Apache Dawn - - (classic fiction .TXT) 📗

avoid them.” Captain Alston looked up at the roofline of the house and nodded. After wiping the rain out of his eyes, he squatted in the little group and continued his plans. “Deuce, get inside—”

“Nice.”

“I’ll get up on the roof next door and get behind that chimney there,” he said, pointing up. “Should give me some decent cover. I’ll be able to paste them as they head down the street.”

Denny looked at the captain. “How you planning on getting in?”

Deuce grinned. “Door, meet foot.” He reared back and prepared to kick in the backdoor.

“Wait!” Denny said. “I know the old man who lives here. Give me a second.”

“Sir, we can’t risk someone—” began the captain.

“He’s a Desert Storm Vet. Good people. You’d like him.”

The captain looked above Denny at the dark porch light. He nodded at Deuce, who reached up and twisted the exposed light bulb a little but left it in the socket. Denny rapped on the window next to the porch door. He flinched when the shade pulled back and George McDonnell appeared, his face illuminated by a flash of lightning.

The door cracked. “Denny? What the hell you doing out here in the storm?”

“George, I don’t have a lot of time. I’m with some Rangers—”

“Army Rangers?”

Captain Alston stepped out of the shadows. “Well, we’re not Park Rangers.”

The old man took his hand and shook it, a smile plastered on his face as the rain soaked his arm.

“What can I do for you, Captain? I’ll be glad to help—Russian bastards been ridin’ the town pretty rough.”

The captain nodded. “We saw. I need to station one of my men in your home, sir, if that’s okay by you. The Russians are heading this way and we’re going to try and ambush them.”

“Done,” said George. He stepped aside as Deuce filled the door. He turned back to face the remaining men standing in the rain. “You got time to come inside out of the rain and get some chow?”

“Thank you, but that’s a big negative. There’s a Russian patrol hunting for us, up the street—”

“Son of a bitch!” said George through clenched teeth. He grabbed a rifle from beside the door. “That was you guys earlier? I heard them Apaches. Haven’t heard that sweet sound since my time in the Sandbox. Sounded like they were really spankin’ ‘em. Then…I saw the smoke…” He looked down sadly. His face brightened quickly. “I was a pretty good shot back in the day. Let me help. Ain’t got nothing else to do.”

Captain Alston considered this a moment as he checked on the Russians. He relented. “All right, go see my corporal inside. He’ll tell you what to do.”

“Great. And thanks. Stay safe, Denny. I wish I was out there with you.” He tapped the prosthetic legs under his bathrobe with the muzzle of his hunting rifle.

“You’ve already done your part, sir. I appreciate the assistance,” replied Captain Alston. They shook hands again.

“Here,” said the captain, after the door shut. He tossed Garza’s M4 and ammo kit. Denny caught the rifle in midair, splattering himself with water. “Best get going, sir.”

“Roger that,” said Zuka. He turned to Denny. “Follow me, sir, if you can keep up.” The short Ranger grinned and dashed off into the rain, running low and hunched over.

Denny nodded, slung the olive-drab messenger bag over his shoulder and ran across the street in his best imitation of Zuka’s hunched-over run. He found the small Ranger lurking behind a pine tree on the corner of the lot opposite the McDonnell place.

“Not bad, sir. Not bad.” Zuka pulled out a small LED flashlight and clicked it on and off twice, using his hand to shield it from the Russians up the street. Denny watched as a light blinked twice in the gloomy darkness.

“How far are we to the river?” asked Zuka, peering into the sodden darkness on the other side of the tree.

Denny thought for a second, catching his breath. The rifle was not too heavy just standing around, but running across the street with it had winded him. The adrenaline didn’t help either. He squinted through the rain.

“I think it’s about a hundred yards.”

“You think?” Zuka chuckled to himself. “Well, it’s all we got, I guess—”

“All units stand by,” Captain Alston's voice announced.

Denny’s thoughts drifted to Chad Huntley, the civilian who’d started this whole mess. Where was he? Was he alive? Did he run off and leave Tuck to die? Was he kidnapped somehow? Denny shook his head in disbelief that so many people were risking their lives for Huntley. A traitor—if one was to believe the ever-changing public announcements on the radio.

“Enemy patrol sighted,” whispered Deuce. “Two-man element. East side of the street. They’re not checking door to door. Coming straight on. I think they know we’re here.”

“Uh-huh. Ivan’s sending out two guys to anchor the line and keep the rabbits from running off into the storm,” said Captain Alston. “Too bad for them, we ain’t rabbits.”

“Hooah!” whispered Zuka. He shot a grin at Denny.

“Deuce, you take the first shot as they pass your position. Everyone else, that’s your cue,” said Captain Alston.

“Standby one,” muttered Deuce’s voice. Next to Denny, Zuka was peering through the small scope on his rifle. He clicked a small button and adjusted a dial, then started to calm his breathing.

Denny raised his own rifle and peered into the darkness. He couldn’t see anything past fifty feet. Just a wall of rain.

A single rifle shot broke through the steady din of the storm. Denny was amazed the sound of the gun was so quiet. What gave away the Ranger assault was the muzzle flashes. He grinned. Even that, reflected as it was off the houses and cars in the street, looked like the lightning that had been pummeling the area for over an hour.

Zuka took off for the street at the start of the shooting, in order to take out the other Russian. Denny followed, crouching as he ran, but by the time he got to the front yard, it was all over.

He held up a hand to shield his eyes from the rain and could see Zuka’s shadowy form dragging a dark object off the street toward another abandoned house. As he trotted over to the scene of the ambush, even the blood was being erased by the storm. Zuka slipped past him back into the shadows of the house and handed off an AK-47.

“Put it over your shoulder. Never know when you’re going to need some more firepower.”

Denny took the heavy rifle. He ducked under the strap and adjusted it before he too crouched and headed for the safety of the pine trees.

“Never knew what hit ‘em,” commented Deuce.

“Settle down, people. A two-man patrol ambushed in these conditions is nothing to cheer about. Any one of you should’ve been able to do that by yourselves. Stay on mission.”

By the time he and Zuka reached the churning river that gave its name to the town, Denny was doubled over to catch a sodden breath as they paused to get their bearings. Zuka appeared to be none the worse for wear, despite carrying his rifle and battle load-out. Denny had his tomahawk and the borrowed M4, with the addition of the liberated AK-47.

“Whenever you're ready, sir…” Zuka said, smiling.

“Heads up,” warned Captain Alston over the radio. “Ivan’s stopped about four houses up. They’re gathering in the street. Hard to see through the rain but it looks like they’re arguing.”

“Movement! Get down!” hissed the Ranger.

Denny dropped into the mud next to Zuka and tried to calm his heart. He strained his ears to pick up any sound that would mean approaching Russians. Zuka planted a finger across his lips and shook his head. He pointed at his eyes, held up three fingers, then gestured to their right, along the shoreline toward the town park on the north end of the street. Denny nodded, then turned his head ever so slowly until he could see the dark outline of the jungle gym in the gloomy distance.

There. A tiny red light flashed. He looked back at Zuka who nodded and held up his fingers to his lips as if he were smoking a cigarette. Then he frowned and shook his head in a gesture of disbelief.

They were both laying along the side of a riverfront fishing shelter, completely exposed to the Russians. They had the storm for cover, but otherwise, only a stretch of too-tall sawgrass and deep mud sheltered them from direct sight of the enemy patrol. Zuka pulled his rifle ever so slowly through the mud until he had it at his shoulder. He settled his cheek against the stock and peered through the scope.

Denny started to move his own rifle when Zuka, without looking, waved him off in a tense gesture. He pointed roughly in Denny’s direction and held out his hand in the universal stop sign.

How did he know I was moving? Denny wondered, blinking through the rain.

“Heads up, Zuka…BTR in the street. They’re getting reinforced. Four houses up now,” Deuce warned over Denny’s headset.

Denny saw the headlights lance around the side of a house in the distance. Great white beams of light cut through the storm and swept around the playground as the vehicle pulled up alongside the Russians. His blood chilled. As the lights illuminated the patrol, he and Zuka saw that