Holding Their Own XI: Hearts and Minds (42 page)

Stall
, Bishop thought.
Give Nick time. Nobody is shooting… just yet.
“Yes, Chase, it’s me. You have to stop stalking me like this, Terri is going to get suspicious of your sexual preferences.”

There was a hushed conversation on the other side, Bishop unable to make out the words. One thing was almost certain; they weren’t planning on asking him for Halloween candy.

Finally, Chase called out again, “Come on out, Bishop. Let’s talk this over.”

Yeah, right
, Bishop thought.
I’m sure you won’t shoot me on sight.
“I’m quite comfortable right here,” Bishop responded.
“Why don’t you turn around and head back to Sooner Country… and stay there.”

Now there was movement on the other side, the scrape of boots and rush of cloth signaling the Texan that the opposing force was zeroing in on his voice, trying to flank his solo ass.

Bishop moved, scrambling half bent and retreating another 25 yards down the street. “Flank
this,
assholes,” he whispered.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Bishop,” Chase finally shouted. “Why don’t you show yourself, and perhaps we can strike a deal.”

Before responding, Bishop scouted his next move. In an urban environment, sound bounced off walls and streets, increasing the difficulty of identifying the source. Still, he would have to move quickly after answering. “Chase, we both know why you’re here. I’ve got men with me, and the guards are alerted. I wasn’t bullshitting when I said the real 7
^th
is on its way. Leave… now… before a lot of people die.”

While Bishop’s plan to talk and then move, speak and then retreat, was noble, it didn’t work. The Texan saw a yellow-red glow appear just down the block and then a shower of sparks. RPG!

The Texan dove for cover as the hiss of the rocket’s exhaust grew louder, and then a blast of hot air and thunder disturbed the night.

Chunks of concrete block, mortar, and lead shrapnel sizzled through the air as Bishop rolled hard to escape the primary kill zone of the grenade. Then he was on a knee, firing a spread of five shots where he thought the foe would be.

At least 10 guns responded, geysers of dirt, rock, and pavement adding to the smoke and airborne debris created by the RPG. Bishop, however, had already moved.

Twice more he executed a shoot and scoot, spraying haphazard bursts and then moving before the counter fire could zero in on his position. It wasn’t a tactic for victory, merely designed to delay.

The enemy, however, was catching on, dozens of zipping rounds coming closer and closer as the Texan scurried for cover. He decided not to make a third attempt and ran like hell for the old bank.

Saying a quick prayer that Nick’s nervous sentries wouldn’t pepper his carcass with friendly fire, Bishop zigzagged down the street, altering his direction and changing speeds.

Just when a sturdy looking building came into view, a voice called from the darkness. It was Nick. “Bishop! Bishop! Over here!”

He didn’t need to be summoned twice.

Running toward the sound of his friend’s voice, Bishop was chased across the pavement by incoming fire. The imposters knew the element of surprise was no longer with them, and they were coming hard.

Nick’s next statement made it all worse, “They had a man on the inside. Most of the guards are dead, shot while they slept.”

Before Bishop could react, all hell erupted around the sleepy outskirts of Fort Worth, automatic weapons, grenades, and the roar of exploding rockets signaling that the two forces were fully engaged. The Texan knew in less than a minute his side was going to lose.

The security around the repository had been designed to discourage bank robbers with small arms, perhaps even a few sticks of TNT. It didn’t have a prayer against a full bore, heavily armed assault by a military-grade unit.

What remained of the bank’s security force automatically went to their stations, lightly fortified corners of the building’s roof, along with a few key positions around the perimeter of the structure. Chase’s men had thoroughly scouted the site and knew exactly where the defenders would be. Hell rained down.

One by one, the small clusters of defenders were subdued, mostly by .50 caliber machine gunfire and blazing rockets. “This is going to be over in less than five minutes!” Bishop shouted as he poured rounds into an advancing group of attackers. “How long before the white hats arrive?”

“Flight time from Hood is 50 minutes,” Nick yelled back, his carbine snapping lead at a shadow racing along the sidewalk.

“We’re fucked!” Bishop screamed back as a hail of heavy lead descended on their position, driving both Nick’s and his face into the dirt.

In the profession of gun fighting, there were two basic ways to achieve victory – maneuver, and direct application of ordnance. With the bank’s location fixed, the first method was eliminated, leaving the defenders with the option of throwing more lead at the foe than what could be returned.

Bishop and Nick were good. Damned good. The duo fell into an effective rhythm, one always shooting while the other reloaded. Their aim was accurate, target selection never wasted by duplication. But it wasn’t enough.

“We can’t get over the top,” Bishop shouted, slamming another box of pills into his weapon.

Nick knew exactly what his friend meant. Facing belt-fed weapons and far outnumbered, the two Alliance shooters couldn’t produce enough suppressive fire to get “on top,” of the exchanges. They were being driven down behind cover more than they were shooting back, and the ratio was degrading with every volley.   

“Fall back,” Nick screamed at anyone who could hear. “Fall back!”

Bishop didn’t need to be told twice.

Leapfrogging each other with covering fire, Bishop thought his body would be shredded at any moment. The intensity of the incoming ordnance made it nearly impossible to concentrate, aim, or do much more than run like a pack of demons was trying to bite his ass.

Finally, after scrambling several blocks, the pursuing blizzard of lead subsided. The two men, gassed and stunned at the ferocity of the firefight, paused to catch their breath.

“Holy shit that was nasty,” Nick panted.

“What now,” Bishop managed between drawing lungs of air. “He has the repository.”

“No way they can load up that much gold and get out before the boys from Hood show up. There’s nearly 20 tons of the stuff in that vault. He may hold the building, but soon enough it will turn into a tar baby.”

“I don’t know,” Bishop gasped. “So far they’ve been one step ahead of us.”

Just then, a huge explosion vibrated through the earth, the rumbling, shaking ground leaving little doubt that someone had just blown the vault.

A moment later, the sound of several engines disturbed the night.

Nick looked ill. “He’s using heavy equipment to load the gold.”

“It would only take a couple of forklifts to make short work of the treasure,” Bishop nodded. “They could load it onto that semi and be gone before help arrives.”

Nick shook his head, “But where would they go? Half of the Texas Army would be flying around in Blackhawks, hunting them down from the sky. They’re smarter than that.”

The sound of footsteps halted the conversation, Bishop and Nick both raising their weapons as a man stumbled around the corner, holding his shoulder and walking with a slight limp. It was one of the guards.

Nick identified himself and moved to help the wounded survivor. The ex-operator quickly surmised the man’s injuries were not fatal.

“I heard two of them talking,” reported the new arrival as Nick applied a bandage. “I think they’re going for the airport. I heard one teasing another about being afraid to fly.”

“Makes sense,” Bishop pondered out loud. “If I were stealing all that loot, I’d want to fly out of Texas, not drive. A good size transport plane could handle that much weight.”

“The old municipal airport is about two miles from here,” the guard chimed in. “It’s not been used since the downfall.”

Nick glanced back at the bank and then at his watch. “We’ve got to slow those guys down until help arrives.”

“Best place is going to be that airport,” Bishop speculated. “Since we don’t know their route, and they have us completely outgunned, an ambush isn’t likely to work. Given the lack of prep time, I say we try and take out the plane before they can get off the ground.”

Nick looked at his friend, his eyes still holding hope, “You up for one more fight tonight?” he whispered.

“Can I have some of the gold to buy Terri a new house?” Bishop teased.

“How do we get to the airport?” Nick asked the wounded man.

Both of them listened intently as the man gave directions, and then they were off, jogging for the truck. Their speed over ground was painfully slow.

It seemed like Lewis men were everywhere, patrols, lookouts, and sentries between the duo and their escape vehicle.

“We’re not going to make it,” Bishop said, watching a group of five men patrolling the street ahead. There are too many of them.”    

As Nick started to reply, a small pop sounded in the distance, immediately followed by a flare rising above the old bank. Both Alliance fighters watched the streaking rocket soar into the sky and then ignite in a glowing ball of green light.

The unit to their front then did something very strange.

“There’s the signal, boys,” someone shouted, “Let’s get this done.”

Without any hesitation, they all started getting undressed, shirts, trousers, and boots flying everywhere.

Bishop frowned at Nick, clearly perplexed by the odd behavior. “An orgy?” he mumbled.

Grunting, the big man shook his head. “They’re ditching the uniforms. Probably going to try and melt into the population and then sneak away.”

“Smart,” Bishop admitted. “They’ve been working on this little scheme for a long time.”

“We need to get moving,” Nick stated, looking right and left for a way around.

“How long before the boys from Hood arrive?”

Glancing at his watch, Nick’s scowl deepened. “Twenty minutes, give or take. If you say, ‘Daddy, are we there yet,’ one more time, I’m going to put your scrawny ass on the deck.”

“They’re not going to make it in time,” Bishop mumbled, pushing off to follow Nick’s lead.

The two men finally arrived at the pickup, jumping in and then racing toward the airport. “What are we going to do once we get there?”

“Hell if I know. Shoot out the tires of the plane or something. We’ll just have to play it by ear. The good news is that most of their forces are fading into the night and won’t be around the plane.”

The key word there is ‘most,’
Bishop thought, but he didn’t state the obvious.

The short distance passed quickly, Nick having to slow as they got close. Sure enough, they could see the huge tail section of a massive plane sitting on the runway.

Nick rolled the truck to a stop behind an old hangar, the two men hustling to the building’s corner to spy on the activities taking place on the field.

There they found a massive C-17 Globemaster on the runway, its cavernous interior being fed by two forklifts scooting up and down the lowered ramp. Bishop spotted Chase standing at the rear of the cargo bay, directing traffic and shouting orders to the small group of men scurrying to get the aircraft loaded.

“Not many sentries,” Nick observed.

“Enough,” Bishop countered. “We’d be cut in half before we even got close.”

“I’m going to try and use this big blaster of yours to damage the plane. They’ll come after me like the devil’s hounds once I start firing. I want you at the far end of this hangar where you can get an angle on their counterattack. Receiving fire from two directions will confuse them for a bit. Keep them off me as long as you can.”

“You can’t hurt that plane with that pea shooter,” Bishop protested. “It’s just not got enough ass for the job. Even if you did pop a tire or damage an engine, that thing can still take off and fly. Get on that Sat-phone and scramble some jets. Shoot that fucker out of the sky.”

“They will be out of Texas airspace in minutes. Besides, we don’t keep interceptors on the runway. There’s never been a need, at least not up till now. It’s up to us or we lose the gold, and we both know what that means. We’ve got to try.”

Nodding, Bishop asked, “Okay. And after they push you back, where are you going to pick me up? Or do I have to walk home?”

“Go to the south end of the field,” Nick pointed. “Down by that warehouse. I’ll come around with the truck and meet you there… if I’m still able.”

Bishop didn’t like the plan, not one bit. As he started to debate his friend, the C-17’s enormous jet engines began spinning up. “They’re almost done loading,” Nick snapped. “Now move your ass, trooper.”

As ordered, the Texan hustled off, keeping the hangar between the bad guys and him. He reached the far end a few moments later and found an old engine block sitting in a pile of plane-trash. It would have to suffice for cover.

The .308’s report sounded like a kid’s firecracker against the background of the big jets. So much so, Chase and his cronies didn’t realize someone was shooting until the second round impacted.

Just that quickly, a dozen rifles began firing back as Nick continued to snipe at the plane.

Bishop waited, not wanting to give away his position until someone actually moved toward his friend. If Chase and his cohorts were content having a long-range gun battle, that was just fine with the Texan. Nick’s superior marksmanship and blaster’s longer range would win the contest, at least until help arrived.

Somebody on the other side must have come to the same conclusion at the same time. Suddenly, Chase’s arms were waving as orders were shouted over the drone of the jets. It was clear he was trying to get his men to form up and charge the sniper.

Two of the Lewis men motioned for one of the large, gas-powered forklifts to come closer. In a flash, they jumped on the back of the yellow machine and commanded the driver to advance on Nick’s position.

Bishop raised his weapon, centering his red dot on the driver’s chest.