1947
A pretty big canyon hampered the flatland in western Mexico and nothing was around but giant brown rocks and hills. It was a freezing night, cold and windy, but their energies, motivation, and anger powered them up.
Jules, carrying a Remington Model 8 semi-automatic rifle and a Colt Model 1903 Pocket Hammerless pistol, was leading the team of four navigating through the rocks and boulders from their rented truck. He was wearing his American Marine Corps uniform again, reinforced by his thick 1944 British Police Vest and his hunting knife. He also packed up large numbers of ammos in his backpack for the rest of the group.
John, behind Jules, was carrying a Thompson submachine gun and a Colt New Service revolver, along with a Chinese-made combat knife and three grenades back in his backpack. He was using the same vest everybody else used.
Mike, behind John, was carrying a UK Pattern 1914 Enfield rifle and a British Welrod for his sidearm. He also carried a Dutch made combat knife and one Japanese hand grenade and a claymore for further excitement.
Asher, the last in the group, carried an MP-40 German-made submachine gun and a French Star Model 1914 along with him. He also carried most of the bandages and aid kits and a hand grenade made in Belgium in 1901.
Meanwhile, I waited in the driving seat of the roofed Willys Jeep with just a Colt M1911 handgun in my clasp and a binocular made in 1899. Everything was disturbingly quiet and I could sense myself being watched although the Jeep was technically parked below a natural boulder ridge that no one could see unless they were ten foot close.
Jules stepped slowly as a trained veteran, checking each and every possible corner for an underground entrance. He stepped on a branch with no tree above it, and he looked right to find three parked Mexican trucks in a pretty deformed cave with low ceiling.
“Let’s see what’s up.”
There was nothing inside those trucks, literally not even a piece of feather from a chicken or a bottle of mineral water. They didn’t find no keys, but they were a hundred percent sure it was Fischer’s men’s because there was the same logo at the back of the truck with three letters below it. It said GLF. According to the news, the GLF meant the Global Liberate Force, but we all know it was just bullshit to make their selves official.
“Today’s more freezing than yesterday.”
The silent voice came from outside the cave. Two men walked pass the entrance to check the parked trucks.
“Shit. Hide!”
They hid below the trucks and behind rocks so the two patrols didn’t see them.
“Fucking Fischer. I really don’t like him as our leader. He’s a fricking fanatic if you want to know.”
“How’s he a fanatic?”
“His fucking behavior, dude. He’s also a former Nazi, right?”
The two men sounded Americans, but they were unsure of that statement.
One was so close to Jules’ face under the truck, he could just knife it and end the stupid conversation.
Jules whistled a small tone.
“Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
Jules whistled again.
“There’s probably a bird somewhere here, or maybe a bat.”
“It came from down here.”
The man made the worst mistake he would ever make in his entire dumb life. He lowered his body and hauled his gun back to peek below the truck, looking for a bat.
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Darkness Dissolves When the Door Opens
Historical Fiction[60.000-70.000 words] Trapped in a Japanese occupied island, Jules West and other allied soldiers were fighting for their survivals. Facing losses and mental breakdown were not their only problems since the whole island tried to kill them. It had b...
