The Western Front: Parts 1-3 Part 17

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."

"Negative, you actually do that."

"Well, in that case..."

"Alright Viper Two, let's roll at a thirty and point it due west. ETA two minutes, twenty seconds."

"Wilco."

The two jets rolled in a formation so perfect and tight, it was as if they were controlled by a single pilot. They climbed to a couple hundred feet as they crossed the sh.o.r.eline and flew into Mexico. As they screamed towards Matamoros, their first target was the Soviet-era air-defense system that had been installed just east of the Olympic Park. The jets were screaming forward faster than their approaching sound, they had the early morning sun directly behind them and were flying at elevations that were completely undetectable by the old SA-5 systems that were in place; they were invisible emissaries of death.

"Target located and acquired, V1; awaiting command."

"Let's rock their world."

The low-flying jets were below the effective range of the anti-aircraft missiles. The SA-5 Gammon was helpless against the F-16s. As the pilots released their HARM missiles, they banked hard to the north and briefly danced back into Texan airs.p.a.ce. The missiles immediately detected the Gammon's fire control radar signal. The HARMs self-guided to their target, achieving MACH 1 prior to impact. The explosion was ma.s.sive and was amplified by the 500 pound warheads on each of the six anti-aircraft missiles. The early morning impact shook the entire city from its slumber.

"Whoo! Tango Uniform, V1!"

"Roger that V2, let's roll back south for another meet and greet.

The jets once again banked hard and approached the second system, located several miles west of Olympic Park. As they reached their target, they released another perfectly-timed volley of missiles. Guano, unable to contain himself, roared in triumph.

The jets turned vertical and climbed several thousand feet, before looping back and aiming themselves towards their main target, the park itself. As they shrieked towards Olympic Park, the jets released their Maverick missiles and Mk 83 bombs. The resulting explosions engulfed the entire area, utterly decimating the eighty-plus vehicles stationed there.

"Good job V2, now we just have one final item; hold my hand and let's pay our friends at the airport a visit."

"My pleasure; let's go find some bandit cats."

As they flew their tight formation over General Servando Ca.n.a.les International Airport, they could see the pilots scrambling to six jets below. The F-5s were over half of the Mexican Air Force's entire fighter squadron. They continued their path to the east, putting some distance between them and the F-5s and leading them over the gulf. They slowed their pace, allowing the jets time to takeoff and gain some ground on them. After several moments, the first of the blips appeared on their radar.

"Are you going to let me have a dogfight, V1?"

"Absolutely not on my watch; play with your food some other time. Stay beyond visual range and let the am-rams do their thing. Besides, there's too many."

"Too many? We might as well be fighting the Wright brothers!"

"The answer is negative."

"Roger; speed and angels on the left."

"Speed and angels on the right."

Speed and angels was the confirmation for the predetermined alt.i.tude and velocity at which they would engage the hostiles. They simultaneously rolled in opposite directions and met again, facing the distant but approaching F-5s. They each released two volleys of AMRAAM missiles. The "am-rams" were a fire and forget missile, capable of engaging the defenseless fighter jets from beyond visual range. Nothing the F-5s had in their armament was capable of countering the attack.

Within several seconds, four of the blips disappeared from the radar and Guano released another of his guttural roars. As the F-16s streaked by the remaining two F-5s, one of the Mexican pilots abandoned his jet and ejected into the gulf, nearly a mile from the coast. The abandoned fighter gradually lost alt.i.tude as it continued over the gulf, eventually slamming into the surface of the choppy waters.

"I guess that hombre didn't want to play."

"I'd hate to have to make that swim to sh.o.r.e."

"Give me the last one, Viper Lead."

"Roger; proceed with engagement, V2."

Guano made his final offensive maneuver and rolled once again to face the last aircraft. With the push of a b.u.t.ton, the am-ram was engaged and on its way to its target. After several seconds, the final blip disappeared.

"Sierra Hotel, V2! Now, let's wrap it up and head north. We'll need every bit of our juice to get back home."

"Roger that; lead the way."

"Drop it low and throttle up. If I'm lucky, I'll make it back in time for coffee."

"Should've had a go pill."

Nearly twenty of the ERC 90s managed to escape Olympic Park while the Gammon systems were being destroyed by the aircraft. The park was engulfed by explosions as they pulled onto Const.i.tucon; they had barely escaped the carnage.

The six-wheeled vehicles fled south down Pedro Crdenas Gutierrez towards San Fernando. The four-lane highway took the fleeing soldiers and sicarios through the dirty southern slums. The loud explosions from the north had roused the sleepy locals. They struggled outside into the morning light and stared in bewilderment at the black smoke billowing from the downtown district and surrounding areas. They watched as the ERC 90s roared past them, forcing frightened vehicles out of the way and onto the muddy shoulders.

The armored vehicles raced across the bridge at the southern border of the city. The banks of the drainage ditch below them were already lined with families bathing and was.h.i.+ng their clothes in the dirty water. The intermittent infrastructure was becoming even less reliable than before. The unsanitary conditions in the slums and the rest of the city were leading to an even higher rate of sickness and death, especially among children.

As the lead vehicles barreled towards them, Barrett and Holt readied their teams on opposite sides of the highway. The soldiers hid behind two concrete buildings and anxiously waited for their quarry.

"Steady; steady," Barrett whispered into the radio, "Just a few more seconds... Dragon Teams One and Two get ready... Go!"

Four anti-tank missiles exploded out of their launcher tubes and raced towards their quarry. The launch caused one of the men to flinch hard, sending one of the rockets curving upward in a wide arc.

The lead vehicle was. .h.i.t low, near the front left tire. As the rocket exploded, the ERC 90 flipped forward and slid across the pavement upside down. The screeching sound of steel on asphalt was like fingernails on a chalkboard. A deep gash in the pavement followed the tank wherever it slid.

The second vehicle was sandwiched by two simultaneous rockets fired from opposite sides of the highway. The top half of the ERC 90 was launched nearly thirty yards skyward and landed hard on the flat roof of a nearby residence. The building collapsed inward from the force of the impact and sent a great plume of dust into the air.

"Dragon Teams Three and Four wait! Hold your fire!"

The remaining armored vehicles were doing something wholly unexpected. As they swerved to the shoulders to avoid the wreckage ahead, they were sliding, some sideways, to a complete stop. The top hatches were all popping open and the men inside were climbing out with their arms in the air first one, then two and finally all of the men. They were unarmed and terrified, their weapons left in the vehicles. As they climbed out, they laid prostrate on the pavement.

Barrett shouted to the men as he stepped out into the road, "Ests rodeado, todo el mundo al suelo! Ponga sus manos en el suelo delante de ti! Si alguien se mueve, vamos a disparar!"

The men complied with the orders and continued to lay motionless in the dirty road.