Archangel

by Mich Moore

tanks, each one sporting a 120mm smoothbore canon and four coaxial guns. On top of the turrets flew a small Advance South flag. As dusk crept in further, tiny lights appeared beneath the flags so that they remained visible in the encroaching darkness.

  As Derek relayed what he was seeing, Hillerman became angry. "The bastards. Help me up!" Derek moved behind the major and pushed him up from the rear without touching the man's wounded arms.

  Hillerman got to his feet. "Come on! We got twelve minutes to get the hell out of here."

  "How?" Derek asked with a helpless tone. "They got everything." It appeared that he was correct. Two-thirds of the windows and tires on practically every vehicle had been destroyed. Hillerman's eyes traveled south. An older model motor home stood upright by itself, all visible tires intact. From where they stood it looked to be in working condition.

  "We go in that RV."

  "We can't all fit inside there!"

  "Well, we're gonna have to! Rip out what we don't need!"

  "Right." But the agent sounded unsure. "I need to take a break first."

  Hillerman's eyes bugged. "Say again?"

  "I need to make a phone call."

  Hillerman fought to remain calm. "Son, if you do as I ordered, I'll forget what you just said. If not, then as soon as I'm able I'm gonna shoot you."

  Now it was the CIA agent's turn to have bulging eyes. "Uh, okay."

  "Hell, man. Weren't you trained in crisis management?"

  Derek looked flustered and then outright confused. "What?"

  Hillerman rolled his eyes in disgust. "Never mind."

  "Okay. I'll get started on the RV."

  "But first thing, get Tara's body out of sight. I don't want anyone coming up on it by surprise."

  Derek looked pained. "You're thinking about leaving her here?"

  "We can't take her. Not now. Once we get back to Illinois we'll send for her. I promise."

  There was a minor commotion behind them, some urgent, garbled conversation, and then Don Daley went striding past them, headed towards the highway.

  "I SURRENDER!" he shouted into the blankness. "DON'T SHOOT!"

  He had taken off his shirt and tee-shirt and tied it to the end of a car antenna. His hands were held high as he made his way out of camp and out onto the open field. In short order, he was followed by the couple from the silver Peugeot, the woman with the two small children, and the geezer from the camper. Each one was waving some sort of makeshift white flag high enough for the US-AS soldiers to see.

  "Good. That'll buy us some time." Hillerman looked in the direction that the six Rangers had taken. "May God help us now."

  Derek left to carry out Hillerman's instructions while the major rejoined what was left of the convoy. Miraculously, the entire Redstone team was intact and had sustained only minor injuries. The remainder of the civilians had either run deeper into the eastern brambles or given themselves up.

  Hillerman spoke quickly. "The plan is to get everyone in that RV over there and keep heading north, lights off, until either help arrives or we reach the border." The flaws in that plan were too obvious to state, so everyone kept their mouths shut.

  "Roger and I will move the DATs," Herschel volunteered.

  "What about the lab?" Walters asked.

  "Forget it," Hillerman replied crisply.

  "Anybody seen Tara?" Powell asked.

  "She's helping one of the injured civvies," Hillerman lied. "Eric, you and Neal assist the Rangers in grabbing as many guns off B-1." He scanned their faces. "Everybody clear?"

  The men looked ready to jump into action. Only Z remained rooted to where he stood. He sniffed the air like an old Indian tracker. "Wait."

  There was a loud explosion in the west. Every person instinctively flung himself to the ground. A big ball of angry fire and smoke blossomed directly behind the enemy tanks. Two follow-up blasts—larger than the first—blasted three of the tanks into the highway bed. As they merrily burned, terrible screams emanated from the Advance South front. And then everything went dark and quiet.

  Brady raised his head and shoulders to take in the scene. He crawled over to where Hillerman lay.

  "Looks like we got 'em," he said cautiously.

  Hillerman looked across the way. He could see a couple dozen US-AS soldiers scrambling to put out the fires. "Not all of them. Those Rangers bought us a little more time, that's all. They'll be wanting payback soon."

  And they did not have to wait long for it to arrive.

  Within seconds, they were under heavy machine gun fire. Either the blasts by the Rangers had put their cannons out of commission, or they weren't quite ready to pound them into the ground. Hillerman and the others flattened themselves to the ground. Several pairs of laser sightings became visible. They intersected each other with quick, jerking movements, searching for flesh. Before they had a chance to lock in on their targets, an Army Ranger planted himself and an M-32X grenade launcher beside B-2 and squeezed off nine shots. Five of them hit their marks, and once again the US-AS line erupted into rapacious flames and psychological chaos.

  A string of cluster bombs rose up above the fray like a thrown rope of pearls, perversely lovely, until they landed and disintegrated several targets below.

  Eight or nine flares were launched somewhere behind the US-AS front, illuminating the entire line. ... And something else.

  Directly behind the enemy soldiers now stood a machine. It was difficult to tell exactly what it was, only that it was solid ... and as tall as a skyscraper.

  The men from Redstone watched these extraordinary events unfolding before them, transfixed and unmoving. Even when large, flaming hunks of metal debris flew towards them, they remained where they stood. It was Bautista, galvanized by a zenith of terror, who realized what was happening: They were going into shock. He ran up to each of them, shouting, "GET TO THE RV!" And then he would shove them hard in their chests. It worked. Soon everyone was scrambling for the RV.

  Another series of explosions, five times as powerful as the first, rocked the ground, followed by ear-splitting shrieks of jet engines. The men could not help but look back. In the spotty light, they witnessed two flying silhouettes leaving the battle scene at high speeds, headed north. While their eyes tried to follow them, one more phantom flew out of the billowing smoke and shot directly over them like a bullet, passing approximately thirty meters above the ground.

  "THEY'RE DRONES!" Brady hollered. "EVERYBODY GET INSIDE!"

  When he thought everyone was in the RV, Brady silently did a quick head count. Everyone was accounted for.

  "Lew, you gonna hot wire the ignition?" Bautista asked.

  "I've got the keys." With a hand caked in blood, he held up a key ring.

  Chang squeezed in between Hillerman and Bautista. "Were those Advance South drones?"

  Hillerman shook his head. "Don't know."

  "They were aiming for those soldiers, not us," Kuiper said.

  "It doesn't mean they're on our side."

  The implication was sobering. Only Roger seemed to take offense at the suggestion. "I'm sorry, but road gangs aren't that sophisticated."

  Hillerman grunted. "We hope."

  Brady inserted the key in the ignition and turned it. Nothing.

  "Battery?" Bautista asked.

  "I don't think so. The lights work." He tried the ignition again. Nothing.

  Brady jumped out of the vehicle, popped the hood, and looked inside. When he returned, his expression told the story. "Engine's been shot clean through."

  Chang rushed up. "We use something else. That semi."

  "No gas. Z and Roger drained the tanks."

  "Then we siphon the fuel from this one and put it in the semi."

  Chang's eyes were misting over. "We don't have the keys for the trailer. The cab only rides three people."

  Another blast of jet engine noise assaulted them, growing incredibly fast, and then—BAM! It was right on top of them. With help from the moonlight, Hillerman kept his eyes trained on t
he skies. The three drones made another pass, closer this time. Close enough for Hillerman to see the three red, white, and blue ID beacons flashing on their underbellies.

  Hillerman whooped with joy. "THOSE ARE OUR PONIES!"

  The planes switched to their afterburners to gain altitude.

  Hillerman's feet were stomping of their own accord. "GENTLEMEN, THE CALVARY HAS ARRIVED!" He shoved his head out a window and roared like a teenager, "GO, BABY, GO!"

  Everybody crowded around the RV's windows to watch. They could make out the three drones working in formation as they swung around for another pass. Coming out of the east at about five hundred kilometers an hour, they led their charge against the enemy with a punishing strafe on the US-AS tanks with their nose guns. Interstate 24 was obliterated. The drones then dropped their payloads—a single bomb—dead center on the great object behind the AS line, and then streaked straight up and disappeared from view for good.

  "Shit," Hillerman muttered. "GET DOWN!"

  There was a blinding flash of light followed by the cataclysmic sound of a thousand sonic booms.

  A mushroom cloud with the same terrifying signature as a hydrogen bomb's death cap pulled itself up from the ensuing inferno, supported by twin columns of fried air from the earth's boiling floor ... stretching up and up until it towered at least two kilometers above the earth's floor. For twenty seconds it was as bright as daylight on the Kentucky plains.

  The first shockwave struck the RV and punched it sideways for almost a kilometer, cutting a wide swath through the brush. Miraculously, it never became airborne or subject to a collision with anything larger than a rock.

  As soon as the vehicle had come to