Chapter 5 - Ambush at the Creek
Night fell over North Carolina like a thick, black velvet blanket, heavy with the threat of an impending thunderstorm. Lightning flickered faintly on the distant horizon, illuminating the dark treelines along Route 9.
We were driving back toward town in a two-vehicle convoy. Marcus was driving the lead SUV with Sheriff Harper in the backseat under armed guard. I was in the trailing SUV with two CID officers, holding the black ledger tightly in my lap.
We were less than five miles from the county line, passing over the narrow wooden bridge that spanned Blackwood Creek, when it happened.
BANG!
A deafening explosion rocked the lead vehicle. A blinding flash of orange fire erupted under the front bumper of Marcus's SUV, blowing out both front tires and sending the three-ton vehicle skids sideways across the wet asphalt.
"AMBUSH!" I shouted into the radio. "Evasive maneuvers!"
Before my driver could react, a heavy, armored Ford F-350 pickup truck smashed out of the treeline on the left, slamming violently into the side of our vehicle. The metal shrieked as our SUV was forced off the road, crashing down the steep embankment and slamming into a cluster of thick pine trees.
The airbags deployed with a loud pop, filling the cabin with white powder and smoke.
My head slammed against the side window, sending a sharp, stabbing pain through my temple. Vision swimming, blood dripping into my left eye, I forced myself to unbuckle my seatbelt.
"Status!" I yelled, checking on the two CID officers in the front seats. Both were conscious but dazed, struggling against their deployed airbags.
Outside, heavy gunfire shattered the night.
TAK-TAK-TAK-TAK!
The distinct, automatic chatter of illegal assault rifles ripped through the forest canopy. Wade Cain wasn't trying to fight this in court anymore. He knew Sheriff Harper had talked. He was executing a scorched-earth operation to destroy the evidence and everyone who possessed it.
"Extract! Out of the vehicle now!" I commanded, kicking my jammed door open with both feet.
I tumbled out into the wet mud, drawing my M9 sidearm. Rain was beginning to pour down, mixing with the warm blood on my face. Through the darkness and rain, I saw four armed men in dark tactical gear moving down the embankment toward Marcus’s overturned SUV.
Marcus was already out, using the rear tire of his vehicle as cover, firing controlled bursts from his sidearm to suppress the attackers.
"Colonel!" Marcus yelled over the roar of rain and gunfire. "They've got heavy firepower! They’re aiming for the back seat!"
They wanted Harper dead. And they wanted the ledger.
"Cover me!" I shouted to the two CID officers who had just scrambled out of my wrecked SUV, drawing their service weapons.
I sprinted through the mud and dense brush, utilizing the darkness and the trees as cover. My combat instincts, honed through three deployments in the Middle East, took over completely. Fear vanished. Pain vanished. There was only the objective.
I flanked the two gunmen who were advancing on Marcus.
STAT! STAT!
I fired two precise shots. The first gunman dropped instantly as my rounds caught him in the center mass. The second gunman turned in shock, but before he could raise his rifle, Marcus popped up from behind the tire and took him down with a clean headshot.
"Harper! Are you alive?" I yelled, ducking behind a boulder as bullets chipped away at the granite above my head.
"I'm hit! I'm hit in the leg!" Harper's terrified voice screamed from inside the overturned SUV.
The remaining two attackers realized they had lost the element of surprise. One of them threw a flashbang grenade toward our position.
FLASH-BANG!
A blinding white light and a concussive shockwave blew through the trees, ringing in my ears and disorienting my vision for a split second. Through the white haze, I saw a tall man stepping out from behind the heavy F-350 truck on the bridge above.
It was Travis Cain.
He was holding an AR-15, his face twisted in a psychotic rage.
"WHERE IS IT?" Travis screamed wildly into the storm. "WHERE IS THE LEDGER, YOU BITCH?"
He began spraying bullets indiscriminately into the woods, tears of adrenaline and rage streaming down his face. "YOU DESTROYED EVERYTHING! MY FATHER IS GOING TO PRISON BECAUSE OF YOU!"
"Travis!" I shouted from the darkness, shifting my position fluidly through the bushes so he couldn't pinpoint my voice. "Drop the weapon! It's over!"
"NEVER!" Travis roared, stepping toward the edge of the embankment, aiming his rifle down toward Marcus’s position. "I’ll kill all of you!"
He raised his rifle to fire at the exposed rear of the overturned vehicle where Harper was cowering.
I didn't hesitate.
I stepped out from the shadow of the pine tree, aligned my sights, and squeezed the trigger.
STAT!
The round struck Travis precisely in the right shoulder. The impact spun him around, forcing him to drop the rifle into the mud as he shrieked in agony, falling to his knees on the slippery edge of the bridge.
The remaining mercenary threw down his weapon, raising his hands high in the air. "I SURRENDER! DON'T SHOOT! WE WERE JUST HIRED FOR THIS!"
"Marcus! Secure the perimeter!" I ordered, stepping onto the bridge, my pistol still trained on Travis Cain as he writhed in the mud, clutching his bleeding shoulder.
I walked up to Travis, kicking his fallen AR-15 off the edge of the bridge into the rushing waters of Blackwood Creek below.
I stood over him, rain dripping from the brim of my tactical cap, mixing with the blood on my face. Travis looked up at me, his eyes wide with absolute, pathetic terror. The cocky, untouchable prince of Oakridge was reduced to a sobbing, bleeding mess at my feet.
"You... you shot me..." Travis whimpered, his teeth chattering from shock and cold.
"You're lucky I aimed for the shoulder, Travis," I said, my voice as cold as the rain falling around us. "Now tell me where your father is."
Travis shook his head violently, clutching his wound. "He's... he's at the airport! The private airfield in Sanford! He has a jet waiting! He's leaving for the Bahamas at midnight!"
I checked my watch.
It was 2245 hours.
I turned to Marcus, who was running up the embankment after securing the surviving mercenary and checking on Harper.
"Marcus," I said, handing him the blood-splattered black ledger from my jacket. "Get Harper to the hospital under military guard. Hand this ledger directly to Captain Lin and the U.S. Marshals."
"And what about you, Colonel?" Marcus asked, staring at the cut on my forehead.
May you like
I wiped the blood from my eyes and walked toward the undamaged F-350 truck that the attackers had driven onto the bridge.
"I have a flight to catch," I said.
