Chapter 4The Attack of the Hill People - Thursday, June 7th
The day remained overcast as the men traveled through the forest. After about an hour of walking, they came upon a forest road. The road headed in the same general direction that they were heading, northeast-ish. Pvt Taylor had taken the maps with him, so they were going on memory and dead reckoning. The road gave them a little easier traveling surface. And roads usually lead to towns, even though this one hadn’t had a vehicle on it in several decades.
The men walked in single file with Webber in the lead on point. They weren’t at full alert, but they were mindful of their surroundings. Clayton was right behind Webber, with Sgt Sumpson behind him and Pvt Masvanni taking up slack. Masvanni would check their back trail every so often. So far, it had always been empty. Hardly showing that four men had just walked through that area. The birds were quiet in this part of the woods. The silence of the woods was weird and a little unsettling. It seemed that everything had vacated the area.
The men are heading along the road, which is steadily but gradually climbing up the ridge in front of them. The hill continues up on their left. There are several large boulders above them. Intermixed with some low, but thick rhododendron bushes. On their right, the hill continued going down into a deep valley. From time to time, they can see a stream moving through the forest below. The area below them has several of these gullies below. Each heading off in a different direction. Thunk! Something hits Clayton’s pack. He looks to his left and sees the synthetic feathers of an arrow sticking out of his pack. Someone has just shot him. Clayton shouts to Webber “Someone just shot me with an arrow. Take cover, to the right.” Just then a shotgun blast fills the forest. It comes from Clayton’s left, up the hill. He looks that way as he is moving off the road, to the right, down that steep hill. He sees that Kell and Masvanni are doing the same.
Another shotgun blast echoes through the forest, and he hears Masvanni yell. He can’t tell if it is the shout of a man who just got hit, or if it was just surprise that forced it out of him.
“You government people are all gonna die.” Someone yelled from behind a rock up the hill. “You killed my Lucy and now I’m gonna kill you.” The disembodied voice added.
Clayton had taken quick shelter behind a three-foot rock that was just off the road. Another arrow comes flying down range to his right. It ricochets off of a tree and hits a large rock, shattering its sharp bladed hunting point. These guys mean business. Clayton thinks to himself.
Just then, three more shotgun blasts echo through the woods, each one coming quickly after the other. The sharp crack of a rifle is added to the din. They were completely outgunned. It was time for retreat and regrouping.
Clayton yells out “Head down. Regroup below.” He starts moving carefully down the steep hill. More shots ring out. He moves a little, takes cover, then moves again.
Suddenly more weapons open up on their now left flank. These guys ARE serious, and it appears they are organized. Clayton continued in his head.
The orderly retreat became a rout. Clayton slipped on a mossy log and went down hard. He took the brunt of the fall on his right shoulder and a sharp pain shot down his arm. “That’s gonna smart in the morning.” Now he was talking to himself out loud.
Clayton sucked up the pain and continued down the hill. He got to the bottom and followed the stream for about 300 meters. The shooting had lessened. Every couple of minutes, he would hear some shouting. A shot would ring out and then silence. The sounds started to become less loud, as if it was coming from far away. The birds started singing again around him. It was tentative at first, but after twenty minutes of him sitting next to a tree under some brush, the birds forgot about him and the battle that had just waged and continued on with their day.
Clayton waited another hour. Taking short trips to the north and south, looking for signs of his men. He circled around to the north, to where the second ambush had come from. You could see a lot of trampled brush and behind a row of rocks, he found shotgun and 30.06 shell casings. About 50 meters back down the hill, Clayton came upon more disturbed brush and here he found several blood pools and a trail heading back uphill to the west. There was no sign of Webber or his gear. If that blood was his, he had gotten hit, and it looks like he might have been taken too.
Clayton made his way south along the hillside. He avoided the road, cautious in case some attackers still hid in wait. He found more trails to his south, but none of them had blood on them. A hopeful sign. But that was the only sign he found. His men were nowhere to be found.
After waiting another hour, Clayton decided to move on. He would continue along the bearing they had been taking. Hoping to come across his men. His squad. His friends.
The creek led down and mostly north. Clayton followed it for about a mile and once again, sat and listened for any sign of his men. There was nothing. The forest continued through its day. The birds were singing. The sun had crept out for a while as the cloud cover broke up.
What is the mission now, Clayton? He asked himself. What is happening at home? Is Lori and the kids doing ok? I was supposed to be heading home tomorrow, but instead, I’m a thousand miles from home. I have little gear, my uniform has become a target. The world seems to have gone to shit and I have no quick way to get home.
Watching Clayton, sitting on a log in the middle of the forest, it was easy to see the resolve enter his mind and body. His shoulders became straighter. A grim expression moved across his face and settled there like a piece of stone. “I guess I’ll walk home.” he said to the forest. These miles aren’t going to walk themselves. If I can find The Trail, I can take it all the way home.
Clayton stood and grabbed his pack. He looked at the hole the arrow had made when the attack began. The arrow had fallen out during his retreat, and he never did find it again as he searched for his lost squad. Clayton also noticed with sadness that his axe was no longer strapped to his pack. He had lost that in the confusion too. He swung the pack around and slipped his arms into the straps. There wasn’t much in it, but it would start him on his way.
The lone soldier started walking through the forest. The sun was on its way to setting once again. It had been a long, hard day, and the adrenaline rush that the attack had produced had finally receded and he felt shaky and tired. The determination that had now entered him as he thought of his plight was evident in the spring in his step as he started bushwhacking north.