The truck continued its slow advance towards them, the cars placed as barricades on the bridge forcing it to slowly wind its way towards them, a process made more difficult because the truck was coming in reverse. Every person in the militia, their eyes just far enough over the top of the tree trunk for them to see, watched nervously.
“We need to build this up, make it taller,” Sean muttered under his breath, referring to the barricade. “It’d be nice to be able to shoot down into the back of that truck.”
The berms had been built as a defense against pedestrians and pickups, not armor-reinforced trucks. From their positions, height wise they’d be able to shoot into the side windows of the cab, but not over the sides of the bed, giving their attackers an advantage. Building the berms higher had been considered at one point, but effort had instead been spent on improving their defensive positions along the river.
Out of the corner of his eye, Ty noticed one of the men scamper down behind the barricade, get on his knees, remove his hat, and begin to pray. The man was joined by three more, all offering up silent prayers before returning to their positions. Ty thought about doing the same, but worried he’d be too frightened to crawl back up the bank. Instead, he stayed in position, kept ahold of his gun, and uttered a few words under his breath.
Sean whistled and waved over the man with the horse, who was waiting in the driveway of the house closest to the militia complex. The man bent low and rushed forward, pumping his arms hard with the exaggerated movements of someone forcing himself to do something he didn’t want to do.
“Get back to my brother. Tell him to send everyone this direction. I don’t think these guys have split up, so I want the rest of our guys to take up position at the house where you’ve been waiting, just in case they get past us. You wait there too, but be ready to ride for reinforcements. Got it?”
The man nodded, spun on his heels, and raced back to his horse. Ty heard the sound of hooves on the road at the same time the dump truck hung up on an old Ford pickup not more than fifty yards away. They watched, rifles ready, as the truck worked forwards and backwards, unsuccessfully trying to disengage itself.
“Be ready!” Sean hollered, his eye pressed to the scope of his rifle.
A head popped up over the side of the truck to peer down at the old pickup and was met with a hail of bullets from both defensive positions as Sean yelled “Fire!” From Ty’s vantage point, it looked like numerous silver dings appeared in the side of the truck and at least two of the bullets found their mark, snapping the man’s head quickly back then forward as he was hit from both sides, a spray of blood misting out over the truck.
“Hold fire!” Sean yelled. “But stay ready!”
Gunfire ceased, leaving just the sound of the big diesel engine on the bridge. A voice from the truck shouted instructions, and after a short pause the truck engine revved, then jerked violently backwards. The clamor of metal tearing and rubber screeching pierced their ears as the bumper was torn from the pickup and bounced onto the road.
“They’re going to be mad!” Sean yelled. “They have two men down, and we’re not hurt yet. Hang in there.”
The truck continued backwards, coming faster. A gold-colored Toyota Camry, the last vehicle on the road, was knocked out of the way as the truck smashed into it in a crash of breaking glass and crunching metal, then came to a stop twenty-five yards in front of the barricades. With the screech of sliding metal, the back gate of the truck swung down, revealing the barrel of a tri-pod mounted machine gun. In front of it, a large metal plate with two small openings, one for the barrel, and one for the operator to peer through, concealed the gun and the operator, along with the rest of the crew.
As Ty took in this surreal image, several men popped up in unison on both sides of the truck, making their heads and rifles visible. With a sudden flash of weapons and an explosion of sound, the air was filled with the deafening noise of gunfire and the acrid smell of gunpowder. Bullets flew in every direction, spitting up wood and dirt all around Ty and the others as they ricocheted off rocks and trees. Ty fired off two quick shots, then dropped behind the heavy log that protected him, feeling the thud and vibrations of bullets striking the opposite side.
Ty mentally tallied the three shots he had fired so far. He slid a few feet to the side and rose up with his rifle at his shoulder, just as he’d been trained. He quickly found a figure in his sights, one who was aiming in his direction, pulled the trigger two times, and saw the head snap backwards. He ducked back down as the air erupted once again with the rapid, heavy thuds of the machine gun, taking deep breaths while listening to the impact of bullets striking the militia house.
A stream of bullets traced a pattern across the second story of the militia house, punching a series of holes through the old wooden walls. Ty rose up and fired a couple more rounds, then noticed the machine gun swung his direction. “Get down!” he shouted, dropping and rolling down the bank as the heavy thuds of the bullets struck the tree, sending wood chunks raining down.
Somewhere close to him a person screamed and rolled down the bank with blood pumping from a wound in his neck. Ty turned and saw Anderson West, his hands clasped to his throat, writhing on the ground as one of the women from the team rushed over to him. Ty closed his eyes to block the image and waited for the pounding of the bullets to slow, then scrambled back to the top of the bank. He peered over the top just as the machine gun swung towards the opposite berm. The chaotic sounds of warfare engulfed him – guns firing, soldiers yelling, bullets impacting, and men screaming – every nightmarish thing he could have imagined, and more.
He quickly raised his weapon and aimed at the machine gun. With the gun pointing away from him, he could see the arms of the operator through a gap in the plate by the barrel. He took quick aim and pulled the trigger, pausing just long enough between shots to fine tune his accuracy. On his third shot, he hit his target, just as the machine gun resumed firing, seeing the hand holding the weapon disappear and blood spurt from the stump that remained. As he turned his attention to the bed of the dump truck, he was struck, knocking him backwards down the dirt bank, his cheek and shoulder throbbing with pain.
Ty took a brief moment to determine if he was dying, searching for wounds but not feeling any blood. He sat up and looked for his gun, finding it at his feet with a large chunk missing from where a bullet had struck it. He picked his gun up and quickly tried to chamber a bullet, but the action wouldn’t work and he threw the useless weapon onto the ground.
Anderson was being treated, but Ty could tell that his friend was either dead, or dying. “I need a gun,” he shouted over the din before grabbing Anderson’s weapon, a black semi-automatic with a banana shaped magazine, and scrambling back up the slope, numb to the danger.
He crawled to a gap where no one was positioned, raised his head, and saw a flurry of activity on the bridge. Luther was crawling slowly towards the truck with the satchel slung over his shoulder, a trail of blood extending out behind him. With a flash from the other side of the river, Luther collapsed forward writhing in pain.
Ty screamed out Sean’s name and scooted towards him, trying to get Sean’s attention. “They’re shooting Luther from the other side of the river,” he cried. “You gotta take them down.”
“Cover me!” Sean yelled as he raised his rifle, searching for the shooters on the far bank.
Ty lifted his head and scanned the side of the dump truck. The machine gun swung back towards them, and Ty pulled Sean down just as the firing began. They waited a few seconds before popping up again, their ears ringing from the barrage. With the machine gun swinging away, Ty once again zeroed in on the arms of the man at the controls. His second shot drew blood, though not as dramatically as before seeing as Anderson’s gun was a smaller caliber than his own.