Jernigan's War (36 page)

The next thing he remembered was waking up still under the tree. It was cold and dark. He was still leaning against the tree and he was desperately thirsty. His right hand still functioned, so he rooted around in his shirt pockets and found a disposable lighter in the right pocket. He lit it and looked around. There was a canteen on his pack that was strapped on the back of the four-wheeler. He put the lighter back in his pocket and scooted on his rear over to it and retrieved the canteen. He slaked his thirst after drinking about half of its 1 quart capacity. He pulled open a side compartment on the pack and pulled out a small mag light and lit the area. By now his hands were shaking. Drift wood lay around him that had been deposited the last time the water from the lake had risen and fallen. From where he sat he was able to pull up a pile of the Cypress tree needles and covered these with small twigs. On top of this he added larger pieces and lit them with the lighter. The fire sprung to life and soon had the area bathed in light and warmth. He dozed by the fire leaning against the pack and only moved to tend the fire.

Dawn came on the lake. Dix could see cypress knees growing toward the sky from the shallow water. Fog hung over the water and the air was still. Drops of water would occasionally fall from limbs in small plops on the water as the fog condensed on them and formed into drops too heavy to stay where they formed. He drank from the canteen again and pulled up the remaining wood within arm’s reach. It was evident that he would have to tend to his injuries. The busted ribs on his side made every move a nightmare. His right eye was swollen shut, only time would help it now. He dug around in the same compartment that held the
flashlight and found a spare pair of glasses and put them on to see better. After unbuttoning his shirt he saw a long gash in the fabric that matched a slash across his ribs. He wasn’t sure what caused the gash.

No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t remember much. He recognized the four-wheeler and the pack but couldn’t recall his name or where he was. He recognized the old tree but went blank after that. It was familiar, like meeting an old friend from years ago. He sucked on some hard candy from the pack and felt a little better once the sugar hit his blood stream. The smoke from the fire would occasionally blow over him providing momentary relief from the flies and mosquitoes.

As the day slowly progressed he started regaining some mobility. He pulled himself to a standing position and was able to urinate. He found a worthless Eisenhower dollar down in his pants pocket and his memory came flooding back. This was an old coin that his mother had squirreled away years ago, he carried it for luck. The years unfolded and things that were better left forgotten once again piled into his thoughts. All his dead family, friends, pets and companions flooded into his mind. He remembered everything and wished that he could forget the pain and horror that had enveloped him once again. The profound sadness that flooded over him tempted him to un-holster his pistol and end it all. He wanted to be with them, not remembering them.

The bullet wound through his leg was still oozing around the duct tape and the wound through his lower back and out his abdomen was still draining. The blood appeared old and there was a lot of clear liquid coming out with the clotting blood. It didn’t feel as though his intestines were ruptured, but he had no way to know otherwise. This was the first time he had been gut
shot. He figured it would get worse before it got better. It was low enough and close enough to the side that maybe he would avoid peritonitis this time. His ribs clicked with every breath. He still had a tremendous pain in the middle of his back. He did not know and couldn’t know that a rifle bullet had ricochet and hit him between the shoulder blades. It had lost enough momentum that it did not penetrate his spine but knocked off one of the points of a vertebra and exited only leaving a massive bruise. The loss of blood from the leg wound had left him weak and led to him passing out and wrecking the four-wheeler.

He leaned on the four-wheeler in an attempt to push it back on its wheels. He only managed to get his leg wound pouring blood and he was soon collapsed next to it. His vision soon faded and the pain was gone once again.

Porter gathered up his gear, a medical kit along with a pack shovel, and climbed on Old Dollar. He took his time traveling down the road and kept an eye out down in the ditches as he went. No place did he see where a vehicle had left the road. It took him all morning to make the trip. There were abandoned farms and houses along the road. He saw one man tending a garden, he waved and the man waved back.

When Porter reached the camp he started to turn into the yard of the burned out house when out of the corner of his eye he spotted a Springfield bolt action rifle lying on top of a bunch of briar vines. The vines were crushed under the gun as it had pushed them to the ground but left the gun exposed on top. From his view from atop of Old Dollar he could see it. He climbed off the old mule and led him down the hill. There lying next to an overturned four wheeler lay a gray haired man flat on his back. Flies were crawling on his wounds; but, he was still breathing. Porter took his canteen and wet his handkerchief. He wiped the
parched lips and the eyes slowly opened. Dix was looking into the face of a young man. The face looked to be about 14 years old with the beginnings of a mustache and a few whiskers. The face asked, “Are you Major Dix Jernigan?” Dix could barely nod before he passed out again. He pulled Dix to a sitting position and leaned him against the big tree they were under. He wet the handkerchief and pulled out Dix’s bottom lip and dripped water behind it.

Porter spent the next two days nursing him. He sutured some of the wounds and removed his ruined little toe, before making a litter using a tarp and bamboo. He took all the gear and hid it in Dix’s bamboo camp site. He couldn’t crank the four wheeler, so using Old Dollar he pulled it up and into the bamboo camp where he could hide it with all of Dix’s gear.

The next time Dix woke he was on a tarp between two bamboo poles being bounced and pulled behind a mule. Time meant nothing as he faded in and out of consciousness. He woke again next to a fire. The mule was hobbled nearby and the boy was cooking something on the fire in a skillet. His boots and pants were off and his leg was bandaged as well as his left foot and side. “Who are you?” Dix whispered.

The boy looked over at him, “I’m Corporal Porter Jones from California.”

“How do you know me?”

“Captain Erwin sent me down here to check on you, he gave me directions to your camp. He thought I might find you dead.”

“He may very well be right, I feel like I could die any minute.”

“I tried to patch you up some; your leg kept bleeding so I sewed it closed with some thread while you were passed out. I used plenty of antibiotic salve. A medic may have to open it up to let it drain when we get back to town. I hope you don’t mind, but
I had to cut the little toe off your left foot. It was just dangling by a piece of skin. The maggots were already in it. You took a bullet through your boot; I expect you will be limping for a while.”

“What day is it?”

“It is Friday I think, April 27
^th
.”

Dix tried to remember, “I think I was shooting up that Chinese column last Saturday.”

“Well,” Porter said, “I’ve been with you since Wednesday, you’ve spent most of the time passed out or out of your head; but, I managed to get some food and water down you from time to time. This is the first time you have been talking in your right mind. I found your camp back in the bamboo and hid your four-wheeler. I couldn’t get it cranked so me and Old Dollar pulled it out of sight. I loaded up your guns and backpack on Dollar and made a drag from some bamboo poles and your tarp. We are almost back to Jonesville.”

“What about the Chinese?”

“They are retreating back to Houston, the Warthogs tore them a new one. They pulled out of the Parish so we are back in Jonesville. My Grandfather, Captain Cooney Jones, is commanding the force there. Captain Butch Erwin is heading up Natchez, Vidalia and Ferriday. I am a corporal, so we’re all under your command.”

Dix didn’t want to argue the point about his being in command, so he simply said, “Take me to Captain Jones.”

It took them another agonizing three hours to get back into town. The Constitution forces were set up in a nursing home in town. They occupied it two days after the A-10’s knocked out the Chinese column. All the former nursing home residents were gone. Most were surely dead, a few maybe were back with family but that was highly unlikely. They had a makeshift hospital set up on one wing, barracks set up at the other.

Captain Jones came out on crutches. Dix knew the name having heard it from his father in years past. Cooney Jones had earned a reputation as a former Army Ranger who served in Viet Nam. His Dad and Dix’s dad had served together in WWII in the Pacific theater of the war. Cooney Jones was wearing a .45 Colt 1911 in a shoulder holster.

Dix held out his hand to Captain Jones, “Sir, I’d like to introduce myself.”

“There is no need for an introduction, I’m glad to meet you. I have heard about you my entire life and your reputation precedes you. You have accomplished more in the last 3 months than any of my best trained men could have done.”

Embarrassed, Dix shrugged, “There is something you need to understand, I have not been doing this out of any noble purpose. All I wanted was to be left alone and to take care of my family. When my family was murdered, I got mad and mean. In fact, there are people who would say that I’ve gone insane, and I can’t say that I disagree with them. Maybe I need to be locked up in an institution when all this is over. My plan was to kill the bad guys and to keep killing them until I was killed. Porter tells me that you are in charge. If you will let me lie around for a few days, I’ll get out of your way and get back to my job.”

Cooney grinned, “Your goals and my goals are one and the same, and we will probably share a room in that institution. You’re the one in charge. You are the ranking officer here, what are your orders?”

Dix shook his head in disgust, “Crap! I’m sick and tired of being in charge. Since you won’t listen, your orders are to maintain command of this sector as though I never showed up. I’m in
no shape to fight or assume command. Nor do I have any desire to be in charge. This rank was thrust on me. I need to have my four-wheeler and gear brought up from my camp and if you have a medic, I need to get patched up. I would like to have my pistol in my hand and my rifles cleaned and the sights checked. In the meantime you are in command until I am back on my feet.”

“I think we can accommodate you. Glad to have you back, I’ll send word over to Butch.”

Dix looked toward Porter thoughtfully, “Don’t you think your grandson is a little young to be in the field?”

“Yes I do, but I would have a hard time stopping him. He has traveled from California, killed the men who killed our family and several more thugs. He also killed a pile of Chinese out in Texas and here. He even has two young women back in Texas that he refers to as his family.”

“Hell in that case, promote him to Sergeant, he sounds like my kind of man.”

Porter excused himself and took off to the radio hut. He was scheduled to get a call in to Charlie Cross in Texas. For the first time in weeks he heard Sandy and Ally’s voices and he wished he were back on the ranch. It would still be some time before he could make the trip.

Dix spent the next two weeks in the hospital. Luckily he responded to veterinary antibiotics and was able to be transported across the river. His boot had the bullet hole hollowed out to take the pressure off his foot where he lost the little toe. Butch had his four-wheeler running and his remaining gear loaded on a trailer on the eastern side of Black River and was sitting on the fender of the trailer smoking a cigar when they helped Dix out of the boat.

“Where do you keep finding tobacco?”

Butch grinned, “I’m still smoking up the mayor’s stash, of course it don’t hurt being Captain and in charge.”

“Hell I can’t fault you for that, you earned it. By the way where are we in cleaning out the Chinese and communist Americans?”

“They are still fighting in California, Oregon and Washington. The big cities are in complete chaos with the communists and gangs fighting us and each other. We haven’t been ordered to leave or do anything other than maintain order. Colonel Miller is now over in Alexandria and in charge of Louisiana, West Mississippi over to I-55 and as far into Texas as we can hold. Cooney is in command from Black River west, south to Hwy 90 and north to I-20. I’m in command from east of Black River, north to I-20, across I-55 and south to Hwy 90. I have officers and men scattered out across the country. We’ve had so many killed that we are spread really thin. I’m concentrating on my men acting like Texas rangers and keeping a handle on law and order. We took your advice and have as many people as possible farming and providing protection. Roaming bandits are becoming few and far between. We are still cleaning up stray Chinese soldiers from that convoy you and the A-10’s took out. How many did you wind up killing?”

“I don’t have any idea, all I know is I had more lead coming my direction than I can describe.” They helped get Dix into the passenger seat of Butch’s truck. The ride back to the catamaran was quiet.

CHAPTER 31