The children played games inside the house. Only Katie sat alone, identifying more with adults now than children, but not fitting in with either.
“I’ve got 15-25 not far from here,” called out Mel, “and they are not lost. I repeat, they are organized and all armed. That’s all so far, but I’ll know more in about five minutes when I’m at the end range of the drone.”
Mike and Jake crossed back over the river and went hole to hole, relaying what they had seen.
“They are coming right towards us and must have known about the fire road and this easy crossing. I think they are planning to cross here,” said Jake, pointing just in front of me towards the river, at the same spot my boys were brought back over only a few days ago.
“There’s no walking away from this without shots fired is what you’re saying,” I said, as more of a statement.
Mike nodded his head yes, without speaking.
“Mike and I will be downriver,” Jake said, “and if any shooting starts, you hit them from the front and we will come from the side. It may just split them up enough to give us the advantage.”
“Lord,” I whispered, “I hope you know these are bad men heading this way. I would not consider doing what I think I am about to have to do if they were your good children. I cannot let these predators get close to our families, and you know this. Forgive me, Lord.”
Seconds turned to minutes…and dragged on like hours.
Mel was back down the tree, carrying his drone and shaking his head side to side. He passed me first, and I demanded an update.
“We’ve got maybe 20 minutes before the first wave hits,” he said soberly.
“The first wave?” I asked.
“The 15-25 I already mentioned. But there are more behind them. Not the entire group that seems to be walking over the pass without stopping, but in between the two are another hundred or more armed and hunkered down, presumably waiting on word from their lead guy. They are about 4 miles out, near as I can tell.”
“No, no, no,” I said, louder than I wanted to. “That’s not what we need right now. There’s a big difference between 25 and more than 100.”
“I know, Buddy,” replied Mel, “but it’s what we’ve got. I’ll prepare the fireworks quickly since we’re out of time.”
“One battle at a time,” I told myself, missing the comradery of my friends but not forgetting they were close and getting the same news, as Mel worked his way down the line of foxholes.
I checked my ammo belt for the big gun, remembering how hot the barrel got after only a few hundred rounds the last time I shot one mid-summer in north Texas.
My heart beat loudly in my ears once again, as I waited nervously for the first sign, scanning across the river with my binoculars.
I started to see movement in the trees. At first, it looked like the wind, and then it grew into a wave of people fanning out amongst the trees.
That’s when I saw it…when we all saw her. A small girl of maybe five years walked out from the trees towards the edge of the river, carrying a megaphone. She looked back every few steps and called out for guidance.
I froze, as I expect we all did, for it was a dirty but effective tactic by ruthless men going to any length to secure an advantage. The young girl kept walking right up to the water’s edge, and I whispered into my radio. “Hold your fire, everyone. Hold your fire.”
She turned to head back into the trees, but she was waved to stay where she was. Her sweet voice over the megaphone was loud enough for all on our side to hear.
“Raton Pass Militia, you have taken our men hostage, and...” she paused, looking back for a minute before continuing. “We want them back!” She walked back into the trees.
Apparently, they haven’t heard of Mike yet, I thought, and they still think their guys are alive.
“You have exactly 20 minutes to produce them and send them back to our side,” called out an adult I couldn’t see.
Or what? I thought.
The men remained inside the tree line, pushing the young girl out front.
“Keep calm,” said Mike over the radio. “I’ll get the girl, but when I do, you all better cover my ass!”
I scanned the other side of the river intently, believing I either had twenty minutes or until Mike made his move.
The difference was split, and I had ten minutes before I saw the first firework arc into the air and across the river with an echoing Boom!
It was immediately followed by a combination of bigger ones, with Screaming Serpents, whistlers, and some kind of multi-bottle-rocket firework I had never seen before.
In the chaos of smoke and lights, I saw a blur as a figure ran out of the woods, scooping up the girl and running back from where he came.
“Mike,” I said aloud. “You are complicated and unpredictable, but you get the job done.”
There was a long pause, and for a minute I expected them to just turn around and head back from where they came.
The first shot came from their side; I was sure of it. It would be a debate at a future date among those of us left.
Lonnie was yelling “Open fire!” on the radio more
