Holding Their Own: A Story of Survival (22 page)

“You mean the boat part is still there?”

“Last time I looked it was. We all went hog hunting over that way about two years ago. I worked on the ferry in the winter when I was a kid. While we were hunting, I walked over on the hill, and the ole barge was still tied up right where it had finished its last trip.”

“Which side of the river is it on?”

“This side, but I know what you are thinking. There’s no cable. It was sold for scrap a long time ago.”

“Would you need a cable for just one trip? Would a heavy rope do?”

“It’s hard to tell. That ferry is over 30 tons of steel. That’s why it is still sitting there. It’s not worth the cost of the equipment it would take to move it out. The river is low, but still moving pretty well.”

“What do you think would happen if the ropes mooring the ferry broke?”

“The cable did break back in ‘64,” he said as he stoked the pipe. “The barge took out the bridge. Slammed into the west side support and down she went. When they built the new bridge, they redesigned the original structure, making it stronger. The barge would probably just get stuck against the bridge support nowadays.”

Ben and Bi
shop were soon joined by a long-eared bloodhound that Ben introduced as Cooter. Cooter smelled Bishop’s hand and then rubbed his leg with his nose. Bishop scratched behind the dog’s ears for a few minutes and told Ben he wanted to set the truck’s alarm.

“No need for that Bishop, Cooter will let
us know if anyone comes around. He’s no attack dog, but we’ll know if anyone gets close to the place.”

The Ferry

The next morning, Ben agreed to show Bishop the ferry road. They drove Bishop’s truck, and it didn’t take long to find the overgrown track about two miles north of the bridge. Bishop got out and hacked through some saplings. After about an hour, they were looking down at the ferry. It was just where Ben had said, tied to the east bank looking like it was ready to cross the river. Bishop walked down the ramp and onto the rusty barge. He stomped around on the deck to see if it were rusted through. It seemed solid enough. He checked the ties and found they were simple chains that could be lifted off the bollards.

As they drove back to Ben’s house, Bishop kept thinking about all of those people trapped at the river. He kept seeing the faces of the little kids Terri had talked with. He had an idea
, but if it didn’t work, Terri and he would be trapped on this side of the river for a long time.

I can’t fix every problem
he thought.
My responsibility is to Terri.

When they got back to
the farm, Bishop pulled Terri aside and explained to her what he was thinking. She listened without question as he told her that if he plan didn’t work, they were trapped. When he had finished, she chose her words carefully. “Bishop, I didn’t sleep last night thinking about those poor people.”

“I know how you feel. I had trouble too.”

“Do it, Bishop.”

Bishop went to Ben and laid out their plan. “I can cause a distraction. I can confuse the men on the bridge for a short time. What I can’t do is organize the people
stuck at the bridge. I don’t know how to communicate with them. For this to work, we will need their help.”

Ben thought for a moment and then replied, “I think I know someone who can help with that.” After telling Bishop a short story, he headed into the kitchen. A little later, Maggie came into the room.

Maggie folded her apron and sat down with Bishop and Terri.

“Ben said you needed to speak to me?”

“Maggie, Ben told me you and some ladies from the church delivered fresh water two days ago to the bridge people. Can you do it again? Will you do it again?”

She thought about that for a minute and replied, “I don’t see why not. We used a horse and hay wagon from over at Shirley’s place. The men at the bridge have no use for an old plow horse, so they let us pass.
I don’t think they are desperate enough yet to eat the horse.”

“Maggie, I need you and the ladies to do something dangerous. I need you to deliver a message to
some of the men trapped at the river. If you get caught, I don’t know what they will do to you. Do you think you can do that?”

“Oh my!” she exclaimed
putting her hands to her cheeks. “This sounds exciting. Will it help those poor people?”

“I hope so.”

“What’s the message?”

“Be ready to rush the bridge one hour after dark.”

She moved her hands to her lap and smiled. “This is going to be such an adventure!”

Rum Runners

Bishop and Terri drove to the ferry, where he began chopping down small saplings with an ax Ben had loaned him. He stacked all of the wood he could cut and gather in the center of the barge. He then rolled six empty steel drums, once used to hold diesel fuel for the barge’s motor, onto the ferry and set them around the edges. When he had finished, he had a stack of wood that would create one heck of a bonfire.

They returned to Ben’s house.

Bishop pulled supplies out of the truck and disappeared into the barn. He took an old feedbag and cut it into a square. He cut three strips of four-inch wide paper. He took the smokeless gunpowder, a staple of his reloading bench, and poured a small line down each strip. He rolled the papers tightly the same way a cowboy rolls a cigarette. After he had made his gunpowder cigarettes, he took a knife and cut them into small sections. He put a small piece of tape on each end and soon had a nice sized bag of very big firecrackers – minus any fuses.

Ben came into the barn as Bishop was cleaning up, and told Bishop he had something to contribute. He crawled into the loft and came down with a five-gallon can of kerosene. Bishop smiled. “Perfect.”

Everyone met on the porch and had a bite to eat. Maggie had just returned, and everyone rushed over to see how the first phase of their plan had worked. She hugged Ben and then broke into a wide, beaming grin. “Message delivered with a smile and a cool drink.”

Bishop had six magazines for the big .308. Each held 20 rounds, but he only loaded them with 19 because they jammed less often that way. He took his .45 sidearm and four extra clips for it. Ben and Terri took him to the lane where they had first parked to spy on the
bridge and dropped him off. He kissed Terri and disappeared into the woods without another word.

Ben and Terri drove to the ferry and arrived right at dark. Terri spread around Bishop’s firecrackers exactly according to Bishop’s
instructions. When she was done, Ben took the kerosene and poured it on the large stack of wood. He unhooked the mooring chains and watched as the big hulk of steel slowly started drifting down the river toward the bridge.

Bishop made it
to the observation point Terri and he had used the first night. He found a good position that offered him cover and yet had a clear view of the bridge. He deployed the bi-pod on the rifle and settled down to where he was in a comfortable shooting position. He adjusted the scope and checked the range. The bridge was right at 725 meters, or about eight football fields. The .308 had numerous documented kills at over 900 meters, so the range was well within the capabilities of the cartridge. The rest was up to him. He pulled out his notebook, making sure his flashlight was not visible outside of his hiding spot. He was loaded with 169-grain match hollow points, so he flipped his notebook to the page where he had recorded the history of that cartridge with this specific rifle. He thought the angle downhill was less than 15 degrees, and the humidity was about 75%. This all translated into a holdover of 59 inches, meaning he would have to hold the crosshairs 59 inches above any target.

Bishop knew he was going to have many targets, so he adjusted the elevation knob, counting the number of clicks very carefully. When things started happening quickly, he would only have to concentrate on the
crosshairs, not the holdover.

The river had a bend right before the bridge
, and Bishop could see it perfectly. He went through the order of targets three different times until he got used to the pattern and the feel of the rifle. He could see the Bradley with its machine gun on top. Next to it was one of the Humvees with a big .50 on top of it. The second .50 machinegun was at the west end of the bridge.  

He waited about 30 minutes and was beginning to think the barge was not going to make it . . .  or something had gone wrong for Ben and Terri. He was watching the river beyond the bridge when he saw the edge of the barge come around the bend in the river.

He sat down the NVD and picked up the rifle. He found the barge more from the reflection of all of the campfires than from actually being able to see its shape. He waited until it had cleared the bend, raised his aim to an additional 38 inches high, and ever so slowly squeezed the trigger.

The rifle roared and pushed against his shoulder, but he didn’t wait to see the effect. He centered the
crosshairs, raised the muzzle, and let a second shot go at the barge in less than a second. The bullet flew over the bridge at supersonic speeds, and everyone there heard a crack from its sonic boom as it passed overhead. The first bullet hit the deck right in front of the stack of kerosene-soaked wood. The heat of the bullet would have ignited the fluid, but when it hit the barge’s steel plate, a spark flew, and the woodpile ignited.

The men on the bridge were confused. Everyone thought they heard a shot from the south, but the mass in the river was to the north and floating
toward them. The fire spread quickly, and the outline of the steel barrels became clearly visible. The man in charge on the bridge saw the barrels and the fire, and thought his team was about to be hit with a large bomb. He started screaming for everyone to shoot the barge.

Bishop saw the Bradley turret start to turn
toward the barge. This move exposed the back of the man operating the big machine gun. Bishop sent the shot and watched the man flop and fall over. His next shot was at one of the Humvees. Just like the Bradley, the man on top was spinning the Ma Duce toward the burning barge. Bishop centered and sent another one. He missed, but centered, breathed and sent another round. This one hit his target. The third .50 caliber was dispatched with a single shot. Bishop’s firecrackers started popping off, and to the men on the bridge, it sounded like someone was shooting from the barge.

Bishop intended on going after the snipers in the trees next, but as he scanned the bridge, he saw a perfectly silhouetted line of men side-by-side, firing at the barge. He lined up and started firing at each one in rapid succession.

After he had either hit or scattered the men on the bridge, he started looking in the trees for the snipers, but couldn’t locate them. He figured they were always present, but perhaps they switched positions nightly.

While he was
searching, he saw movement and was very happy to see about 30 men charging the bridge from the east. He moved to view the other end and saw about 15 men charging from west. He went back to the east, and saw a target shooting at the charging crowd. Bishop centered on him and sent one his way. The man fell over instantly as did the next guy, who tried to climb up on the Bradley, reaching for the machine gun.

Bishop felt, more than heard, the bullet go past his head. He rolled to his right immediately and knew his sniper friends were indeed on the job tonight. Bishop rolled twice and then stopped. He prayed they didn’t have NVD. He then belly crawled forward 10 feet. Another round hit right at his original position, so he didn’t think they could see anything but his rifle’s muzzle flashes and were shooting at where they had seen them last.

He decided to check on the bridge again and saw the rushing groups of men were meeting in the middle. The bridge now belonged to the people.

As he was watching the celebration on the bridge, he noticed two men moving quickly
toward him through the woods, leap frogging from tree to tree. He fired two shots, but missed both moving targets. He dropped straight back along the river about 40 feet and took cover in a shallow ditch. He was scanning with the NVD when he saw one of the men rise up and pop off two rounds in his direction. Every few seconds, the man would rise up and fire.
His buddy is trying to get behind me and cut me off.

Over the next 15 minutes, Bishop and the two pursuing snipers fought a ferocious running gun battle through the woods. Almost every tactical move known was attempted by one side or the other. Bishop tried every trick he knew and a couple he thought of in the heat of the moment. The two snipers were clearly experienced in small arms combat and kept pressing their advantage in numbers.

The only things that kept Bishop alive for those few minutes were the NVD and his focus. Despite all his efforts, he was slowly, but surely being cornered against the river. He knew if they managed to pin him, he was dead. Several times bullets would rip into the tree he was behind missing him by inches. His return fire had at least nicked one of the men because he heard a yelp and cursing after that exchange of gunfire.

At one point during the gunfight, Bishop was on a knee, peeking around a large pine tree, when his vision filled with white flecks
, and it felt like his face was on fire. His initial reaction was “I’m hit,” but he felt okay except for the blood running down his cheek. As he checked his face for injury, he pulled several splinters out of his cheek and forehead. Some were over two inches long and if he had not had on his shooting glasses, he was sure he would have been blinded by the near miss.