her. Instinctively ducking, she catches sight of a spark flashing off the hull of the Stryker next to her. The whine of a bullet streaking off into the air behind causes her to flinch. Crouched, she hears Jack issue a “Stupid Motherfuckers” almost under his breath. Rising back to her weapon, her ear piece crackles.
“I guess we have our answer. Let them have it,” Jack says.
Loud, sharp, staccato bursts erupt next to her and from across the narrow expanse leading to the other bridge as the Strykers send their.50 caliber rounds streaking down the wide lanes. McCafferty swings her weapon and adds her 7.62mm rounds into the fray. Spurts of smoke leave the Stryker barrels as each round departs. Tracers stream above the dark gray asphalt and impact the glass and metal of the blockade vehicles attempting to halt their progress forward. Heavy thumps and the sight of glass shattering fill the far end of the ramp. Sparks fly where the heavy caliber rounds hit and punch through the thin metal. The dim light of the gray morning catches the shattered glass sending sparkles as the pieces launch outward and tumble through the air. The stuffing from seat cushions puffs into the air where they are torn apart.
The rounds crash through the vehicles like butter. Large holes appear in the sides of the cars and trucks. Shards of metal are thrown outward from the collision of the heavy rounds and thin steel. Doors fly off their hinges, some falling straight to the ground. Stryker turrets whine as the guns track across the line of vehicles. Bullets crash through, impacting with bodies in their firing positions and strike the pavement beyond in a flash of sparks. A faint pink mist fills the air where rounds meet soft flesh and bones. Bodies are flung backwards heavily crashing onto the pavement. Arms are severed or nearly severed from the heavy impacts. Heads explode spreading chunks of brain, flesh, and bone into the air.
The stillness of the morning is now broken by the staccato bursts of the heavy guns and the crash of impacting rounds. Feeling the vibration of the M-240 in her hands, McCafferty watches the devastation below. Faint sounds of metal screeching as if in agony reach her ears between bursts of fire. Those below scream as the violence is visited upon them and mix in with the vehicles being hammered. The back end of one car rears up from an explosion as rounds find the gas tank. It flips into the air and crashes down on top of a blue sedan next to it. Flames and smoke pour from the undercarriage. In mere seconds, the ground on the far side of the bridge is turned into a mass of torn metal, glass, and bodies. McCafferty watches as those still alive from the onslaught turn and flee to the sides. She lets up on the trigger as it’s obvious those that made it through the few seconds of carnage are giving up and fleeing for their lives.
I watch the carnage and destruction on the ramp below. The screech of torn metal drifts into the Humvee above the sharp firing of the.50 cals and the chattering of the M-240 under McCafferty’s care. The tracers of the larger caliber guns seem to hang in the air as they drift downward to impact with tremendous force. The tracers of the 7.62mm rounds mingle with the others. Metal is torn and thrown about to my front as the rounds tear their way through. I watch as a body leaning over one of the car roofs is picked up and thrown backward with force leaving just a pinkish mist floating where the body was. Those remaining behind the cars flee. The guns cease firing and, with the last of the shell casings tinkling on the metal floor of the Humvee, silence descends.
I barely hear the engines idling. My ears ring due to the din of the guns firing. I look down at the shredded vehicles ahead. A door falls from one of the cars to the ground, the sound lost. Except for the small flames licking the undercarriage of the flipped car and the smoke rising on the still air, nothing is moving. In just a matter of moments, the destruction is complete. I make out a couple of bodies lying on the pavement beyond the blockade. One person struggles to rise from the cold asphalt but gives up and slumps to the ground.
“Alright, let’s push forward. Strykers in the lead. Lynn, follow and I’ll bring up the rear. Watch to the sides for stragglers who might want to get a last shot in,” I say with a heavy heart. I hear variations of “moving out” over the radio.
I still don’t follow the logic of Sam not letting us through. Well, I do understand but looking at the carnage below, it just seems like such a waste. I hear the heavy whine of the Stryker’s engine rev up as it begins to pull ahead. I turn and pull on McCafferty’s pants to get her attention. She looks through the opening and I motion for her to get inside. It seems over for the moment but I don’t want a stray bullet from the side causing any casualties as we pass through.
Lynn waits and then pulls her Humvee in behind the advancing Stryker. I watch as the Stryker turret swings to the left as it approaches the far side. Glancing over at the other two Humvees moving forward, I start ahead making sure I have spacing on Lynn. I don’t see any of those that were at the blockade nor do I see any flashes of light or any other indication that they are firing on us. The Stryker ahead plows through the gap left by the flipped car. Hitting two adjacent vehicles in the front and back respectively with a loud clang and a protesting squeal of metal, it shoves them back creating a larger path. Smoke from the smoldering car envelopes the Stryker causing it to vanish momentarily as it passes through.
The Strykers on the other bridge shove vehicles aside in the same manner. Lynn’s Humvee follows the path through and vanishes from sight. Passing quickly through the lingering smoke, we emerge on the other side. Torn metal and shattered glass lie scattered on the pavement. Four bodies lie motionless amidst the devastation caused by the heavy bullets. Wet spots circle the bodies and run across the uneven lanes. I spot a severed arm near one of the mangled cars. As we continue on, I look to the sides watching for any indication they are waiting on our flanks. The only movement is the tail end of the truck Sam was driving heading down a side road toward the airport.
“Jack, we have an aircraft overhead on our seven tailing us,” I hear Lynn say.
I take a quick look behind us and see a small single engine aircraft a few thousand feet up paralleling our route. I haven’t heard any radio traffic on their channel in the past few minutes.
“Lynn, run another scan across the channels,” I say.
“Wilco,” she replies.
“We’ll let it be for now. Everyone push on but keep your eyes open. There’s bound to be another roadblock ahead,” I say.
I don’t want to have us stop to warn the aircraft away or take it down. I’m not a big fan of it above us but am willing to trade that for speed through the area for the time being. I’m sure it’s radioing our position to any others who happen to be around. We continue on the highway in the opposite lanes keeping our spacing. I’m rather thankful I haven’t seen any form of rockets as that would make a short end to our rendezvous with the sub.
“I’ve picked up radio chatter on four sixty-seven dot fifty-eight seventy-five,” Lynn calls.
“And?” I ask.
“The aircraft is relaying our position to someone else and telling them to vacate. I’m assuming it’s the aircraft calling as I can hear its engine in the background,” she answers.
“Okay, lock it in. Let’s continue forward and keep alert,” I say. Passing by toll booths on our side of the highway, I see the Stryker ahead of us round a curve.
“We have another roadblock two hundred yards ahead. No sign of anyone,” I hear it report.
“Hold up and blast a hole through. I don’t want to be surprised by any gifts they may have left behind. Watch to the sides,” I respond.
I see Lynn’s brake lights and bring our Humvee to a halt. McCafferty climbs back to man the M-240. Seconds later I hear the sharp chunk — chunk — chunk of the.50 cals opening up ahead. Minutes later I hear “It’s clear” and I have everyone advance. The Strykers carve a way through the vehicles as before with Lynn and me following on the left. This already seems like a long day and it just began. I’m hoping we don’t run into anything else along the way. Although our time table hasn’t been upset to any great degree, I’m eager to get north and meet with Captain Leonard.
It’s going to be a long day as I plan on taking the Spooky out tonight. There’s still so much to do. It seems like the list just keeps getting longer and I’m not overly thrilled about the changes I’ve noticed in the night runners. Casting out briefly, I feel a few faint presences scattered throughout the area. Even with this recent action and the upcoming meeting with Leonard, the night runners still weigh heavily on my mind. I think again about telling the group but I’m not sure of what their reaction will be. Lynn seems to think they’ll be stunned at first but okay with it. Me, well, I don’t want to chance that or create any division within our tight group. We need that right now but they also deserve to know. Yes, I seem to have a life filled with quandaries. Sighing, I maneuver through the gap created by the Stryker and notice the aircraft turn back.
We pass by a warehouse park with a mass of parked tractor trailers; reminders of a time that has passed. Another residential neighborhood slides by and we are soon through the Gig Harbor area without any further incident. Fir trees and cedars begin to line the road on both sides. They are completely oblivious to what just
