We could bound our way to the airfield but it’d be rough on the hostages. Flyboy has a truck. We take that. Three hostages in the cab, Chin and I in the bed, and Al bounds on ahead to run interference. I uncuff flyboy.
“You’re going to the airport and you’re going to take us on a plane ride. Understand?” He stares until that sinks in, then nods unwillingly.
Fortunately for the inhabitants the airfield is nearby and traffic is light. Al isn’t taking any chances; we pass wreck after wreck.
When we get to the field Al has already picked out a plane. It’s a ten-passenger jet—very plush—we’ll go fast and in style. Flyboy balks. “I don’t know how to fly that!”
I put a gun barrel to his head. “How do you say ‘Bullshit’?” He sticks with his story. Maybe it’s true.
“Which one is yours?”
He points to a large boxy craft with long thin blades on top. That? I thought it was a sculpture! I look around. There’s another one like it. That’s a relief; it’s really bad for future cooperation if a local succeeds in pulling your leg—especially at a time like this. If he’d been trying I’d’ve shot him.
“Let’s go. You’ve got fuel?”
“How far are we going?”
“How far can you go? You’ll know where when we get off.”
He checks gauges. “Eight hundred kilometers.”
“Far enough; let’s go.” He hops in the pilot’s seat and starts flipping switches.
The craft is roomy, a cargo carrier of some sort. And, another relief, it powers up.
“What kind of air defense is here?” I ask.
“Let me think.” Good; he’s concentrating on the mission, so he should stay cooperative. “Two gun emplacements, jets, and whatever the security forces have. The jets and the security forces aren’t likely to be ready right now—too busy celebrating—unless they’ve been alerted—but the gun emplacements might be.”
“We’ll take care of them.” Then on the intercom, “Chin, you up to snuff?”
“Ready.”
“You and Al climb on the outside and shoot up those emplacements and anything else that looks threatening. Remember, these native flying puppies are delicate. Don’t get sloppy about stopping things.”
“Right.” Al and Chin bound to the back, climb out, and latch on to strategic points on the fuselage.
“Take her up when ready, Flyboy. Take her north.”
He grins a bit then guns it. It looks like something he’s wanted to do for a long time. We fly out low in the dark with the tower operator just waking up to the irregularity. As we fly directly over the north gun emplacement there are men running for it. Chin let loose with a medium laser blast. She softens the barrel so it droops a bit.
Ten clicks out I say, “We’re going to the capital.” Flyboy turns southeast. “I thought so,” he says. “You know there’ll be defenses up when we get there if not before. We’ve got radar, you know.”
“Have you got ECM on this craft?”
“No. This job isn’t supposed to see action. That’s reserved for front line stuff.”
“Al, how much radar can we avoid?”
“Out here? All of it. We’ll have to see what happens when we get into more populated areas.”
“Where’s the transponder on this thing?” I ask. He points. “Turn it off.” He does, then I punch through its face with my armored finger. “No accidents this way. We’ll be coming in quietly.
“Now, flyboy … What’s your name, anyway?”
“Major Sean Rufus.”
“Now, Major, who was that young lady you were with at the party?”
He turns to look at me, and the look confirms she’s a proper hostage. Rufus sighs. “Lisa, my fiancée.”
“Very good, Major. I appreciate your frankness. It makes both of our jobs easier. Your job, in this case, is to get us close to the capitol central square before the burnings. If you can get us there all in one piece, so much the better for you and … Lisa, was it? Lisa…”
“Yes, Lisa!” he yells.
“What do you recommend?” The craft flies noisily but smoothly through the night. I scan the instruments. From what I can tell this guy is competent. He keeps the craft on straight and level as he thinks.
“If I was trying this on my own, I’d fly nape-of-the-earth and drop to the ground at the first sign of tracking radar trying to lock on. But that’d only get me within about 40 kilometers of the center of town.”
“What does the tracking radar bring?”
“Missiles.”
“We can take them out. What else do you fear?”
Rufus looks at me again. “How? We don’t have any weapons, except …” He glances at my armor.
“We can take them out,” I say again. “What else do you fear?”
“Small arms fire. Maybe some artillery, but mostly there’ll be missiles from the ground and from jets, and small arms fire from the ground and other choppers.”
“Bullets we can’t do much about. How close can you get before they’re a serious threat?”
“Won’t know ’til we try.”
“Is there some terrain you can take advantage of?” He thinks some more.
“There’s the river gorge. We can follow that. The jets can’t follow so the defense will be sparse. We’ll have to deal with plunging fire but it’ll be sparse. You want me to put this down right on the plaza?”
“You bring us over the plaza at 15 meters and full speed. Then go where you need to to save your skin and that of your other passengers. Land, then find us. I’ve still got your Lisa’s code.”
I go back, take the cuffs off the two other hostages, and explain what is happening.
“Approaching traffic,” announces Chin.
“How many?”
“Three: Two fast, one slow.”
“What’s our ETA?” I ask as I return to the cockpit.
“About twenty minutes,” Rufus answers.
“Well, head for the nape, Major. We’ve got a reception party coming. Let’s make this happen.”
“Holy Gonjiha! Nape at night in the mountains. What was I saying?” He starts down.
The fast jets pass over us once from front to back. They launch two missiles each on the return pass. Al and Chin shoot down the missiles as they close.
We spot the jets from the cockpit as they pass in front of us. “I can’t understand why they haven’t shot,” says Rufus.
“How many missiles do they carry?”
“Four.”
They return, approaching from the front this time. This time we can see four streams of flame and smoke headed for us. “Oh shit,” he says as he starts to pull right.
“Steady,” I tell him. The missiles disappear in four brilliant flashes.
“I’m impressed,” he says and relaxes a bit. “This is the beginning of the gorge leading to town.” He starts descending. “This’ll make it real hard on the jets.”
“Final bogey closing,” announces Al
“We’ve got one more,” I tell Rufus. “It’s slower than the others.”
“Slower?” he asks. “How much slower?”
“About the speed of this craft.”
“Another chopper will be able to follow us. If it’s an attack chopper it could get dicey.”
“Closing in about thirty seconds.” Rufus increases speed and narrows concentration. There are flashes behind us, then all of a sudden there is the ripping and hammering of bullets on the craft.
“What?” says Rufus. Even as he says it the enemy craft roars above us. It’s a jet but one of the ugliest I’ve ever seen. Every surface not being used for lift or control bristles with weapons. “Gonja, a ground assault jet!”
“I thought you said jets didn’t have guns?” I say accusingly.
“I forgot about THAT one. Not many around anymore but he’ll eat our lunch—if he hasn’t already. For a moment I thought we were losing hydraulics. I’m checking instruments now.”
“Al, Chin. That one’s trouble.”
“You’re telling us? He shot up some lines up here. I’ve got ’em pinched off.”
“Good work. Major, how far?”
“Five minutes. You can see it now.” We turn a corner in the gorge and the lights of the city spread out below and in front of us—one of the prettiest sights of any civilization. There is also a dark line between us and the lights.
“What’s the dark line?” I ask.
“The McKinsey bridge.” The locking warning sounds. “Batteries on one or both ends of the bridge, and they’ve spotted us.”
“Al, the assault jet.”
“Circled, closing in ten seconds from behind.”
“Al, Chin, ready your ECM. Major, head under the bridge. We’re going to show these yahoos some interesting nuances of heat-seeking targeting.”
The bridge batteries launch. The jet comes screaming around the corner and launches as well. “ECM now!” We disappear, chopper and all—at least as far as the missiles are concerned. Chin shoots her laser at the right battery, Al at the left. The lasers don’t do much damage to the battery emplacements, but they leave brilliant hot spots for the assault jet missiles to home on. The assault jet itself, of course, is the third target in this cramped little canyon. Fractions of a second later, the missiles all whiz by, happily locked on to something other than us.
“ECM off.” A good magician never leaves his tricks hanging around. There are heartening explosions all around us as we head under the bridge. Then a barely visible vertical line appears in front of us.
“Cable!”
“Shut your eyes.” I fire through the windshield. There’s a neat four centimeter hole with the wind whistling through and the cable is falling into the void below. Rufus quickly steadies the craft.
“Up until now I figured there was no way in hell you people would succeed. Now, I think you’ve got a snowball’s chance,” he says, almost laughing; must be an adrenaline rush.
A minute later we’re over the outskirts of the provincial capital, Verdant, at 50 meters up doing about 400 kilometers per hour. The square is in sight maybe two minutes away.
“What time is it, Major?”
“About nine thirty.”
“I think they started the party without us.”
The square is brightly lit and smoke is clearly visible rising from one end. We get closer and the layout becomes clearer. On one end of the plaza is a bonfire just getting started. On the other is a platform with various dignitaries.
“All right, Major, this is where you really get to show your stuff. This is a hell of a lot tighter than I like these things, but keep your sweetheart in mind as we go through this. You’re a hell of a pilot and I want you and her to both come out of this in one piece. Okay?”
“Okay.” He is carefully studying the scene in front. Good sign—too deep in concentration to defect.
“Fly this baby straight over the bonfire at 15 meters. Then bank sharp right, pull up, and fly over that six-story building that faces the plaza.”
“The tall one”
“Right. Then you’re on your own, scout. Get back to me any way you can and you’ve got a code. If I don’t see you in six hours and things are settled down, I’ll phone it back—if I can figure out your phone system. Got it?”
“Piece of cake. Over the fire; over the building; then I’m out until I can get back for the code … There’s something you should know.”
“Yes?”
“This may not sound like much of a threat, but you welch on this deal and I will personally find you and make you pay.”
“Son, I take every living man’s threat seriously. Chin, Al. You ready to pull those two out of the heat?”
“Ready.”
“If they’re living you get them in their suits pronto but tell them no civilian casualties without my say-so. I’ve got hostages and I’ve got a plan. As soon as you’ve got ’em suited up all four of you come up to the podium. Shoot up the buildings; return fire with restraint. Okay?”
“Return fire with restraint,” says Chin.
“What if these sorry souls are well-done already?” asks Al.
“Treat ’em like they’re only wounded anyway. Stuff ’em in their armor and put it on herd mode. No sense in giving these natives a false sense of confidence. … We’re here. You ready?”
The chopper comes in full speed over the last row of buildings. The spectacle below is chaotic enough that no one with the power to do anything about our wild entrance is of a mind to take action. Al and Chin drop off and I run to the back door.