Satisfied with our positions and preparations, the war began. Shane launched the first rocket propelled grenade into one of the dirt mounds, and I put a rocket into the right side of the first floor of the main structure. Heavy fire pinned me down, and I assumed from the sudden amount of distant gunfire that Shane had also taken fire. We had definitely grabbed their attention; it was like throwing rocks at a hornet's nest. All around me, I heard our crews returning selective fire as targets were located. Our shots were effective because I often heard screams coming from the enemy camp. However, we weren't without casualties. On my radio earpiece I learned Irene Margherio was dead and James Butler was seriously wounded after taking multiple bullets.
The sound of bullets thudding into the log faded, so I rose and put another RPG into the left side of the large structure. The area of my first strike was consumed by roaring orange flames which helped backlight our targets. Bullets again thumped my log barricade and whizzed over my head like mad yellow jackets. A light machine gun spewed bullets at me as I rolled ten feet down the log to a new position. Carefully, I peeked over the log and saw the intermittent fire came from one of the fortifications fifty yards directly in front of me. It sounded like a 5.56 mm light squad automatic weapon.
Jakes Bales and Barlow crouched near me. I asked each of them to fire on the machine gun position long enough for me to rise above the log with the RPG to take it out. With their covering fire, I aimed and sent the deadly rocket for a perfect hit. Several people and weapons flew from the bunker. Bullets fired toward our position slowed, and it was much safer to return fire.
Light from the rising sun poking over distant trees gradually lit the area enough to see clearly. Shane called on the radio to alert everyone that Ed and Richard had moved in from the lake and hit the enemy from their unprotected backside. I finally spotted Richard moving stealthily from cover to cover. Then my ears picked up the puff-puff-puff sound of the silenced sub-machinegun. As I expected, Richard began taking fire from the people trapped between us. They not only faced deadly fire in front of them but now at their unprotected backside. My crew began shooting at anyone who moved while trying to avoid shots near Richard.
My thoughts left the death scene in front of me when a conversation started over the radio. "You two are my ticket out of here." I didn't recognize the speaker.
A fainter voice, female I thought, said, "You won't get far. My dad will hunt you down wherever you go."
A woman's voice, much clearer said, "Paige, be still and do what they say. I assume you must be Marc Ridder."
I stopped breathing. Ridder had Paige and Carmen. Where the hell were they? They'd been together working with Doc.
"Yeah, I'm Ridder and you must be one of the Jones bunch. I shoulda killed that black bastard, Willie, and the rest of you a long time ago. Grab each of them and put a gun to their backs while we work our way down to the boat. If either of you yells for help, you'll die instantly. The only way you two live is for the four of us to live."
Carmen and Ridder had broadcast all the info we needed. I found Morgan thirty feet from me and told him he was in charge. I stayed low as I scurried behind our line toward Shane. I told everyone I encountered who had a radio to not use it so we didn't alert Ridder that Carmen had the transmit key down so we could hear everything he said.
Shane had heard the exchange over the radio and expected me. We relayed the word about the radio to everyone else as we raced toward the lake. We were eighty feet from the shoreline when I saw the prize Ridder was headed for. A blue on white cigarette boat, about forty feet long with huge twin outboard engines, sat tied alongside a pier that jutted out at least seventy feet from shore.
Ridder's voice came over the radio, "Move it, Bitch, and don't even think of making a sound."
I nudged Shane and pointed toward movement at the first cabin on our left. The line of cabins sat about thirty feet from the shore and followed the uneven waterline along the lake past the large building that was at the apex of being incinerated. The six people cast long shadows in the orange glow as they emerged from behind the cabin and hustled across a short expanse of open ground toward the second cabin.
Two men and two women herded Paige and Carmen toward the point where the walkway to the pier touched ground. A man I recognized through my rifle scope as Marc Ridder held a pistol to Carmen's head, and a blonde woman held a gun to Paige's head. A man in camo led the procession, and a tall dark haired woman wearing camo brought up the rear. Each carried an assault
