Dranko’s left arm jerked as an unseen defender’s bullet struck home. He didn’t pause and kept racing forward. He was almost in throwing range and his right arm drew back in the beginning of a throwing motion.
Cooper squeezed more shots in futility at the machine gunner and the sting of tears hit his eyes as he imagined the sure and imminent death of his friend. From the corner of his eye, he saw the small dark stain against the gray sky as Dranko hurled the grenade. Then, the machinegun spat death once more. Dranko flinched more than once as he was hit, and he fell face forward, his body slumping to the ground, bouncing once and then coming to a rest.
The world exploded with a sharp BOOM! Then, the machine and its crew disappeared under a flash of light, smoke, and debris. It had landed squarely inside the sandbagged walls. Dranko’s aim could not have been truer.
Cooper used the deafening lull that the grenade’s explosion caused to race to Dranko’s side. His stomach had dropped out, a sickening feeling of emptiness that started there and extended to make his legs and arms feel numb. He scraped his knees as he slid to the ground, coming to a stop next to Dranko. He wasn’t moving. Two baseball-sized bloody and bleeding exit wounds were on his backside. One was near his right shoulder and the other near his waistline, on the left. Cooper’s heart leapt into his throat when he saw his body rise and fall in a shallow breath.
He dug out the ersatz first aid kit he carried and tore out the plastic-sheathed maxi pad and ripped it open. He jammed it firmly against the wound that was bleeding the worst. He was in the middle of securing it in place with a long piece of cut linen that he had when a face appeared at his side.
It was young, pink, flushed, and sweating. Blond hair fell haphazardly down his head down to his shoulders. It was one of Miles’ men. Cooper couldn’t recall his name.
“Let me take this!” The man was digging into what looked like a medic bag. Cooper’s brain caught up. Doug. That’s his name. The EMT.
He shook his head fervently at Doug, “I gotta make sure he’s okay!”
Doug looked back with desperate eyes, “The attack is bogging down! You need to lead it!” His mouth was inches from Cooper’s as spittle punctuated his words. They both ducked instinctively as a bullet split the air to their right, ripping past them.
His words catalyzed Cooper into action. As Doug started working on Dranko, he surveyed the area. It was true; his attackers were caught in a rough stalemate with the defenders. The advance had stopped. Given the superior cover that the guards enjoyed, a stalemated shooting contest was not a good thing. Cooper knew this. I have to get things moving! He glanced at his watch: 10:56am. Had this all happened in six minutes? Where the hell are my snipers and Huynh’s men?
His heart tore at him and called him a baleful scoundrel when he turned to Doug, “Don’t you dare let him die!” Doug nodded with determined, squinting eyes. Cooper crawled away, saying a silent prayer for his friend’s life. It salved his conscience little.
Cooper made it about ten yards before he found a log he could peer over and assess the situation. As he was crawling, he heard the wail of one of his other men cry out behind him. Another casualty. He hoped it wasn’t one of his friends. He focused on counting muzzle flashes and figuring out the enemy’s defenses. He heard the first deeper-throated cracks from his left as the sniper crew joined the fray. They were firing heavy-caliber hunting rifles with scopes. The first volley found at least one victim. A lamenting, shriek of “Mama!” told him that.
The cabin held at least a half dozen defenders, with at least one weapon firing from both of the two windows on its front side and several gun ports that had been cut through the walls. Spread along the forested area were at least ten other men, clustered singly or in a few pairs in hastily built defensive positions.
Calvin was at his side now. His dark face glistened with the sweat of exertion.
“What is the plan?” He asked. He rolled over and began readying himself to fire upon the enemy’s position without waiting for an answer.
Cooper rolled onto his back and fished the hand held radio out of his pocket.
“Hook One, this is Eagle One. You read? Over.” He used the call signs that they had developed before the attack.
Seconds passed and then he repeated himself.
His radio squelched, “Eagle One, this is Hook One. Over.” Jason’s voice was calm on the other end.
“Where the hell are you? Over.” Cooper abandoned the radio protocol in the heat of the moment.
“Encountered resistance. Eliminated. ETA is 3 minutes to engagement. Over.” Jason maintained radio formality.
“Hurry. Need Aggressive flank attack. Over.”
“Wilco. Over.”
Cooper rolled back over and put his mouth next to Calvin’s ear. He was steadily firing every couple seconds. Cooper was impressed with his fire discipline.
“Work your way down the line. Huynh’s men attack in three minutes. General aggressive advance forward to take advantage of the surprise.”
Calvin nodded and then backed away until he was under good cover. Then, he turned around and crawled back toward the others. Cooper replaced him and began looking for a target of opportunity. His vision narrowed and sharpened. The firing had died down considerably and lonely shots rang out every five seconds or so. Most of these men are untrained and are interested in hiding more than in fighting.
Movement caught his eye. To the left side of the cabin, mottled clothing moved against a bevy of green ferns. The position was oriented to defend the cabin’s right side and it had inadequate cover from the angle Cooper had. He sighted in the FAL. The man opposite him was facing in the other direction, working the bolt on a hunting rifle, readying himself to shoot back at the snipers hidden amongst the trees to that side. The range between them was about a hundred yards.
Cooper drew a bead on the man’s back, breathed in, released half of it, and then squeezed the trigger steadily until the rifle bucked against his shoulder; surprising himself when the rifle finally roared. He’d kept his focus on the front sight while firing, but shifted to the where the target lay. He’d missed just inches to the man’s left. The man quickly rolled to the other side, onto his back, and was desperately searching for the source of the new threat. Cooper didn’t give him time.
The way he had rolled and lifted his upper body off the ground to search for his adversary, now gave Cooper an even better target. He lined up his sights and carefully fired again. This time, the bullet struck the man. It hit him in the chest. His face went wide in shock and then he stared at his chest for several long seconds. It was like he couldn’t believe that he had just been shot. Then, his face went white, blood dribbled out of the corner of his mouth, and then his body went limp.
Cooper didn’t pause to reflect, but resumed his search for another target. Gunfire was sporadic all around him, but he could not get a good look at anyone. He grounded himself, eyes barely peering over the log. Instead, he figured out the next place of cover he would advance to once Huynh’s men attacked. The wait was interminable. Adrenaline was thick in his blood, every muscle grating at the inactivity forced upon them, and his heart raced in anticipation. He pulled the bolt part way back, visually double-checking that a cartridge was chambered. Dull brass stared back at him, confirming it. He knew the act was unnecessary, but he was desperate for something to do while he waited. He took the opportunity on a more needful task, pulling out the partially spent magazine and inserting a fresh into the rifle. He loaded each magazine to nineteen rounds, instead of the twenty it could hold. In his experience at the firing ranges, loading them to capacity made jamming more likely.