Jernigan's War (24 page)

Dix walked until he came to a small bayou. He walked near the edge but not close enough to leave tracks in the mud. Finding an ancient log laying half in and out of the water, Dix carefully walked out on it, eased into the water and across the bayou. He disappeared into the buttonwoods and cypress saplings on the other side, sat down in the thickest part and waited. It wasn’t long before he heard the troops breaking through the brush. The little bayou probably ran a mile in either direction. Dix had duck hunted here as a young man. He had shot squirrels out of the big cypress tree a Chinese soldier was standing under. Dix sat still and quiet, they couldn’t see him where he sat, and unless they had dogs, they would never find him.

He carefully and silently took the empty bullet casings out of his pocket and placed them out of sight next to a log. He waited for three hours before he moved. He didn’t go back to his previous position, if they were smart they would leave a shooter in the area to wait for him. He took his time and walked the mile or so around the southern end of the old bayou. He had walked up a good sweat and stopped short of the highway to take a drink. It was then that he heard the explosions that took out the Black River Bridge and the Little River Bridge. The battle was on, they were trapped and he was in the middle of the battlefield.

It was getting dark and he knew that they would have night vision capability so now was the time for rest. He went back to the four-wheeler and headed back to his camp at the old home place. Back safe in his bamboo grove he was hidden from the world. He opened an MRE and dined. He was glad the nights were cold because the mosquitoes were wicked in this part of the world. It was also good that the water was cold, as this was gator country. It was not uncommon to run up on them, twelve feet or longer. When it has an opportunity a twelve foot gator eats whatever it wants.

The next morning he was awaken by traffic on the road. He eased out through the bamboo with Jake’s AR15 until he could see what was going on out on the road. A UN SUV with Chinese troops and a large black man were standing outside taking a leak. Dix killed them as they were trying to get back in the SUV. He shoved them in, heaving the driver into the back. Dix drove the SUV down the lake bank to the old boat launch. He left it in gear and stepped out. He started to take the radio but he didn’t understand Chinese so he changed his mind. He took their four AK47’s and the ten full magazines they had for each rifle along with a box of rations. He went through their pockets and kept any gold or silver. He pulled two full 5 gallon fuel cans off the back before released the handle on the parking brake and let it run out into the lake. It floated for a full 30 seconds before it sunk out of sight in the lake. He walked back to his hidden camp and broke out an MRE for breakfast. There is nothing that works up an appetite faster than killing bad guys first thing in the morning.

He took the four-wheeler back through the woods to an old fence line he remembered from his youth. Pulling out his bolt cutters, he opened up the fence. He traveled through the abandoned fields where he used to Dove hunt as a boy. The lake in front of the old home place was actually the most recent river bed that was abandoned when Black River changed course sometime in antiquity. The bayou he was skirting now was the river bed prior to the lake and the one prior to it was about 400 yards away and ran parallel to both of them. He was able to travel between these through what was at one time, a pecan grove during and after the civil war. Many of the ancient trees were still standing, others were missing and replaced by subsequent generations of trees. Dix had hunted squirrels and rabbits a lifetime ago on this land. Back then he had an old pump 20 gauge shotgun. It was the same gun that his dad had carried as a boy. Again the memories would die with him.

When he was within walking distance of the one lane gravel road that he knew lay ahead, he stopped the four-wheeler and
picked up his Springfield. He left Jake’s AR15 on the rack and picked up his pack and once again was ready for the hunt. This time he walked across the fields and behind the barns. He walked out around the end of Jones Bayou where his dad swam as a boy. He stopped while still in the woods and looked down the highway in both directions. All was quiet. He could hear gunfire echoing from the distance. Dix crossed the road and walked the two miles along the overgrown edges of a huge abandoned corn field. He came up on the bullet riddled body of young man. His Remington rifle was busted with a bullet hole through the receiver. 30-06 cartridges were scattered on the ground. Dix picked them up and got the ones out of his gun. Anything else of value was gone. The Chinese troops had cleaned him out.

Dix continued on trying not to give the young man much thought. He took out his compass and decided to cut diagonally across the corn field. As he crossed each row he stopped to look up and down the rows long ways as he traversed the field. He soon came out on the other side along the road where he made the kills the day before. He was about a mile further down the road from where he originally set up. He could see where they had set up a camp site across the road in an old cow pasture. They were occupying a farm house as well. If he fired from here he would be committing suicide. They could spot him by sound and he was probably within sight of a shooter. He melted back into the corn field to think.

He could hear a generator running over at the farm house. Gunfire was coming from every direction, apparently all the good old boys were picking away at them. He kept walking rows until he looked down a row and saw the generator truck. He pulled out an armor piercing round and replaced the bullet in the chamber. He set up his tripod and took aim at the engine block. Gunfire broke out nearby on the main road. This was a perfect opportunity to make a shot. He waited until the gunfire
erupted again and squeezed off a round. He immediately fell to the ground between the rows and waited for the field to be swept by gun fire; but, it didn’t happen. The shooting continued on the highway. The generator started smoking and quit. He moved over a couple of rows and traveled about a quarter of a mile further back into the field. Then he eased up toward the sound of the shooting. The shooters were some Chinese solders shooting off toward the river. They ducted behind their vehicles as someone was shooting back from across the river. Dix waited until one of them fired before he squeezed off a round. The first one folded up and fell. The others thought the shot had come from across the river. They hoped up and fired again, and Dix shot another. They returned fire one more time and once again Dix killed another. There was one left and Dix waited. He stood and fired again and Dix killed him. No one was the wiser.

Dix fished out the cartridges he had scavenged from the young, dead man and refilled the empty rifle and the empty loop in his bandoleer. If this battle was going to come to an end, he would have to keep killing the invaders. He melted back into the edge of the woods and hid. He could smell smoke and see a column of smoke rising on the far side of the field. The wind was blowing from the southwest. The Chinese were using the wind to burn the field. Soon the cover from the field would be gone, so he slowly retreated back to the bayou he had crossed the day before. Once again, he found the old log and crossed the bayou into the buttonwoods and cypress saplings.

He heard the water splashing further up the bayou. Several local men dressed in their hunting gear were scrambling across the bayou. They were making a lot of noise and being careless in their haste. He could hear more men on their trail. Dix crouched behind the log he had been sitting on. He took aim over the log as a squad of Chinese troops came into view on the far side of the bayou. They started shooting in the direction the Americans
were running. Dix put a round through the soldier in the rear. The 150 grain bullet cut through his chest and before he hit the ground Dix had another round chambered and had hit the next one through the mid section. Once again he cycled the action, by this time the remaining five or six had taken cover.

They shot wild as they did not know where the shots were coming from. Dix hunkered down as close to the ground as he could get and waited. He was well concealed; so when he eased his head back up to see, they were oblivious to his location. He eased the rifle back over the top of the log and found one in the cross hairs. A shot now would only alert them to his location so he waited, stealth was his friend. He took the time and located all of them. He couldn’t line any two up but at least he knew there were only five. If there were a sixth, he was well hidden or trying to get around him. No, if they knew his location they would be shooting at him. He heard the one in the middle bark an order, all together they jumped up and retreated. Dix killed the one who gave the order and threw a round through the tangle of men as they retreated back towards the fields. He knew he could expect artillery or mortar fire so he retreated in the opposite direction. He didn’t just run wild but with purpose. He slowed to a near crawl when he saw the edge of the woods and the fields beyond. He would be exposed as he crossed the turn row into the cotton field. As he paused in the woods, he lay on his stomach and waited. About 100 yards to his right and to the west he saw the three men who had been chased. They had stopped in the open turn row and were tying up the arm of one of the men. He wanted to tell them to get under cover but wasn’t about to reveal himself.

The arrival of a mortar round made the decision for him. One round landed between him and the men. Dirt and mud showered down on them. Dix crawled forward on his belly into the cotton field ahead and stayed down between the rows so that
the raised row could offer him some degree of protection. It was every man for his self. The mortar rounds came in two or three at a time. One went off when it hit the trees behind him. A burning hot pain lit up his left leg, a piece of shrapnel had found him in the field. He kept crawling down the row until he was out of the field of fire.

He stayed down and in spite of the pain continued until he reached the road-way that ran down beside Jones Bayou. Only then did he roll to a sitting position where he could check his leg. A jagged bloody hole in his pants leg revealed the location of the wound. Dix pulled up his pants leg and found a jagged hole in his calf. He could feel the piece of metal about a 1/4 inch under the skin. He pulled a tube of antibiotic cream from his pack and liberally smeared the hole and area; then took out his folding pocket knife and smeared the blade with the antibiotic cream. He made a quick slit above the knot of metal under the skin. It popped out with a squeeze. It was bleeding profusely but not so bad as to warrant a tourniquet. He wrapped a handkerchief around it and secured it with a turn of duct tape completely around the leg.

He could move and flex his foot so there was no nerve or ligament damage. He was certain it would be stiff in the morning and he may even be stove up for a few days. Against his better judgment he decided to go back and check on the other Americans. He found them where he had left them. Two were dead the other was mortally wounded. He pulled the man back into the woods and sat with him until it was over. One of the men had a 30-06 so Dix scavenged the bullets. He took their guns and ammo and wrapped them in a garbage bag he had in his pack. He tied it closed with duct tape and stashed them next to a log where he could find them later if needed. He then left their bodies where they lay and made his way back to where he had hidden the four-wheeler.

He retraced his trail back to camp. He parked the four-wheeler, his leg was hurting and it was painful to use the toe shifter with the hole in his leg. He limped into his camp and started a small fire. He stowed the Springfield and laid Jake’s AR15 within reach. He pulled out his first aid kit and properly dressed the wound. It had started raining and the temperature hovered in the low 50’s, but for now he was secure and fed in his bamboo hideout. He could hear gunfire and explosions off in the distance. The weather got worse in the night with lightening hitting around the area. It didn’t break for almost a week. He kept the leg loaded with antibiotic cream, letting it drain and was finally able to walk on it without limping. It hurt a lot worse than the gunshot wound he had previously in the other leg. Several times UN vehicles passed down the road in front of the camp. None stopped, evidently they were on patrol. If they had stopped Dix would have killed them.

CHAPTER 23

ENLISTMENT

I
t was now March and the news on the shortwave was good and bad. Some areas were successful in repelling and holding the enemy, others were not. The cities were pretty much a mess, most people were dead or scattered out across the countryside.

Steve, Sam and Porter were out in the blinds keeping their eyes open for danger. A group of about 20 men came through the gap where the dead Chinese were piled up. Sam radioed in, “We’ve got twenty men on horseback with pack animals heading up the trail from the river crossing.” Charlie answered the radio, “Do they look like ours or theirs?”