?”

  “No, that’s a good way to get killed. On the other hand, we need to be absolutely, positively, 100% sure these guys are trying to steal the Alliance’s gold.”

  Glancing nervously at the spot where over 60 armed men were about to appear, Bishop said, “Okay, boss, what’s the plan?”

  Nick didn’t have to think long, “You go and warn the guards… get them up and at their posts just in case.”

  Bishop shook his head, “They don’t know me from Adam. You’re the Alliance’s honcho. You go warn them. I’ll inquire as politely as I can what my buddy Chase and his friends are doing under the cover of darkness.”

  “Politely?” Nick asked, the skepticism dripping from the word.

  “I promise,” and then as an afterthought, Bishop continued. “Why are we dicking around with this? Call in those birds and barrels from Hood. We can sort this out after Chase and his boys are disarmed, on their knees… with their hands on their heads
.”

  Nick pondered his friend’s request, but then decided against it. “There’s more than enough security at the bank to hold them off until help arrives. If we end up killing the ambassador and his motley crew of U.S. citizens before we have undeniable proof, the headlines in Washington will drone on and on about the massacre in Fort Worth. We have to handle this in the right way.”

  “Fuck them,” sounded Bishop’s hasty reply, but then he immediately softened. “Okay, Mister Diplomat, I’m not walking in your boots. Go warn the white hats. I’ll delay these clowns for as long as possible. By the way, I want to be buried on the ranch, and I want my tombstone to say, ‘Damn it, Nick! I tried to tell you…’”

  Nick didn’t wait for his friend to finish, vanishing in an instant, a shadow trotting toward the bank. Bishop was left alone in the street, looking for a position where he could both issue a challenge and withstand what was sure to be a withering hailstorm of gunfire.

  A few minutes later, he spied them, glowing bright red in his thermal imager. They were spread like a rifle company, single file on each side of the street. Some of the men were carrying what appeared to be RPGs or Rocket Propelled Grenades. All were armed, with at least three belt-fed weapons visible in the lead elements. “Shit,” Bishop whispered. “Me and my big mouth.”

  He waited until they were a half block away and called out from his hide. “Good day, Ambassador McQuire. Out taking in the air kind of early this morning, aren’t we?”

  Bishop wasn’t overly impressed with the approaching riflemen’s reactions. They hesitated just a moment before moving for cover. Too slow, he thought. Definitely not pros.

  “Who is that?” called back a voice from the night. “This is Captain Steven Reedy, Texas 7th Cav, first of the third. Who goes there?”

  Bishop had to grin at the man’s bluff. “Don’t bother with the bullshit, Captain, or whoever you are. We know you just left the Lewis Oil facility in Oklahoma. The real Texas 7th Cavalry is on the way here. A lot of them. And they’re pissed that you posers are wearing their colors.”

  “Bishop?” a voice called from the right. “Is that you?”

  Stall, Bishop thought. Give Nick time. Nobody is shooting… just yet. “Yes, Chase, it’s me. You have to stop stalking me like this, Terri is going to get suspicious of your sexual preferences.”

  There was a hushed conversation on the other side, Bishop unable to make out the words. One thing was almost certain; they weren’t planning on asking him for Halloween candy.

  Finally, Chase called out again, “Come on out, Bishop. Let’s talk this over.”

  Yeah, right, Bishop thought. I’m sure you won’t shoot me on sight. “I’m quite comfortable right here,” Bishop responded. “Why don’t you turn around and head back to Sooner Country… and stay there.”

  Now there was movement on the other side, the scrape of boots and rush of cloth signaling the Texan that the opposing force was zeroing in on his voice, trying to flank his solo ass.

  Bishop moved, scrambling half bent and retreating another 25 yards down the street. “Flank this, assholes,” he whispered.

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Bishop,” Chase finally shouted. “Why don’t you show yourself, and perhaps we can strike a deal.”

  Before responding, Bishop scouted his next move. In an urban environment, sound bounced off walls and streets, increasing the difficulty of identifying the source. Still, he would have to move quickly after answering. “Chase, we both know why you’re here. I’ve got men with me, and the guards are alerted. I wasn’t bullshitting when I said the real 7th is on its way. Leave… now… before a lot of people die.”

  While Bishop’s plan to talk and then move, speak and then retreat, was noble, it didn’t work. The Texan saw a yellow-red glow appear just down the block and then a shower of sparks. RPG!

  The Texan dove for cover as the hiss of the rocket’s exhaust grew louder, and then a blast of hot air and thunder disturbed the night.

  Chunks of concrete block, mortar, and lead shrapnel sizzled through the air as Bishop rolled hard to escape the primary kill zone of the grenade. Then he was on a knee, firing a spread of five shots where he thought the foe would be.

  At least 10 guns responded, geysers of dirt, rock, and pavement adding to the smoke and airborne debris created by the RPG. Bishop, however, had already moved.

  Twice more he executed a shoot and scoot, spraying haphazard bursts and then moving before the counter fire could zero in on his position. It wasn’t a tactic for victory, merely designed to delay.

  The enemy, however, was catching on, dozens of zipping rounds coming closer and closer as the Texan scurried for cover. He decided not to make a third attempt and ran like hell for the old bank.

  Saying a quick prayer that Nick’s nervous sentries wouldn’t pepper his carcass with friendly fire, Bishop zigzagged down the street, altering his direction and changing speeds.

  Just when a sturdy looking building came into view, a voice called from the darkness. It was Nick. “Bishop! Bishop! Over here!”

  He didn’t need to be summoned twice.

  Running toward the sound of his friend’s voice, Bishop was chased across the pavement by incoming fire. The imposters knew the element of surprise was no longer with them, and they were coming hard.

  Nick’s next statement made it all worse, “They had a man on the inside. Most of the guards are dead, shot while they slept.”

  Before Bishop could react, all hell erupted around the sleepy outskirts of Fort Worth, automatic weapons, grenades, and the roar of exploding rockets signaling that the two forces were fully engaged. The Texan knew in less than a minute his side was going to lose.

  The security around the repository had been designed to discourage bank robbers with small arms, perhaps even a few sticks of TNT. It didn’t have a prayer against a full bore, heavily armed assault by a military-grade unit.

  What remained of the bank’s security force automatically went to their stations, lightly fortified corners of the building’s roof, along with a few key positions around the perimeter of the structure. Chase’s men had thoroughly scouted the site and knew exactly where the defenders would be. Hell rained down.

  One by one, the small clusters of defenders were subdued, mostly by .50 caliber machine gunfire and blazing rockets. “This is going to be over in less than five minutes!” Bishop shouted as he poured rounds into an advancing group of attackers. “How long before the white hats arrive?”

  “Flight time from Hood is 50 minutes,” Nick yelled back, his carbine snapping lead at a shadow racing along the sidewalk.

  “We’re fucked!” Bishop screamed back as a hail of heavy lead descended on their position, driving both Nick’s and his face into the dirt.

  In the profession of gun fighting, there were two basic ways to achieve victory – maneuver, and direct application of ordnance. With the bank’s location fixed, the first method was eliminated, leaving the defenders with the option of throwing more lead at the foe than what could be returned.

  Bishop and Nick were good. Damned good. The duo fell into an effective rhythm, one always shooting while the other reloaded. Their aim was accurate, target selection never wasted by duplication. But it wasn’t enough.

  “We can’t get over the top,” Bishop shouted, slamming another box of pills into his weapon.

  Nick knew exactly what his friend meant. Facing belt-fed weapons and far outnumbered, the two Alliance shooters couldn’t produce enough suppressive fire to get “on top,” of the exchanges. They were being driven down behind cover more than they were shooting back, and the ratio was degrading with every volley.

  “Fall back,” Nick screamed at anyone who could hear. “Fall back!”

  Bishop didn’t need to be told twice.

  Leapfrogging each other with covering fire, Bishop thought his body would be shredded at any moment. The intensity of the incoming ordnance made it nearly impossible to concentrate, aim, or do much more than run like a p
ack of demons was trying to bite his ass.

  Finally, after scrambling several blocks, the pursuing blizzard of lead subsided. The two men, gassed and stunned at the ferocity of the firefight, paused to catch their breath.

  “Holy shit that was nasty,” Nick panted.

  “What now,” Bishop managed between drawing lungs of air. “He has the repository.”

  “No way they can load up that much gold and get out before the boys from Hood show up. There’s nearly 20 tons of the stuff in that vault. He may hold the building, but soon enough it will turn into a tar baby.”

  “I don’t know,” Bishop gasped. “So far they’ve been one step ahead of us.”

  Just then, a huge explosion vibrated through the earth, the rumbling, shaking ground leaving little doubt that someone had just blown the vault.

  A moment later, the sound of several engines disturbed the night.

  Nick looked ill. “He’s using heavy equipment to load the gold.”

  “It would only take a couple of forklifts to make short work of the treasure,” Bishop nodded. “They could load it onto that semi and be gone before help arrives.”

  Nick shook his head, “But where would they go? Half of the Texas Army would be flying around in Blackhawks, hunting them down from the sky. They’re smarter than that.”

  The sound of footsteps halted the conversation, Bishop and Nick both raising their weapons as a man stumbled around the corner, holding his shoulder and walking with a slight limp. It was one of the guards.

  Nick identified himself and moved to help the wounded survivor. The ex-operator quickly surmised the man’s injuries were not fatal.

  “I heard two of them talking,” reported the new arrival as Nick applied a bandage. “I think they’re going for the airport. I heard one teasing another about being afraid to fly.”

  “Makes sense,” Bishop pondered out loud. “If I were stealing all that loot, I’d want to fly out of Texas, not drive. A good size transport plane could handle that much weight.”

  “The old municipal airport is about two miles from here,” the guard chimed in. “It’s not been used since the downfall.”