Read Online Holding Their Own XI: Hearts and Minds by Joe Nobody - Free Book Online
Authors: Joe Nobody
Tags: Science-Fiction, Literature & Fiction, Action & Adventure, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Dystopian
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down, “It will take me that long to gather enough men and reach the area. That’s very rugged, remote terrain up there, son. But we’ll be there. You can count on it.”
Grim still didn’t like it. “This sounds like more of a job for the military, Sheriff. Can’t you get some help out of Fort Hood or Bliss?”
It was obvious from Watt’s expression that Grim’s question had struck a nerve. “I’m told by General Owens that every available man under his command is busy in Houston, Dallas, and some of the other big cities back east. He made it clear that a violent gang of 30 to 50 individuals didn’t rank high on his list of priorities.”
Bishop shrugged, looking at his team. “We don’t have to engage, just track them down. We’ve faced worse problems. Let’s get moving.”
Palo Dura Canyon was often called the “Grand Canyon of Texas.” Stretching over 70 miles end-to-end, the formation was the second largest canyon system in North America. Being number two meant that the area wasn’t nearly as well known or oft visited. Many of the tourists who did settle for second best left believing they had uncovered a little-known gem.
With sheer walls that rose nearly 1,000 feet, Palo Dura wasn’t as deep nor as wide as its larger sibling to the west. But it’s multi-hued red rock and jagged formations were a sight to behold.
It was also far more accessible with public roads, hiking trails, campgrounds, and climbing facilities sprinkled throughout the canyon floor and rims.
Bishop had only visited the place once before the collapse. A college buddy had been raised in the area and boasted of the great climbing and awe-inspiring scenery. A weekend road trip had been planned for the fellows to get back to nature by sleeping under the stars, burning a little food over a campfire and honing their rock climbing techniques.
Like that first visit so many years before, the unveiling of Palo Dura was a bit of a shock to the three trackers.
For miles and miles across the panhandle of Texas, the travelers had seen nothing but mind-numbing, board-flat fields and prairies. No trees, no hills, no features to distract the eye.
Then suddenly, without warning, the canyon just appeared, carved into the earth by the Red River. Splendid. Massive. Stark in contrast to its tabletop smooth surroundings and bursting with so much color and shape.
Bishop had once read a quote by a famous painter who had lived in the area describing it as, “… a burning, seething caldron, filled with dramatic light and color.” The Texan couldn’t conjure up a better depiction.
The small convoy of police units wound their way to the north rim, finally rolling to a stop just above a seldom-used trailhead leading down into the red rock walls below.
Grim and Butter immediately moved to the edge, their eyes scanning what would be the two operators’ home for the next few days. The older man wasn’t inspired. “Damn… that’s some rough looking countryside.”
Bishop didn’t have to gawk, “This op is going to be longer and harder than a bad girl’s dream,” he said. “But look at the bright side; you’ll be able to tell your grandkids about all of the famous tourist attractions you’ve visited in our great republic.”
The only reply was a grumbled, “I’m getting to old for this shit.”
The trio began unloading packs, weapons, and gear from the back of the old SWAT van. All were sweating profusely before they’d finished snapping buckles and checking weapons. Bishop was the second best long-range shooter, and given Kevin’s absence, was tasked as the team’s designated marksman. He was not happy about having to tote the heavy .308 adorned with a big optic. Butter and Grim rolled with their favorite carbines.
The only positive aspect of the location was the abundance of water. Despite the surrounding terrain being nearly as dry as the Texan’s native desert, the Red River would provide an adequate supply of the
Grim still didn’t like it. “This sounds like more of a job for the military, Sheriff. Can’t you get some help out of Fort Hood or Bliss?”
It was obvious from Watt’s expression that Grim’s question had struck a nerve. “I’m told by General Owens that every available man under his command is busy in Houston, Dallas, and some of the other big cities back east. He made it clear that a violent gang of 30 to 50 individuals didn’t rank high on his list of priorities.”
Bishop shrugged, looking at his team. “We don’t have to engage, just track them down. We’ve faced worse problems. Let’s get moving.”
Palo Dura Canyon was often called the “Grand Canyon of Texas.” Stretching over 70 miles end-to-end, the formation was the second largest canyon system in North America. Being number two meant that the area wasn’t nearly as well known or oft visited. Many of the tourists who did settle for second best left believing they had uncovered a little-known gem.
With sheer walls that rose nearly 1,000 feet, Palo Dura wasn’t as deep nor as wide as its larger sibling to the west. But it’s multi-hued red rock and jagged formations were a sight to behold.
It was also far more accessible with public roads, hiking trails, campgrounds, and climbing facilities sprinkled throughout the canyon floor and rims.
Bishop had only visited the place once before the collapse. A college buddy had been raised in the area and boasted of the great climbing and awe-inspiring scenery. A weekend road trip had been planned for the fellows to get back to nature by sleeping under the stars, burning a little food over a campfire and honing their rock climbing techniques.
Like that first visit so many years before, the unveiling of Palo Dura was a bit of a shock to the three trackers.
For miles and miles across the panhandle of Texas, the travelers had seen nothing but mind-numbing, board-flat fields and prairies. No trees, no hills, no features to distract the eye.
Then suddenly, without warning, the canyon just appeared, carved into the earth by the Red River. Splendid. Massive. Stark in contrast to its tabletop smooth surroundings and bursting with so much color and shape.
Bishop had once read a quote by a famous painter who had lived in the area describing it as, “… a burning, seething caldron, filled with dramatic light and color.” The Texan couldn’t conjure up a better depiction.
The small convoy of police units wound their way to the north rim, finally rolling to a stop just above a seldom-used trailhead leading down into the red rock walls below.
Grim and Butter immediately moved to the edge, their eyes scanning what would be the two operators’ home for the next few days. The older man wasn’t inspired. “Damn… that’s some rough looking countryside.”
Bishop didn’t have to gawk, “This op is going to be longer and harder than a bad girl’s dream,” he said. “But look at the bright side; you’ll be able to tell your grandkids about all of the famous tourist attractions you’ve visited in our great republic.”
The only reply was a grumbled, “I’m getting to old for this shit.”
The trio began unloading packs, weapons, and gear from the back of the old SWAT van. All were sweating profusely before they’d finished snapping buckles and checking weapons. Bishop was the second best long-range shooter, and given Kevin’s absence, was tasked as the team’s designated marksman. He was not happy about having to tote the heavy .308 adorned with a big optic. Butter and Grim rolled with their favorite carbines.
The only positive aspect of the location was the abundance of water. Despite the surrounding terrain being nearly as dry as the Texan’s native desert, the Red River would provide an adequate supply of the
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