* * * *
The trucks came first, with all of us hearing them come down the secret road to the river crossing.
Rounding the last corner fast, the lead truck skidded to a stop before plunging into the waist-deep river.
The second truck was traveling even faster and barely slowed before smashing into the back of the first.
Smoke poured out of its damaged radiator, and several men in the back were thrown violently over both trucks and into the river. A couple of men collided in the air, with arms and legs flailing in all directions.
Two men were able to stand in the river, with a third landing face down, slowly being taken downstream by the current. There was no attempt on their side to help him, and seconds later he was out of sight.
The last truck cautiously rounded the corner, hearing the commotion no doubt, as injured men poured out of the cabs of both vehicles in front of it.
The drivers of each vehicle were out now and yelling at each other. Both men appeared drunk, but I thought they were both probably disoriented from the wreck. I had treated a lot of car accident patients over the years as a Chiropractor, and nearly every patient cited feeling disoriented immediately after impact.
Thirty more seconds of yelling turned into a fistfight, with each man swinging wildly and appearing off balance. The other passengers of both vehicles were egging their drivers on and calling out good shots.
They don’t even know we’re here, I thought, and I had a split-second urge to take them all out with the 60 in one fell swoop. That urge passed quickly as the first of the foot pseudo soldiers emerged from the trees.
“It’s Go Time,” whispered Jake.
“Yes, I guess so,” I replied.
I was hoping they would waste more time fighting amongst themselves, adding minutes on to the war clock and giving the Colonel enough time to arrive.
The foot soldiers were pointing across the river at us, now waving their arms back and forth.
“If they didn’t know where we were before, they do now,” sighed Jake.
Leaving the trucks, the men all headed just inside the tree line, presumably awaiting further instructions.
“You hear that?” I asked Jake. “The birds are going nuts right now. Should we stand and clap?”
“Normally, a car crash would be anything but funny,” I whispered, “but seeing ruthless killers act like bumbling idiots would certainly deserve a clap.”
* * * * * * *
Chapter Sixteen
Raton Pass, New Mexico
“Okay, guys,” called Lonnie over the radio. “Don’t make a move before they do. Every minute they wait to attack gives us an advantage with air support.”
“Raton Pass Militia” came the loud call over the megaphone, but this time from the trees.
“You renegades have killed some of our men, and even the innocent mother of the girl you took hostage.”
There was a pause, and I shook my head at Jake, whispering, “That’s a bunch of crap,” but I was happy little Darly didn’t hear that.
“We want her back and our men you already have, held against their will. You have exactly fifteen minutes to produce them, and we will then discuss your peaceful surrender.”
“Well, that seals it, just in case it wasn’t already crystal clear we would have to fight again,” I whispered to Jake.
“Yeah, man. No such luck, it looks like.”
“Hold your positions, everyone,” called Lonnie. “Especially you, Mike,” he added, as we all knew he was somewhere across the river with the dynamite.
The minutes dragged on as we heard more vehicles arriving on the other side.
“We’re almost out of time, and the Colonel is at least 20 minutes out,” said Jake.
“We’re not going down like this,” I told him.
“Lonnie, let’s try to stall on the timeline,” I called over the radio.
“That’s good, Lance. I’ll wait until the last minute, and then ask for more time.”
“Two minutes” came the call from the megaphone. The megaphone was one item I wished we had, but even Mel hadn’t thought to keep one on hand.
Lonnie called out loudly without standing and risking a bullet to the head. “We need more time,” he yelled. “We need 15 more minutes to get your people down here.”
There was a pause as the seconds ticked by, and looking at my watch I realized we were down to 47 seconds left.
“Come on, come on,” I whispered, hoping they would answer before Mike blew something up.
“Thirty-eight seconds,” I called out, feeling a knot in my stomach. “Twenty-seven,” as I counted down by fives, “22, 17, 12 seconds. Get ready!” I said over the radio.
“You have ten more minutes,” came the call from the megaphone, getting a deep sigh from Jake and me. “There will be no more extensions beyond that.”
Everything was silent, but the birds I had blocked out. It was a beautiful day, not too hot and not at all cold. A light wind blew through the trees, and I wondered if this would be my last day. My nerves were getting to me, and I shuffled in the hole. Jake put a hand on my shoulder.
“Okay now, Buddy,” was all he said.
“Lord, this is it,” I prayed softly. “I know you won’t let evil overtake us on this day. Please protect our families, and if there is a sacrifice to be made, let it not be our women and children.”
“Four minutes left,” whispered Jake.
I strained my ears to hear the sounds of a helicopter but could not.
There were three minutes left when the call came through.
“In-bound is five minutes out,” called Steve on the radio. “I repeat, five minutes.”
“Hang on, guys,” called out Lonnie.
How are we three minutes apart? I thought. Like trying to score the game-winning
