I wished we had a few more time-outs to slow the clock on this peaceful river.
They must know we’re bluffing, since we haven’t produced any people on our side, I thought. Still, I counted down the seconds, just as before.
“One minute, 36 seconds,” I whispered.
I took the last scan with my AR rifle scope as the seconds counted down in my head.
“Fifty-six Mississippi…fifty-five Mississippi…twenty-one Mississippi…”
Shots rang out from the direction of the highway; there were three initially, quickly followed by four or five more.
After only a few seconds’ pause, I heard at least a hundred shots in about four seconds.
“They fired on the Colonel I said out loud! They fired on the Colonel.”
Boom! came the sound from across the river, just inside the tree line, followed by two more in succession as Mike set the dynamite off. Tree branches and parts of things I couldn’t bring myself to think about flew through the air and onto the far riverbank, with some debris making it into the water.
The screams were deafening but were drowned out in seconds as Mel let the first of the Screaming Serpents fly. The scene is already complete chaos with not a single shot fired, I thought.
“Get low,” said Jake. “It’s coming.”
He was right, as almost immediately bullets zinged over our heads, bouncing off trees, rocks and lodging into the ground in front of our foxhole.
“Stay down,” yelled Lonnie on the radio. “Stay down,” he called again.
“They can’t cross the river and shoot at the same time,” I told Jake. As it turned out, I was only half right.
The shooting in our direction slowed, and even stopped long enough to quickly pop my head up. I hope they don’t have any snipers over there, I thought, quickly surveying the scene.
Mel had more fireworks lit, and the big ones zinged to the other side with large booms at the end. These were not shot high into the air as I had always seen at fireworks shows, but straight into the trees across the river, exploding and sending secondary multi-aerial shells in all directions.
The flame started small, just behind their group, as I spotted with my scope but grew quickly in the dry brush.
Ten or twelve men stepped out of the trees and towards the river.
“Pick your shots, boys,” called out Lonnie over the radio, “and stay low.”
This is too easy, I thought, just as the shooting started again from the tree line.
The river crossers started 30 yards downstream in chest-deep water as they were covered by their shooters.
“Careful boys,” called out Lonnie, “but they don’t get across. When they pause, everyone take two shots and then heads back down. I count 12…make that eleven” as one was swept away downriver.
“Wait for it” Jake and I heard, having difficulty hearing over the gunfire.
“Now!” he called out, just as the shooting stopped.
Crack! Crack! Crack! came the only shots now from our side. I aimed mid-chest at the second man, with the first one having already been hit.
They dropped one by one into the river, reminding me of that kids’ shooting game where you shoot the ducks all in a row. Three ran back towards their side, and I let them go. I would have been happy to let them all run back, but not Mike.
He took out all three from the downstream side of the river, with only three shots fired.
I heard four more shots from his direction, as he presumably took care of one or more of the floaters headed downstream towards him.
I was surprised to see how big the expanding fire had become. Out from the smoke came dozens of men, firing and entering the river all at once, followed by another row, and another after that.
“It’s revolution-style!” yelled Jake.
I remember seeing Civil War reenactments where the front line fires and the man behind him takes his place, row after row, until they breach the barrier.
“Are we ready with the 60?” I yelled at Jake, as I lifted the rifle.
“We are!”
Womp-womp! was the sound overhead, as we all opened fire on the enemy. I was still amazed at how fast the M60 shoots out rounds, with the shells pouring one after another above my right shoulder.
The advancing pseudo soldiers dropped in succession, with another one appearing right behind. Only a handful turned to run back.
I looked up at the thunderous machine overhead, whipping the treetops back and forth.
The gigantic helicopter we had flown in not long ago looked like a metal Angel coming down from the heavens to restore the earthly balance once again.
Its 20mm cannons opened fire in a barrage of bullets, decimating the other side of the river, taking only a few return shots.
The trucks were now engulfed in flames, with the exception of the two by the river’s edge. The helo arced, making a wide circle and coming up from behind us.
Hovering two hundred feet off the ground, they opened fire in a second round. The men in the river had nowhere to run, and the wall of bullets took the rest out in only thirty seconds.
The copter circled twice over the next few minutes, occasionally firing a few rounds back across the river. Then, just like that, they were gone.
Everything was silent. No screaming or yelling, no shots, and not even a bird could be heard—only the crackling of the growing fire.
“You okay, buddy?” I asked Jake.
“Yeah, I think so. You?”
“That was crazy but I’m not hit.”
“Everyone check in,” called Lonnie.
“Jake and I are good,” I reported.
“Us too,” called Mel, who was with Vlad.
“Just twisted
