“Wasn’t there,” John answered, offering him some water.
Marshall declined. “Yeah, that’s right, Iraqi Freedom. Did you know we lost less than three hundred men in that entire war and only half of those were in combat?”
“I’d heard something about that.”
“Yessir, my CO was one of them. Part of the second group, that is. He was a fifty-four-year-old lieutenant colonel in the air cav. AH-1F Cobras. Anyway, so early dawn before the air campaign finally got underway, the colonel doesn’t show up for his briefing. They send an airman out to see what the holdup is. You know what he finds?”
John wasn’t sure he wanted to know. “Was he dead?”
“Dead as a doornail. Poor guy had a heart attack in his sleep. Fifty-four years old. Heck, that’s my age.”
“Died in his sleep,” John said thoughtfully. “Not a bad way to go.”
Marshall fixed John with a cold eye. “I thought the man got cheated, if I’m gonna be frank. Made it all the way out there, fixing for a fight, and bit the big one before he could get a shot off. That’s not how I wanna go out, no, sir. For me it’s guns blazing or nothing.”
Be careful what you wish for, John thought. In his mind, blazing guns were about defending what was sacred and precious. It was starting to sound as though the leader of this group saw himself as some kind of Viking. A tough warrior, no doubt, but was he also a reckless one? Special Forces and most regular soldiers he’d met prided themselves on completing a mission and then returning home safely to their families. There wasn’t a lot of glitz and glamor and it didn’t always make for exciting movies, but that was part of being a professional.
A hand signal from up ahead told them a group of trucks were approaching from the north.
“Here we go,” John said before making a final check of his weapons.
Chapter 21
More hand signals from the spotter up ahead. Ten trucks were approaching fast. This particular stretch of road was relatively clear of abandoned cars, allowing them to build up speed. In retrospect, placing a single vehicle a hundred yards up across the center line would have allowed the trucks to pass, but slowed them down. Either way, it was too late now. John would keep that bit tucked away for next time.
As the lead vehicle came into view, John noticed something strange. By all outward appearances, the intelligence Rodriguez had gotten via his contact in Jefferson City had been accurate. These were rigs with trailers on the back marked with UN decals on the front and sides. But even as they approached, John could see something was off.
“Pass me those binoculars,” he said to Marshall, who was rising onto one knee.
John peered through and focused on that first truck. The cab had a flat nose with a wide brim at the top, a similar design to the one he’d seen heading into Oneida the other day. It looked European. Then he read the company name across the grill.
“You ever heard of a truck company called Kamaz?” John asked Marshall, who looked at him strangely.
“Not sure,” Marshall replied. “Maybe that’s the brand the UN uses.”
After many years spent working overseas in war-torn countries, John knew that wasn’t the case. Generally the UN preferred Volkswagen trucks and Toyotas for their SUVs.
The vehicles were almost at the ambush point and Marshall was getting ready to give the signal. The plan was to swarm out as they slowed down and remove the driver from the lead and rear trucks, trapping the rest in between.
But the closer they got, the clearer it became these guys had no intention of stopping. John heard the lead truck hit the gas and that was when he charged out from cover. The others charged out as well. It was important they disable the first truck before it got through or the whole convoy might escape. Technically, Marshall hadn’t given the order to move out, but they couldn’t afford to wait another second.
The first truck was less than ten meters from the blockade when its engine roared to life. Men began firing from the edge of the forest. Most were aiming for the driver. John peered through the ACOG scope and fired at the front right tire. The first couple of shots hit the wheel well and then the tire rims. With the next squeeze he saw the tire explode. The truck swerved violently, losing control, and plowed through the blocking vehicles, spinning them like children’s toys. Shards of metal and bits of glass flew into the air. The lead truck veered off the road and into the ditch.
In the front cab, the driver was dead, but he wasn’t alone. A man with a rifle sat shotgun and he struggled to undo his seatbelt. John couldn’t risk allowing him to bring the weapon to bear. He zeroed in and put three more rounds through the windshield. The man slumped forward and lay still.
Now came the second truck and if they could stop it cold, it might just be enough to block the road.
A handful of men were already racing toward the back of the approaching convoy of trucks. The goal here was to engage the armed escorts in the passenger seat without disabling the trucks themselves. Otherwise they would never get all those supplies back to camp.
Just then, the second truck roared past the shattered cars and over the spike strip. Both front tires blew out, flinging the strip itself into the air. The device was good for a single use and John just hoped it would be enough.
The ten Patriots south of them emerged and engaged the second truck. Sparks sprayed from the asphalt as it tried to flee on a pair of twisted rims.
AK fire from the passenger side of the truck hit two Patriots before the driver and gunman were killed. The vehicle slowed until it came to a stop in the middle of the road, blocking the path.
Running gun battles were raging up and down a fifty-meter length of Route 27 as Marshall’s men tried to prevent the rear vehicles from turning around and fleeing. This wasn’t going completely to plan, but combat never really did.
The truth was there was far more resistance than any of them had anticipated.
On John’s left, more Patriots began to fall. Not that it was a huge surprise. They were using shotguns, deer rifles and a few even had pistols while the men guarding the trucks were armed with AKs. John dropped to the ground and peered through his scope. Three enemies were positioned under one of the trailers, firing on the advancing Patriots.
Under fire from all sides, the men had taken cover wherever they could. For John, it had only meant they lined up perfectly. He opened up with a short burst. By the time the first two were down, a final volley finished off the last. That was another thing the movies never talked about. A large enough round would slam through the human body and often keep on going into the man next to him.
When the rest of the drivers and the men guarding them recognized the Patriots could hit them from every direction, they threw down their weapons and surrendered.
Now came the time to gather the prisoners and commandeer the remaining trucks. The first two had been completely disabled, which created a problem. They could either leave the supplies they were carrying or spend valuable time transferring them to the remaining vehicles.
John advised Marshall not to get greedy. They would do a quick search through their contents to make sure they weren’t leaving behind any weapons or vital supplies. There were also a number of wounded who would need to be cared for.
After a quick search, they discovered that the contents of the first two trucks consisted mostly of clothing and blankets. Confident nothing important was being left behind, they assigned men to drive each of the remaining rigs.
They needed to make it quick before any patrols from Oneida caught wind of what had happened.