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

almost half way; walking, jogging, stumbling and sometimes scrambling on all fours when he tripped and fell. It was if he was moving in slow motion, and with every fiber in his mind and body Micah was willing him across the open area more swiftly.

But in reality, the downed Navy pilot was moving still slower, as nearly two weeks of exposure and near starvation was leaving him sapped of any sort of reserve strength. Even with the occasional enemy round impacting around his legs and feet, the man simply could not go any faster.

Taking another chance, Micah rolled to his right and crawled over several feet. He popped up from there, cupping his hands and yelling at the aviator again. “C’mon swabbie! This ain’t Happy Hour at the O-Club! Haul Ass!!”

The officer in the flight suit halted for another split second and looked directly at Micah before pressing on. He was close enough now that Micah could distinctly see his disheveled hair standing up at odd angles, as well as the two week’s growth of scraggly beard framing his grimy, sweat stained face. Micah could also see his dark, intelligent eyes, burning with the internal fire of a man who just won’t quit.

He was at the river’s edge now, staggering directly toward Micah’s position.  Keeping his eyes locked on the Marine sergeant, the emaciated aviator continued to come on as enemy rounds struck all about. The cover fire from Micah’s side of the river had reached a deafening crescendo and the supporting mortar rounds were marching down to the embankment itself. Any closer and there was the real chance of one ending up in the aviator’s hip pocket.

Yet it seemed that even through all this, the enemy fire was picking up in intensity. Micah looked on as the naval officer waded into the waist deep river without pause, still glaring at the Marine sergeant. He was not much more than 30 meters away now. Then Micah watched with horror as the man’s body suddenly pitched into the water below, taking those fiery eyes with it.

There are times when a man does things by instinct that he might never consider if he had time to think about his actions. Often enough, it is the wrong thing to do as the animalistic drive for personal survival frequently trumps all else. But in the case of Marine Sergeant Micah Templar along the banks of the Da Krong River, that same instinct overpowered him in whole and propelled him forward.

He did not know why, or even what he was going to do if he reached the other man’s side, but a supremely fierce desire to help and defend another launched him out of the undergrowth and into the water below. He found himself screaming with a strange, primal rage and fury that only those who have been to the edge of that particular abyss of the mind can ever understand.

Snapping out short bursts from the M16 in the general direction of the enemy, Micah waded with a physical force that churned and frothed the near hip high water. Paying no mind to everything else happening around him, the Marine strode over to where the flailing aviator was trying to get back up.

Micah grabbed him by the back of his collar, jerking him upright. He found himself surprised at how little the battered man weighed.

“Are you hit?” bellowed Micah above the din of gunfire and mortar impacts.

The aviator shook his head vehemently. “No…I just slipped…and fell” he rasped in reply.

Micah noted a huge bump rising on the side of the officer’s head, crowned by an ugly gash caused by some sort of blow. Most likely it had been done by a submerged rock just under the water swirling around them. It was the kind of impact that would have knocked many a man out cold.

“Can you move?” yelled Micah above the gunfire from both directions.

“Watch me!” retorted the aviator in return, the fire now lit again in those dark, penetrating eyes.

Slinging the rifle, Micah draped the man’s right arm over his own neck and grabbed him around the waist. Together as one they turned and began the bullet-laced trek back to where Micah had come from.

As they trudged forward Micah looked up and saw Lieutenant Johnson and Chapo standing at the top of the embankment, firing their weapons rapidly toward the other side. Struggling through the water while supporting the extra weight of the injured officer, it came to Micah’s mind that just as he had gone after this man who he did not even know, a friend and another man whom he barely knew were in turn risking their own lives to come after him.

He also knew that he could never explain adequately in words why, even if he managed to survive all of this. But they had come and he was not alone. And for as long as he might last, he would always be grateful for that.

The Marine sergeant and the faltering aviator began to slowly climb the steep embankment, finding themselves met more than halfway by strong arms and hands that pulled them up and over the top. Those same arms and hands continued to thrust them past the brush line and into the defiladed cover Micah had found before. Once there, all four men collapsed into a spent heap close beside each other.

Micah and the navy officer could do nothing more than breathe in huge gasps of humid jungle air. Chapo looked at them both, then at his sergeant in particular and just shook his head. Lieutenant Johnson, realizing he had survived his baptism by hostile fire, giggled nervously. The shooting from across the river began to decrease. The cover fire from the Marines above them, along with the incoming mortar rounds, continued to sweep the opposing area with fire, steel and lead as the 105s from Fox Battery finally joined