Part 17 (1/2)

Greene waited several minutes, but received no response. As he lifted the megaphone to repeat his demand, several shots rang out from inside the camp. One of the volunteer deputies was struck by the volley and rolled onto his side as he writhed in pain. A second deputy was. .h.i.t in the shoulder and growled as he spun back behind a tree. The sheriff was amazed at the accurate fire that was being returned at them in the heavy darkness. He shouted to his men to take cover and then radioed Clayton.

”Clayton, we're in trouble.”

”Got it, we're on it. Hold tight, sheriff.”

The men inside were drunk, but still very capable. Three of them were positioned behind sandbags that were stacked underneath the front windows. They had already located most of the sheriff's men out front with the group's night -vision equipment and were just waiting for the deputies to show themselves again. The three remaining men inside had taken defensive positions facing the doors, ready for anyone foolish enough to make it up the stairs. The two men on the outside had squatted shoulder to shoulder and hopelessly scanned the darkness below for any signs of movement.

Geram had heard the broadcast between the sheriff and Clayton through his own earpiece and had already retrieved the silenced pistol from his shoulder holster. The larger, AR pistol hung from the single-point sling at his side. As he carefully made his way to the rear of the camp, he heard his father's voice coming from the earpiece.

”Be careful son, we're watching you from here.”

With the help of the night vision, the men in the camp were able to keep the sheriff and his deputies pinned to the ground. They panned the area in front of the camp, laying down a steady hail of gunfire. Greene and two of his deputies crawled into new positions and readied themselves for the counterattack.

Geram leaned against the tree about thirty paces from the two men above him. Through his goggles, he could see their every move. He dropped to one knee and took several deep breaths as he began to count to three.

One.

This had better be flawless, Geram.

Two.

The sheriff shouted, ”Now!” as he and his two deputies turned on their spotlights and illuminated the front windows. The remaining men leaned out from behind their cover and unleashed a steady hail of gunfire. The sheriff braced for the onslaught; he was now target number one.

Three!

Geram leaned out from behind the tree and fired two rapid shots at each man, before repeating the cycle. As he ended the silent attack, he watched the two men collapse on the deck without uttering a sound. He waited for a brief moment to see if anyone else had noticed, but no one appeared. Geram stealthily rushed to the top of the stairs and took cover in the opposite corner from the men. He glanced left and right, before whispering into the microphone, ”Go.”

The three men at the windows grinned as they fired upon the deputies. It had been far too long since they had killed a cop. Suddenly, it seemed as if they were staring directly at the sun; the light was so bright it was painful. The blinded men retreated behind the sandbags. Immediately after, the entire front of the house exploded with gunfire. Bullets pierced the cedar walls all around them. One of the men shrieked as two rounds tore through his gut. Two men dashed for the back of the camp to make their escape.

Geram was ready when the door flung open and the men burst forth. He silently caught them midstride, hitting the first man in the side under his arm and the second man in his throat. The men stumbled and fell headlong down the stairs and into the mud below. Geram whispered into his mouthpiece again, ”Light 'em up.”

The men inside the house were in a complete panic when their rear exploded as well. The bullets from the back of the house weren't the same though. They were blowing ma.s.sive chunks of the cedar planks into the air around them. The men saw one of their friends explode in front of them as a fifty-caliber rounds connected with his upper torso. Upon seeing the display of gore, several of the men flung their rifles and sprawled face down on the floor. The final, armed man crawled across the debris-riddled interior to the back door. He would die before laying down his gun.

Geram was looking high and did not notice the man at first. The sharp pain in his shoulder spun him slightly and caused him to drop the pistol. He glanced down and saw the man peering out of the back door. He winced as the man steadied his aim for the kill shot; Geram was all that stood between the man and his freedom. The man exhaled and began to squeeze the trigger.

The wooden deck exploded from the impact of one of Jake's well-placed rounds directly in front of the man's face; splinters flew everywhere. The man rolled to s.h.i.+eld his eyes as the pistol fired wide, just missing Geram's head.

Geram fumbled with the AR momentarily as he reached down and grasped it. As he brought it up level with his shoulder, he felt a wave of burning pain that caused him to cringe. As he strained to steady his aim, a second round from the fifty connected reached the deck, connecting with the raider. The result was gruesome.

Geram breathed heavily as he slid down the railing and sat on the deck, searching for the wound. He could hear his father in his ear again, ”Son, are you alright? Where're you hit?”

”I don't know; I can't find it.”

”We're on our way, hold tight son. You're going to be alright.”

Several of the deputies were making their way up the front stairs to the camp. They split up as they kicked the door in and rushed the room. They swept left and right, searching the interior for any remaining threats. One of the deputies stayed to restrain the men that had surrendered. One by one, they shouted, ”Clear!” They radioed their report down to the remaining men.

Out front, Deputy Greene ran over to his brother, Sheriff Greene, to congratulate him. ”David!” He exclaimed as he approached the sheriff, ”Did you hear that? The camp's clear! I just heard from Clayton that Geram's been hit. We need to get him some help quick. Let's go get the-”

He gasped as he dropped to his knees and scooped his brother up in his arms. The sheriff coughed hard from the sudden movement as blood trickled from his mouth.

”No! No, no, no! Help! I need some help over here!”

The sheriff grasped his baby brother's hand and looked into his eyes. He tried to smile, but the coughing began again. He tilted his head back slightly and wheezed as he squeezed his brother's hand tighter. A single tear rolled down the old man's face and then he closed his eyes.

Chapter 27.

Wyman Corpus Christi, TX The high-pitched whine of the F-16 Fighting Falcons, more commonly referred to as Vipers by their pilots, was like a drug to him. Wyman zipped up his flight suit and walked out to his baby. He gently ran his hand along the jet as he performed a final walk around, before climbing into the c.o.c.kpit. The ground crew was just finis.h.i.+ng their checks, but he still preferred to inspect everything himself. He glanced over and observed his wingman doing the same.

The morning was fresh and crisp; perfect for flying. He turned and took a final glance at the airfield before closing the c.o.c.kpit. As he pulled the helmet over his head, the ground crew got into position and went through the pre-flight functionality checks with him.

He daydreamed as he obeyed the requests to move the various flaps, tabs and rudders on the wings and tail. Wyman imagined his partner in the other jet was wide awake from the 'go pills' as he performed the same pre-flight procedures. Wyman preferred to fly his missions with his natural sensibilities, unless the task was so difficult that it demanded more. Not that today's mission was not critical, but it should be simple enough.

The crews removed the wheel chocks and marched a safe distance away from the aircraft, before turning and giving him the all clear sign. Wyman taxied across the airfield to the runway. Once in position, he accelerated rapidly down the pavement. His exhaust glowed orange and the air behind him was wavy and distorted. The roar of the engine was loud and powerful, and gave him a feeling like none other. A few seconds later the jet gradually lifted into the air. Wyman pulled the control stick closer to himself and the jet climbed rapidly into the cloudless sky.

”Viper One, Texas Air National Guard, on the prowl.”

”Viper Two right behind you, Viper One.”

”Get up here and hold my hand, V2.”

”Roger.”

After leaving Corpus Christi, the two jets rolled east at a forty five degree angle until they were nearly ten miles off the coast. They dropped within meters of the gulf waters and each other and aimed their noses due south. The jets screamed over the water with perfect synchronization. The shadows of the jets bobbed and danced across the waves underneath them as they streaked towards Mexico. Wyman Wolfe, call sign Lobo, could not imagine a more beautiful or exhilarating place to be than right where he was. He leaned back and enjoyed the ride.

Guano, his aptly named wingman, was uncharacteristically quiet. Lobo however, knew exactly what his old friend was up to. Guano had slipped the buds of his music player into his ears and was in his own private, techno-trance world. Lobo reasoned it was most likely one of three or four of the same, stupid songs; probably Danger by CIRC. Lobo did not seem to mind Guano's quirks, though. Whatever kept him calm was a welcome addition.

”Viper Two, What's your status?”

”Just working on my tan V1. Permission to fence in?”

”Cross the fence V2; V1 crossing as well.”

Both pilots commenced the procedure of preparing their jets for combat. The switches were one by one flipped up or down to the appropriate mode as they quickly approached their destination.

”Turn off the chick music, sweetheart; we're closing in.”

”Roger Viper One, but I don't come to your office and call you names while you're working.”