Part Eleven

Lancer Wildlife Preserve

Lancer seemed bigger, more spread out from up on the rise. And just as breath-taking. He felt a familiar clench in his belly—something that told him this was worth the fight. The feeling grew stronger when he saw Pardee on a motorcycle and Coley on the ATV, drawing zigzag lines through green pasture. The rest of the men came up on motorcycles, belching out gas fumes.

There was no way in hell he'd let Pardee take this land.

Pardee shut off his engine and directed the men. "Carl, when we get down there, you go through this path and take 'em from the front. I'll take the rest of 'em and go in from the rear. Johnson, you get 'em ready, and spread 'em out."

Most of the men dismounted while few drove off to do Pardee's bidding. A careful man, Day checked his gun as he headed down the slope to a gnarled tree trunk where Johnny was standing. Coley followed like a pup looking for a treat.

"Day." He kept the single word enveloped in a soft drawl.

Pardee turned to him. "What you want, Madrid?"

Johnny shook his head and smiled a bit. He fingered the torn front pocket on his jeans. "It's not Madrid."

"What?"

His fingers stopped pulling on the ragged fabric and he looked up. "This is my land. I want you to get off."

Pardee looked over his shoulder at him, his mouth open in amazement. "Your land?"

Johnny held on to that puzzled look. The wheels were turning in Pardee's head and Day had never been stupid.

"You're not a Lancer, John." Pardee's head angled for a look of pure speculation. "Or are you?"

Coley moved from the side, his gun drawn. Johnny feinted left and pulled out his weapon. Turning, he shot Coley and pumped a round in Pardee's direction. Both men went down. Coley toppled over, sliding down the embankment while Pardee fell back against the tree root.

Johnny sprinted for the motorcycles.

Settling on the seat of the nearest bike, he kicked at the few other cycles around him, sending them crashing to the ground. He gunned the engine and took off in a spitting peel of turf and rubber.

Despite the blood roaring in his ears, Johnny heard Pardee yelling out to his men. He hadn't killed Day after all—and that was a mistake.

He spared a look over his shoulder. The slope was a beehive of activity. Shots rang out, one whistling close to his face. Pardee's pack of dogs would go for his throat, given the chance. If the trail was straighter, Johnny could have shaken them off his lead. As it was, the pack was gaining.

Johnny pulled out his Beretta and fired off random shots. One of the men was plucked from his cycle and landed into the ditch with a splash. It only seemed to enrage the rest and they pushed closer now. If he could only make it to the edge of the fence line… He felt a sudden sting to his side and pain bloomed in his chest. Looking down, he saw a band of red against the white of his shirt on the left side. Shit! Adrenaline kicked in and he goosed the motorcycle's engine.

~#~#~#~

Despite the lack of sleep, Scott felt alert as he paced the great room. He performed a function check on his rifle and verified the site. Loading one magazine, he stuck another into his belt band. Sensing his father's quizzical look at him, he shrugged. "You pick up things." He put the weapon down and picked up his father's rifle to do the same review.

The sound was hardly noticeable at first, among the hustle of men and movement of equipment, but it was insistent and growing louder. Gunfire sounded. Scott leapt up and ran towards the picture window, yanking aside the heavy drapes. A pack—of men—was on scent and moving fast across the pasture toward the house. It was now or never.

Scott grabbed his rifle and lobbed the second one to Murdoch. "Here they come. Teresa, call 911."

~#~#~#~

The few men left at Lancer hurried into position. Scott emerged out of the French doors and headed up the outside staircase. Murdoch followed at his slower pace.

Climbing to the balcony, Scott looked out and saw several motorcycles approaching the house. Murdoch situated himself on the landing below with two other men and readied his rifle.

"Hold your fire. They're still out of range!" Scott looked again at the riders; one was far in front of the others. Was it Pardee? "Easy now. Here comes the first one!" He cocked his rifle and raised it to his shoulder, Murdoch did the same.

"Wait - hold your fire!" Murdoch lowered his rifle. "It's Johnny!"

Scott pointed his own weapon up and waited, watching the leader take his motorcycle over a low-lying white fence. The back wheel hit the railing and wobbled. The rider straightened on landing and gunned it forward.

A hail of gunfire erupted from the men on motorcycles. A single shot pierced the air and Johnny's bike shuddered and flew sideways when the back tire blew. He careened across the courtyard before sliding to a sickening stop near the large oak tree. Johnny rolled once…two times, then lay still.

"Johnny!" Teresa's scream startled Scott into action. He jumped down the stairs, two at a time, reaching Murdoch. He was about to hurry past, when his father's big hand clamped around his arm.

"Scott, it's no use." Misery etched across his face, Murdoch lowered his head. "I don't understand what that boy was trying to do."

Scott hesitated and looked towards Johnny.

Teresa bumped his hip in an effort to get to Murdoch, tears welling up in her eyes. "He was coming back to us. You know that, don't you?"

Scott was wasting time. He shrugged off Murdoch's hand and rushed down the stairs continuing out into the yard, only stopping at the archway. Glancing again at Johnny, he raised his rifle, sighting on the man who shot out the motorcycle tire. He couldn't afford to miss. There was just enough time; he squeezed off a shot and was rewarded when the man fell face first into the dirt.

A splatter of bullets pounded the area around him. One of them found its way into the man on the landing beside Murdoch and he tumbled down the stairs. Soaked in sweat, Scott lowered his weapon and moved behind the wall. A set of stairs took him up to a higher vantage point.

He sprayed the oncoming motorcycles as they zipped in and out of the courtyard. Then, to his right, burst the sound of gunfire. Turning his attention to the sniper edged up against the wall, he fired once and the man spun, falling to the ground.

Bright muzzle flashes were everywhere, adding to the cacophony of the engines and yelling. Somewhere in the distance, he heard the wail of a police siren. He caught his breath and looked around. Pardee's head and shoulders poked out between two tree trunks then were gone. At least most of the men were on foot now.

Murdoch was crouched on the landing, still shooting. There was no sign of Teresa, he hoped she made it back into the hacienda through the balcony window.

His eyes swept through the compound, trying to find Pardee again. Once the big dog was taken out of commission, he hoped the rest of the curs would follow. His view settled on Johnny. A feeling of regret clawed at him when he looked at the still, white face. He checked the courtyard with renewed vigor.

A movement of color brought his eye to bear on Johnny again. His hand moved! A long shadow crossed his brother's form. One of Pardee's men, carrying a pistol, stepped over him to fire at one of the staff. Johnny lifted his arm up and fired his weapon, bringing the man down.

Scott took for the stairs when he saw Johnny fire. He met his father at the bottom.

"Scott, your brother!" Murdoch said.

Scott cursed himself for not seeing if Johnny was alive right away. His training had slipped. "Cover me. I'm going out after him." He ran into the melee of men and gunfire, squeezing off shot after shot, until he reached his brother.

Transferring the rifle to his left hand, he leaned down with the right. Cipriano hurried out to help him. Together they dragged Johnny to the relative protection of an oak tree and propped him against the trunk. Scott kneeled beside him when Cipraino peeled off to rejoin the fight.

There was a bright red stain on Johnny's lower left side, growing in size. But at least he was alive.

Scott raised his rifle and fired another shot from his kneel. The tree afforded the basic cover he and Johnny needed, but there was nothing safe about it—he had no desire to get caught in a crossfire. He could see Murdoch still crouched on the landing. A flash of blue behind his father told him Murdoch had some extra help. Squinting against the rising sun, he saw Teresa reloading an extra gun.

A red-stained finger tapped on his knee. "I think we'd better get out of here, huh?"

Johnny looked rough. Road rash dotted his chin and cheek. The shoulder of his shirt was torn away revealing more scrapes and bruising. The way he held his arm close to his side said his brother more than likely had a few broken ribs in addition to the bullet wound. Scott exhaled and looked for an escape.

A hard slap to his knee this time. "Look out!"

Pardee was making his way just beyond a small copse of trees. Slippery bastard. He stood and worked his way around the tree trunk for a better angle. Sighting on the man's chest, he squeezed off a shot when Pardee took aim. The mercenary staggered and fell.

Scott heard footsteps running close by. Around the side of the house, someone yelled out.

"Pardee's down. Move out!"

A man Scott recognized from the general store signaled a retreat and they began running. A few scuttled for the downed motorcycles and two sprinted off into the brush through a break in the fence. Murdoch's rifle shots encouraged them on their way. He cocked an ear to the sounds coming from the road. Sirens were closing in. Scott could see the flashing lights of police cars and a fire truck.

He inhaled, the odor of the fight filling his lungs. With his energy flagging, Scott glanced down and saw Johnny looking at him.

"That was good shootin' ".

The sound of squealing tires and crunch of gravel reverberated throughout the courtyard.

Johnny looked over at the mass of vehicles lining up outside the Lancer fence and hitched himself higher up on the tree trunk. "Looks like the cavalry finally showed up."

Scott smiled. "They've been here all along."

"Huh?"

"That Army unit I was in… it was the 83rd Cavalry... ah, Airborne Cavalry."

"Oh."

"We'd just about given up on you, John."

Johnny's face broke into a wide smile. "Well, you had your plan, and I had mine."

With an arm wrapped around his middle, Johnny struggled to his knees then to his feet.

Scott grabbed for his shoulder when Johnny tilted to the side. "Take your time, take your time."

Johnny groaned and shook his head. "I can make it."

An eyebrow raised, Scott looked over to Murdoch and Teresa standing beside the archway.

Shrugging off his hand, Johnny took a tentative step towards the house. "I can make it."

Additional ambulances and paramedics had arrived to assist with the wounded. A couple of paramedics were headed their way, no doubt seeing the bloodstain down his brother's side. Scott signaled them behind Johnny's back to follow them. They did so, bringing a gurney waiting for its load.

He stayed close, transferring his rifle from one hand to the other. One more wobbly step… then another. Johnny's leg started to collapse. Scott dropped the weapon, catching his brother as he slumped forward. Using Johnny's momentum, he swung his brother around to land into the gurney. Helping hands made quick work of strapping him in.

Murdoch and Teresa arrived as the paramedics ran through Johnny's vitals.

"Anyone riding with him?" The one paramedic asked without stopping his ministrations to Johnny's wound.

"Yes, I'm his father."

"Good, the docs will need more info."

The pained expression on Murdoch's face said it all.

TBC