Holding Their Own XI: Hearts and Minds

by Joe Nobody

  Nick glanced back at the bank and then at his watch. “We’ve got to slow those guys down until help arrives.”

  “Best place is going to be that airport,” Bishop speculated. “Since we don’t know their route, and they have us completely outgunned, an ambush isn’t likely to work. Given the lack of prep time, I say we try and take out the plane before they can get off the ground.”

  Nick looked at his friend, his eyes still holding hope, “You up for one more fight tonight?” he whispered.

  “Can I have some of the gold to buy Terri a new house?” Bishop teased.

  “How do we get to the airport?” Nick asked the wounded man.

  Both of them listened intently as the man gave directions, and then they were off, jogging for the truck. Their speed over ground was painfully slow.

  It seemed like Lewis men were everywhere, patrols, lookouts, and sentries between the duo and their escape vehicle.

  “We’re not going to make it,” Bishop said, watching a group of five men patrolling the street ahead. There are too many of them.”

  As Nick started to reply, a small pop sounded in the distance, immediately followed by a flare rising above the old bank. Both Alliance fighters watched the streaking rocket soar into the sky and then ignite in a glowing ball of green light.

  The unit to their front then did something very strange.

  “There’s the signal, boys,” someone shouted, “Let’s get this done.”

  Without any hesitation, they all started getting undressed, shirts, trousers, and boots flying everywhere.

  Bishop frowned at Nick, clearly perplexed by the odd behavior. “An orgy?” he mumbled.

  Grunting, the big man shook his head. “They’re ditching the uniforms. Probably going to try and melt into the population and then sneak away.”

  “Smart,” Bishop admitted. “They’ve been working on this little scheme for a long time.”

  “We need to get moving,” Nick stated, looking right and left for a way around.

  “How long before the boys from Hood arrive?”

  Glancing at his watch, Nick’s scowl deepened. “Twenty minutes, give or take. If you say, ‘Daddy, are we there yet,’ one more time, I’m going to put your scrawny ass on the deck.”

  “They’re not going to make it in time,” Bishop mumbled, pushing off to follow Nick’s lead.

  The two men finally arrived at the pickup, jumping in and then racing toward the airport. “What are we going to do once we get there?”

  “Hell if I know. Shoot out the tires of the plane or something. We’ll just have to play it by ear. The good news is that most of their forces are fading into the night and won’t be around the plane.”

  The key word there is ‘most,’ Bishop thought, but he didn’t state the obvious.

  The short distance passed quickly, Nick having to slow as they got close. Sure enough, they could see the huge tail section of a massive plane sitting on the runway.

  Nick rolled the truck to a stop behind an old hangar, the two men hustling to the building’s corner to spy on the activities taking place on the field.

  There they found a massive C-17 Globemaster on the runway, its cavernous interior being fed by two forklifts scooting up and down the lowered ramp. Bishop spotted Chase standing at the rear of the cargo bay, directing traffic and shouting orders to the small group of men scurrying to get the aircraft loaded.

  “Not many sentries,” Nick observed.

  “Enough,” Bishop countered. “We’d be cut in half before we even got close.”

  “I’m going to try and use this big blaster of yours to damage the plane. They’ll come after me like the devil’s hounds once I start firing. I want you at the far end of this hangar where you can get an angle on their counterattack. Receiving fire from two directions will confuse them for a bit. Keep them off me as long as you can.”

  “You can’t hurt that plane with that pea shooter,” Bishop protested. “It’s just not got enough ass for the job. Even if you did pop a tire or damage an engine, that thing can still take off and fly. Get on that Sat-phone and scramble some jets. Shoot that fucker out of the sky.”

  “They will be out of Texas airspace in minutes. Besides, we don’t keep interceptors on the runway. There’s never been a need, at least not up till now. It’s up to us or we lose the gold, and we both know what that means. We’ve got to try.”

  Nodding, Bishop asked, “Okay. And after they push you back, where are you going to pick me up? Or do I have to walk home?”

  “Go to the south end of the field,” Nick pointed. “Down by that warehouse. I’ll come around with the truck and meet you there… if I’m still able.”

  Bishop didn’t like the plan, not one bit. As he started to debate his friend, the C-17’s enormous jet engines began spinning up. “They’re almost done loading,” Nick snapped. “Now move your ass, trooper.”

  As ordered, the Texan hustled off, keeping the hangar between the bad guys and him. He reached the far end a few moments later and found an old engine block sitting in a pile of plane-trash. It would have to suffice for cover.

  The .308’s report sounded like a kid’s firecracker against the background of the big jets. So much so, Chase and his cronies didn’t realize someone was shooting until the second round impacted.

  Just that quickly, a dozen rifles began firing back as Nick continued to snipe at the plane.

  Bishop waited, not wanting to give away his position until someone actually moved toward his friend. If Chase and his cohorts were content having a long-range gun battle, that was just fine with the Texan. Nick’s superior marksmanship and blaster’s longer range would win the contest, at least until help arrived.

  Somebody on the other side must have come to the same conclusion at the same time. Suddenly, Chase’s arms were waving as orders were shouted over the drone of the jets. It was clear he was trying to get his men to form up and charge the sniper.

  Two of the Lewis men motioned for one of the large, gas-powered forklifts to come closer. In a flash, they jumped on the back of the yellow machine and commanded the driver to advance on Nick’s position.

  Bishop raised his weapon, centering his red dot on the driver’s chest.

  Evidently, Nick saw the countermove at the same moment, his aim moving from the plane to the makeshift armored vehicle now speeding in his direction. As Bishop flicked his carbine’s safety to the fire position, the sparks of incoming rounds began flashing off the forklift’s metal surface.

  The Texan pulled the trigger, the loading machine’s operator jerking hard as he was struck. The forklift, still rolling hard, zigged and swerved so violently that Bishop’s follow-on shot missed one of the passengers.

  “Oh shit,” Bishop hissed as the fast-moving machine steadied its course. The damn thing was pointed right at him and barreling across the tarmac at a good clip.

  The two shooters hanging off of each side must have realized their chariot was doomed and abandoned ship, hitting the concrete hard and rolling like rag dolls.

  Bishop poured several more shots into their now-prone frames, but it was probably a waste of ammo as neither man moved after jumping from their fast moving ride. He then turned and ran as the forklift slammed into the corner of the hangar just a few feet from his hide.

  Crumpling metal and splintering wood overrode the background noise of the jet, the hardy forklift destroying the corner of the hangar and then coming to rest on the scrap heap. The driver’s body was nearly thrown half out of his seat.

  Bishop returned to cover his friend, but Nick was no longer fighting. As the Texan peered around the still-running forklift, he spotted several of Chase’s men closing in on the location where the big man had been just a few moments before.

  The Texan had no idea if his friend was dead, retreating or setting a trap for the pursuing forces. What he could see clearly was there was no one remaining at the rear of the C-17.

  Yellow lights started flashing on both sides of the aircr
aft’s ramp, warning all that the huge aluminum door was about to close. “Chase doesn’t want to share the gold with his friends,” Bishop whispered. “He’s taking off without them.”

  The Texan’s thoughts were confirmed when the plane’s engines began to power up to a deafening roar.

  Glancing at the forklift, he made up his mind quickly. After taking the dead driver’s hat, Bishop tossed the body aside and climbed into the seat. It took him a moment to figure out the controls, and then the loader was backing off the trash heap. Bishop said a short prayer that Nick wouldn’t shoot him in a case of fratricide, and then the Texan was racing across the tarmac toward the slowly closing cargo ramp.

  Fully expecting someone to start pelting him with lead any second, Bishop crossed the entire distance without a single incoming round. Slamming on the brake, he leapt from the machine’s seat and surged for the ever-narrowing opening above the ramp. He jumped, catching the edge, and then looked down as his carbine clattered on the pavement below. Cursing the loss of his weapon, he did a chin up and then throwing a leg over, pulled himself inside the ever-darkening cargo hold.

  Off balance and scrambling to get away from the still-moving door, Bishop stumbled, rolled, and then crawled to hide behind a huge crate of what he assumed was Alliance gold. The interior of the aircraft went black as the door sealed shut.

  The plane began rolling.

  Thinking he would visit the cockpit with his pistol and convince the pilots that today wasn’t a good day to log hours, Bishop started up the aisle.

  He was halfway to the front of the aircraft when a searing bolt of white-hot pain shot through his arm – the flash of a metal pipe shattering the Texan’s limb and sending his .45 flying across the bay.

  Knocked to the deck and completely confused, Bishop tried to gather himself. Stunned and nearly blinded by pain, he barely saw the boot flying toward his ribcage.

  The kick landed squarely, but most of the kinetic force was dissipated by the Texan’s body armor and load vest. Still, it hurt like hell, rolling Bishop over onto his broken arm and sending blistering waves of agony through his skull.

  When his vision cleared, Bishop looked up to see Chase’s sneering face hovering above him, murder in the larger man’s eyes.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but your ticket isn’t valid for this flight,” the ambassador quipped. “On this airline, we execute stowaways.”

  Bishop saw that boot again, this time its aim was to stomp his face. He rolled hard, barely avoiding the strike.

  With one bad arm and confined by the narrow space between two crates, the Texan couldn’t reach his knife. Chase seemed to have already grasped his enemy’s helpless state and moved in for the kill.

  Blows rained on Bishop’s retreating body, hammer-like impacts that rattled every bone in the Texan’s core. Chase was insane with fury, swinging his pipe and kicking relentlessly as the Texan retreated, stumbled, and absorbed the painful wrath.

  Finally, the energy bled from Chase’s muscles, the commotion subsiding as the two men stood panting. “I’m going to kill you and then take your wife and child,” the ambassador growled. “I’ll enjoy Terri’s body in my bed. And I will raise your son as my own. He’ll never know you existed.”

  Half blinded by the blood flowing down his cut and battered face, Bishop’s brain screamed for him to attack, but there was no strength left in his limbs. He could barely stand, his lungs struggling to draw breath.

  Chase recovered first, hefting his pipe and moving in for the kill. The plane achieved wheels up at that moment, the deck tilting steeply under the two combatant’s feet. Bishop felt the crate he was leaning against shift, the nylon strap securing the container pulling taut with the strain of gravity and angle.

  In desperation, Bishop pulled his fighting knife, slashing viciously at the retaining strap. His first attempt failing to slice through the thick material, the blade flashed again and again.

  Knocked off balance by the aircraft’s ascent, it took Chase a moment to regain his equilibrium and charge. As he lifted the tube for a tomahawk-like strike, the frayed nylon restraint gave way, and the heavy box of precious metal began to slide.

  Chase’s strike missed Bishop, the tubular weapon’s arch fouled as the wooden container gained momentum.

  Bishop watched as the crate increased its speed, Chase’s limbs trembling with the strain as he tried in vain to slow its progress. Commanding his own legs to move, the Texan took four big steps and crashed his shoulder into the opposite side of the container, shoving with all his might.

  The plane banked, the additional angle facilitating Bishop’s cause. A moment later, with a resounding thud and Chase’s agonizing scream, the gold came to rest against the side of the aircraft.

  Bishop moved to continue his attack, but the action was unnecessary. Pinned from the chest down from the bone shattering impact, he found Chase was no longer in the fight. One of the man’s legs was twisted at a horrible angle, bloody bone protruding from the sandwiched ambassador’s pants.

  Bishop stood and watched as Chase struggled to breathe, the man’s eyes rolling around in his skull as he fought the pain while his ribs heaved to take in oxygen.

  “He’s going into shock,” the Texan muttered his diagnosis. “Maybe the fucker will bleed out before we land. I wish I could stay here and watch it happen.”

  Wiping the blood from his face, Bishop found his pistol lying nearby. Checking the weapon’s status, he began limping toward the cockpit.

  The pilots, expecting to see Chase, were stunned by the bloody, haggard man that appeared behind them. “Do you gentlemen know the way to Alpha, Texas?” Bishop grumbled, his .45 caliber sidearm unwavering.

  “Ye… ye, yes, sir,” answered the nervous flyboy.

  “Good. This is now my aircraft. Take me there. Oh, and please radio ahead to tell them we’re coming in.”

  Chapter 16

  A sea of flashing emergency lights awaited the plane’s arrival, Sheriff Watts and the Alpha security forces arriving to greet both the gold and the two passengers aboard.

  Terri was there as well, holding Hunter and pointing as the huge aircraft circled Alpha twice before lining up for their final approach. “I’ve got to hand it to your Dad, Sweetie, when he goes hunting, he really goes hunting.”

  Once stationary on the tarmac, the C-17 was swarmed by law enforcement and medical personnel. Bishop was escorted down the ramp by two very unhappy EMTs, the Texan refusing to be placed on a stretcher. “I’m walking off under my own power,” he declared. “And that’s more than I can say for the other guy.”

  After handing off her son to the hovering babysitter, Terri rushed to greet him, not sure whether her husband was going to receive an ass kicking or a hug. When she finally laid eyes on the badly beaten Texan, she went with the embrace. Clearly, someone had already kicked his ass.

  She didn’t say a word as he debriefed Watts and Diana, along with a huddled mass of several other Alliance bigwigs. The story would have been unbelievable were it not for the oversized aircraft sitting nearby, as well as the tons of Alliance gold within. Chase McQuire was icing on the cake.

  All the while, paramedics were cleaning his wounds, applying bandages, and checking his arm. “You’re going to need to get that x-rayed,” one of the EMTs announced, pointing at the battered limb. “Looks broken to me.”

  As Bishop continued his sordid tale, Diana and Pete occasionally asked for clarification, as did the sheriff. Terri, however, remained silent. Throughout it all, she didn’t speak a single word.

  The thumping of a distant helicopter interrupted Bishop’s recounting, the military bird landing at the far end of the field. Nick hopped off and was rushed to his friend’s side via an electric golf cart.

  Stepping toward Bishop, the big man’s smile was genuine. “I saw you sneak on the plane,” he said. “Glad you pulled it off.”

  “Sorry to leave you back there, but somebody had to clean up your mess,” Bishop mumbled through swollen l
ips.

  The two men then continued with their tale, Nick now helping Bishop explain the finer details to the eager listeners.

  Finally, after the question and the answer period was clearly over, Bishop had a moment alone with his wife. “I know you’re pissed,” he said with a lowered head.

  “No, I’m not mad. I’m hurt… but we can talk about that later after the doc is through patching you up, and you’ve had a chance to rest.”

  “I want to talk about it now,” Bishop countered, looking at her through the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut… yet. “You don’t know how badly I’ve felt during this entire charade. I love you. You’re the most important thing in the world to me.”

  Terri merely nodded, and then Bishop noticed her eyes were moist with emotion. “You didn’t trust me,” she snapped. “Nick and you didn’t think I was worthy of being let in on the secret, and that hurts more than anything I’ve ever felt. Why? What have I ever done to deserve that?”

  “He didn’t have a choice,” came Nick’s voice, stepping up from behind. “He was under strict orders not to let you or anyone else in on our suspicions. If you want to blame someone, put it on me.”

  “I didn’t know either,” comforted Diana, “and I almost had a stroke over the entire affair.”

  With Nick’s admission came Terri’s temper. Standing abruptly, she poked the big man in the chest with an accusing finger, “All right, Mr. Bigshot, I’ll ask you the same question… ‘What on earth have I ever said or done that caused you to lose your faith and trust in me?’”

  “Nothing,” Nick replied softly, gently taking her shoulders in his hands. “But you have to understand, we’re now dealing with extremely serious people who are ruthless, clever and willing to sacrifice anything… or anyone… to bring us down. The Alliance is being taken seriously, and that means the stakes are increasing every day. One misspoken word… one badly timed glance by any of us and the whole house of cards could have collapsed down around our heads. My decision not to bring you two into this wasn’t based on any mistrust or lack of faith – it was because you didn’t have a need to know. It’s my job to keep you both safe, Terri. I had to do it this way.”