The Uvalde Raider by Ben English (great books for teens TXT) 📕

gathered them up, along with the dropped AK and nearby Czech CZ25 submachine gun, and walked as fast as he could back to the SUV. He tried to recon shuffle again but his ribs simply would not cooperate. Once in the Chevrolet, the engine fired immediately and Micah was headed out.

It was fifteen miles back into town, partly by caliche surfaced road. The highway patrolman flogged the three-quarter ton unmercifully all the way in, hitting speeds that would make a Saturday night dirt track champ a bit queasy. He brought the tan Chevrolet to a smoking, skidding halt under the sally port and headed for the front door of the Sheriff’s Office.

Juanita Onofre was working the day shift as dispatch, manning the radio console on what had been a very quiet Friday morning. That was, until being startled by the door flying open and Micah Templar careening through it.

Or at least, she thought it was Micah. His appearance was a double shock for her. Caked blood covered the top of his head while some, still drying, oozed all the way down his neck. His left eye was so badly swollen that all she could see was a mere slit, with the pupil peering out through the narrow gap. His lips were split and puffy and he walked unsteadily, favoring his right side.

The lawman’s face was pockmarked with bruises, cuts and abrasions, as were his swollen hands. What was left of his highway patrol uniform had been ripped and torn, and was covered with a filthy mixture of sweat, dirt and blood stains. If there was ever a case of looking like death warmed over, Micah Templar was a still breathing example of the disease.

“Where’s the sheriff?” he asked urgently.

“In his office, taking a call from the jail commission.” Juanita paused and then added, “Micah, what happened? You look awful! We need to get you to the emergency room.”

“Tell him I need to talk to him, right now.” Micah responded roughly, never breaking stride. He looked over and saw the apprehension in her eyes and stopped. “I’m okay, Juanita,” he spoke in a softer tone. “But I got to talk to Roy. We’ve got an emergency like never before.”

Juanita grabbed the phone and punched the intercom button as Micah walked into his own office and turned the lights on. Making his way to his desk, the trooper half collapsed into the chair and opened the drawer where he kept his important phone numbers. Selecting the one he wanted out of a notebook, he set it down on the desk top and started dialing. Midway through, Sheriff Roy Sharpe stepped into the room.

“Good Lord, Micah…” he began, finding himself stunned at his friend’s appearance. The highway patrolman raised his hand and stopped him from saying anything else as the line on the other end picked up.

“Captain Burton, its Micah Templar.” Micah spoke into the phone. “I’m fine, sir, but we have an emergency situation and I called you direct to save time. Do you have a paper and pen handy?” He cupped his hand over the receiver. “Roy, I need you to start calling every sheriff between here and the San Antonio area. Ask them if they have any reports about old World War II aircraft flying over their county. Tell them it is an extreme emergency. Also tell them that DPS will be in touch shortly to help coordinate the effort. Probably the feds, too.”

Sheriff Roy K. Sharpe had been a peace officer most of his adult life, and had developed the discerning ability to quickly read a situation while simultaneously gauging the seriousness of it. He had worked with Micah for years, even back to when Sharpe was still a deputy. During that time he had been with Templar in a couple of tight spots, and liked as well as respected both the officer and the man. As Micah began to explain to his captain what was happening, the sheriff listened in. Then he turned and started for the phone in his own office.

He was sprinting to get there.

The highway patrolman finished the phone conversation with his captain, who in turn immediately launched his district office into a beehive of frenzied activity. The captain had the position and resources to get the word out rapidly to those who needed it most. Micah looked at the clock on the office wall and realized with a dreadful sinking feeling they had already run out of time. The Uvalde Raider had to be in the San Antonio area by now.

And what about Tio Zeke?

Juanita had called the two duty deputies in, as well as a local volunteer EMT. They were all standing in the doorway when Micah looked away from the clock.  She brushed past the other three and put a large mug of iced sweet tea in front of him. Micah picked it up and began drinking as only a parched and exhausted man can do.

“Micah, I know you don’t have time to go to the ER,” Juanita said. “So, I called Jude Thomas in, along with A.J. and Pablo. The sheriff wants them brought up to speed and I want Jude to take a look at you.” She turned and started back out the door.

“Okay, Juanita,” he responded. Micah took another long swig of the sweet tea before continuing. “And Juanita,” she paused and looked back as Micah smiled through his cracked and bloody lips. “Muchisimas gracias.”

The matronly woman grinned back as the three men gathered in the doorway stepped aside to let her through. Every good department had their Juanita Onofre, exemplary at her job and in her concern for others. She was one of the best dispatchers Micah had ever worked with. No matter what the situation, she did her part and then some, and was fiercely loyal to the officers who depended upon her. Those who had any sense responded