The Uvalde Raider Ben English (good novels to read in english txt) 📖

“…Gute reise, mein freund.  God be with you…”

And Max knew that God was.

Secure in that knowledge, Maximillian Friedrich Grephardt, holder of the Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross with Oak Leaf Cluster, a warrior among warriors and a man among men, felt himself drifting even further.

And the light from the bright sunny morning in this world went away, while another shined far more brightly just ahead.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“Tio, he’s gone.”  Micah continued to search for a pulse yet knew the effort was useless.

With his nephew’s help, Ezekiel Templar eased out from under Max’s body and gently laid his friend’s head upon the floor. Carefully, haltingly, the old colonel forced himself to stand up. His head felt woozy and his left leg ached and trembled, while his eyes started watering in a gathering wave of near unbearable sorrow. He struggled mightily to remember what was paramount now and blinked hard to stem the tide, there was no time for that.

Then the anguish transformed into a deep, dutiful anger, mixed with a deadly sense of purpose that came welling up from within.

“We have to stop the Raider,” Zeke rasped as he started hobbling through the doorway and on to the porch.

“With what?” asked Micah.

“With that,” Ezekiel Templar said, raising his arm and pointing to the gray camouflaged Messerschmitt fighter. “Qassam never did figure I could fly the 109, too. Time for him to find out different.”

“Tio, that plane has no guns and I’m not even sure they left it flyable.” Micah did not want to say it, but he was wondering if Ezekiel Templar was in any condition for much of the same.

“Just get me in the cockpit and give me something to shoot with,” spat back the elder Templar. “And you had better make it fast, before the rest of that bunch shows up to rendezvous with their buddy Mustafa.”

Both men knew the clock was running out as Ezekiel trudged in painful, halting steps toward the Messerschmitt. Micah, unsure of Mustafa’s condition and with no time to make a real determination, simply dragged the Hezbollah member to the metal rail at the front of flight shack and handcuffed him to it. After a quick search of the terrorist, he returned inside and retrieved the dropped Smith & Wesson Model 59, easing the slide back and checking for a loaded chamber. Stepping over to the weapon’s discarded magazine, he reached down and slammed it home.

By now Ezekiel had managed to make it to the little fighter and was limping around the outside of the 109, conducting a quick once over. His left leg burned like fire as he moved about, but he only gritted his teeth and kept at the task. Everything looked serviceable exterior wise and since the Messerschmidt’s inverted vee engine had been run just yesterday afternoon, there wasn’t a possible problem with the traditional bugaboo of oil drainage into the combustion chambers. They were still in business.

Micah shuffled over to help his uncle on to the wing root and into the cockpit. Settling himself inside, the first thing Zeke noticed was the instrument panel. Someone had smashed several of the gauges and other assorted ancillary equipment in a clumsy, amateurish attempt to disable the airplane.

The most critical damage had been done to the radio, effectively cancelling any communications for outside assistance. Beyond not being able to broadcast a warning about The Uvalde Raider and its deadly cargo, the harm done did not bother Ezekiel Templar much. He had flown with shot out instruments and no radio before.

As the older Templar began a hasty check of the flight systems and control surfaces of the Messerschmidt, Micah started hunting around for something, anything for his uncle to fight with beyond a nine-millimeter pistol with maybe eleven rounds left in the mag. Mustering as much speed as his aching ribs would allow, he made his way over to where the vehicles were parked.

His first stop was his Dodge Ramcharger. A quick examination revealed the terrorists had ransacked the vehicle, and made confetti of the electrical wiring beneath the dash as well as under the hood. He also noted the opened top of his lock box behind the rear seat, showing they had found his Marlin .30/30.

Disgusted, he moved over to the tan Suburban sitting next to the Dodge and looked inside. In plain view was his Marlin laying on the front seat, along with his holstered Model 28 .357 Magnum and a collapsible stocked AK47. Micah tried to open the driver’s door but it was locked. He had found no keys in his hasty pat down of the handcuffed Hezbollah second in command, so he moved back about five steps and put a round of nine-millimeter through the side window glass.

At the report of the unexpected shot, Ezekiel whipped his head around and then relaxed as he realized what his nephew was doing. He returned to completing his checks and pressed the master switch for the upgraded starting system Max had installed. He hand-primed the fuel system, activated the generator and fuel pumps, and let his hand pause over the starter handle for a moment. Taking a deep breath to confirm the sequence, he pulled the handle.

Micah heard the starter drive whine and then engage as the Daimler Benz 605A began turning over. Slowly, reluctantly at first, the three big propeller blades began to rotate, followed by a cough and belch of blackish smoke out the exhaust stacks. The engine ignited, and the surrounding area was filled with the deafening crescendo of an inverted V-12 as Zeke busied himself with the fuel mixture and prop settings. He revved it up quickly, bracing against the open hinged canopy to keep it from being slammed shut by the kicked-up cyclone of wind.

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