Jernigan's War (23 page)

Charlie hefted his rifle, “Sometimes you just wind up with a gun that is a shooter or rather, a gun you are proficient with. I found that I can hit with this gun without thinking. I just sort of know where the bullet is going to hit. For example, when you throw the Kbar knife, do you aim? Or do you just know where it is going to stick?”

Porter answered, “You’re right, I never thought about it, it’s just a feeling. I sort of have it when I shoot my pistol also. When I shoot my rifles I have to concentrate.”

They rode out about 5 miles into the hills overlooking the river bottom. Using their binoculars, they glassed the tree line looking for deer, pigs and antelope. They were about 400 yards from the river, for some reason sitting on horses did not seem to spook the deer they were observing. Charlie instructed, while passing porter a tripod to aim across, “Ease off Old Dollar and walk around just in front of him and set this tripod up. Take that long gun of yours and shoot that little buck on the right through the chest, shoot the next one to him also if you have time and they don’t spook.” Porter did as instructed and set up the tripod. The three poles were about 5 foot tall and were tied about a foot from the top so that when deployed produced a stable shooting
platform. He flipped off the safety and peered through the scope. There were three bucks feeding under some scrub oaks near the river. The wind was still so all he had to do was hold on the little buck with the third dot above the center line. He squeezed the trigger and without waiting to see the result, moved to the next target and fired. Both of them died within 10 seconds of one another. They gutted both deer and filled the body cavities with snow to cool them down. They killed two more deer, a pig and two antelopes before the day was over. It was early evening by the time they hauled back all the carcasses and had them hanging in the skinning shed. The temperature hovered in the twenties so they left the meat hanging till morning. The next morning they skinned and quartered the deer and antelope and had the pig scalded and scraped. They took the deer and antelope quarters and wrapped them in cheese cloth and hung them from racks in the smoke house. They quartered the hog and hung it in cheese cloth also. The back strap and loin were also put in cheese cloth bags, but these would be used right away. Charlie built a fire in a small steel box connected to the smoke house, its exhaust fed into the smoke house. The hardwood and mesquite filled the structure with smoke and raised the temperature to a level that ever so slowly preserved and seasoned the meat. The pig supplied two great slabs from its abdomen that would become bacon in a few days. Another day of hunting had the 12 X 12 smokehouse brimming with meat.

The next month was spent guarding the ranch, working out and perfecting combat skills. Sandy became very proficient shooting and was fair with a knife. Ally could now hit a soccer ball size target at 30 feet with the .22 rifle with every shot. This was a quiet time on the ranch. The snow melted and new snow appeared a couple of weeks later. There was no sign of any more Chinese or hostile strangers. They spotted a helicopter in the distance once, but couldn’t tell if it was friend or foe. Porter’s wounds healed and although it felt stiff to Porter, he showed no outward appearance of weakness.

CHAPTER 22

THE WAITING GAME

D
ix and the old man spent the next week eating catfish and drinking coffee; Dix even broke out his whiskey and the two men had several days of sipping whiskey, fishing, and enjoying the water. Ben and Frank were getting bigger, and chewing everything to pieces around the camp.

It was later in March when the short wave reported that the Constitution troops were at a stalemate with the Chinese. They were stopped at Lake Charles on the Calcasieu River.

The next day Butch Erwin rode up to the camp with news. “I wanted to give you guys a head’s up, the Chinese and some of our communist troops are landing at the Natchez airport. It looks like they’re going to try and cross the river at Natchez and head to Alexandria. We’ll be caught right in the middle between the two armies.”

“Do we have anyone on that side of the river, Butch?”

“No, the Mayor and most of the population over there were and are big supporters of the President. When the food ran out they went absolutely crazy, most of the old homes were either
burned or commandeered by the locals. Those that weren’t killed evacuated over here or out into Franklin County. Nobody in their right mind will try and cross the river into the area. They are as bad or if not worse than Ferriday was before you made your visit.”

Dix shook his head wearily, “I don’t feel up to taking on that job. I don’t mind killing the S.O.B.’s, I just don’t know if I have it in me to do it again unless I have to. Is Captain Miller still in Jonesville?”

“No they pulled out when the Chinese tried to break out of Houston. My guys and others have taken over. We think we can bottle them up in Jonesville. We can bring down four or five bridges and they can’t get out of Catahoula Parish. It would be a blood bath; but, we can kill them all.”

Dix nodded, “What do you want me to do?”

Shaking hands, Butch said, “You don’t have to do anything after everything you’ve done, I just wanted you to know what our plans are.”

“Then I’ll be on the Jonesville side of the river with my Springfield.”

Dix gassed up the four-wheeler and loaded it up with his last four cases of MRE’s, an ammo can with 800 rounds of 30-06, Jake’s AR15 with 12 thirty round magazines. He had his Browning 9mm with eight magazines. He had a 1000 round can of .223 and a can of 9mm with 800 to 1000 rounds. He added his camping gear, backpacker’s water filters, sleeping bags, etc.

He went back to the Catamaran and made a list and a map of where he had buried his family as well as the spot where he buried the family pictures and personal items. In the note he had instructions on where to locate his sister, Lucy, where they were now and where their home was if they ever got back. He pulled out his sack of gold and silver. He put half of it in an ammo
can, stuck a small handful in his pocket and the rest he handed to the Old Man and told him that this was his for taking care of Ben and Frank when he was gone. He told him to give the note and the balance of the gold and silver to his sister if he survived and if things became normal again.

“You ain’t expecting to make it through this are you?”

Dix looked at the old man, “Four or five thousand Chinese and communist troops are going to be bottled up in Catahoula Parish. I figure I can put down a good many before they get me.”

“Don’t you talk like that,” Beagle told him, “why can’t you hang back a little? You’ve more than done your part.”

“Look, these people are extensions of the very people who are responsible for my family being murdered, I plan on killing all of these troops and when I finish I’m going after the ones who caused all of this.”

Old Man Beagle tied up the pups and Dix told them goodbye. He drove to Ferriday and told Butch that he was heading over into Catahoula Parish.

“Where are you planning on setting up, Dix?”

“I’m heading south towards Larto where I can find a place to camp. I’ll snipe and kill as long as I can find targets. When I run out of targets I’ll find you guys and you can point me in another direction.”

Butch shook his hand, “Good luck and I’ll see you after the fight.”

Dix ran the four-wheeler at a fast clip all the way to Jonesville. He made a quick run around town for old time sake, then turned south down toward his dad’s old home place. He rode down the highway on the levee. The old road next to the river was still intact in places. From up on the levee it looked like it was
ancient, but this was the road his Dad taught him to drive on so many years ago. He had ridden down this road in the back of his dad’s old 1966 green Ford pickup. They had come this way many a morning to get to the boat launch at the crack of dawn. The old green aluminum boat would hang out of the back of the truck, the little black Mercury outboard resting safe in the bottom between the seats. An ice chest with beer and Pepsi would be in the back. A paper sack between the seats held a box of crackers, sardines, potted meat and cheese with a red rind on it.

Dix ran down to the old abandoned cemetery where his great grandparents and his dad’s mother were buried. Some of the graves were never marked, his dad had pointed out the spots where they lay. All the houses on the road were abandoned because most of the people had left years ago. Dix rode down to the old homestead, the original house was long gone. The house that had been built in the last few years was burnt to the ground. The whereabouts of the new owners was unknown. Dix walked down the lake bank to the old cypress tree, the one his Dad played under as a boy. He had come here on many occasions as a child and remembered catching frogs and crawfish under it. It would all come to an end, he was the only person alive who knew who lived, and played here. He had brought Jake here and showed him this wonderful spot. He had planned to bring his grandsons here one day. That day would never come. The memories would die with him and probably in the next few days. He placed his arms around the tree and imagined his dad running up and down the lake bank with two big old Catahoula Cur dogs named Ben and Frank.

He went back up to the old home place and stood under the giant pecan tree that his great grandfather had planted over a hundred years ago. On the back of the old farmstead a bamboo grove that covered a couple of acres grew. Sometime in the distant past some Japanese bamboo was planted for fishing poles.
In the years since it had been abandoned, it had grown and spread and had become an impenetrable maze. Dix wormed his way into it and opened up an area about eight feet across. He was sheltered from view from above. Even the wind had trouble penetrating the maze. He put up a tarp and rolled out his bed roll. He built a small fire from the dry bamboo. It made a hot fire and any smoke was dissipated by the thick growth of bamboo leaves.

He spent the night here and was awaken by helicopters passing overhead in the darkness. He had no way of knowing who they belonged to. A battle was shaping up and all he knew was that he was in the middle. He was certain they would be sending scouts and patrols out into the countryside, that’s what he would have done if he had been in charge.

He left most of his gear and food at the bamboo campsite. Carrying his standard battle pack and gear, Jake’s AR15 slung down his back and his Springfield on the four-wheeler’s gun rack along with his bandoleer and a can of ammo, He drove about half way to Jonesville and hid the four-wheeler in the bottom of a silo with a large door just off the main road. He left the AR15 and the extra magazines and picked up the Springfield. He put 10 boxes of 30-06 cartridges in his pack. He had 25 cartridges in the bandoleer, seven of which were armor piercing. That gave him 225 rounds of ammo with him for the Springfield. They were uncomfortably heavy. He only put one MRE in the pack the other six he normally carried stayed on the four-wheeler. He had his Browning 9mm with four 13 round magazines in addition to the one in the pistol. He also had his Beretta 22 in his jacket pocket. It had seven rounds but no extra magazine. It was his final backup gun when all else failed. He had a large folding pocket knife and his Kbar knife on his belt. He was wearing his old Maine hunting boots with the gum shoe bottoms and an oil cloth cap with his green LED light on the brim. In his pack he
had a lighter, multi tool and miscellaneous items such as duct tape, rope, string, etc.

By the time he finished loading everything, he could hear the helicopters. He peeped out the door and saw that they were Chinese and they were heading north toward town. Staying under cover of the trees, he made his way toward town too. He could hear gun fire in the distance, he knew it had started.

Chinese military vehicles came pouring down the highway and turning up the road that headed west. Dix guessed that they would split up and travel over all west bound roads in the parish. In that way they could spread out their risk of ambush as well as scout out the area and split up any enemy forces. Dix sat in the edge of the cotton patch with his tripod set up and his Springfield resting in the fork. From where he sat he could see the vehicles slowing to turn up the road. Each truck was full of troops. Dix took this opportunity not to stop the trucks but to kill troops.

He was about 400 yards in the edge of the cotton field, completely hidden. He put the crosshairs about a foot over the top rail on the bed of the next truck that was turning. He pulled the trigger and sent a 150 grain bullet through the side of the truck, through the troops in the back, and out the other side. One or more soldiers in the back of the truck were killed or desperately wounded. He fired through truck after truck after truck. The trucks didn’t stop right away. He had stopped to refill his bandoleer before the first trucks stopped down the road and troops poured out. They fanned out in the field and started walking his way in an attempt to flush him out. If he jumped up and ran, they would have him in a minute. If he started shooting they would spot him as well. He simply lay down and crawled into the woods out of sight. He had gathered up the spent bullet casings and stuffed them in his pocket on his way out.