by Tony Peluso
“Dave,” Eddie said, “this area is full of unexplained sightings. You never experienced any of them?”
Fleet took a deep breath, raised his head, and shook it. “After I joined the Sheriff’s Office, I stayed in the Reserves. I deployed to Iraq in the Second Gulf War. I helped uncover the Iraqi victims of Sadam’s chemical attacks on his own countrymen. I don’t like to think about what I saw there. I was a drug and homicide detective for twenty-five years. I still have bad dreams about the evil that I observed. Humans are depraved. They will prey on their own in the most ruthless and barbaric ways. We don’t need devils, bad angels, or evil inter-dimensional beings to influence us to do bad things.”
“Dave, that’s not an answer to Eddie’s question,” I said.
“Fuckin’ lawyer!” Fleet said, but he was smiling. “Yes, I have, counselor. I’ve seen strange lights more than half-a-dozen times. Satisfied?”
“What explanation do you have for them?” Father Pat asked.
“Top secret aircraft, experimental drones, alcohol driven hallucinations, mirages, swamp gas.”
“Aw, swamp gas,” Eddie said. “What swamp would that be Dave?”
“Fuck you, Colonel,” Fleet responded, as he took the bottle from Father Pat. “I’ll believe in little green men, or tall, thin, dark men from other realities when they land their craft on that creek, walk on water over to this fire, and take a shot of this Gentleman Jack.”
Fleet’s hostility dampened further discussion. He suggested that we get some sleep so that we could get started first thing in the morning, assuming that the rain stopped, the creek fell, and the ropes dried.
“We’ll do four watches,” Fleet said. “It’s ten p.m. now. I’ll take the first watch. Tony, you have from twelve to two, Eddie two to four, Padre four to six. Father, you wake me up, if I’m not already up. If we can get to the ropes, I may be able to use the ascenders to get up the cliff face, even if the ropes are little wet. I have a spare rope in the ATV. I’ll re-rig and pull us out of here, OK?”
“Why do we have to do watches?” Father Pat asked. “You said we wouldn’t encounter Attila the Hun.”
“We have bears in these canyons. There are packs of coyotes, a few pumas, and maybe a stray wolf from Utah or Colorado. The rain and the flood have disrupted their lairs. If they come foraging, they could roll into camp and all hell would break loose. So be alert. If you see any critters moving in, wake us. We’ll scare them off.”
“Makes sense, Dave,” I said, as I lay down on the mat. I zipped up my Scottevest windbreaker. I fell asleep in minutes, thinking how satisfying it had been to act like a soldier all day—rappelling down a cliff, marching to a site, making an important discovery, camping in the field with comrades, and sharing a slug of Jack Daniels.
Chapter Eleven
August 29, 2013, 12:05 AM
Campsite, 70 Yards North of Schnebly Tank,
Conagua Creek
Coconino National Forest, Arizona
I woke up with a start. I’d forgotten for a moment where I was. I had to blink several times to clear my vision. Unless I’ve been staring at a computer all day, I still have 20/20 vision for anything beyond arm’s reach.
I looked around. Everything seemed fine. The fire needed to be stoked a bit. Fleet sat with his back to the fire facing outward, leaning against a large boulder in almost the same position as when I drifted off to sleep. Eddie and Father Pat curled up on their mats. The priest snored softly.
Men my age wake in the night to urinate. My bladder set my first priority. I stood up, stretched—happy that I wasn’t stiff—and walked to the north side of the overhang to take a leak. I tried to be quiet, so I wouldn’t disturb Eddie and Father Pat.
After I zipped up, I looked at my watch. It was 12:05 a.m. Fleet should have woken me five minutes earlier. Looking over at him, I noticed that he hadn’t stirred while I crept around our little camp.
Fucking leg! Air Assault trooper. He had too much Gentleman Jack and fell asleep on guard. I own you now, brother. I chortled to myself.
I closed the ten yards behind Fleet in five steps. By the third step I knew something was wrong.
Relying on instinct, I reached into my vest and pulled my Glock. I squeezed the button on the grip with my middle finger. I could see the laser’s red dot on the ground beneath my shadow. I bent into a crouch and moved to the left, using the boulder next to Fleet as cover. I got down on one knee behind what was left of our guide.
The top of Fleet’s head was missing. I saw brain tissue spattered all over the side of the boulder, along with copious amounts of dark, red blood. I resisted the urge to retch.
Fleet hadn’t woken me because he was dead. At first, I thought that his death could be suicide. Then I saw his pistol in the holster on his belt. No one could shoot himself in the head without making a sound, then re-holster the weapon. Someone had killed him. I could not reason why.
I attribute my survival that night to the fact that I didn’t blunder out in front of Fleet. Had I done that, I’d have my own brains splattered on that sandstone boulder.
I looked back at my sleeping pad. I saw the shotgun next to it. Whatever happened next, I would have to use my Glock. I blessed the Sheriff in Florida for requiring that the legal staff practice at the range and qualify to state standards. I felt confident. If I got the chance, I’d put whoever did this in a world of hurt.
I willed my breathing to stabilize. My next priority was to warn Eddie, and then Father Pat, without compromising my position or alerting the enemy, because whoever had killed Fleet had become my enemy.
I looked down at my feet and located several small rocks. Moving more to the left for better cover, I began chucking the rocks at Eddie’s chest. On my sixth attempt, I hit Eddie under his chin. He awoke with a start and looked around. When he saw me, he started to get up. He noticed my hand signals and dropped prone.
Though Eddie and I had never served together, we both had learned to communicate with infantry hand signals. I was rusty and clumsy, but Eddie was smart, experienced, and intuitive.
When I pointed to Fleet, I ran my index finger across my throat. Eddie understood and nodded. From his perspective, he could see that someone had shot Fleet in the head. Eddie shook his head, a sad expression on his face. He looked around the campsite.
Evaluating my position, Eddie recognized that I was in good spot from a tactical perspective, but didn’t have the shotgun. He searched with his eyes, located it, and picked it up. From the prone position he tossed it to me. I caught it with one hand. The move looked so good, you would have thought that we’d practiced it.
Eddie secured his M14. He’d loaded it earlier because he slid the bolt back a notch, confirmed a round was in the chamber, reseated it, and pushed the safety on the trigger guard forward.
I had no shell in the chamber of the shotgun. There were seven shells in the tube magazine. The rest of the special 12-gauge shells were in my kit, across the way. I didn’t lock and load. I couldn’t risk the metallic noise of racking a round.
I wondered if I might be dreaming this whole episode until I detected the awful, bitter scent of drying blood and brain matter. After all these years I was back in the shit.
I experienced a wave of dread so profound that for a moment I thought that I’d puke and defecate simultaneously. I looked over at Eddie. He winked at me. I got ahold of myself, smiled, and winked back.
Letting Father Pat sleep was the best course. He’d be no help in this crisis. Distraction could prove to be our undoing—if we had any chance at all.
It was hard to evaluate our situation. All I knew is that someone with a silenced weapon had killed Dave Fleet without rousing us. I had no idea why he shot Dave or how many enemies surrounded us. Time to play it cool.
Several minutes passed. Nothing happened.
All of sudden, Eddie moved his head and stared to his oblique right. He’d detected something. He signaled me that he could he
ar two hostiles approaching from the right. Not 20 seconds later, I heard something moving over the loose sandstone in front of Fleet. I couldn’t tell if it was one or five.
Four men in ski masks sprung up from the ground 25 yards in front of our position. They wore dark clothing. Each one had a Kalashnikov assault rifle. Though lethal, the Kalashnikovs made me feel better. I didn’t know any American law enforcement that used them. We wouldn’t be engaging the police.
We could see the enemy, but they hadn’t made us. Eddie signaled me. He would take the two on the right. I had the two on the left.
I shoved the Glock in my vest holster and hoisted the 12 gauge. When the firing started, I’d have to seat a triple-ought shell first. Recharging the operating handle would take two seconds. I had to chance it. I’m good with the pistol, but I can’t match two men with AKs at point-blank range.
The figure in front of me signaled the other three men. They spread out so that the four of them formed a line. Each stood about five yards from the other. Unlike their earlier movements, they weren’t stealthy. They’d become overconfident.
The leader gave another signal. The assailants paused for a second then rushed our camp firing their weapons on full automatic. Their rounds tore up the sandstone all around us. Their homicidal charge settled our response.
I racked a round, engaging the leader at 15 yards. With an FNH SLP, that’s a gimme shot. Gretchen had counseled double taps. I followed her advice.
I put two shells in the leader’s upper chest. He flew backward.
Less than a second later, I swung to the right to catch the second man. The delay in loading had cost me. The second man had reacted too quickly.
Though I fired twice at my second target, I managed to hit him in his right hip. I couldn’t be sure that he got all eight of the tungsten pellets. It should have been enough to bring him down, but it wasn’t.
He’d aimed his AK toward me and fired a long burst. I could hear some of the rounds hit Fleet’s body. Some hit the boulder over my head and rock particles showered me. I flinched. I wanted to duck, but didn’t.
I fired three more times at the assassin. I hit him at least once. He also flew backward but didn’t go down. He fired another burst, but the shots went high.
Out of shells, I drew my Glock as he turned, rolled, and crawled into the darkness.
I’d focused on my own targets and didn’t see Eddie shoot the other two assailants. I heard him fire four bursts. Eddie later bragged that his trigger control was so good that he could squeeze a three-round burst on full auto. The proof was in the pudding. Two attackers with Kalashnikovs lay dead ten yards from Eddie’s position.
I hadn’t fired live rounds at another human being in four decades. My ears rang from the shots. The smell of cordite from the shells and the pungent odor of my own fear and perspiration stung my nostrils.
The firing woke Father Pat. When he got up, Eddie pulled him down and rolled on top of him. Eddie clamped a hand over the priest’s mouth. He whispered something that I couldn’t hear. Pat stopped struggling. Eddie let him go. The priest remained prone.
I looked over at Eddie. With a wan grimace, he gave me the thumbs-up. I signaled thank you. He mouthed that he had my six. He did indeed.
I looked at my watch. It was 12:20 a.m. Eddie took a bottle of our water and poured it on the flames, extinguishing what was left of the fire. It got dark under the sandstone overhang. It took me a few minutes to adjust to the reduced light.
Eddie crawled to one of the men in front of him. He secured the assailant’s weapon and examined it in the reduced light, as I covered him with my Glock.
When Eddie finished, he covered me as I crawled to the body of the leader. The assassin lay sprawled on his back. I appropriated his weapon. I searched his clothing. He had cigarettes, a lock-blade knife, two 30-round magazines, but no wallet or papers of any kind. I didn’t look under his mask because it was too dark to recognize any facial detail.
I saw a large pool of blood where the second man had been standing. He’d gotten away. I had no way of knowing how badly I’d wounded him.
It was too dark for hand signals. I had to talk to my partner.
“I told you not to come on this jaunt,” I said, as I crawled next to Eddie.
“Should have listened. This is a fine mess that you’ve gotten me into.”
“Eddie, these guys are serious. The leader had on a ballistic vest. I could feel the armor. Some of the triple-ought pellets hit him in the throat.”
“Well, the ballistics on my M14 are better than your twelve-gauge. The vests on these animals didn’t help them.”
“Who are these fuckers?” I asked.
“You think they’re connected to those marijuana growers up in the forest?” Eddie asked back. “Kalashnikovs, body armor. What in the fuck is that? Why would those guys be so well armed? By the way, did you notice that these are AK-74s, not 47s? These 74s are a lot harder to come by.”
“Hate to break it to you, amigo, but the squad leader over there was carrying an AK-103. See for yourself,” I said, as I passed the weapon over to Eddie.
“Holy shit. You’re right. Whoever these guys are, they’re pros.”
“Tony, Eddie, what’s this all about?” Father Pat asked from his prone position.
“We don’t know, Father. But we’re in a bad spot.”
“Maybe that’s all of them,” Father Pat said.
“Don’t fucking bet on it, Padre,” Eddie said. “Our JAG sharpshooter wounded one of his two assigned targets. We have at least one wounded mother still out there. I heard more movement along the creek as the four thugs formed up for the assault. Now, with the shooting, my hearing’s gone for the next hour. Trust me, there are more assholes out there.”
“Why?” Father Pat asked, as he gestured at Fleet’s slumped corpse.
“Beats me, Padre. We need to haul ass before first light. In the morning we’ll be sitting ducks in here,” Eddie said.
“Let’s think this through. If we can get away from this overhang, we can’t go back east the way we came. Whoever is out there will expect us to go for the ropes and get to the ATV. Even if we could get past them, we can’t get up that cliff in the dark. In the daylight, even our climbing expert from Ireland would be an easy target,” I said.
“We can’t go south down Hansen’s favorite trail because it’s flooded. If we get away and the flood recedes, we don’t know how many will chase us. I’ve looked at the trail map. It’s too narrow. We’d get picked off as we tried to get away. Somebody out there has a silenced sniper rifle,” Eddie said, as he looked over at Fleet.
“We can’t go very far north. We’d have to climb up the rim without equipment. We’d be in the same spot as our first option,” I said.
“Agreed,” Eddie said. So we have to go west.”
“Maybe we can reason with them,” Father Pat said.
“Padre, if I hadn’t been awake, we’d all be dead. These guys, and whoever is with them, came to kill us all,” I said, as I pointed at the dead men.
“Tony—if Fleet died before he woke you to relieve him—why were you awake?”
“Had to pee.”
“Classic!” Eddie said. “We owe the rest of our lives to an old man’s bladder.”
“I’m in Dublin. I’m asleep. I’m having the worst nightmare of my life. Must be Divine retribution for my addiction to Bushmills. I’ll wake soon. I’ll get good psychiatric care. I’ll never drink Protestant whiskey again. It’ll be Jameson from now on,” Father Pat swore. “Look,” he continued. “Let’s give diplomacy a try. What do we have to lose?”
“Our lives, and maybe our immortal souls.”
“Your souls? What are you talking about?” Father Pat demanded.
Eddie summarized my conversation with Claire Weston-Ostergaard. Although it was dark, I could see a look of complete disbelief on the priest’s face.
“You two are daft. Listen, I volunte
er to talk with these people. How can it hurt you? In any event, I’m not going to take up a weapon. I’m expendable.”
“Father, you know how many of us there are and what our weapons are. The bad guys don’t know our capabilities. They do know that we got the upper hand in the opening gambit in this homicidal melodrama,” I said.
“I agree. Father, cool it. You stay with us. Tony, tell me, how do we get away from this site without stumbling across whoever is out there?” Eddie asked.
“When we gathered wood earlier, I noticed that there’s a little path along the rocks; it tracks north. Those scrub cedars and manzanitas camouflage it, but we could squeeze by if we’re very quiet. We’ll have to go slow,” I said. “By the way, what’s west of here? How far is it? What do we have to climb over to get there?”
Eddie thought about it minute. “Let me have your windbreaker,” Eddie directed.
I pulled it off and gave it to him. He found his trail map and then hunkered down behind the boulder. Father Pat and I held the windbreaker over him while Eddie examined his trail map by the light of the flashlight app on his iPhone. The boulder and windbreaker blocked all of the light.
“That was neat,” Father Pat whispered when Eddie finished. “Did you learn that in the Airborne?”
“Sort of,” Eddie explained. “In the second episode of Band of Brothers, the actor playing Dick Winters used a raincoat for the same purpose. I can’t imagine that any Paratroopers jumped raincoats into Normandy. It was a cool scene anyway.”
“You got that trick from a movie?” Father Pat asked.
“Mini-series episode, actually,” Eddie said.
“I’m doomed,” Father Pat said.
“Stick with us, Padre; we’ll get out of here,” I said.
“Tony, we have no chance. Face it,” Eddie said.
“OK, Eddie; maybe you’re right. Father, will you give us absolution? I have a ton of mortal sins on my soul. I haven’t confessed in thirty years.”
“I can give absolution to Eddie, if he needs it. I can’t give it to you.”