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able to see around it shortly. We continue our cautious advance. Passing the building, a parking lot opens up beside it; lined with trees on the two farther sides. The voices, now distinguished as a distant shouting, can be heard coming from either in the trees or on the other side of them.

“Lynn, on me,” I say.

Black Team crosses to our position where we are kneeling in a line along the road, concentrating on the area to our front but without neglecting our sides and rear.

“If I would hazard a guess, I would say that the voices are coming from the other side of those,” I whisper to Lynn and point to trees about 500 feet away. Oh for an ACOG scope, I think as I would love to be able to see a little better what lies in those trees.

“Skirmish line across the lot and halt just inside the trees if we don’t encounter anything,” I say. “If we take fire, provide cover and we’ll leap frog quickly back behind that building.”

“Got it,” she says with a nod.

We spread out in a skirmish line and start across the lot, weapons at the ready and safeties off, ready to pour steel downrange with a moment’s notice. The only sound is the increasing volume of yelling to our front. I cannot make out the words but it is definitely human and, from the sound of it, there is a little tension going on or else, why would anyone be yelling. And, it is getting pretty easy to tell it is part of a conversation. It will not be too long before we can figure out what is going on as we near the trees ahead. So far though, nothing has come out to greet us and I am thankful to this point that there are not angry bees buzzing about and striking us. Who knows what reaction someone would have seeing a line of armed personnel coming at them alert and ready? Most likely shoot first.

We reach the trees safely and take up defensive positions within them. Upon entering, it becomes pretty apparent that this grouping of trees is not that wide. They do stretch away to our right some but we are not going to have cover for long. Just visible through the trees is a parking lot and the voices are now becoming faintly distinguishable; however, the trees prevent us from hearing and understanding the actual words. A small paved walkway makes its way through the trees from our left to right marking what, at another time, would have been a pleasurable walk under the trees.

“Let’s move forward to get a better look but don’t leave the tree line. Set up just inside,” I say into the mic.

“Roger.”

We all stand and begin moving quietly and slowly forward in our skirmish line, still alert for anything around us. Crossing the walkway and reaching the other side, we settle into covered positions. Before us, a large parking lot leads to a brown, two-story building across from us. Only seven cars are parked in a row on the left side but we have a clear line of sight to the building. There, in the lot close to the building, eighteen men stand in a semi- circle before the main building door. It is from this group that the shouting is coming from. Standing by the door is what appears to be a woman with her arm wrapped around a child by her side, pressing him close to her in an obvious protective nature. She is holding her other arm out toward the men standing there, giving me the impression that she is holding a pistol although I cannot tell for sure from this distance.

“Lady, drop the gun and we won’t hurt the child,” I hear one voice call out from the group of men.

Well, that’s enough for me, I think noticing they didn’t include her in the offer of protection. Maybe I have watched too many movies but I have also witnessed this type of scene far too many times. Bosnia and the horrors there come to mind. I can remember the many times we would be up in the hills overlooking and observing towns being taken over and wiped out. Seeing genocide happen through a 20x scope. The ugliness that people can do to one another is amazing. Yes, evil does walk the world. And watching the poor women, well, I would rather not describe the atrocities there and shove those memories from my mind.

If we had a clear shot, we would ask for clearance and were given it most of the time. The offender centered in the scope and the feel of a light trigger pull. The kick letting me know that another evil creature will shortly get to tell his story about why he has suddenly been delivered to his own personal hell. The scope centered once again to see the woman scramble off. Hopefully to live and forget the horror of what she has momentarily lived through. I would always hope they escaped and were not found moments later only to go through it again. Yes, my mind is tainted with that evil and thus I have heard enough to know what is going on with this current situation. I feel anger and a sickness rising but keep it under control.

“Lynn, take Black Team back to the path and down to the right flank. Don’t expose yourself but get into position on the right. If we start trading steel, I don’t want the woman or kid to be in the line of fire,” I say without taking my eyes from the situation ahead of us.

“Will do,” I hear her say.

“Red Team will branch off to the left and get a flanking position there by the cars,” I add giving her our plans.

“Roger,” she responds.

Black Team passes behind us on their way to the path. We, Red Team, rise and begin to slowly move along the tree line to our left, keeping the situation in sight at all times but without exposing ourselves. I do not want some gumbah to turn around and see us. Our advantage lies in stealth at this point. They may be likely to shoot the woman and child first if they see a threat approaching. Something I would like to avoid. At the end of the parking lot, the tree line ends at another street running perpendicular to us. We turn right and start down the side of the parking lot towards the parked cars. Crouching and moving slowly so as to not attract any undue attention. The group seems pretty concentrated on the woman and child but it only takes one to turn and see a group of armed soldiers making their way towards them.

“Stay away from me. I’ll shoot,” the woman yells out.

“Lady, just put the gun away and the child can go free. You want your child safe don’t you?” A voice from the group calls out.

“You killed my husband,” I hear her shout back.

It is then that I notice the body lying face down on the short concrete path leading from the parking lot to the door. Its arms are stretched out over its head and blood is pooling below the head. The conversation between the woman and men continue in this fashion as we approach the row of parked cars. Reaching them unobserved, I motion for the team to take positions behind them but maintain clear lines of fire into the group of men. If a firefight develops, our fire should carry away from the woman, her child, and Black Team across from us.

“We’re in position,” I hear Lynn say over the radio.

I look across to the tree line across the lot. Not a soul to be seen. Damn, they’re good, I think trying to see any sign of a face, gun, or clothing.

“You’re good,” I say back.

“Of course we are. What do you think? That you’re the only one who can sneak,” she says back.

“Thought I was but apparently not,” I shoot back. “Stand by. I’m going to initiate verbal contact shortly. Do not engage unless I do.”

“Copy that Ranger Rob,” she replies. She’s enjoying this far too much.

“Well look who came across a sense of humor in the woods. Did you find it or steal it from someone?” I say.

“Must have taken yours because you’ve obviously lost it,” I hear her say through the radio.

“Um, copy that,” I reply knowing when to say when. “You’re out of our firing line right?”

“We’re good,” she answers.

Peering over the trunk of the last car in line, I observe closer that the woman is in great distress. The hand that is indeed wielding a revolver is shaking, observable even at this distance. Her dark, straight hair hangs down to her shoulders like the flags and wind sock. Tears stream down her pale, fear-filled face but she also carries a look of determination. She is going to protect her child at all costs. The young boy, who looks to be about six, is clutching both of his arms around her waist, his eyes wide with fright and not knowing what to do. His dad is lying in a pool of blood on the concrete a short distance away from him and armed men are threatening his mom. Overwhelming fear and shock must be gripping his insides at his situation, regardless of what they must have gone through the past few days.

The banter continues between the woman and the men. From their conversation, it becomes quite apparent that the men want the woman and that want is not for her own good. They are obviously a marauding band, taking what they want and feeling powerful doing so. Great! Now we’re going to throw marauding