by Soren Petrek
“We’ve got movement, Colonel,” TJ said.
“Confirmed on my side,” Sam said.
“Nothing yet here,” Joseph said as he scanned down the slope.
“What are your orders, Colonel?” Joseph continued.
“We engage, this needs to end here and now. They want it, they brought it.”
With that, John loudly cranked back the Browning fifty caliber machine gun positioned on the rim of the trench, surrounded by sand bags concealed with dirt and leaves, and opened fire. Simultaneously, the other men did so as well, aiming either towards the men they’d spotted or into likely cover positions.
Paco spaced his men carefully at the bottom of the hill leading up to the fortified position along the ridge. Although well hidden, someone had prepared that position for assault. Paco’s unease grew as he realized that he had no idea the number of men that held that position. Had their attack been expected? Were they forewarned? The more he thought about it the angrier he became. That fool Jose had destroyed their advantage of surprise. Regardless, he will be a casualty. He looked at his men dispersed throughout the trees. These woods were a strange environment to a man who lived and worked in the desert. It wasn’t jungle like those in Southeast Asia, but they had their forbidding denseness. He suddenly knew the advantage lay with the defenders.
“Cover,” Paco yelled as the woods around him came alive with bullets. Two men were instantly hit and went down screaming. They were pulled out of the line of fire, one dead and one seriously wounded. His men immediately returned fire. Automatic weapons fire tore into the top of the ridge. Paco nodded to the two men who carried the light anti-tank missiles. Between them they had ordinance for several shots.
“Shit,” Paco yelled. There’s more than one man up there,” He yelled into his headset, “Echo one, you hear that?”
“Well boss, I guess we’ve got more than one man,” Philippe yelled back.
“I hear a fifty,” Paco said unbelieving.
“A fifty Cal?”
“Gotta be,” Paco screamed back over the din. Then it all came to him. No intel on the family or friends.
“Keep cover and advance. Let’s see how the fifty likes RPG rounds. Fire at will,” Paco ordered.
To Nathan and Crockett it sounded like the whole woods came alive with gunfire and then the whoosh of an RPG and a huge explosion off to the side of the ridge.
“They’re hot,” John yelled, and Sam let loose with an RPG from the ridge.
For the next ten minutes it was absolute bedlam as each side peppered the other with automatic gunfire. Twice an RPG had exploded within a few feet of the front of the trench. There was smoke and dirt everywhere, across the ridge and down the slope to where the three advancing units took cover and moved up the ridge. Sam was bleeding from several places. The helmet and body armor that he had insisted his father and the other men wear had easily saved each of them from serious harm or death. Shrapnel flew in all directions as the ground shook. Neither side could keep this pace up for long. John had stowed plenty of ordinance but not for a damn siege. He knew the enemy would have limited time to carry out their mission. Even though Patience was isolated, the sound of a full scale battle would attract attention and outside law enforcement would arrive. He both welcomed and feared that happening. If their attackers were trapped, they would try to fight their way out. Modern law enforcement is well armed, but these were well trained mercenary soldiers. John’s intention was to defend and to send a message. If the enemy intended to take the ridge, many of them would die doing so.
It was during this initial madness that Nathan took up his spears and the huge shotgun slung over his shoulder and began to run, crashing through the woods all along the perimeter of the ridge and behind the attackers. The first man he took had no time to react. As he fired his RPG, Nathan threw a spear through him with such force that it was embedded in a tree several feet beyond. The man’s entire head was just gone. The man had been hit with a spear easily weighing thirty pounds. It tore through him like a freight train going through a watermelon, without slowing at all. The shaft of the spear was tipped with a blade several inches wide and an inch thick. Only a dark flash was seen by the other men as Nathan crashed through, firing both barrels of a .8 gauge shotgun, spraying buckshot into more than one man. The men had body armor but their legs, arms, and heads were exposed and were savaged by the buck shot. The enemy fired wildly back as Nathan charged by, but had little time for accuracy, pinned down by the defenders in front.
Nathan continued his attack, killing three men, tearing each apart with a massive spear. He targeted the men with the weapons that could do the most damage to his friends. The psychological effect on the attackers was pronounced. Even the combat hardened officers had never seen anything like it.
“Find me that man, Philippe. Take him out,” Paco tersely ordered. He could not afford to be boxed in from the rear. He would eliminate the threat and then they would advance under an all-out barrage and deliver a satchel charge that would completely take out the entrenched position. Because of the angle of the hill, the rockets they fired struck dirt or impacted trees on their way to their target. He and his men were pinned down in predetermined fields of fire, and that heavy caliber machine gun up there was pre-sighted on their position. He knew that the sheriff was Special Forces, but he sensed another hand in this. He was confronting an enemy trained in the type of warfare that he was, older, more traditional.
“Roger that.” Philippe didn’t have to ask who his commander meant. He spoke quick words to his next in command and slid off into the woods to find his man. Philippe too could move like a ghost in the woods, jungle, or any terrain for that matter. He would track the man.
Philippe soon caught a glimpse of a huge shape crashing through the undergrowth about seventy five yards behind and to the right of him. He smiled and thought “I have you now, my spear throwing friend.” Guy must be nuts. A silenced weapon got the job done just fine, even a bow, but a spear? What the damn hell? The guy also had a shotgun, and that meant limited range. The man would have to stop at some point, and when he does, I’ve got him.
Nathan slowed after he’d put some distance between himself and the rear of the attackers. He kept to the densest part of the undergrowth and tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible. Even though he was in good shape, his heart pounded in his chest and he was gulping huge breaths of air. He needed to stop, take cover and assess his situation. He had never been in combat, but had trained for it all his life. He was proud not to feel fear; something else had taken over, something handed down from some of the fiercest warriors the world had ever known. As his breathing slowed he watched the woods in front of him and to the sides, missing the small shape dart far to the right and behind him.
Philippe came at Nathan’s position from the behind and slightly to the side. He couldn’t get a shot, as the man had positioned himself up against a huge tree covering his back. The little Philippe could see of the man was huge. He could also see the end of a side by side shotgun. Judging by the damage it had done it was a blunderbuss, had to be an eight gauge. He did not want that thing going off in his face. He didn’t have a world of time either, and needed to get back to the line and take that hill and get the hell away from this crazy place. They had expected some possible resistance, but this was the most intense combat Philippe had ever seen. You couldn’t even exaggerate it. Using the cover of the gunfight that continued, he used every skill in his arsenal to advance on the man. It would have to be quick and he held a side arm ready to fire as he crawled forward. His target shifted and he froze, all the while keeping the protruding barrel of the shotgun in sight. If it moved, he froze as he inched closer. He had been trained by the best the former Soviet Union provided. He had him either way. If the man broke cover he was dead. If he didn’t move he was dead. He was less than five yards from the man now and had reached a point where it would be impossible for the man to bring that shotgun to bear in time. He just wouldn’t
be able to swing it around before he was shot. He readied and sprang, firing. It was too late by the time he saw the shotgun resting in the fork of a branch shoved into the ground. No! Phillipe screamed in his mind as he saw Nathan’s giant hand dart out and grab his head with crushing power. As he tried to recover, he fired wildly off balance and was jerked off the ground and swung towards the massive trunk. Philippe’s head smashed like a pumpkin against the side of the tree. Once was all it took. The force was so great that a dead limb fell along with some other forest litter.
Nathan tossed the man aside, grabbed his shotgun, and was gone. As he ran back towards the fighting, Nathan knew he’d gotten lucky. It hadn’t been sound or sight that had given the man away. At the last minute Nathan smelled him. Away from the fighting the air was clear of smoke and gunpowder. Nathan knew what everything in those woods smelled like, and the whiff that caught his attention was not from that neighborhood. The man’s smells were a product of what he ate and drank, what soaked out of his body and into his clothes during combat. The man was a casualty of exactly what Nathan used as his best defense, his knowledge. He was focusing all of his senses as he had been taught. John had known that if things got to the point where the ridge was under attack, Nathan would follow orders and come in from the rear, and further, that any decent commander on the ground would have to send someone back to neutralize that threat. Once again John had expected that their secret weapon was that they would be underestimated at all levels and then, once engaged, the enemy wouldn’t realize their mistake until it was too late.
Nathan started to move back towards the battle when he heard someone running towards him from behind. The person was small, but never-the- less Nathan crouched and hid until he saw Jimmy Dent running at full speed towards him.
“Nathan, Nathan!!” The boy ran into Nathan full speed and grabbed onto him the best he could.
“Whoa, there, Jim! This is about the worst place you could be right now! Get out of here!”
“I heard guns, people shooting. What’s wrong?” The boy was clearly near panic but Nathan could see he was holding it together. Nathan was nearly as worried as the kid. The men on the ridge were trapped and in trouble.
“Jim, run to my house and call the airport. The number is on the wall by the phone. Tell Cecil that John Trunce is in trouble. He will know what to do”.
“What if I don’t get an answer?”
“Then drive my tractor out there and get him!”
“You be careful Nathan!”
“Yes sir, Jim. Now run as fast as you can!”
Nathan watched the kid tear off through the woods. He had a strange feeling inside. He really liked that kid. If they all made it through this he intended to introduce Jimmy to Sam and John. They’d love to meet any kid who sprinted towards a battle to find his friend. For now at least the kid would be safe. If he didn’t get Cecil on the phone, it would take him an hour to drive out there on the tractor and this thing would be long over in an hour.
“Colonel, we’re down to one RPG round. Plenty of grenades though,” Joseph yelled out as he crouched down and reloaded.
“I don’t know about you Joseph, but I never could throw worth a shit,” John said.
As he spoke he looked over at Sam. He was everywhere. He moved with instinct and grace, if that was the word. He had never seen his son in combat, and prayed that he never would again. He was a sight to behold, a man in his prime. A soldier trained to the highest modern level, fighting with a magnificent ferocity. He’d seen a few men like that over the years, but not many. He would tell him that if they made it through this afternoon.
Napping on a day bed in the back of the hangar, Cecil languished in the little cool of an air conditioner he had jammed into the window. The room was roughed off and finished with plywood paneling with all the creature comforts he needed, an old TV set, a fridge and a garbage can for his takeout pizza box. He’d taken more and more to hanging out in the hanger and keeping things in order at the airport. His wife had passed away, and he didn’t like bouncing around in the big old house with people stopping by to see if he was okay. It just wasn’t in his nature to be rude. Manners were manners. So he just preferred to hide out. He had lots of money, both from his work and from his wife’s large inheritance. Everyone always wanted some. The comments he’d get from so-called friends about it drove him nuts. The people he’d have gladly given huge amounts to, like his fly buddy John, didn’t seem to care about it one way or the other. He glanced at the cell phone John had given him, and it seemed to be working. Honestly, he really couldn’t tell. He knew there was a possibility these drug dealers might try to cause some trouble, but John had figured the likelihood of anything happening that couldn’t be handled quickly was remote. He figured John would get word to him if necessary.
Miles out of town, Cecil couldn’t hear the gunfire or the explosions, especially since he was practically underneath the air conditioner with the game turned up on the television. All at once his solitude was broken by the peal of the old rotary phone that shrilled on the metal desk. The one he had been thinking about opening the bottom drawer on. The one with the Old Crow bottle filled with the big man’s moonshine, as he liked to call it. John and he shared some now and then, and joked that if they ever got tired of drinking it they could always put it in the Thunderbolt. He snatched up the phone and there was a kid on the other end jabbering excitedly. He caught Mr. Trunce, Nathan and fight. Then in the midst of all the chatter, he clearly heard, “Nathan says Sam and John are in trouble, trapped up on the ridge behind the farm.” The phone dropped from his hand and crashed onto the desk as he scrambled for the plane. Cecil reacted like he had with the RAF during the Battle of Britain. He had been among a small group of American pilots who had volunteered for combat duty.
He was almost as much British as American. He had been born in the United States, to an American father and a British mother. As a child he spent many summers in the English countryside with his grandparents. When Germany attacked by air, Cecil was not willing to wait until the US entered the war. He enlisted in the RAF without hesitation. He and his fellow pilots won that battle at enormous expense. Although he flew many missions as the war continued nothing compared to those days backed against the wall living in a limbo between life and death. Twice he had his plane shot out from under him, only to find himself in another cockpit just hours later. He flew two flags in his yard, the stars and stripes and the Union Jack.
Cecil climbed up the ladder, hit the switches, and fired the engine. It caught immediately as the 2450 horsepower Pratt & Whitney engine roared to life. A few modifications had been made to the plane, and it leapt down the runway in response to his hand on the stick. Cecil checked his instrumentation as he picked up speed. He didn’t have to warm this monster up, it wanted to go. Earlier in the day he’d checked and rechecked everything on the flight checklist along with the eight 50 caliber machine guns and the ten five inch rockets.
Within a few short minutes, he was in the sky and banking towards town. He realized that he had no radio contact and would have to make his decisions on his own. John and he had clear discussions about what action to take. If he was called into battle, it was all or nothing, and that’s where things seemed to stand right now.
By the time the people of Patience took notice of the gunfire and explosions they heard in the distance coming from the Trunce farm, they also heard the Thunderbolt tearing across the sky at 400 miles per hour. Everyone looked up and wondered what that wild man was doing now. Hearing gun fire and explosions wasn’t necessarily that out of place over there, but this seemed like the whole woods were coming alive.
John, Sam, Joseph and TJ were firing in all directions. There wasn’t time to think of escape, they’d fired their last RPG and used up all of the grenades. The top of the ridge was covered with smoke and the air was like the inside of a bee hive: complete chaos. Just as John was switching ammo and deciding to at least try and get the other men out, he heard a soun
d like the sweet music of heaven and started to chuckle and then to laugh uproariously. The others glanced over and were slower on the up take. John had flown that old plane a hundred times, and he knew her distinctive sound.
“That’s Cecil, now you are going to see some shit!” he yelled. “Get ready to get down and I mean under the dirt!”
Just then a rocket exploded just behind the trench scattering the men and filling the air with debris. TJ had taken the worst of it and was out, Sam kept firing down the hill as he crouched.
Cecil assessed the situation at the top of the ridge instantly. Old memories and training flowed into his mind and hands as he turned viciously into a hard left dive and came plummeting towards the middle of the hill leading up to the trench. He had complete confidence in his plane and his abilities, and this time the thought of personal safety didn’t even register, one last run, you sorry bastards, he thought. The plane plummeted with a terrifying roar, crushing down from above.
“De na fuck with thunder,” he yelled in an exaggerated Scottish brogue and sent every rocket into the hill side and opened up with the 50 cals. It was like the whole world came down from the sky for the men on the ground. The rockets’ explosive charge was beyond ridiculous. Meteors might as well have been hitting the earth. As soon as the Thunderbolt had been there, it was gone.
Cecil looked down as he winged over and shot up into the sky. “Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” he simultaneously laughed and yelled.
“That ought to do it!” he said with measured finality. He leveled off around ten thousand feet and flew a tight pattern around the area. He knew that if routed, the enemy would likely try to escape by air. With helicopters now, people could get picked up in a hurry. His mind turned to air combat as he adjusted the buckle on his parachute and checked his ammo.
It was when he heard the Thunderbolt that Paco realized that this battle was over. There simply wasn’t enough time to do anything other than yell to take cover. With the sound of battle, the plane was on them before there was time. Bodies flew everywhere. The remaining rockets exploded as the area lit up in a massive flash and explosion. The concussion pounded the men into the ground. The plane’s rockets hit in twos ripping into the base and slopes of the ridge.