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warrior's mind. That same warrior might risk his or her life to save the
life of a child or an elderly person caught up in a dangerous combat
situation, or even a horse or dog, but he or she doesn't give a good
goddamn about someone wearing the uniform of the enemy . .. not if that
warrior in question wants to live.
The bed of the truck was covered with a tarp over a frame of some sort,
so Ben had no idea how many men might be in the bed: One, or half a
dozen or more, it really didn't make any difference. If they stopped to
do a search of the old farm, he was going to kill them all. That was the
way it was. That was the way it had to be. A soldier has no choice in
the matter, no other option.
The truck drove slowly past the old, rundown house and barn. The driver
gave the place only a cursory glance- too damn relaxed a look from him
to suit Ben-and the other two soldiers in the cab didn't turn their
heads. That was, to Ben's mind, a dead giveaway that they felt something
was amiss and would be back to check it out.
He had not seen any one of the three in the cab use a radio. Of course,
they might very well be radioing in their location now that the farm was
behind them.
Ben waited. The minutes ticked past in silence. Then
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he heard the sounds of the truck returning, coming up the road very slowly.
"Stupid," he muttered. "They should have returned on foot through the
woods to the south."
The truck stopped and the driver cut the engine. Half a dozen uniformed
and well-armed men got out of the tarp-covered bed, and three more
unassed the cab of the truck.
"Nine to one," Ben whispered. "And I've got about forty-five minutes of
good daylight left. Going to be interesting."
The nine men stood and talked for a few minutes, then began to fan out:
three on each side, three facing the front of the decrepit old house.
Ben didn't see any need to wait for an invitation. "Might as well open
the dance right now," he muttered.
He lifted his CAR and took out the three men walking up the ragged and
overgrown front yard. He burned a full mag into the trio and then
quickly ejected and stuck home a full thirty round magazine, shifting
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locations in the litter of what remained of the front room as he
reloaded. There was some returning fire, but Ben was not hit.
"Lonnie?" one of the three men on the south side of the house called.
Lonnie, Ben guessed, was one of the trio who now lay dead or dying in
the front yard. He did not reply.
"Eddie?" the same man called.
Nothing from Eddie.
"Vance?"
A moan from the front yard.
"How hard are you hit, Vance?" The voice came from the north side of the
house.
"Belly," Vance called. "My guts are on fire, Peter. Help me."
"Can you see him, Carl?" Peter called.
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"No. All I know is he's in the house."
"There's a HumVee parked in the back," another voice added.
"I need something for the pain!" Vance yelled. "God-damnit, somebody
help me."
"Shut up, Vance," Carl shouted. "We'll get to you. Just hang on."
"Hang onto what?" Vance groaned. "I got Lonnie's brains all over me.
When he was hit he pulled the trigger and shot himself in the head. Blew
his fuckin' head all to pieces and his brains all over me."
The gunfire Ben had heard.
"Is Eddie dead?" another voice on the north side called.
"Deader than hell," Vance moaned. "He took half a dozen rounds in the
chest."
"Let's blow him out of there." Another voice called the suggestion.
"I want that Hummer," Carl yelled. "Hold up with the grenades for a while."
"Yeah," this voice came from the other side of the ramshackle house. "My
ass is sore from ridin' in the back of that goddamned truck."
"Vance?" Carl called.
Vance did not respond.
"Vance?" Peter yelled.
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No response.
"He's either passed out or dead," yet another man called. "Probably dead."
"How do you figure that, Miles?" Carl yelled. "You close to him? Can you
see him?"
"I seen him get hit," Miles called. "He took half a dozen rounds in the
belly. He got tore up pretty bad. Them rounds lifted him damn near off
his feet and then doubled him over. He's dead."
Ben popped the pin on a Fire-Frag and chunked it out
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a caved-in part of the north side of what remained of the house.
"Oh, shit!" he heard one of the meres yell just a couple of seconds
before the deadly grenade blew.
Ben bellied down on die rotted floor a second before the Fire-Frag blew
and sent shrapnel all over the place.
Before the echo of the explosion had died away, Ben scrambled across the
rotted floor to the other side of the house and chunked another grenade.
Before it blew, he was running hard as the old floor would allow out of [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
