by Chris Pike
The explosion ripped apart his consciousness.
There was no pain for Ruslan or bright lights or angels waiting to escort him to the afterlife. The man who had no conscience, who killed without remorse, who did not value life, was met with something worse than death.
A black void of unspeakable horrors reached to him, surrounding him into a chillingly cold pit of damnation where he sunk further, deeper, to be trapped for eternity.
Ruslan’s back took the force of the landmine explosion which ripped apart his spinal cord, severed major arteries, and split his head like a watermelon. All that was left of him was his face contorted in terror, his torso intact, his head hanging by loose skin on his neck.
Dillon had been thrown back and hit the ground hard next to a guard who wasn’t as lucky. He was obviously dead, impaled by a piece of wood the explosion had propelled through the air at bone-breaking speed.
Stunned by the blast, Dillon shook his head, trying to stave off the ringing in his ears. He wasn’t sure if he was alive or dead. He opened his eyes to a fiery world bending and creaking, and the buildings shimmered as if heatwaves had engulfed them.
The concussion he had sustained played havoc on his ability to think, and he was experiencing a disconnect between his brain and his body. His eyesight was blurred while his arms and legs wouldn’t move the way he wanted them to. Dillon forced himself to stay conscious and it took him a few seconds to regain his composure. The whumping of helicopter blades brought him back to reality. Burkov was piloting the chopper, which was still on the ground. Dillon clearly saw Dorothy through the open doors. She was on the floor, pleading with him with her eyes to help her. Even after all she had done, and though her traitorous actions had cost lives, Dillon could only think if she died, Anna would be motherless.
An idea came to him as the chopper lifted off the ground.
A moment of hesitation gripped him because he was sure if he followed through, he’d go straight to Hell. Still, he couldn’t let Burkov get away.
Dillon pulled a grenade off a dead soldier, stood up, and hurled it through the helicopter door where it landed next to Dorothy. He fell to the ground and covered his head with his hands, waiting for the fiery explosion and resulting shrapnel.
He tensed.
He waited.
Nothing happened.
Then he realized what he had forgotten to do. His concussed brain didn’t register he needed to pull the pin before he threw the grenade. At that moment, the fight went out of him.
All the planning, the heroic effort by him and others, the loss of life, was all for nothing. His muscles relaxed and he went limp. The Russians were going to win after all. The Americans had lost and he couldn’t deal with it.
He was so incredibly tired.
Dillon’s body was spent and he hurt in places he didn’t know was possible. He closed his eyes, rested his head on the ground, and waited for blissful unconsciousness to take him away from the pain, the fight, the disappointments. His world faded to black.
* * *
Chandler and Luke arrived just in time to see the helicopter fade away over the treetops. They sprinted over to Dillon, standing over him. Rivulets of blood streaked his face and neck, and had soaked into his shirt. Bits of dirt and grass were embedded in his skin. His bloodied face was expressionless and he was as still as a corpse.
“Do you think he’s alive?” Luke asked, wondering what exactly had happened to the crumpled man.
“It’s not good,” Chandler said, shaking his head. “I’m not sure what happened here, but he put up one heck of a fight. The place is littered with body parts and dead Russians.”
“I guess we can bury him out at the ranch. It’s the least we can do for him. If you need to check the compound, I’ll stay with him to make sure nobody touches him.”
Dillon popped open his eyes and sat up.
Chandler and Luke jumped.
“I’m not dead yet, so don’t go burying me.”
“Good God Almighty!” Luke exclaimed. “I nearly peed in my pants. We thought you were a goner.”
“Well I’m not. I heard everything you said. I was only resting.”
“Your rest is over,” Chandler said. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself and let’s see if anybody else is alive.” Chandler hooked an arm under Dillon and helped him up. “Are you okay to walk?”
“Give me a moment.” Stars appeared in his vision and Dillon wobbled on unsteady legs. Chandler held him so he wouldn’t fall over.
“I think you need to sit down,” Chandler said.
“I’m good. Just give me a moment.” Dillon scanned the compound. “Where’s Andrey?”
“He’s over there,” Chandler said, jerking his thumb in the direction where Andrey was.
With Chandler’s help, Dillon hobbled over to Andrey and assessed his injuries. Kneeling, Dillon put his index and middle finger to Andrey’s neck. “He has a pulse.” Dillon inspected Andrey’s head, noting the bleeding. He opened his uniform and checked for wounds. “He has a number of shrapnel wounds which aren’t life threatening. It’s the head wound he needs to be treated for.”
Chandler dug around in his backpack. “I’ve got pressure bandages. It should stop the bleeding and hopefully he’ll stabilize until we can get him medical care.” He handed those to Dillon.
Dillon applied the pressure bandages to Andrey’s most severe wounds. “In the meantime, until we can get him help, we need to stay on course.”
“Can I do anything?” Luke asked.
“Yes. Get the truck and bring it over here. Leave the trailer though.”
“On it.”
“Chandler, see if you can find any rocket propelled grenades or handheld missiles. I have a sinking feeling that Team A is in real trouble.”
“Why’s that?”
“Burkov is piloting the helicopter, and I’m guessing that’s where he’s headed.”
While Chandler and Dillon searched the compound for additional firepower, Luke hoofed it to the truck. Unhitching the trailer, he sped back to the compound.
Chapter 34
Rally Point A had one structure, an adobe style house over one hundred years old marked by a historical landmark sign detailing its history. The property had been willed to the city for use as a park, but improvement funds were not forthcoming. The result was a partially constructed park that had never opened.
Nico appreciated the bullet resistant structure, yet decided not to use it. “We can’t use it.”
“Why not? It would be a good place to defend.” Kate recognized the value of the thick walls.
“The problem is we are facing an army this time. They will have military weapons that can blow the house apart. At the very least, the house is a bullet magnet and there’s not any cover near it if we need an escape route.”
“Regardless, we’ll need to make sure it stays empty, while making it appear occupied so it will draw fire. That way, we’ll be able to locate where the Russians are.”
“You’re a smart woman, Kate.”
“You’re a smart man, Nico.”
“I hope you still need me.”
Kate grinned. “Always.”
* * *
Nico and Kate asked the men and women of Rally Point A to gather around them. Before sending the team members out, Nico gave a few tips.
“Choose cover as opposed to concealment. Hiding behind a bush is concealment. If you brush against a bush causing it to move, you’ll draw fire. The bush will not stop fire. That’s bad. Don’t choose bad. Choose good. A rock formation or a dirt berm is cover, and will stop incoming fire. It’s important to remember that cover can be penetrated with enough rounds shot into the same spot. I once shot through a three-eighths inch steel disk with a single magazine from an M-16. So, don’t let them see you, and don’t feel you have to stay in the same spot if you are seen.” Nico let the information sink in. “Alright, then. Wait for my shot to start the action. Good luck, and God bless.”
While
Nico gave the speech, Kate left to go to the adobe house. She placed a Coleman lantern on a table, and made a broken broomstick to look like two rifle barrels sticking out of the windows.
The team scattered to the spots they had picked earlier. Several took cover in a shallow stream, taking advantage of the sand and gravel composition of the bank. Large trees provided additional cover to hide behind. Others found a rock outcropping to use as cover. A few unwise members chose to climb trees, not factoring in the difficulty of moving if the situation required it. Still others picked uneven ground to ensure a vehicle would not choose their location as a path and run over them.
The tarps used earlier to hide from the drone were cut into sniper blankets and adorned with plants and leaves from the surrounding area. The snipers were positioned hundreds of yards out from the center of the adobe house, making it difficult for the Russians to spot them.
All was quiet.
The morning sun brushed the tops of the trees, casting a golden glow over the land, burning off the night’s dew. A crow cawed in the early morning hour, and an owl soared over the land, searching for a daytime place to roost.
Team A scouts spotted two armored personnel carriers stopped in the road half a mile out. Soldiers exited each vehicle, spreading out in a large line. They walked behind the carriers.
The carriers reached the outer perimeter of Rally Point A, as per the description from Dorothy. From a distance, Rally Point A looked like a picnic area with a structure for community use, and of no military value. The Russian commander ordered the vehicles to drive closer to determine if the area was abandoned.
The commander opened the hatch to get behind the machinegun. He peppered the area randomly, failing to find any of the Americans who were supposed to have been there. Several Russian soldiers crept closer to get better intel. They came back and reported no sightings. The commander radioed Colonel Burkov for instructions. He told them to stay in place and wait for him, explaining he’d be arriving by helicopter.
* * *
A mile away, Uncle Billy observed the scene through a pair of binoculars from the safety of his Gran Tornio. While he could not see the details, he caught sight of the Commander and an idea came to him.
“Holly, do you think you could throw one of these grenades?”
She hefted the weight, holding the grenade in her hand. “I could throw it, but it’s so heavy I might miss the target.”
“Can you drive better than you can throw?” Uncle Billy tossed a grenade back and forth between his hands.
“You bet I can. What exactly do you have in mind?”
“Get behind the wheel and you’ll find out.”
Chapter 35
The failure of the Russian expansion to go as planned had become personal for Colonel Burkov.
His well-thought out plans were being unraveled by a group of backwoods East Texas hillbillies who brewed their own liquor. Earlier, he had found a moonshine operation, tested the liquor, and spat it out, disgusted by the foul flavor, akin to what horse piss must taste like.
He’d show them who was boss.
Burkov piloted the Mi-24 helicopter to Rally Point A, hovering high above, giving him an excellent view of the area.
The Americans were well hidden, he’d give them credit for that, no doubt skills learned from Indians who passed it down from generation to generation. He’d read about them in textbooks. Savages who could disappear into the desert or woods like ghosts, leaving no footprints or other traces they had been there. These East Texans were no different than the savages.
And like the Indians who had inferior weapons, these Texans would be annihilated in the same fashion.
Hovering the helicopter, Burkov used thermal vision to hunt his prey. A shotgun pattern of hot spots indicating where the people were hidden dotted the landscape. He could use the helicopter to take them all out, yet he wanted to get up and personal when he personally executed the leaders. Dillon Stockdale would be first on the list.
“Squad commanders, I will draw their fire so you can see them and eliminate them,” Burkov radioed.
He decreased the altitude to fifty feet. “Dorothy, you sit behind me.”
Dorothy didn’t move.
“Do as I say, or I’ll toss you out and everyone will see you fall to your death.”
Reluctantly, Dorothy moved behind the pilot seat. Through the open door, she peered out onto the land, and for the first time, she feared for her life. Burkov had threatened her that if she didn’t cooperate, he’d kill Anna. As a mother, she felt she had no other choice but to cooperate with the Russians, even if it meant being a traitor.
Burkov turned the helicopter slowly three hundred and sixty degrees to make sure all the Americans got a good look at him and at Dorothy. He took pleasure in letting the Americans know who the traitor was among them.
She hung her head in shame.
The Russians manning the armored carriers let loose a deadly volley of fire, peppering the land, shredding trees and anyone unlucky enough to be struck.
Larry Monroe had been one of the unlucky ones, and Dorothy witnessed him jerking under the force of the bullets shattering his body. She hadn’t signed up for any of this, and felt helpless by the threats the Russian Colonel levied against her daughter.
Damn him.
* * *
Random fire hit the attack helicopter, which took evasive action, flying fast out of reach of the bullets.
Nico cursed at the break in discipline when the Texans fired. He was not yet ready to spring the trap.
The Texans fired when there was a lull from the Russians’ side, and the cat and mouse game continued for several minutes. The helicopter sustained minor damage by the small arms fire.
Burkov piloted the helicopter to an altitude which would be sufficient for launching the rockets. He nosed the chopper in the direction of the adobe house and fired a rocket. The house exploded into a massive debris cloud of rock and timbers, and when the dust settled, only a shell was left.
An evil smirk spread across Burkov’s face, and he took pleasure in punishing Hemphill and its people for their arrogance. By the time he was finished, there’d be nothing left except the spoils of war. Oil, and lots of it.
* * *
Uncle Billy and Holly were sitting in the Gran Torino, hidden under the canopy of a massive oak. He was briefing Holly on his plan to take out the chopper while he counted grenades. “See that hill over there?” he said.
Holly nodded.
“Wait until the helicopter gets close to the other side, then hit the gas to get it up to sixty. I’ll be in the backseat throwing grenades. With any luck, I’ll toss one inside the chopper.”
Holly couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She put her hand to her forehead and kneaded the space between her eyebrows. “This isn’t the Dukes of Hazzard, and I’m no Daisy Duke.”
“Maybe not, but those boys sure did put on a show. If I’m gonna meet my maker, I want to do it in style.”
“I’m not ready to meet my maker yet,” Holly said in all seriousness.
“Then keep your head down.”
“The odds of tossing a grenade into a fast moving helicopter while we are pushing sixty miles per hour aren’t good. I don’t even want to think about it.”
“Then don’t. Let me do the thinking.”
“I don’t want to think about that either.”
* * *
Chandler and Luke made it to the edge of the property where they found a shady spot to hide their wounded friends, Dillon and Andrey. They took the downtime to commence with their own plan.
Chandler studied the landscape, searching for one of his nearby snipers, knowing anyone out this far would have to be a great shot. His eyes roamed over the land for anything out of place. Perhaps a tree where none should be, an uplift in the otherwise flat land, or unnatural colors in the forest would be a dead giveaway. While he scanned the area, his eyes kept focusing on a patch of grass leaning the opposite way the wind b
lew. He admired the sniper’s ability to camouflage himself to near invisibility.
The grass moved and the report of a high powered rifle startled a flock of birds in a tree, and the flap of wings momentarily vexed Chandler.
Luke spotted the victim. “One of the armored carrier gunners went down, courtesy of our sniper.”
“Whoever it is, I want him on my team,” Chandler said. “Stay here, Luke.”
Chandler picked his way carefully toward the sniper, while showing his hands were empty. He didn’t want the guy to think he was a threat. Much to his surprise, the guy wasn’t a guy, but the girl who raised her hand at his first accuracy question.
“I’m Maggie.”
“I’m Chandler.”
“I know who you are. Your brother Luke is over there,” she said. “Now that my position has been compromised, I think we need to get outta here.”
They ducked at the sound of automatic fire in the background.
“Time to go,” Chandler said. “I need your help.”
“What do you need?”
“I need you to position yourself behind those rocks,” he said, pointing in a southerly direction. “It will give you a clear line of sight when the chopper makes a pass. Take out the door gunners then duck if you take on fire. While you’re doing that, Luke and I will be in a truck. He’ll be driving while I’ll be in the bed of the truck firing Russian RPGs at their own chopper. If I’m seen before I’m in position, assume the outcome won’t be good. I’ll probably be a goner, Luke too.”
“Who am I to refuse a couple of heroes?” Maggie said. “Give me five minutes to get in position. Good luck and Godspeed.”
Back at the truck, Luke took the driver’s seat while Chandler was seated in the bed. He took the safety cap off the rocket propelled grenade, already in the launcher. He kept the other three RPGs in their carrier, which he placed on his back. He put a tarp over the launcher to conceal it the best he could. From a distance, it might look like a bale of hay.