The New Madrid Run (35 page)

Travis had watched Reynolds and Rockford gathering a group of men together at the other end of the trailer, preparing to rush the house. He knew the contest was still a roll of the dice. He was yelling at the others to get ready for the attack, when suddenly he heard the roar of a Jeep, the distinctive bark of a Thompson, and saw the propane tank ignite, taking the back half of the trailer and a good portion of Rockford’s squad with it. He knelt there by the window, the cacophony of battle raging around him, and smiled.

“
Cody,” he whispered.

Rockford and his soldiers were thrown to the ground from the blast, but committed and under fire, they recovered quickly and charged. Of the dozen or so men nearest the tank at the opposite end of the mobile home, eight or nine were killed instantly. The other four or five lived long enough to stagger to their feet and face the maniac with the machine gun.

The dozen soldiers who had taken the barn saw Reynolds and the colonel converging on the house with the last of their men. Sensing victory, they opened up with their weapons to give them cover and charged the opposite side of the building.

Inside, the remaining defenders consisted of Eric and Derrick, two or three of their men, Travis, Carlos, the preacher, and the sensei. As the men from the barn charged, the twins, who were standing next to the kitchen door, turned and looked at each other. Wordlessly, they snapped fresh magazines into their Thompsons, kicked the kitchen door off its hinges, and walked out side by side, their machine guns booming. Pieces of the porch snapped and exploded around them as they stood together like two deadly genies, Thompsons jumping in their huge hands.

One of the giants flinched slightly as he took a round in the flesh of his side. The other clenched his teeth as bullets struck him in the leg and the arm, but their guns never missed a beat. When the last shell casing from their weapons hit the ground, there wasn’t a soldier left standing in the clearing. Eric and Derrick once again looked at each other, without uttering a word, and smiled. The other side of the house had not fared as well, unfortunately.

Two of the colonel’s men had thrown smoke grenades as they charged, and under the cover they created nearly a dozen of the soldiers reached the house, including Reynolds and Rockford. Reynolds and four of the attackers broke from the charge and attempted to take the defenders from the rear of the structure. The sensei and Travis saw the move and rushed to the back. The first three never made the porch as Travis and his friend magically appeared from behind two of the concrete pillars that supported the roof and cut loose with their M16s. The fourth one, along with Reynolds, had been protected from the murderous fire by the bodies of the first three. As his comrades fell, the fourth made a dive and pulled off two quick rounds as he hit the porch. One of those was wide, but the second smacked the concrete pillar next to Travis’ head. The exploding particles of concrete dust struck Travis in the face and eyes. Momentarily blinded and staggered by the intense pain, he lost his grip on his rifle and threw his hands up to his eyes. Reynolds and the other soldier rose up and leveled their weapons, moving in. In that split second, the sensei realized Reynolds was covering at him, waiting for him to come out from behind the pillar. The other soldier, twenty feet away and on his knees, was bringing his gun to bear on the blinded and helpless Travis. There was no way the sensei could take them both.

He made his choice—a life-and-death decision that was the consummate statement of friendship. The sensei hurled himself against Travis, knocking him through the opening where the sliding glass doors led into the living room, while firing at the man who would have killed his friend. The kneeling soldier never got off a shot as he was bounced backward through the door on the porch. Reynolds, however, got off several, two of which hit the sensei in the chest, knocking him down, his gun flying across the floor. For a moment, everything fell silent. Reynolds paused, quickly scanning the room. The sensei lay motionless, his eyes closed, the blood from his wounds staining his shirt a bright red. He could just see Travis in the other room as he groped around on his hands and knees, blinded. Reynolds walked over slowly, cautiously, listening to the sounds of the fight out front. He reached the Japanese, whose chest barely rose and fell, and nudged him with his boot. Satisfied the man was no threat, the soldier started to move past him to finish Travis, when suddenly the sensei’s eyes snapped open and his hand snaked out behind the heel of Reynolds’ boot and jerked.

Taken completely by surprise, the soldier was thrown off balance and collapsed on top of the Japanese, who grabbed Reynolds by the front of the shirt, pulled the startled man’s face to his own, and drew his short sword. He held Reynolds so tightly the man couldn’t pull away and, as their noses almost touched, he whispered hoarsely, “Come meet my ancestors with me, Captain.” Then he plunged the blade into the officer’s stomach below the abdomen and drew it upward, opening his midsection from groin to sternum.

Reynolds screamed like a pubescent girl, struggling maniacally as the razor sharp sword sliced open his stomach muscles and he felt the warm wetness of his own entrails pouring out. The sensei held the man to him with an iron grip, watching his opponent’s bulging, terrified eyes begin to glaze as the screams ceased and the life force left him. Finally, when the captain quit trembling, the proud old Japanese pushed Reynolds off him, laid his own head on the cold, blood-covered floor and, with a sigh, closed his eyes.

Outside, two more of the colonel’s men fell to the defenders as they reached the walls of the house, but the fire they poured into the windows and through the walls had taken out another two defendants. Rockford was left with less than half a dozen men. The colonel had watched Reynolds break off with his men and charge the porch. He had also heard him scream moments later. Rockford had been in war, and he knew that scream. There was no point in counting on the captain. The furious gunfire on the far side of the dwelling had grown silent, and none of his men who had charged the barn had reappeared. The odds no longer appeared so good.

Travis struggled to his feet, wiping his eyes and trying desperately to clear his blurred vision. As he began to focus again, he turned in a panic toward the silence of the porch. “Sensei! Sensei!” he called, as he stumbled out through the sliding doors.

His friend lay on the floor in front of him, covered in blood. Reynolds lay next to him, his vacant eyes staring at the slowly spinning ceiling fan above him. Travis rushed to his companion’s side, cradling the man in his arms.

Slowly, the sensei’s eyes opened once more, and when he recognized Travis, he did his best to smile. “Ah, my friend. I am glad you are here now,” he whispered. “It is time for me to join my ancestors.” The sensei paused for a moment, drew a small breath and coughed, then looked up at Travis again. “It has been good to know you, Travis-san. You are good Samurai. Now give me your hand.”

Travis felt hot tears running down his cheeks as he put his hand in the sensei’s. Slowly, and with great effort, the Japanese brought his
katana
around and laid it in Travis’ palm. “My swords are now yours. Keep them with pride and honor, and remember me, my friend, when you clean them at night.”

Numbed with grief, Travis could find no words. He held his companion and brushed the hair away from his face.

The sensei drew one last ragged breath. “Do not despair, Travissan. This is but a journey completed. We have walked together before and we shall walk together again.” For the last time, their eyes locked and in a whisper, the words came. “
Sayonara
, my friend.”

The sensei’s eyes closed, his last breath passed from his body and, with a quiet, almost peaceful sigh, he joined his proud ancestors.

The preacher found Travis sitting on the floor, holding the sensei.

“Oh God, no,” the big man moaned. He moved to his friend’s side and gently put his arm around his shoulders. “I’m sorry, son.” The preacher paused for a moment in reverence, then spoke. “I’m sorry, but we need help now. They’re about to break through the front. Come on, son. Come on.”

Travis laid the sensei on the floor, placing the warrior’s swords by his side. He took a deep breath, then picked up his gun and turned to the preacher. “Okay, let’s finish it.”

Outside the house, Rockford regrouped his remaining men. He pulled two smoke grenades from his belt and threw one at the front steps and the other through the living room window. As the smoke poured out, he ordered the last of his soldiers into an assault on the front door of the house. They rushed the large oak door, shot off its hinges, and charged into the smoke-filled room. The colonel, however, after providing a quick barrage of covering fire, began to retreat slowly through the swirling billows, toward the trailer and the woods behind it.

Cody, Travis, and the preacher reached the smoky living room just as the soldiers broke down the door and rushed in. The attackers, outlined by the light of the doorway, were greatly disadvantaged, and paid for it. Four of the five were cut down in the crossfire created by Carlos near the bedrooms, and Travis and the others, who had come through from the back of the house. The last one, attempting to escape, turned and ran around the kitchen side of the house. He rounded the corner full tilt and stumbled headlong into the twins. Before the man could recover and shoot, Derrick ripped his gun out of his hand and crushed his skull with it.

Travis quickly checked the bodies in the house, looking for the colonel. Cautiously, he moved to the door and peered out through the slowly clearing smoke. He saw the tall man in the distance, running for the woods. The adrenalin of hate slammed his system like a cocaine mainline, and without a word to anyone, he was out the door. Thirty feet from the woods, Rockford turned and saw Travis running toward him. He stopped, raised his rifle, and fired. Travis watched the gun come up and rolled to his left as the automatic weapon stitched the ground where he had been seconds before. When the colonel realized he’d missed, he again swung the gun onto Travis and pulled the trigger, but the weapon was empty, breach open. Having exhausted his last magazine, Rockford threw down the rifle and ran for the woods. Travis rose and fired, but his aim was high, and he tore the branches from the trees above Rockford’s head as the soldier scrambled into the forest. Seconds later, Travis reached the edge of the woods and followed.

As Rockford raced through the trees toward his vehicles, Travis realized the man’s intention, cut across to the fire lane, and ran for the road to intercept him. Unobstructed by undergrowth, he made much better time and reached the parked convoy well ahead of the colonel. He worked his way quietly down the line of vehicles to the command Jeep, lowered himself beside it, and waited. It wasn’t long before Rockford came charging out of the woods, gasping with exertion. As he walked over to the Jeep, Travis stood up and leveled his gun at him. “Don’t move, Colonel, or I’ll kill you where you stand.”

The colonel was startled at first, but when he recognized his antagonist, he recovered and smiled. “If you do, you’ll never see the boy or the woman again.”

Travis tensed, but kept his voice calm. “You’re right, Colonel. I need you to talk to me.” He pulled the trigger of his gun and tore up the ground at Rockford’s feet.

The man yelled and danced back. Travis smiled. “So talk to me, Colonel. Where are they?”

Rockford regained his composure and glared at him. “Do I look like a fool?” His eyes flickered for a split second to Travis’ left side, just behind him.

Travis dropped to the ground and turned as a lone, slightly wounded soldier at the edge of the woods raised his gun and fired. The bullets passed over Travis’ head as he opened up on the man, practically cutting him in half, but in the intensity of the moment, he loosed more rounds than necessary, emptying his weapon.

He turned, just in time to see the colonel charging, knife out, his face drawn back in a feral-like snarl. Travis rolled away, losing the grip on his gun, as the first slash of the knife caught the top of his shoulder instead of his throat. Instantly, he was out of the roll and up, spinning to face Rockford, who moved forward, his knife weaving back and forth in front of him, his eyes bright and cold. The colonel lashed out again, and Travis managed to avoid the full impact of the blade by jumping backward, hands wide and out of the way, but a thin red line appeared through the slashed fabric on the breast of his shirt.

Rockford rushed in. The knife missed Travis’ eyes by inches, but in the process of snapping his head back to avoid the blade, he lost his balance and fell. As the soldier moved in for the kill, Travis, on his knees, saw the empty M16 laying an arm’s length away. Just as Rockford reached for him, Travis grasped the weapon and brought it up, deflecting the arch of the knife, then he snapped the butt of the gun up sharply between his opponent’s legs. The triumphant gleam in the colonel’s eyes turned to shock as he grunted with pain and doubled over.

Travis drew back, simultaneously swinging the weapon in a swift, upward arc at his enemy’s head. There was a resounding crack as the stock of the gun met jawbone, lifting Rockford up and depositing him on his back—out cold.

Travis breathed a shaky sigh of relief, reached over and took the knife from the colonel’s hand, then rose unsteadily to his feet.

Cody had gone looking for Travis when he heard the firing out on the road. He found his friend leaning against the Jeep, out of breath and bleeding. Cody Joe dressed Travis’ wounds with a first aid kit from the vehicle, then together they bound the colonel spread-eagle to the hood of his own Jeep. A half-hour later, when Rockford came around, he saw the two men standing over him.

Travis grabbed the colonel by the hair and jerked his head back. He had Rockford’s knife in his hand and a merciless look in his eyes. “Where are they, Colonel?”

“Screw you and the horse you rode in on!” Rockford spat through bloodied teeth. “If you want to bargain, I’ll talk.”