Pops Revenge

 

Chapter 1: Pump Station 1

Josh Benson had sent his young brother Billy four miles from the ranch house to Pump Station 1. The oldest pump on the ranch, the walls that housed it needed pointing and repair. Billy went with his radio and camera, inspecting and taking pictures of cracks and foundations, so that Ray, his brother and the Financial Manager, could get cost estimates.

It was a hot Texas day. Billy took off his uniform shirt and inspected in his white undershirt, sweaty but cooler. He wondered how his brother Jake, best friend Celab, and John Jr were doing with the heavy equipment, digging out a section of land for plowing. The three of them had become inseparable since Celab moved in with the Benson boys, turning their room into what everyone joked was a "frat house bedroom" with bunk beds and constant banter.

Billy wiped sweat from his forehead and focused his camera on a particularly bad crack in the foundation. At nineteen, he was the youngest of the Benson brothers, but he'd earned respect around the ranch for his work ethic and attention to detail. Josh trusted him with important jobs like this, knowing Billy would document everything Ray needed for accurate estimates.

He was about to finish when he was surrounded by three masked men, holding guns on him.

"So you're a Benson."

"Yeah. I'm Billy. What the fuck do you want?"

"Amazing," one said, "we finally got a Benson alone, and the youngest brother."

Billy was breaking out in a cold sweat, thinking if he could possibly run to his quad or press the Red Alert Button on his radio, but they were quick.

"Get the rope and tape and tie him up and gag him."

In less than a minute Billy's wrists were tied crossed behind his back, his elbows tied together with his forearms, and duct tape across his eyes and mouth. He was marched to a truck behind the pump house, dumped in, and driven away.

As they threw him roughly into the truck bed, Billy felt his radio slam against the metal. The impact must have switched it off. Even if he could reach it now, the damn thing was useless—dead silent while his family would be frantically trying to call him. The weight of it on his belt, hidden beneath his long white undershirt, felt like both hope and despair.

Chapter 2: The Photographs

The abandoned barn where they took Billy reeked of decay and old hay. The Hartwell grandsons had been planning this for months, waiting for the perfect opportunity to get a Benson alone. Billy was exactly what they'd hoped for—young, vulnerable, and clearly beloved by the family.

"Tie his biceps," the eldest Hartwell ordered. "A few inches apart. Make sure those ropes press his arms into his spine."

Billy tried to struggle as they repositioned him, but the duct tape over his mouth muffled his curses. They roped up his torso methodically, each coil designed for maximum pain and restraint. The body ropes forced his forearms deep into his spine, cutting off feeling in his hands. They bound his knees together tightly, then forced him onto his side and pulled his bound ankles up toward his neck in a hogtie. Billy's breathing became labored.

"Perfect," one of them said, stepping back to admire their work. "Get the camera. Pops Benson needs to see what his decision fifty years ago has cost his family."

The camera flash lit up the barn as they documented Billy's condition. His white undershirt was already darkening with sweat and showing the first traces of blood where the ropes cut into his arms. Every photo would be another knife in Pops' heart.

"Make sure you get a good shot of his face," the youngest Hartwell said. "We want the old man to see his grandson's pain."

After they finished with the photographs, they gathered their equipment and headed for the door.

"Twenty-four hours," the eldest told his brothers. "If Pops doesn't agree to sign over the ranch, we tighten this hogtie until the kid chokes to death."

As their footsteps faded, Billy lay in the dim barn, fighting waves of panic. The ropes were cutting off circulation to his hands, and every breath was becoming harder. But through the pain, he felt something digging into his side—his radio, still clipped to his belt beneath his undershirt.

If only it was still on. If only he could reach it.

Chapter 3: The Ultimatum

"Billy, come in. Billy, respond." Josh's voice crackled through the ranch radio network, growing more urgent with each unanswered call.

Jake looked up from the heavy equipment they'd been working on. "How long since he checked in?"

"Three hours," Josh said, his jaw tightening. "He should've been done at the pump house by now."

Celab wiped grease from his hands. "Billy never goes radio silent. Never."

"Let's go check on him," Jake said, already heading for his truck.

They found Billy's quad parked behind Pump Station 1, his uniform shirt draped over the handlebars. Cut pieces of rope lay scattered in the dirt nearby, along with Billy's camera—lens cracked, memory card missing.

"Jesus," Josh whispered, kneeling beside the rope fragments. "Someone tied him up here."

Billy Jr, who had come along in Josh's truck, pulled out his radio with steady hands. At thirteen, he'd designed and installed the entire ranch communication system. Now it was time to use it.

He pressed the RED ALERT button. Instantly, every radio across all three ranches began broadcasting: "RED ALERT - RED ALERT - RED ALERT."

Then Billy Jr switched to the secure channel. "All units, switch to Channel 13B scrambler. We think something's happened to Billy. Report to Central immediately. This is not a drill."

Within twenty minutes, the main ranch house was packed. The Bensons, Nelsons, and Beaumonts had all converged. Pops emerged from his study, his face grim. Tom and Sarah stood by the fireplace, Sarah wringing her hands. Ray paced near the windows.

Sheriff Wade Nelson arrived with his sons Wilson and Ryan, both deputies. His wife Mary stayed close to their daughter Rebecca, Josh's wife.

Edna Nelson sat in a corner chair, her face pale. "Where is he? Where's Billy?"

Robert and Caroline Beaumont had driven over with their daughter Anna. Celab stood between Jake and Josh, his face set with determination.

"We found evidence of a struggle at Pump Station 1," Josh reported. "Someone took him. Professionally."

That's when Pops' phone buzzed. The room fell silent as he answered.

"Benson."

"Check your messages, old man. You've got twenty-four hours."

The line went dead. Within seconds, the message alert chimed. Pops opened the first photo, and his face went white as granite.

Billy Jr stepped forward. "What is it, Pops?"

Pops held up the phone. The image showed Billy hogtied in what looked like an old barn, blood on his white undershirt, duct tape across his mouth, his eyes wide with pain.

Sarah screamed and collapsed into Tom's arms. Edna burst into tears. Caroline Beaumont pulled Anna close, while Robert's face hardened with rage.

Wade Nelson took the phone, studying the image with professional eyes. "Who sent this?"

A second message appeared: Your conservation deal fifty years ago destroyed the Hartwell family ranch. Now you pay. Sign over the deed to Benson Ranch or Billy dies. You have 24 hours to decide. No cops, no tricks, or we tighten the ropes until he chokes.

"Hartwell," Pops said quietly. "Jesus Christ, I remember now. Their spread got condemned when I helped the state with that conservation survey fifty years ago."

Wade looked up sharply. "The Hartwell boys? I thought they'd left the county years ago."

Billy Jr was already at his radio equipment, frantically working the GPS tracking system. His fingers flew over the controls, searching for Billy's radio signal. After several tense minutes, he looked up with wide open eyes.

"There's no signal from Billy's radio."

Dead silence filled the room.

Chapter 4: The Network

Eight miles away in the abandoned barn, Billy fought against waves of pain and panic. The ropes around his torso had cut off most feeling in his hands, and the hogtie position made every breath a struggle. But he could feel his radio pressed against his side, dead weight beneath his blood-stained undershirt.

Turn it on. Lower the volume. Hit the Red Alert.

The sequence played in his mind like a mantra. He had to execute it perfectly, or he was dead. One sound, one electronic beep, and the Hartwells would discover his lifeline and destroy it.

Billy began the slow, agonizing process of working his bound hands toward his belt. Every movement sent fire through his shoulders and tightened the rope around his throat. Sweat poured down his face, mixing with blood from where the duct tape pulled at his skin.

His fingertips brushed the radio's edge. Almost there.

The barn door creaked open. Billy froze, forcing his breathing to remain shallow and regular. One of the Hartwells walked over and kicked him in the ribs.

"Still breathing, I see. Don't get too comfortable. If your grandfather doesn't sign over that ranch by tomorrow night, you'll be decorating this barn permanently."

After the footsteps faded, Billy resumed his desperate work. His fingers found the radio's power button. Careful. Quiet. He pressed it slowly, feeling the device vibrate silently to life against his side.

Next, the volume control. Billy knew the radio well—he and Billy Jr had tested every setting. He turned it down until it was completely silent, his numb fingers working from memory alone.

Now came the critical moment. The Red Alert button was on top, easy to reach if he could just angle his wrist correctly. The rope around his throat tightened as he stretched, black spots dancing in his vision.

His finger found the button. Billy took the deepest breath he could manage and pressed it.

Somewhere eight miles away, every radio in the consortium network began broadcasting his salvation: "RED ALERT BILLY BENSON... RED ALERT BILLY BENSON..."

Billy collapsed back into his bonds, exhausted but triumphant. Now his family would find him.

He just had to stay alive long enough for them to get there.

Chapter 5: Off the Books

The silence in the ranch house was shattered by the sudden cacophony of every radio in the building screaming: "RED ALERT BILLY BENSON... RED ALERT BILLY BENSON..."

Billy Jr leaped to his tracking equipment, his fingers flying over the controls with newfound hope. "He got his radio on! I've got a GPS signal!"

The room erupted. Jake was already heading for the gun safe. Celab grabbed his jacket. Sheriff Wade was barking orders to his deputy sons.

"Hold on," Wade called out. "We need to do this right. Call in the county, get a tactical team—"

"Fuck that!" Pops exploded, his weathered face flushed with rage. "Those bastards have had my grandson for hours. While we're sitting here filling out paperwork, they could be tightening those ropes around Billy's neck!"

Wade stepped forward. "Pops, I understand, but we need to follow protocol—"

"Protocol?" Pops' voice dropped to a deadly whisper. "Wade, this is off the books. You hear me? Off the goddamn books. If I have to, I'll blow their fucking heads off for what they did to Billy."

Sheriff Wade Nelson looked around the room. His daughter Edna was sobbing for her boyfriend. His son-in-law Josh was checking his rifle. His grandson Billy Jr was calmly coordinating a military-style operation at age thirteen. These weren't just neighbors—they were family.

Wade made his decision. He turned to his deputy sons. "Wilson, Ryan. Uniforms off. Get civies for us and bring one of our trucks—the big one. We are going UNDERCOVER!"

The two young deputies nodded, understanding immediately. Whatever happened tonight, there would be no official record.

"But Pops," Wade continued, his voice stern, "no Vietnam heroics. We go in smart, we get Billy out alive, and nobody does anything that'll land us all in federal prison."

Pops nodded curtly. "Agreed. As long as they give us Billy back breathing."

Billy Jr looked up from his equipment. "I've got Uncle Billy's exact coordinates. Looks like the old Hartwell property—the barn about two miles past what used to be their house."

Jake was already loading magazines. "How do you want to do this?"

Wade pulled out a map. "We go in quiet. Night vision, heat sensors, coordinated approach. Ray, you stay here with the women and monitor communications."

"Like hell," Ray started, but Pops cut him off.

"Ray, someone needs to coordinate from here. Keep the channel open." Pops looked around the room. "Jake, Celab, you're with me and Wade. Billy Jr., you guide us in and keep us informed of any changes to Billy's position."

Caroline Beaumont grabbed her son. "Celab, you don't have to—"

"Yes, I do, Mom," Celab said quietly. "Billy's my brother."

As they prepared to leave, Sarah grabbed Pops' arm. "Bring my baby home."

"Count on it," Pops said. He shouldered his rifle and headed for the door. "Let's go get our boy."

Chapter 6: The Hunt

As the men loaded their weapons and gear, Robert Beaumont pulled Ray aside. "What's this about the Hartwells? What happened fifty years ago?"

Ray opened his filing cabinet and pulled out a thick folder marked "TX Dept of Interior - Land Transfer Records 1975." He spread the documents across his desk.

"Look at this," Ray said, pointing to the official forms. "The state needed information for a conservation survey. Pops cooperated, gave them detailed maps of water sources, wildlife patterns, soil conditions across the whole area."

Robert studied the documents. "This is all legitimate. Professional surveys, proper signatures, legal documentation."

"Exactly," Ray continued. "The state determined that several ranches, including the Hartwell spread, were critical for watershed protection. They made legal offers, followed all procedures. The Hartwells could have fought it in court, negotiated better terms, anything."

Caroline Beaumont looked over her husband's shoulder. "Wait... we bought our land from the state land office seven months ago. This is the same property, isn't it?"

"Part of it, yes," Ray confirmed. "After fifty years in conservation, the state opened some parcels for private sale again. Everything above board, competitive bidding, full disclosure."

Pops overheard from across the room where he was loading his rifle. His face went red with rage.

"BULLSHIT REVENGE!" he bellowed. "Fifty fucking years ago, I helped my government do a legal land survey! The Hartwells got fair market value for their spread! Nobody forced them to sell—they could have contested it, hired lawyers, fought it in court!"

He slammed a magazine into his rifle. "Instead, these worthless sons of bitches spent fifty years nursing a grudge against a man who did his civic duty!"

Jake looked up from checking his night vision equipment. "So they kidnapped and tortured Billy because you helped the government do environmental protection?"

"Apparently so," Wade said grimly, buckling on his tactical vest. "And now they expect us to hand over a ranch that's been in your family for four generations because they can't accept that sometimes life doesn't go your way."

Robert Beaumont's face was stone cold. "They took Billy because we bought land that was legally for sale?"

"That's about the size of it," Pops snarled. "Well, they're about to learn what real consequences look like."

Billy Jr looked up from his communications equipment. "Uncle Billy's signal is holding steady. But we need to move now."

Celab chambered a round in his rifle. "Let's go end this bullshit revenge."

Chapter 7: The Rescue

The convoy moved through the Texas darkness like ghosts—Wade's big pickup leading, headlights off, using night vision and GPS coordinates. Billy Jr sat in the passenger seat of the lead truck, his radio equipment spread across his lap, whispering directions.

"Two hundred yards ahead, turn left at the old fence post," he said into his headset. "Uncle Billy's signal is strong and stationary."

In the truck bed, Pops, Jake, and Celab lay flat with their rifles, heat sensor equipment, and night vision scopes. Wade had his service weapon and backup sidearm. They'd brought enough firepower to take down a small army.

"I see the barn," Wade whispered. "Heat sensors show four signatures. Three moving around outside, one stationary inside."

"That's Billy," Billy Jr confirmed, his voice tight with emotion.

Jake's voice crackled through the comm system: "I've got eyes on two tangos by the barn door. Third one is smoking behind the structure."

"Roger that," Wade replied. "Pops, you take the smoker. Jake and Celab, you've got the two by the door. I'll secure the perimeter. Remember—wound them, don't kill them. We need Billy out alive."

They moved like seasoned soldiers. Pops, his Vietnam training kicking in after fifty years, flanked wide around the barn. Jake and Celab approached from opposite sides, their rifles trained on the Hartwell men who had no idea death was closing in.

"On my mark," Wade whispered. "Three... two... one..."

The night exploded with precision gunfire. Jake put a round through the first Hartwell's shoulder, spinning him into the dirt. Celab's shot shattered the second man's kneecap, dropping him instantly. Pops' bullet caught the smoker in the thigh, sending him sprawling behind the barn.

"Targets down!" Jake called out. "Moving to secure Billy!"

They found Billy barely conscious in the barn, his white undershirt soaked with blood and sweat, the ropes cutting deep into his arms and throat. He was moments from suffocation.

"Jesus Christ," Celab whispered, pulling out his knife. "Hold on, Billy. Hold on."

As they cut him free, Billy Jr stood guard over the three wounded Hartwells, his .22 rifle steady in his thirteen-year-old hands.

"You picked the wrong family to fuck with," the boy said quietly.

Billy gasped his first free breath in hours, his voice barely a whisper: "Knew... you'd... come..."

Wade was on his radio to dispatch: "This is Sheriff Nelson. I need multiple ambulances at the old Hartwell property. Three gunshot wounds and one medical emergency."

"Roger, Sheriff. ETA thirty minutes."

"Thirty minutes?" Wade looked at Billy's condition—rope burns, possible circulation damage, labored breathing.

"Fuck it," Pops snarled. "Load Billy in the truck. We're not waiting."

Wade turned to his deputies. "Wilson, Ryan, you boys stay here. Apply first aid to these idiots and wait for the ambulances. We're taking Billy to the hospital now."

As they loaded Billy carefully into the truck bed, Billy Jr grabbed his radio. "Central, this is Billy Jr. We got Uncle Billy. Repeat, we got Uncle Billy. He's hurt but alive. We're heading to County General now."

During the race to the hospital, Billy—weak but conscious—managed to give Sarah and the other women a blow-by-blow account over the radio network:

"Mom... it's me... they hogtied me real tight... couldn't breathe... but I got to my radio... Billy Jr found me with the GPS... Jake and Celab... perfect shots... they're hurt bad but alive... Pops was like a damn soldier... I'm okay, Mom... coming home..."

Sarah's sobbing voice came through the speaker: "My baby... my baby's coming home..."

Pops looked down at Billy and smiled grimly. "Your grandfather's fifty-year-old grudge just cost them everything. You're going to live, and that's more than they deserved."

Chapter 8: Saturday Evening

Three days after the rescue, Billy finally came home from the hospital Saturday evening, his arms still wrapped in bandages but his spirit intact. The doctors had kept him for observation—severe rope burns, circulation issues, and exhaustion—but nothing that wouldn't heal.

Within an hour of Billy walking through the front door, the "frat house bedroom" was in full party mode. Jake had cranked up the stereo, Celab was telling increasingly exaggerated versions of the rescue story, and Billy was holding court from his bunk bed, a beer in his good hand.

"You should have seen Billy Jr standing guard over those Hartwell bastards with his .22," Celab was saying. "Cool as ice, like he'd been doing it his whole life."

Billy Jr sat cross-legged on the floor, nursing what he thought was his first secret beer that Jake had slipped him. The music was loud enough to rattle the windows, and the laughter could be heard across the ranch.

"So when I finally got my radio turned on," Billy continued, "I knew you guys would track the signal. But man, those ropes were cutting off everything. I thought I was gonna pass out before—"

BANG BANG BANG!

The door shook under Pops' pounding fist.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN THERE? IT'S ELEVEN O'CLOCK AT NIGHT! SOME OF US OLD BASTARDS NEED OUR SLEEP!"

Jake grinned and turned the music down a notch. "Sorry, Pops!"

"SORRY MY ASS! AND IF I FIND OUT YOU BOYS GAVE BILLY JR ANY BEER, I'LL TAN ALL YOUR HIDES!"

Billy Jr quickly hid his bottle behind his back, trying not to laugh.

"WE'RE JUST CELEBRATING BILLY BEING HOME, POPS!" Celab called out.

"WELL CELEBRATE QUIETER! AND BILLY, YOU JUST GOT OUT OF THE HOSPITAL—DON'T MAKE ME PUT YOU BACK IN THERE!"

After Pops' footsteps stomped away, the room erupted in laughter.

"He's getting soft," Jake said. "Normally he would have busted down the door by now."

"He's just glad Billy's home," Celab said, raising his beer. "Hell, we all are."

Billy Jr took another sip of his secret beer and looked around at his older "brothers." Three days ago, he'd been coordinating a military rescue operation. Tonight, he was just a thirteen-year-old kid hanging out with the guys who'd become legends in his eyes.

"So tomorrow," Billy said, settling back into his bunk, "Pops mentioned something about targets and a shooting contest?"

"Oh yeah," Jake grinned. "The whole family celebration. BBQ, shooting, the works. You up for it?"

Billy raised his beer with his good arm. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

The party continued well past midnight, the sound of their brotherhood echoing through the ranch house—four young men who'd been through hell and back together, now home where they belonged.

Chapter 9: Sunday

Sunday arrived with the smell of mesquite smoke drifting across the Benson Ranch. By noon, all three families had gathered for what had become the biggest celebration in ranch history.

The women had outdone themselves with the BBQ spread. Sarah, Mary Nelson, and Caroline Beaumont had been cooking since dawn—brisket, ribs, pulled pork, cornbread, beans, and potato salad covered two long tables set up under the oak trees. Rebecca was helping serve while keeping an eye on the younger kids. Coolers full of ice-cold beer sat at every table, with the men already cracking open bottles.

Billy sat in a lawn chair, his bandaged arms propped up, a plate of brisket balanced on his lap and a beer in his good hand. "Damn, Mom, this is the best meal I've had in four days."

"Language," Sarah scolded, but she was beaming.

The whole consortium was there—Bensons, Nelsons, and Beaumonts—eating, laughing, and telling increasingly exaggerated stories about the rescue. Celab was demonstrating his precision shot for the third time, using a dinner roll as a prop, while balancing a beer bottle on his knee.

Billy Jr walked over with a root beer in his hand. "This is almost as good as the be—" He caught himself quickly. "—as the root beer I had last night."

Jake shot him a look and grinned, while Billy Jr tried to look innocent.

After everyone had eaten their fill and the plates were cleared, Pops stood up and cleared his throat, his own beer bottle in hand.

"Y'all gather round. We got some recognizing to do."

The crowd quieted as Josh, Jake, and Ray approached with a wrapped package, all three nursing beers. Behind them, Pops carried an antique wooden gun case.

"Billy Jr.," Pops called out. "Get over here, son."

The thirteen-year-old stepped forward, suddenly looking nervous as all eyes focused on him.

Billy struggled to his feet from his chair. "Three days ago, this young man saved my life." His voice carried across the gathering. "He designed the radio system that let me call for help. He coordinated the rescue operation. And when it came time to face down three armed kidnappers, he stood his ground like a man."

Billy reached for his gift first. "This is my .38. I want you to have it."

Billy Jr's eyes went wide as he accepted the sidearm. "Uncle Billy, I... thank you."

Pops stepped forward next, opening the antique case. Inside lay a well-maintained Colt revolver. "This belonged to my father, and his father before him. You earned your place in this family's history, boy."

Sheriff Wade stepped forward with a grin, beer in hand. "Now, we got one more thing. Everybody follow us to the barn."

The whole crowd walked over to the main barn, where Wade and Robert Beaumont pulled open the doors. Inside sat a brand new six-seater mule quad painted in consortium colors.

"From all three families," Wade said proudly. "The Bensons, Nelsons, and Beaumonts. You brought us together, son. Now you can patrol all our ranches."

The crowd erupted in applause. Edna was crying happy tears. Sarah beamed with pride. Caroline Beaumont wiped her eyes.

"Now," Pops announced, walking toward the south pasture where targets had been set up at 50, 100, and 200 yards, "let's see if the kid can shoot those new guns as good as he can plan a rescue!"

"I got twenty bucks says he hits dead center with both guns," Jake called out, raising his beer bottle.

"You're on," Ray laughed, clinking bottles with Jake. "Kid's good, but those are family heirlooms, not his usual .22."

"Fifty bucks says he outshoots his old man," Robert Beaumont added with a grin, taking a long swig.

Josh feigned offense. "Hey now, I taught him everything he knows!"

The shooting contest that followed would be talked about for years. Billy Jr walked to the firing line with both his new sidearms, the weight of family history and expectations on his shoulders. He started with Uncle Billy's .38, took aim at the 50-yard target, steadied his breathing, and squeezed the trigger.

Perfect center.

"Pay up!" Jake whooped, holding out his hand to Ray while finishing his beer.

Then Billy Jr switched to Pops' family Colt and put another round dead center at 100 yards.

"That's my boy!" Josh called out, then muttered to Robert, "Guess I owe you fifty."

As the sun began to set and the celebration wound down, Billy, Jake, and Celab exchanged looks.

"Come on, Jr.," Billy said with a grin despite his bandaged arms. "Time for your first driving lesson."

Anna Beaumont stepped forward shyly. "Can I ride with him?"

The adults all grinned, and Caroline nudged her daughter forward. "Go on, honey."

They all piled into the six-seater mule quad—Billy Jr behind the wheel with Jake right next to him ready to grab control if needed, Anna beside Billy Jr., Billy and Celab in the back seats.

"Holy cow, this thing has Apple Radio!" Billy Jr exclaimed, discovering the sound system. He scrolled through and cranked up "Highway Star" by Deep Purple. The classic rock thundered from the speakers as they took off down the main ranch road.

When they returned, Anna gave Billy Jr a quick kiss on the cheek before hopping out of the quad. The crowd erupted in hoots and hollers.

"Atta boy, Jr.!" Jake called out, raising his beer bottle in salute.

The celebration ended with the sight of the ranch's newest hero—a young man with his first vehicle, his first real guns, and his first girlfriend's kiss—surrounded by the brothers and families who'd gone to war together and now stood united in peace forever.