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

Ezekiel had them right where he wanted them, above an isolated area and away from any centers of population. ‘Qassam’, he thought, ‘you weren’t figuring on this, were you? It’s a little different when someone is shooting at you, isn’t it? Well, welcome to the big leagues, you soulless sonofabitch.’

Concentrating on the next round, he pressed the trigger on the AK again. He felt the vibration in his hand as the hammer fell and struck the firing pin, but nothing else happened. Instinctively he wedged the stick between his legs and reached up with his left hand to work the bolt. He pressed the trigger once more. Still nothing.

His left leg was burning as if it was on fire from being wedged up against the control stick, but he ignored the pain. Pushing the magazine release on the Kalashnikov, he angled the magazine where he could see inside and his heart sank to the ground rushing by below. The magazine was empty.

For the first time since his wife had died, Ezekiel Templar felt himself wanting to cry. Despairingly, he looked at the now useless assault rifle still clenched in his right hand. Bringing it over and into the shrieking wind outside of the cockpit, he dropped the weapon over the side of the Messerschmitt. The AK tumbled down, smashing on to the rocky terrain on impact. It was not only now useless to him, but the short-barreled rifle could prove to be an impediment in the fighter’s cramped quarters for what he had to do now.

Ezekiel Templar had always been a thinking man, or he would never have made it as far in life as he had managed to do. At heart he was also a careful person, the kind of man who preferred to never make a move before thinking it completely through. There was a vast difference between taking a chance and a calculated risk, and he had done very well in calculating the risks that happened to confront him over all these years.

From the moment the Messerschmitt left the tarmac at the Bar JA, he had kept a final option filed away deep within his consciousness. It was not one that any sane human being ever desired to consider in any normal circumstance or mode of thinking. Ezekiel racked his brain as the Messerschmitt drifted away from the bomber, trying to come up with something else. Something, anything, that he had overlooked up to this point.

But there wasn’t anything else and time was running out. They were less than twenty minutes from San Antonio. He scanned the horizon in all directions, looking for any kind of sign signaling that help might be on the way. The vast emptiness of the clear blue Texas sky signaled back its message of bitter finality. There would be no help, no last moment outside assistance. It was all up to him and it was now or never. Resignedly, he shoved the Gustav’s throttle against its full power stop and shot forward into the eastern beyond.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Inside The Uvalde Raider, the sudden pandemonium had dissipated with the cessation of the incoming fire. Gholam scanned the instruments one more time and relaxed a bit. They were still in the air, still moving toward their target and with no impending signs of doom noted in the numerous instruments arrayed before him. His uncle had not exaggerated to the small boy about the Boeing B-17. What a magnificent aircraft!

The man called Yahla al-Qassam sat back down in the co-pilot’s seat, wiping the blood from his hands on his khaki trousers.

“How is he?” Gholam yelled over the drone of the radial engines.

“Alive!” responded Qassam. “But of no use anytime soon! I will have to help with the pumps!”

Gholam nodded in agreement. “We drifted north during the American’s last attack. Our intersection point with the highway will be about eight kilometers off!”

It was Qassam’s turn to nod in agreement. He looked through the front and side windows of the bomber.

“Where did he go?” he asked.

“Up ahead!” Gholam pointed to the Messerschmitt streaking away, just below the horizon. “I think he is out of ammunition! Perhaps he is trying to reach an airport to alert the authorities!”

Qassam studied his map once more and leaned over toward the pilot. “He’ll never get there in time!”

Gholam kept his eyes fixed on the disappearing Me109. The mottled gray pattern made it hard to see, even when he knew where to look. Watching his defeated opponent race away, the pilot commented, “He is a brave and determined man! I would like to have known him under different circumstances!”

For a long moment, Qassam said nothing in return. Finally, he responded. “He is an infidel and an enemy to Islam! He will burn in the eternal hell!”

Gholam said nothing else. He continued to follow the Messerschmitt’s progress, until he had to lower his eyes to check the instruments again. As he did so, he heard Qassam exclaim excitedly.

“What is he doing now?”

The pilot glanced back up and had no trouble picking out the Me109 this time. Its dark silhouette was now above the horizon, going into a steep climb that Ghalom marveled at. He had never seen any piston driven aircraft climb so fast.

His admiration turned into a vague concern as he observed the Messerschmitt execute a perfect Half Cuban Eight, coming right back at them at a blistering rate of speed. Both Iranians watched as the powerful fighter bore in, looming larger by the second in their windscreen.

Ezekiel Templar came out of his inverted angle of flight, performing a perfectly timed half roll and aimed straight at the oncoming Flying Fortress.  His hand was steady on the stick and