by Soren Petrek
When Paco raised his head, only a handful of the men were alive. He was in complete shock. He had the presence of mind to call for a retreat and made contact with the jet. Who are these people? They had been dive bombed by a vintage combat aircraft. The men that could still walk were carrying the wounded. Less than half of his men survived. Thankfully, the firing from the top of the hill had stopped. As he turned to scramble away he caught a silhouette on top of the ridge. He knew he’d seen it before. It felt like someone had stepped on his grave. He immediately recognized the worn khaki jacket with an airborne insignia. The man looked old and grizzled. At least we had our asses handed to us by soldiers, he thought. This battle had been lost and he needed to get his wounded and remaining troops out alive. He cursed the fact that there would be no time to carry out their dead, he had to take care of the living.
The pilot in the Lear immediately responded to Paco’s call and prepared to land the plane on the highway, as previously arranged in the event that extraction was necessary. He scanned the sky for the phantom combat aircraft Paco had hurriedly told him about. He kept his composure but lacked any combat experience. He’d spent most of his time in the air smuggling drugs. I’m a sitting duck, he thought, I just hope I can outrun whatever is out there. He couldn’t hear anything over the din of the Lear’s jet engines. As he approached the highway to land he did a quick fly by to make sure there were no vehicles on the road. He didn’t want to be on the ground long. As he flew by he could still see thick smoke rising from the woods along the edge of the highway. What in the hell had happened? This was not good. Finally he could see the men on the ground, and they looked like they’d been chewed up and spit out.
As soon as the plane hit the ground, Paco and his men scrambled onto the aircraft. Philippe was gone and Manolo didn’t look like he’d make it anywhere. All of the men had a wild look of complete disbelief. They were covered in dirt, sweat and blood. Several were singed by the explosive power of the rockets. The smell of burnt flesh permeated the cabin. The pilot slammed the door behind him, not bothering to ask if there were any stragglers. He engaged the engines and raced down the highway, launching into the sky as soon as he had sufficient speed. He shot towards the clouds to put as much distance as possible between the plane and whatever was on the ground.
Cecil watched the Lear land and take off seconds later. Once again he was left with a decision to make. He had no idea if the Lear had any weapons, or if others were about. He immediately dropped out of a cloud bank and engaged the Lear, coming out of the sun into the other pilot’s blind spot. He exhausted his remaining 50 caliber rounds and watched as the bullets tore into the wings and engines of the aircraft. The effect was immediate. The Lear continued to try to gain altitude but couldn’t, and the pilot was struggling to maintain any control at all. The plane hurtled to the east and out of Patience County.
Paco watched as the interior of the plane filled with smoke and when the electrical fires started, he knew they would crash. Men were yelling as he watched the pilot fight the controls through the open door to the cockpit. He calmly put on his seat belt and gave one last order “Belt yourselves in!” he yelled. He had always wondered how he would finally meet his end. Shot down by a relic. Obviously God had a sense of irony. He looked out the window and saw the ground coming up fast. Whispering a silent prayer that some of the men would survive; he bent forward in his seat and covered his head.
Sheriff Baker sat on his deck and looked lovingly down at his dock on the river. The water meandered pleasantly past his grassy river front property. He had lucked out when this property had come up for sale ten years ago. He really hadn’t been able to afford it, but it was such a good deal and such a great spot, he just had to make it work. He could deal with the hassles of the crazies, the druggies, and the downright stupid as long as he could fish the river on the weekends and sit on this deck and have a cocktail in the evenings. There was always something going on when you lived on water, especially when it was a river with traffic. He had just saved up for the down payment on a new bass boat, and there it was, all shiny and new. He got everything on it. Hell, half of the fun was figuring out all of the things the bells and whistles and extra gadgets did. He loved his wife, but the boat was a great way to visit his buddies on the river, by himself. He had just sat down from freshening his Jack Daniels when he heard the sound of a jet engine getting louder and louder. Some dumb ass flying too low? What the damn hell? He didn’t even have time to leap to his feet as he watched a small jet slam into the side of his beloved new boat and explode with a deafening roar. His house was set way back from the river on a hill to avoid flooding, but it shook all the same when the fuel exploded. He felt the wave of heat hit him like a straight line wind. He managed to hold onto his drink as the blast subsided and a cloud of black smoke rose into the air. He didn’t get up. He reached for his cell phone and dialed two numbers, first the Fire Department and then his office. As he walked down towards the crash site he could see what little was left of the jet settling into the water, hissing and smoking. His boat was just gone. Little pieces of carpet hung in a tree down by the beach. He drained his drink and set his glass down on the river bank. Carefully, he took out his wallet and pulled out his badge and in an exaggerated motion skipped it out into the river.
“That’s it for me,” he muttered, and turned back up the hill.
“Jesus, Sheriff, you okay?” the fire chief said as he ran up. “What happened?”
“Air Trunce landed, and don’t bother calling the FAA. They won’t be coming. Damn cowboys,” he said, looking off in the direction of Patience County.
“Cuban regulars is my guess,” Joseph said leaning over a boot print as the men walked around the area where their attackers had been before Cecil’s attack. There were shell casings scattered around the craters carved out by the rockets. Sam picked up a rifle that had been hastily cast aside when their attackers retreated.
“Cubans?” Sam said. “How do you know?”
“I’ve seen enough Russian issue boot tracks to last a lifetime,” Joseph said.
“That, the weapons they were using, and this,” John said as he held up a cigar butt.
“Hope the guy enjoyed it,” Sam said. “If I’m not mistaken, I heard a jet land and some more firing.”
“I’m quite sure Cecil put a few rounds into him,” John said.
“Man, I hope like hell that we don’t have a crashed plane in somebody’s back yard,” Sam said, relieved beyond belief that everyone was alive. “That definitely got a tad wilder than I would have thought.”
“They certainly underestimated the situation. My guess is that they would have hightailed it south,” Joseph added. “Lots of nothing but woods that way.”
“Time to get moving back to town. I’m worried about the rest of the crew. It stands to reason that they might have sent men after our families,” Sam said as he walked towards John’s jeep.
“Not a scratch on her,” John said and smiled, just as Nathan came jogging up.
Sam jumped out and went over to Nathan where they quite unashamedly grabbed each other by the arms.
“I left a few in the woods back there,” Nathan said gesturing over his shoulder.
“Nathan, another great victory for the Masai!” John yelled.
“And the Airborne,” Nathan said in deference to his father and John.
“Don’t forget Special Forces,” TJ said nodding at Sam.
“Nor the US Army Air Corps,” John said pointing to the sky. “Saved my ass again.”
“Let’s regroup at Madeleine’s,” Sam said.
“I better go talk to Cecil. We might have to hide that plane,” John said earnestly.
“I’ll call Moon and ask him to make the call to Tracy,” Joseph said. “We’ll cover those bodies for burial later.
“This time Tracy’s going to want a ‘no more shit promise,’ Sam,” John said.
“I hope this will be the last time,” Sam said with little certaint
y.
“Can’t have Mexican meth gangs in Patience though,” John said.
“We’ll talk to Tracy and see what he can do to put this thing to bed,” Sam added. “The good people of Patience aren’t going to turn a blind eye to full-scale warfare in their back yards. Next time I’m taking my fight to them. Let’s see how they like assassins and soldiers in their back yards!”
John took in the scene and knew this had been his last battle and it had been a victory. Without doubt soldiers fought on both sides. If the remainder of the war had to be taken to the enemy, that would be for Sam and Tracy. His last command had been to save his son, and he was thankful that he had prepared Sam as well as he had for life and battle. Their victory was magnificent, but in the future it was Sam the men needed to look to for leadership.
As the men drove into the yard at the restaurant they saw the delivery van, and could sense from the air of the place that something serious had happened. They jumped from their vehicles and ran into the restaurant. Madeleine, Karen, Christine, and Yves were calmly sitting around the family table off in the corner by the window next to the kitchen, eating and sipping wine. Sam was the first to the table and put his arms around Christine and Yves and hugged them close. Sam was covered in dirt and was bleeding from several superficial cuts and a couple of pretty good gouges, but it was clear nobody was worried about getting dirty. The others looked at Sam, Christine, and Yves and the strengthening of a new branch of their family. Christine and Sam were locked in a kiss in the middle of everyone with Yves arms around them.
John walked up and embraced everyone.
“Oh John, I was so worried, it sounded like World War Three back there. Is everybody okay?” Karen said.
“Just fine. Hell of a fight, as crazy as I’ve ever seen. I just want to tell you I had soldiers with me!”
“You should have seen Madeleine, John, I was only afraid for you,” Karen said, burying her face in her husband’s dirty jacket.
“Merci Madeleine,” John said without asking what had happened. He knew that he would find out in due time.
“It was nothing. I just had to get a couple of pigs out of my restaurant,” she said airily, with a wave of her hand.
“Anything we might need to do yet to follow up?” Sam said.
“When I open tomorrow it would be nice to have the delivery truck moved,” Madeleine, said as if they were discussing moving tables around for a larger party.
“I think we can move it now,” Sam said.
Nathan came into the room and the hugging started all over again.
“Are we done playing army Sammy? Because I have got better things to do than have people coming after me in the woods, airplane attacks, and in general wondering who the hell is going to be shooting next.”
Sam glanced out the window at that point and noticed a darkened SUV creep by. He noticed the driver peek into the restaurant and continue down the road.
“No way, he muttered, there’s the dumb ass now,” Sam murmured.
Sam ran from the building and jumped into the delivery van. Sure enough, keys in the ignition. He fired up the ungainly vehicle and slammed it into gear and drove after the SUV. He glanced over his shoulder as the three dead bodies rolled around behind him. There’s always the car crusher over at the scrap yard, he thought.
Jose looked into the rear view mirror and saw the delivery van hurtling towards him. Once he got over the shock of seeing that crazy sheriff in his rear view mirror, he floored the accelerator and the vehicle shot forward.
“Why can’t people cooperate with my plans and just die!” Jose said to Lion, who at this point was jumping from the front to back seat with great glee at the new game. He could sense the excitement in the air, and wanted to be part of the action.
“What kind of a dumb ass brings a dog on a military operation, especially a coon hound?” Sam muttered, catching a glimpse of the animal. Having grown up in rural Missouri, he knew just the extent of the ‘usefulness’ of man’s best friend, which was to hunt coon, period. Sam floored the gas and knew he had one chance to stop this guy and he was going to take it. The SUV was pulling away, and Sam suddenly veered left and took a gravel road, lurching and bouncing wildly. The boxes in the van crashed off the shelves on top of the bodies. It took everything he had to stay on the road. He flew past a dead end sign, never taking his foot off the accelerator.
Jose looked back in the rear view mirror and sped down the access ramp and onto the main highway and the hell out of town.
It’s too bad there was nobody around to see what happened next. Even Jose didn’t see it coming. Just as he got onto the highway the delivery van flew through the air and collided with the SUV, landing almost entirely on the front seat, mashing it down flat. The two vehicles careened wildly off the highway, down an embankment and into a swamp, coming to an abrupt, soupy stop. Sam finally stopped rocking back and forth and thanked everything and everybody that his seatbelt had held. He slid from the vehicle and surveyed the damage, surprised as hell that there was no fire. He massaged his shoulders where the belt had dug in and as he looked around he just shook his head, thinking, I shouldn’t be alive. Sam didn’t bother to look at the driver. It’s hard to hide in a flat sardine can, he thought. He looked in the back seat and to his utter amazement there was a white dog, tongue out, wagging his tail, seemingly just waiting for somebody to open the door. It took a little effort, but Sam got it open enough for the dog to slide out and hop up on his chest and lick his face.
“Some dogs just pick the wrong masters, isn’t that right boy,” he said as he fluffed the dog’s ears.
“I know lots of coon hunters who’d love to meet you, a good ole Treeing Walker! Yep, lots of coons in Patience, no crime though, boy.”
Carlos waited until it was dark and then left the state park where he had been staying in the modest camper. Following Manny’s orders, he’d stayed away from the action in case there was bad news to report. He left payment in a yellow envelope and dropped the pieces of his cell phone into the garbage can on the edge of the park. He thought back over the course of the day. He’d tried to raise that idiot Jose on the phone once he heard the battle begin. He knew better than to get involved in that, and had waited until things had settled down to go out and reconnoiter. He drove a smaller, street legal motorcycle around and surveyed the damage. Once he’d seen Jose’s car pancaked by their delivery van down in the swamp, he knew he’d have to find another employer. He also needed some way to tell Manny the Farmer what had happened. Although he was sure Manny would tell him to come home, Manny was a bad ass after all, and he didn’t want to end up as fertilizer in the agaves field. Time to reassess his options. Option one, run like hell, grab his stash of cash and sell hats on the beach somewhere and never appear on the radar screen again. Without further thought he headed towards the airport in St. Louis, a safe deposit box, and a one way ticket to South America.
Manny sat at a pleasant seaside table in a nondescript little bar down by the beach in Havana. He absently twirled his drink and sighed as a cool breeze blew in off the water. He had left all of his concerns behind him. He hadn’t heard anything from Carlos or Jose, but his concern with that matter was waning. He assumed it had gone according to plan. . He sipped his tequila, pleased to see his own brand on the shelf in this quaint and sleepy little place. He shifted in his seat and gazed out at the sunset, absolutely magnificent. There’s nothing like a Caribbean evening. Abruptly a shadow passed over his closed eyes, sat down and spoke in a low, commanding tone.
“Please don’t bother to get up Manny, your man is sleeping under the palm tree over there,” Tracy said, pointing to a man stretched out on a hammock with a hat over his face.
“To whom am I speaking?” Manny said without great fear. He had sized up the situation quickly. If the man had wanted him dead he would be dead, a poisoned drink, or something nasty shoved in his ear.
“I don’t exist, but your friends in Washington send their regards.”
/> “I see. Do my friends have any message of importance for me?”
“They have very important interests in a small county in Missouri called Patience, and there were some problems there recently.”
“I see. And how can I, a humble Agaves farmer, be of service?”
“Even though I recognize your modesty, you are known to be a resourceful and influential man. Perhaps you could spread the word to any of your countrymen or other businessmen who you might be acquainted with, and suggest to them they should ply their trade elsewhere.”
Manny looked at the man, and kept trying to see into the depths of his eyes, nothing, flat like a dark and bottomless lake. The fine scars on his faced looked like they had been inflicted by a professional. Those that survived interrogations of that nature were hard men indeed. He had dealt with few like this man before. He looked, spoke, and felt like everything the conspiracy theorists talk about. He wondered in passing if this guy slept in his native soil at night, in a castle in a faraway land.
“I have been out of touch with my friends in Washington, how is it they found me?”
“Why, your Uncle Fidel, of course. He worries about you too, or so it would seem. So Manny, what are your plans for the future?”
“I believe I will retire and remain in Cuba, maybe a little travel?” Manny said in a questioning tone.
“And your friend’s request?”
“My friends need not worry.”
“With that understanding I will say farewell, Manny, our business is concluded. As I leave, shall I order you a freshener?” Tracy said as he gestured towards the empty glass in Manny’s hand.
“Yes please, ask them to bring the bottle if you would.”