as another ATV goes end over end and throws the rider high into the air.
I see the trucks slew slightly off to the side, some toward Horace and some away. I guess she’s been noticed now. If they think Horace was a startle, won’t Greg be a big fucking surprise? I think watching their once pristine line become a tangled mass.
“Okay, it’s time to do our thing, McCafferty. Turn left but keep angled so we don’t catch any stray rounds from Greg,” I say warning Henderson. I am pressed to the side as the Humvee slews to the left.
Our top gun barks as Henderson adds his rounds to the fray. The scene is a lot of dust flying and bursts of tracers streaming towards vehicles which are now in disarray. I watch as the red streaks reaching out from our vehicle strike solidly on the front of one of the trucks. The truck digs down on its front wheels, turns slightly to the side, and flips tossing people in the bed into the air; their arms and legs flailing as they try to gain some sort of equilibrium and failing miserably. They land hard and bounce across the field of dirt.
Ahead and to the left I notice another line of dust clouds heading our way. I’m guessing it must be vehicles from another road block on the other side of town coming to help. The group that was chasing us has given up trying to keep up with us and are now trying to evade the heavy rounds streaming into their vicinity; rounds that are finding target after target. Any cohesiveness they might have had is lost. Most are trying to make it back to the roadblock but having a hard time getting by Greg who is firmly entrenched in their rear — yes, the analogy does hold true here.
“Horace, Greg, let’s finish this up here. We have more company coming in from the east. Give those fuckers a last shot so they think twice about coming back and rejoin on me,” I say and direct McCafferty to turn and park with our rear to the oncoming vehicles. They are still a distance away but closing quickly.
“Copy that, sir,” Horace says. “We’re on the way.”
“Be there in a sec,” Greg replies.
The rounds from both teams cease and what remains of our wannabe pursuers hightail it towards their roadblock location. A light dust hangs in the air over the fields; thicker where we engaged the vehicles. Plumes of smoke rise from stricken vehicles and bodies lie on the ground. Some crawl slowly seeking refuge. Many lie unmoving on the dry, brown field. I wish I could have just loaded up a Stryker. I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t tear after a Stryker with a fucking pickup truck and a deer rifle.
Horace and Greg drive up and stop in line with spacing between. Our rears are to the oncoming vehicles in order to present the narrowest target and offer the best cover. We’re ready to break away and flank if we need to. The dust cloud draws closer and I begin to see individual vehicles ahead of the plumes. It appears to be the same mix as the other group; several pickups and quads. Looking to the side at Horace and Greg, I see their guns trained on the advancing vehicles. I glance to make sure the first group isn’t turning about but it looks like they’ve had enough.
Time seems to stand still for a moment. The dust cloud still billows but it seems as if the vehicles causing it don’t draw any closer. I feel the stifling heat inside the Humvee but it is stowed in the background given the flow of adrenaline coursing through my body. Rivulets of sweat pour down my forehead and temples. Gonzalez and Denton in the back gaze out of the small hatch window. McCafferty grips the steering wheel and is looking out of her rear view. I would love to add our own personal rounds to the upcoming fray but that only increases our exposure and minimizes our mobility options. Here on this lonely, dusty field in the middle of nowhere, a battle is about to begin. We are close to engaging yet another hostile force.
The feeling of slowed time vanishes. The trucks rush onward as if they were suddenly vaulted ahead and become clearly visible. They must have some radio communication and know about what happened to the other yet onward they come. I shake my head and press the transmit button in my hand.
“Open fire. Target the trucks on the outer edges and work your way in,” I say.
The M-240 overhead opening up drowns out any other sound. Brass casings fall inside and are barely heard hitting the metal floor over the bursts of the large caliber gun. Tracers once again reach outward from Horace’s and Greg’s Humvees; streaking for and merging with the trucks racing our way. We’re idle so this time the red tracers become streams of fire. Not a solid stream like the fire from an AC-130 but potent nonetheless.
Tracers intersect one of the pickups causing a flash of steam and the hood flies open. The truck slews to the side in a cloud of dust and comes to a stop. People pile out of the back. The ones exiting closest to us are cut down by the continued bursts into the truck and are violently thrown against the side. Blood sprays against the blue paint and the falling bodies leave bloody streaks as they slump to the ground. The windshield, at an angle to us, caves inward with a shower of glass as rounds hammer the driver and passenger. Blood splashes against the remaining shards, the side and rear window, and coats the interior.
The scene is rapidly played out in a similar fashion across the dusty field as truck after truck is brought to a halt. It’s over pretty quick as the remaining vehicles scatter and try to turn around.
“Horace, Greg, head out and take the northern flank. We’re heading on the southern flank. Watch your fields of fire,” I say.
“Heading out, sir,” Horace responds.
“They’re leaving. We should be able to skirt by them now,” Greg replies.
“I know but we’re going to have to come back this way and we need to teach these fuckers proper greetings,” I say.
“That could piss them off more,” Greg says.
“It could,” I reply.
“Okay, heading out,” he says with a chuckle.
I see Horace’s and Greg’s Humvees swing around to the north. McCafferty guns it and we turn to the left heading for the southern flank of the scattered vehicles. More spent cartridges fall inside as Henderson fires bursts at any vehicles that come within range. The field becomes a swirling mass of dust and smoke once again. Riders are thrown from their ATV’s. People left behind by the retreating mass rush to find cover behind the stopped or overturned vehicles. Some are flung backward as 7.62mm rounds impact their bodies forcefully.
Horace and Greg race around the northern side of the disorganized mass creating more disarray. Vehicles and people are driving and running in random directions trying to escape the fire. We sweep around the southern end. Those trying to escape the guns of the other two teams run into ours. The air between the teams is a maelstrom of dust, smoke, blood, steel, tumbling or damaged vehicles, and people either dying or trying not to. The group that started after us has been significantly reduced in numbers.
“Okay, let’s head east and then swing back north to the highway past the town,” I radio.
Horace and Greg copy and we exit the fray on the other side heading across the fields with the town sliding behind us on the left. Horace and Greg are in a staggered formation in line with us separated by about a hundred meters. McCafferty closes the distance and we head back towards the highway at a slower speed so we don’t launch Henderson or have him drop a kidney. Behind us, dust hangs in the air with darker columns of smoke drifting lazily in the air.
We pull to a stop outside of the town’s view. Setting a perimeter with the top guns manned, we walk around the vehicles inspecting each for damage. Besides the starred driver window, there are only a few pock marks where rounds found their way to us. The race across the fields sucked down our fuel to an extent so we’ll have to fuel up along the way somewhere. The sooner the better in my opinion as it keeps the options open.
The sun hangs in the mid-morning sky as we climb back in to resume our journey. The adrenaline is winding down and I am more aware of the stifling heat inside the Humvee. I notice the spent casings on the floor in the back and wonder what our return trip will be like. I definitely plan to circumvent the town. Taking side roads around would be the best option but this place is very much lacking in any kind of side road. Looking at the map, we’d have to travel far out of our way if we used roads. We’ll head into the fields much earlier and try to stay out of sight as best as we can. We’ll kick up dust for sure but I’d be surprised to see whoever was in that town come chasing after us. But then again, I’m sure they’re plenty pissed off. I just hope their fear outweighs their anger.
Heading out in a staggered formation again, we head down the road. The light gray lanes stretch out ahead straight as an arrow as is common with the freeways of western Texas. There’s not much to impede or cause the builders to make curves. The warm wind blows in my open window and brings a sour tang. The smell grows stronger the further down the road we go. I know this smell; it’s the smell of rotting flesh. It’s not as strong as I’ve noticed before heading down residential streets but it’s noticeable.
I look around for housing areas or something that could cause that stench. The flat plains and fields are the only thing I see. Surely this can’t be coming from one of the small towns that dot the highway or be drifting from
