“Clayton, we’re in trouble.”
“Got it, we’re on it. Hold tight, sheriff.”
***
The men inside were drunk, but still very capable. Three of them were positioned behind sandbags that were stacked underneath the front windows. They had already located most of the sheriff’s men out front with the group’s night -vision equipment and were just waiting for the deputies to show themselves again. The three remaining men inside had taken defensive positions facing the doors, ready for anyone foolish enough to make it up the stairs. The two men on the outside had squatted shoulder to shoulder and hopelessly scanned the darkness below for any signs of movement.
Geram had heard the broadcast between the sheriff and Clayton through his own earpiece and had already retrieved the silenced pistol from his shoulder holster. The larger, AR pistol hung from the single-point sling at his side. As he carefully made his way to the rear of the camp, he heard his father’s voice coming from the earpiece.
“Be careful son, we’re watching you from here.”
***
With the help of the night vision, the men in the camp were able to keep the sheriff and his deputies pinned to the ground. They panned the area in front of the camp, laying down a steady hail of gunfire. Greene and two of his deputies crawled into new positions and readied themselves for the counterattack.
***
Geram leaned against the tree about thirty paces from the two men above him. Through his goggles, he could see their every move. He dropped to one knee and took several deep breaths as he began to count to three.
One.
This had better be flawless, Geram.
Two.
***
The sheriff shouted, “Now!” as he and his two deputies turned on their spotlights and illuminated the front windows. The remaining men leaned out from behind their cover and unleashed a steady hail of gunfire. The sheriff braced for the onslaught; he was now target number one.
***
Three!
Geram leaned out from behind the tree and fired two rapid shots at each man, before repeating the cycle. As he ended the silent attack, he watched the two men collapse on the deck without uttering a sound. He waited for a brief moment to see if anyone else had noticed, but no one appeared. Geram stealthily rushed to the top of the stairs and took cover in the opposite corner from the men. He glanced left and right, before whispering into the microphone, “Go.”
***
The three men at the windows grinned as they fired upon the deputies. It had been far too long since they had killed a cop. Suddenly, it seemed as if they were staring directly at the sun; the light was so bright it was painful. The blinded men retreated behind the sandbags. Immediately after, the entire front of the house exploded with gunfire. Bullets pierced the cedar walls all around them. One of the men shrieked as two rounds tore through his gut. Two men dashed for the back of the camp to make their escape.
Geram was ready when the door flung open and the men burst forth. He silently caught them midstride, hitting the first man in the side under his arm and the second man in his throat. The men stumbled and fell headlong down the stairs and into the mud below. Geram whispered into his mouthpiece again, “Light ‘em up.”
The men inside the house were in a complete panic when their rear exploded as well. The bullets from the back of the house weren’t the same though. They were blowing massive chunks of the cedar planks into the air around them. The men saw one of their friends explode in front of them as a fifty-caliber rounds connected with his upper torso. Upon seeing the display of gore, several of the men flung their rifles and sprawled face down on the floor. The final, armed man crawled across the debris-riddled interior to the back door. He would die before laying down his gun.
Geram was looking high and did not notice the man at first. The sharp pain in his shoulder spun him slightly and caused him to drop the pistol. He glanced down and saw the man peering out of the back door. He winced as the man steadied his aim for the kill shot; Geram was all that stood between the man and his freedom. The man exhaled and began to squeeze the trigger.
The wooden deck exploded from the impact of one of Jake’s well-placed rounds directly in front of the man’s face; splinters flew everywhere. The man rolled to shield his eyes as the pistol fired wide, just missing Geram’s head.
Geram fumbled with the AR momentarily as he reached down and grasped it. As he brought it up level with his shoulder, he felt a wave of burning pain that caused him to cringe. As he strained to steady his aim, a second round from the fifty connected reached the deck, connecting with the raider. The result was gruesome.
Geram breathed heavily as he slid down the railing and sat on the deck, searching for the wound. He could hear his father in his ear again, “Son, are you alright? Where’re you hit?”
“I don’t know; I can’t find it.”
“We’re on our way, hold tight son. You’re going to be alright.”
***
Several of the deputies were making their way up the front stairs to the camp. They split up as they kicked the door in and rushed the room. They swept left and right, searching the interior for any remaining threats. One of the deputies stayed to restrain the men that had surrendered. One by one, they shouted, “Clear!” They radioed their report down to the remaining men.
Out front, Deputy Greene ran over to his brother, Sheriff Greene, to congratulate him. “David!” He exclaimed as he approached the sheriff, “Did you hear that? The camp’s clear! I just heard from Clayton that Geram’s been hit. We need to get him some help quick. Let’s go get the-“
He gasped as he dropped to his knees and scooped his brother up in his arms. The sheriff coughed hard from the sudden movement as blood trickled from his mouth.
“No! No, no, no! Help! I need some help over here!”
The sheriff grasped his baby brother’s hand and looked into his eyes. He tried to smile, but the coughing began again. He tilted his head back slightly and wheezed as he squeezed his brother’s hand tighter. A single tear rolled down the old man’s face and then he closed his eyes.
Cha pter 27
Wyman
Corpus Christi, TX
The high-pitched whine of the F-16 Fighting Falcons, more commonly referred to as Vipers by their pilots, was like a drug to him. Wyman zipped up his flight suit and walked out to his baby. He gently ran his hand along the jet as he performed a final walk around, before climbing into the cockpit. The ground crew was just finishing their checks, but he still preferred to inspect everything himself. He glanced over and observed his wingman doing the same.
The morning was fresh and crisp; perfect for flying. He turned and took a final glance at the airfield before closing the cockpit. As he pulled the helmet over his head, the ground crew got into position and went through the pre-flight functionality checks with him.