Holding Their Own: A Story of Survival (28 page)

Bishop carefully laid down the rifle and got off the roof.

At the same time Bishop was stacking beer cans, Nick went after the third sentry. They had detected the man from his body odor. He was in a tree on the north side of the building. Through the night vision, Nick could see someone had nailed three boards together to make a nice little tree house.
They probably put him up there because this dude stinks to high heaven.
One problem with being in a tree is that several angles are normally blocked from view. The other issue is that falling can hurt like hell. Nick worked his way quietly to the base of the tree where the man could not see him because of the trunk. He stopped, and said in a challenging voice, “Hey fuckstick, you awake?”

The guy looked in the direction of the voice coming from the ground. But Nick moved just a little and the trunk obscured his view. “Yeah, who is that?”

“The boss wants to see ya – right fucking now.” Nick said in a gruff voice. “You been doing his old lady or something?”

“Fuck you and him. Who is that?” The guy leaned out just a little more to see who it was. Nick sprung around the tree, grabbed the sentry’s leg, and pulled hard. The biker fell out of his
tree house, hitting his head on the way down. He landed flat on his back with a thump and a loud “whoosh” as the air was knocked out of his lungs.

Nick was over him immediately and put the barrel of his rifle in the guy’s
mouth, “It’s just little ole me,” he whispered menacingly.

Nick made sure his new friend was absolutely certain
making
any
sound would result in a painful death. The guard’s hands were bound with a nylon tie. When Bishop appeared, Nick had the guy on his knees, facing the tree. Nick pointed to the back of the biker’s jacket and then held up a scrap of the patch he had cut off. It was a critical part of their plan.

“Ready?”

“Ready.” Nick took his knife and held it under the biker’s throat, then let the knife slide straight down, cutting his shirt right down the middle. Nick took a long piece of the cloth and used it as a blindfold on their prisoner, then commanded him to stand up. They guided him toward the fake headquarters, pointed him in the right direction and instructed him to start walking. He was told that if he stopped, he would be shot in the back. The biker started walking toward the fake HQ while Nick went prone and waited. Bishop trotted back to the real headquarters and took cover in a small strand of trees.

The blindfolded guy kept walking toward the decoy and got to within 35 feet before one of the guards challenged him. “Who is that?” The blindfolded man didn’t know what to do. As far as he knew, the guy who had pulled him from the tree was right next to him. He decided to keep walking and not say anything.

The guard could see the outline of someone approaching. He didn’t want to shoot one of his brothers, but the guy was walking dangerously close to the pits. When the blindfolded man was at about 25 feet, the guard could clearly see it was Joe, but what the hell was he doing? “Joe, stop, man. Stop!” he yelled.

Three things happened in quick sequence. First of all, the guard turned to run. Almost simultaneously, Joe stepped in the pit, which was actually a trench about 30 inches wide and covered with sod so it would blend in. In the trench was a simple
tripwire, which connected to a three-bottle set of propane in the house. The strategy was that if an intruder stepped in the pit, he would engage the wire and set off the trap. The third event was the destruction of the decoy building, which exploded in a loud, bright ball of flame. Nick promptly shot the other guards, who had been blown away from the building and were trying to get up.

Bishop felt the heat from the blast almost 150 meters away. He brought the ACR up to his cheek and noticed he now had a nice silhouette of the real headquarters in his rifle’s sight, thanks to the
burning decoy. It took almost twenty seconds before the back door flew open, and two men came running out with rifles. They didn’t make it more than three steps. Bishop saw two of the window paintings come down, and moved his aim to about six inches above the top of the foundation.

Bishop knew that most people go prone when bullets start flying into a room. It is just a
natural instinct to get down. Even if someone remained standing or hiding behind cover, the rounds coming through just above the floor could break ankles and legs.

He started pouring fire into the building at that low level. He emptied a magazine of 29 rounds, hit the ejection
button and slapped another in. The empty went into his dump pouch. He noticed Nick was now at his right and had started working rounds into the building as well.

The two men fired four magazines each and then took off. On their way past the still burning decoy, Nick threw the shells he had taken from the
sniper into the fire. He could hear them start to cook off as they made their getaway. The cooking rounds would give pause to anyone who might decide to chase them.

Most guys would call it a night and head home, but their plan was only half-complete. They w
ent straight along I-10 on the biker side for about one mile, running all the way, and then crossed over to the banger’s side. They avoided the campers, who were also looking toward the now raging fires. Nick and Bishop started their approach to the Hefei’s hotel.

Bishop had sketched the field of cars
, next to the hotel parking lot, in as much detail as he could while under the Endless Salad Bar sign. He and Nick approached the hotel from that direction, using the rusting hulks as cover. Through the NVD, they could see the closet guard was looking at the fire on the other side of the expressway and not in their direction.
After all, it wasn’t every day you got to watch a big fire over at your enemy’s camp.
Bishop and Nick moved in close, raised up in unison and opened up with their rifles.

They knocked the closest guard down and then charged into the hotel’s parking lot, shooting anything that moved. They probably didn’t hit much, but that was not the goal. Once inside of the perimeter, the over watch guards on the roofs couldn’t tell friend from foe. The guards could only see swirling shadows and outlines of people running around and shooting. Bishop had identified the weakness in the
Hefei’s security almost immediately. Now the bangers were paying the price of relying too much on rooftop sentries.

Bishop had guessed that most of the guards lived in the hotel, so he and Nick pounded relentless fire into the rooms.
I wouldn’t want to be in that hotel.
While movies and television shows portray walls that stop bullets, in reality, they don’t. Bishop knew their rounds were blowing through walls, doors, and air conditioners. Many of the bullets probably came out the back of the structure. The inside of those rooms had to be living hell. In addition to the hot lead coming through the walls, there would be glass, wood splinters, chunks of concrete and other projectiles looking to find human flesh. They ran from place to place, just laying down fire and then moving again. People were running, screaming and shooting all over the area. It was utter chaos.

Usin
g a full magazine, Bishop gave the Hefei’s room special attention.
This will teach you not to invite us to the BBQ
.

After they had emptied eight mag
azines each, they retreated back into the field of cars. As suddenly as they had appeared, they were gone. Bishop knew they had done well because the shooting kept going for 15 minutes after they disappeared into the night. He hoped the bangers were chopping each other to bits. When they were well clear of the area, Bishop asked Nick if he had planted the biker’s patch, removed from the sentry on the other side. Nick nodded. “They can’t miss it.”

Bishop and Nick made it back to the camp right at sunrise. Terri was up already, having relieved Kevin for the watch. The two men came into camp as giddy as two schoolboys that had just
perused their first Playboy in Dad’s dresser drawer. They were smiling, laughing and full of “You should have seen Bishop when that guy” and “You should have seen Nick when he” remarks. They each grabbed something to eat, and began cleaning weapons and refilling magazines. They had used almost 700 rounds between them, and Bishop thought it had been a good investment.

Terri knew both
men were putting on an act. Their matter of fact behavior, after just having taken several human lives, was a mutual support system used to avoid thinking about the ramifications of their actions. They could look at each other and say, “He is not showing remorse or doubt, so it must be okay.” She had watched Bishop after he had been forced to kill and knew it troubled him deeply. She had seen the change in her husband, and knew that all of this was going to come back and haunt him one day.
I just hope we can help each other get through it.

Battery Management

They remained at their camp for two more days. Nick and Bishop were planning a scouting trip to I-10 and the intersection to see if their attempt to initiate a war had worked. There was a chance they would have to irritate the two parties again.

Bishop was going through his battery management routine. Each rifle used at least one battery, with a couple of them taking three different sizes. A weapon’s mounted flashlight, holographic optic, and illuminated reticle scope all required
different sized batteries. The NVD took batteries as well. The two that Bishop owned, purchased at different times, required different sizes. Even his pistols, which had laser pointers in the grip, required batteries. Fortunately for Bishop, the electronics industry had a limited number of options available, so he only had to manage three different sizes of batteries.

Terri
and he had been on one of their first trips together to the ranch when he first realized there was a problem with batteries. He went on an early morning trip to see what kind of wildlife was still in the area and the density of their population. He brought his first NVD along to see how it performed in the field. He left their campsite early and was using the device to climb a narrow trail where a misstep could lead to a nasty fall. Of course, the NVD went blank at the worst possible moment, and he had to stop right where he was. He kept spares in his kit, and dug around until he found them. Over the course of the next few minutes, he managed to lose both his rifle and the battery cover for the NVD. The rifle tumbled down 30 feet, banging his very expensive optics on sharp rocks all the way to the bottom. He couldn’t find the battery cover either.

He went back to the camp, stumbling around in the dark on the way, and managed to tear his pants in the process. At first light of day, he began
the search for his weapon and battery cover. He spent almost all day to recover the weapon, and he never did find the NVD cover.

During the ordeal, he discovered that all of the new batteries stored in his kit were worthless. His sweat had soaked the packaging over the last few months, and they all had corroded.

That little adventure was not lost on Bishop. Thinking more about his teams at work than personal survival, he later had written a battery management and storage procedure for KBR that received a positive review from The Colonel.

On their way back from the ranch, they stopped at a very high-end camping store to take a break from the road. Bishop was wan
dering around when he found a universal solar battery charger. The product was a solar panel that rolled up like a tiny sleeping bag. It was about the size of a pillowcase and contained two wires which connected to a small case where the dead batteries were to be placed. The product came with several adapters to handle different sized batteries.

After the typical married couple exchange over cost justification, he purchased the product along with two new shirts for Terri as a counter balance. After all, the shirts
were
on sale. That shopping trip almost spiraled out of control when he snuck into the ladies changing room and attempted to “molest” Terri in the little booth. The timing of his entry was perfect as she was pulling a top over her eyes. Of course, Terri screamed, alerting a rather butch female store employee who charged in and proceeded to whoop Bishop’s ass, thinking he was a pervert.
That woman had
zero sense of humor or romance.

When they had returned home, Bishop started testing the little solar charger, and it worked well. He created a spreadsheet of each type of battery required and went through all of the manuals to find the expected battery life of each device. Some searching on the net provided a source of rechargeable batteries. He entered
the number of charging cycles each size of could withstand and purchased enough battery inventory to last 50 years. He used small waterproof plastic bottles to store his rechargeable batteries.

Bishop spread the solar charging panel out on the hood of the truck and started charging the batteries he had been using the last few days. The night vision was the biggest battery hog, and
Terri and he had been using it almost constantly since they had left Houston. Every other morning he had been exchanging their batteries and recharging the drained ones. His HBR procedure had recommended all security personnel learn to change the batteries in their devices at night. He could replace the NVD batteries with his eyes closed.

Kevin was sleeping, and Terri was taking count of their food and water while Nick was on watch. Nick had a radio with him, and Bishop set the other radio on the hood and turned up the volume so he could hear it as he moved around camp.