Ray Gorham - Daunting Days of Winter

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.

A head rose above the edge of the dump truck, and Ty fired at it. He missed, but a silver divot appeared along the edge of the truck, and the man dropped his weapon and clawed at his eyes. His second shot found its mark, and the man dropped from sight.

“Got him!” Sean exclaimed after his weapon discharged, then quickly turned his attention back to the closer threat.

The shooting continued in a steady, indistinguishable roar for three or four minutes, then slowly died down as the return fire from the dump truck diminished. Sean called out for his men to hold fire. A brief moment of silence was followed by moaning and crying, along with banging sounds from inside the back of the truck. Then, to everyone’s relief, they heard the transmission grind into gear.

“Luther’s on the road,” yelled Ty as the dump truck began moving towards Luther’s twisting body. Ty rose to his feet and ran along the top of the berm, leaping over stunned men as he sprinted towards the river. With steel plates covering the side doors of the truck, he needed to get ahead of it to be able to take out the driver through the windshield. Gunshots rang out and bullets whistled past him, but he kept running, seeing in his peripheral vision the truck closing in on Luther, lying injured on the road.

Two gunshots came from close by, then all gunfire ceased, leaving only the sounds of the truck’s engine and Ty’s feet pounding the dirt. He drew even with the front of the truck, which was crawling forward in low gear, then began to get ahead of it, but it was only a few feet from Luther, who, wounded and bleeding heavily, was unable to move to the side.

Ty pushed himself to his limit, gasping for air but desperate to stop the truck. He turned as he ran, seeing he didn’t have the angle yet, and pushed harder, raising his gun to his shoulder. The truck was shifting gears when Ty finally had the shot he needed. He planted his feet, aimed, and pulled the trigger in rapid succession, shattering the windshield with the truck less than ten feet from Luther. Ty kept shooting until he ran out of bullets. The driver slumped forward as Luther rolled over and lobbed one of his grenades over the cab of the truck.

In the fresh silence Ty heard the clang of metal striking metal, followed by frightened shouts and a deafening explosion, but the truck continued to roll forward.

“Move, Luther!” Ty shouted, unable to stop the truck. There was a sickening, hollow thud and a scream, as the front wheel struck his injured friend. Ty dropped to his knees in shock. The dump truck careened forward, bounced off the rail on the side of the bridge, then collided with the same blue pickup it had tangled with earlier before finally coming to a stop.

Overcome with emotion, Ty tried to stand but his legs buckled. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and sobs wracked his body as he looked at the broken form in the middle of the road.

Sean gathered a group of men, and they approached the idling truck, now jammed against the railing. A gunshot from the back of the truck sent everyone diving for cover, but no one in the truck showed his face. Sean’s team waited thirty seconds after the gunshot, then resumed their advance.

Ty watched as they skirted around the front of the vehicle and yanked open the driver’s door, ready to unload a volley of bullets, but the driver was already dead. With the others providing cover, one of the men climbed into the cab and turned the engine off, then they waited, listening for sounds of life from the back.