I coughed and choked. Then I crawled behind the overturned Land Cruiser. Peter was there, one arm bleeding and hanging strangely, and he was yelling into a hand-held radio. I crawled over to the other side where Charlie was at work, firing at somebody or something. Another explosion. I heard a loud whoosh! and looked up, seeing a smoke trail from a rocket waver up into the sky. One of our helicopters was climbing, its door gunner firing away. There was another whoosh! and this time the rocket went right into the helicopter’s open hatch. The explosion filled the aircraft with flame and smoke and it crumpled into itself, its blades spinning out like a windmill going berserk. It plummeted down into the hillside, blowing up in a big blossom of fire.
The gunfire was rapid and loud, and it seemed to be all-around us. The bridge was ruined, and a Land Cruiser was tangled up in the shattered timbers, its windows blown out, two of its doors hanging open. I didn’t see anybody moving around in there. One of the APCs was next to us, its turret gun firing into the woods across the stream, to the left of the parking lot, and I could even hear the pings! as return fire struck its armor plating. The other APC was on its side, just like us, and the soldiers who’d been inside it had bailed out and were returning fire with their own automatic weapons. I wanted to yell, I wanted to scream, but most of all I had to find Miriam. Had to. She was on the other side of the stream bed, and now the tents where the bodies were being examined were on fire, their canvas walls and roofs peeling back and streamers of flame and smoke rising into the sky. Charlie stopped firing, ejected an empty clip, took out a full one—tapping it twice on the undercarriage of the Land Cruiser—and inserted it into his M-16. He looked over at me, breathing hard, his eyes wide. ‘You better stay put, buddy, ‘cause we are in some serious shit here. Our air cover’s now on the ground, burning to beat the band.’
I crawled back to where Peter, panting, was leaning up against the vehicle’s undercarriage, one arm bloody and limp, radio in his good hand. ‘Got through to the region,’ he shouted. ‘But it’s gonna take ‘em a while to help us out. Fuckin’ bastards. A classic ambush. Wish I had my bag with me.’
‘Where is it?’
‘Inside the— Hey, don’t you dare—’
I got up, hoisted myself over the undercarriage of our Land Cruiser and immediately fell through the open door. The inside was a mess, with gear, empty coffee containers, ropes and duffel bags all mixed together. But I knew what Peter’s bag looked like—it bad red handles—and I found my own bag as well. I tossed them both out of the open door and then followed them, landing hard on the packed dirt of the roadway. The nearest APC was growling as it churned up soft soil near the road, its turret swiveling, firing again. Charlie yelled, ‘You go, baby—get some!’
Peter didn’t waste any time, opening his bag and tossing out clothing and a notebook until he found a zippered black case. He unzipped it, holding it up to his mouth with his good hand and using his teeth, and pulled out an automatic pistol, a nine-millimeter model, it looked like. He thumbed back the hammer and rolled over beside the front tires and started firing, taking care to place each shot precisely. I had never felt so goddamned helpless in my life. I opened my own bag, dug through the camera gear and my notebooks, and pulled out a small pair of binoculars. I raised myself up over Peter’s prone body and tried to focus on what was going on across the way, by the mine’s parking lot.
The buildings and tents were now all ablaze, as well as a few of the Land Cruisers. A defensive line of some sort seemed to have been set up at the right side of the parking area, where the ground sloped down at a slight angle to the stream bed. Three APCs were hull-down behind the slope, and were firing up at the woods. There were a number of people there, milling about, and it seemed that only a few had weapons of their own and were firing back. I tried to calm my breathing, tried to calm my shaking hands, and tried to look at each person who was moving around there. Although I saw two or three women, I couldn’t find the woman I was looking for.
Charlie stopped firing again. I went over to him and said, ‘You got anything else? A pistol? The grenade launcher?’
He pulled out a fresh clip. ‘Grenade launcher’s back at base. Pistol I’ve got, but you’re not getting it. Sorry.’
‘Damn it, I can’t just sit here and—’
The bolt of the M-16 snapped back. ‘The hell you can’t. You’re a civilian, Sammy, and if I give you that pistol, that’s just wasted rounds. And we can’t afford wasted rounds.’
Charlie was right—but, God, I hated him so at that moment. I looked back at Peter, who was successfully reloading his pistol with one hand, and I brought my binoculars up again to focus on the mine entrance. I saw some flashes of light there, as the militia units poured fire down at us and at our comrades across the stream bed. Then there was a place where the brush and trees thinned out and I could actually make out people moving, people with their hands on their heads—prisoners—and the last person in line, moving up the hill, had long blonde hair.
I dropped the binoculars, got back down behind the Land Cruiser, looked to my left at Peter and to my right at Charlie. I was trying decide which way to go, so I could ford that stream and do something, when the ground seemed to reach up and slap me down with an enormous boom!
I wasn’t out for very long, just a minute or two, but I was flat on my back, trying to get some breath into my lungs. I stared up at the smoky sky and at the oily undercarriage of the Land Cruiser, and Peter was yelling from what seemed like a long distance away. I got up and rubbed at my face, and Peter’s voice was clearer now: ‘Samuel, the first-aid kit! Now!’
He wasn’t at the front of the Land Cruiser and I turned and saw him with Charlie, who had been dragged back to where the rear tires were. The APC that had been returning fire was on its side now as well, burning furiously, its tires shredded and melting, and something that looked like a person was halfway out of one of the hatches, burning as well I couldn’t bear to look at that for another second, so I got back inside the Land Cruiser, again falling down through the open door, and unclipped the kit from a bulkhead. I got back out and down on the ground, moving my jaw and trying to swallow—my ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton.
Charlie was on his back, his face a mess of blood, I opened the kit and Peter got to work, pulling out bandages and tape. He yelled, ‘Over here, hold this here,’ and I did as I was told, holding a thick compress to the back of Charlie’s head. I kept the pressure up while Peter, working one-handed, used a pair of scissors, cutting up Charlie’s left pants leg, which was soaked through with blood. I glanced around. The firing had lessened. The three APCs across the way were still shooting, but it didn’t seem like there was much return fire. The tents and buildings of the mine were smoldering, making a lot of smoke but not much fire.
‘Keep that pressure up, mate, just keep that pressure up,’ Peter said, swearing as he worked on one of Charlie’s legs.
I just nodded, trying again to catch my breath. I looked around once more, trying to take it all in. The body of the Japanese guy was still in the middle of the road, the soldiers from the undamaged but overturned APC were still firing -slower, just like everybody else — and the other APC was still burning. Charlie was gurgling now, his breathing getting more raspy.