Chapter 2

It was kind of fun at first to have all of the kids at high school abuzz over Nancy’s and my exploits that got us on TV. Fortunately, baseball season began about the time that we were getting tired of the publicity. Though baseball was not such a big deal at our school, it still was enough to distract the kids away from us and to let us go back to being ourselves.

I went out for baseball because I loved the game, though I was barely adequate as a player to make the team. I was a utility player at first or third base, mostly, though I would play anywhere but catcher if the coach would just put me into the game. The strange thing was that I could hit pretty well, so that I was used as a pinch hitter more often than you might expect. That was because I could hit from either side, and a switch-hitting pinch hitter was a valued commodity. Actually, I suspect that it was my hitting ability that got me on the team.

I could hit with some power, but I was mainly a singles and doubles hitter who could be relied upon most of the time to drive in a runner from scoring position (second or third base). My batting average was .378 right handed and .363 left handed with men on base, so you see why I made the team. Oh, well, Nancy cheered for me even when the rest of the limited crowd didn’t even know my name.

We played in a league with the DH (designated hitter), and that was often my position when the coach was in a good mood. Sure, I didn’t get on the field much, but at least I was part of the team. The DH substituted for the pitcher whenever his turn at bat came up on most teams, but our pitchers were better than average hitters, so they often batted for themselves. Mostly, I was called on when the opposing team changed pitchers from right to left handed or vice versa and the coach thought that I could do better than our pitcher against the new opposing pitcher.

Well, anyway, I did make the team and selected the jersey number of 13. Nobody else wanted the “unlucky number,” and that was not one of my superstitions. That number choice did help me to get noticed, though.

I had been on the team the previous year, but I spent most of my time in the dugout cheering for the other players. We played 18 games that year, and I got into six of them, mostly in the pinch-hitter role, but I had a phenomenal batting average for a rookie, so the coach did promote me to a semi-regular this year.

On one occasion, we were visiting a school at the extreme opposite edge of our district, so our bus ride home was running well after dark, even though we had played a day game. We had been lucky and had won the game. I was especially proud because the winning run had been scored on a sacrifice fly that I hit in the eighth inning. I was the toast of the team and reveling in the unfamiliar praise that was being heaped on me by my team mates. Even the coach had some good things to say about me in the locker room after the game.

We had showered and dressed in our regular traveling clothes, which, for me, always included my Glock. We had traveled for about 45 minutes and had at least another hour to go when the bus suddenly lurched off the road. We were thrown around quite a bit, but nobody was seriously injured, even though the bus did roll onto its side and slid for about 40-50 meters.

We were just pulling ourselves together when we heard the chatter of a machine pistol and the sound of bullets hitting the roof of the bus. Some of the bullets came through, but they were going so slowly at this point that the only wounds were simply nicks and scratches. Everybody on the bus scrambled for cover, and we wondered what the hell was going on.

That was when we heard a wild voice from outside the bus shout, “YOU BASTARDS WILL NEVER PLAY ANOTHER GAME! WE WERE HEADED FOR AN UNDEFEATED SEASON UNTIL YOU MOTHERFUCKERS SHOWED UP! MY FRIENDS AND I HAVE PLENTY OF AMMUNITION AND WE’RE GONNA KILL EVERY ONE OF YOU BASTARDS!”

We could tell from the sound of the shooter’s voice that he was high on something. We didn’t know the nature of the drug, it could have been something as common as alcohol, or it could have been another drug. Whatever it was, it certainly was not interfering with his trigger finger. His aim might have been impaired, but it was still good enough for him to put bullets into our bus!

Our coach used his cell phone to call for help, but it was going to take at least 30 minutes for armed help to arrive. We were also going to need alternate transportation, and that would take even longer. Hell, we could all be dead by then. By now, at least one shooter was firing through the front windshield, but he was using a handgun for that. Nevertheless, he could kill somebody if our luck didn’t hold. We had to do something, but what?

I crawled up to the coach and said, “I’ve got my gun with me. Suppose I go out the emergency hatch at the rear of the bus and see if I can do something about those idiots?”

The coach mulled it over for a few minutes and said, “OK, you’re probably the only one with a gun, so I guess it will have to be you. Just be careful and keep your head down!”

As I was making my way to the escape hatch, I couldn’t help wondering if the coach would have given in so easily if it had been the star pitcher making the offer!

I dropped to the ground and lay flat while I looked around. I had never had any formal military training beyond what one gets in JROTC (Junior Reserve Officers Training Corps) classes. However, I have always been a fan of war movies, Military Channel, and combat video games, so I did have some idea of what was required.

I kept my head and body low to the ground while I looked around for muzzle flashes. I counted four weapons in use, one was a machine pistol, probably 9 mm from the sound, and the rest were handguns. I figured that the machine pistol was the most dangerous of the lot, so I went after that first. All of the shooters were widely scattered, so I was lucky in that.

I scooted along the ground through the weeds at the side of the road until I was close enough to the idiot with the machine pistol to fix his position. I used my left hand to shield me from a direct view of the muzzle flashes while I took aim with the gun in my right hand. There was no problem picking out the shooter in the dark because he was well lit by the almost continuous flashes of light from the gun muzzle. I was not more than 10 meters away from the gunman when I fired my first shot.

Sensibly, I went for a body shot and put a .45 caliber slug into his chest. His gun went flying and he collapsed where he was standing. I slithered up close to make sure that he was out of commission, and I was happy to see that I would have no further need to worry about him. He was not quite dead, but he was so close that he was a non-factor for the rest of the night.

As I was checking him over, I found four 30-round clips fully loaded in a belt pouch, so I had a brilliant idea. This guy was easy to shoot because I had plenty of light, but the other gunmen were going to be more difficult because they did not light up the night as much as the machine pistol did. Therefore, I was going to switch to the machine pistol and go to the spray and pray shooting technique.

It took me less than a minute to find the weapon and only another minute to verify that it was in shooting condition. Fortunately, this was a common knock-off from Southeast Asia, so I was familiar enough with it to be able to use it to good advantage. I checked and determined that it still had at least 20 rounds in the clip, so I was ready to go with around 140 bullets at my disposal.

Two of the other shooters were at the front of the bus amusing themselves by shooting through the demolished windshield. I hoped that they had not hit anybody yet, but that was not my main concern at the moment. I slipped up toward them and assured myself that I knew exactly were they were standing. The fools were making no effort to shield themselves from return fire, so I had very easy targets once I got into position. They were standing virtually side by side, probably so that they could talk to each other and brag about what good shots they were making. The bus headlights had been shot out, but the running lights were still on, and there was enough of a glow from that light source for me to make out the two shooters. There was even enough light for the machine pistol’s sights to be effective.