“Hey, Walt. We're ready up here.”
“It's your show, Hank,” Walt replied. “Blue Bitch is in position. Fire it up when you're ready.”
“Understood, we're starting. Dignosco-One, out.” Hank turned to the cluster of operators. “Deploy.”
“System is active.”
Several monitors came to life. Many started plotting dozens of signal returns, while another bank of monitors started displaying computer graphic renderings of various types of aircraft.
“Sweet Jesus,” Hank exclaimed with a wide smile as he pointed to the renderings. “It's working.”
“It's identifying specific models,” an operator added. “That's a 767 300ER. There's a Cessna 172RG.”
Sam pointed to one particular display of a jetliner with highlighted red splotching on the airframe. “What's that mean?”
“The system is detecting small stress fractures. Nothing serious. Common on most older aircraft.”
“It's really that sensitive?” Sam asked.
“I thought you were the auditor on this project?”
“Yeah, but stress fractures?”
“That's what we meant by ultrahigh-resolution,” Hank replied with a bemused chuckle, clearly excited over the results.
“We're only seeing detail on the sections of the aircraft that we get a return from,” an operator continued to explain. “We'd actually need several LIDAR systems at different positions to get a complete rendering.”
“Someday soon we'll have more than one LIDAR bird in the sky.” Hank added.
“We're even picking up satellites,” another operator exclaimed with a laugh.
Sam and Hank watched in silent awe for the next twenty minutes while the operators occasionally focused in on certain aircraft to test the limits of the system's sensitivity.
“Hank,” Ernie called out on the headset.
“Go for Hank.”
“I've got Blanchard Control wanting an update.”
“Patch them through.”
“They're on.”
“Blanchard Control to Dignosco-One. Is this Hank?” Walt's voice asked.
“This is Dignosco-One. Go for Hank.”
“How's it going up there?”
“Impressive. Exceeding expectations, so get that champagne ready. We're still on schedule for Fargo.”
“Great to hear. See you guys in Fargo. Blanchard Control out.”
Sam glanced over to a grid of logged images and one stood out. It resembled a military fighter-jet, but its trapezoidal wing configuration was something he'd seen only once before. The computer display tagged it as classified.
“Hank, what's that?”
Hank stepped over and glanced at the monitor. A smile came to his face. “Our guardian.”
“Guardian?”
“Do you think they'd send us up here with a billion dollars worth of top secret equipment without a little protection?”
“I'm sort of a jet-fighter buff and it reminds me of a recent Northrop concept fighter.”
“Forget you ever saw it.”
Sam paused and looked into a suddenly serious expression on Hank's face. “Really?”
“No joke, kid. Concept secrets are serious shit. You really shouldn't be seeing this, so don't ever mention it again.”
“But I have clearance.”
“Not for this.”
“Gotcha.”
Hank nodded and turned away to look over more data.
“I think we have a problem!” an operator suddenly called out.
“What do you have?” Hank asked
“We just picked up two bogies crossing into our line of sight. They’re bearing three-one-six in the Echo-sphere and dropping fast. They’re vectored on intercept to our flight, closing at mike-six.”
“System just flagged them as bandits!”
“Ernie, I need Blanchard Control on the comm, now!” Hank demanded into his headset microphone.
“Bandits?” Sam muttered as he looked at a monitor displaying a sleek triangular shaped aircraft. The system flashed the word combatant in bright red across the bottom of the screen.
“Go for Blanchard Control. What's going on, Hank?”
“We're declaring an emergency. Two bandits flagged and closing on us.”
“Affirmative, you're clear to declare. Go secure on tactical comm-alpha. Take evasive at your discretion. Recommend you divert to field Charlie-Fife on your chart.”
“Dignosco-One, affirmative. Switching to comm-alpha.”
“We're on tactical-alpha,” Ernie reported a few seconds later.
“Sentinel flight, Dignosco-One. We've declared an emergency. Two bandits closing on intercept bearing three-one-two. Flight level one-two-zero-zero.”
“Sentinel-One, affirmative,” Eva replied. “I just picked them up. Vectoring in. Take it down! Take it down! Get your ass on the deck, NOW!”
“Dignosco-One, affirmative. Going down.”
“Dignosco-One, Blanchard Control. The grid is clear. No traffic in your vicinity.”
“Strap in back there!” Ernie yelled over the headsets. “I'm taking back both engines and going buster! You're going to lose your systems and your lunches!”
Sam rushed back to his seat but first noticed on the main traffic monitor that the strange military fighter plane had changed course. Its tagged speed was in excess of mach three. The airplane engines surged and the monitors went dead.
“Is everyone buckled in?” Hank called out as he clicked in his seat belt. A series of thumbs-up came from everyone. He turned to Sam. “Hang on, kid. The elevator's going down.”
It felt like the bottom dropped out as the airplane went into a steep dive. Sam didn't particularly like roller-coasters, but what they were feeling dwarfed anything he had experienced before. He first felt weightless, then an intense falling sensation took over. It felt like his stomach was going to be ripped out of his body.
“Sentinel-One, Blanchard Control,” Sam could hear called out over his headset. “You're clear for weapons hot. Engage! Engage! Engage!”
“Sentinel-One, affirmative. Fangs out!”
“Come-on, Blue Bitch,” Hank muttered. “Do your thing.”
“Blanchard Control, Dignosco-One. Vectoring to alternate Charlie-Fife.”
“Blanchard Control, affirmative Charlie-Fife.”
“Dignosco-One, Sentinel-One. Tally, two bandits closing from your nine-o'clock. Bank left! Bank left!”
“Dignosco-One, no joy!” Ernie’s terse voice replied as a warning alarm sounded. “Have we been painted?”
“Sentinel-One, I've got a lock! Fox three!”
“Jesus, Ernie, watch the missile!” the co-pilot wailed among warning buzzers.
“Popping chaff and flares!”
The airplane's countermeasure systems volleyed off several salvos of bright flares as a decoy. Sam looked out the window to see a pattern of brilliant fireballs streak out in all directions.
“Sentinel-One, Dignosco-One. Bank right! Now! Now! Now!”
Sam felt himself being pulled out of his seat, held in only by his seat belt. He again looked out the window and saw a flash.
“Sentinel-One, bird spoofed! Going defensive!”
“You're auguring-in,” the co-pilot chided Ernie. “Level out! Level out!”
“I've got it!”
“Shit! Watch the guy to the south! The south!”
There was another even brighter flash accompanied by a jarring jolt.
“Jesus! Red light on the starboard engine! Trim out!”
“Dignosco-One, Sentinel-One. You took a hit! Starboard engine on fire and you have stabilizer damage!”
“Fire suppression now!”
“Sentinel-One, get that asshole off of us!”
“Sentinel-One, reengaging!”
“I can't get a hold of her! Rudder is shot to hell!”
“Blanchard Control, Dignosco-One. Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! We took a hit. Starboard engine is gone. Heading into the weeds. Hard
landing imminent.”
“Everyone assume crash positions!” Hank yelled.
“Over there! Best place as any.”
“Leveling out. Shit, I hope that's not--”
“Watch your goddamn airspeed! We're going to stall!”
* * *
“Hey, kid,” Hank's voice whispered as Sam felt a hand gently slapping his face. He struggled to open his eyes. “Good, keep coming. Stay with me.”
Sam fully awoke with a jolt.
“Hey, calm down. Do you know where you are?”
“On, on the plane,” Sam's groggy voice replied.
“What's your full name?”
It took a second for Sam to comprehend the question. “Sam Maxwell. What's going on?”
“Just doing a quick concussion check. Does anything hurt?”
Sam paused as he tried to focus. “My head. My left shoulder.”
“You've got some cuts on your forehead. Not deep, but they tend to be bleeders, so don't panic about the blood.”
Sam finally looked around and saw daylight. His focus continued to sharpen and the sight startled him. The entire airplane in front of him was gone. Cut in half, but the front half wasn't in sight.
“Holy shit! What happened?”
“We're down. Crash landing. Ernie put the plane down in a large open area. Looks like you and I are okay.”
“What happened to the front of the plane?”
“It's off to the left, a few hundred feet away. Not much left of it.”
“How long have I been out?” Sam asked, fighting his throbbing headache.
“A few minutes. Look, kid, we've got to get out. It's not safe here.”
Sam focused on Hank and noticed some blood coming down his right arm. “You okay?”
“I'm fine, it's not a deep cut,” Hank wryly replied as he slowly unbuckled Sam's seat belt. “Do you think you can walk?”
“My legs seem okay.”
“Take it slow,” Hank pleaded as he helped Sam stand up in the tattered remains of their section. “Good. Just stand there and get your balance back. I need to get a few things.”
Sam nodded as he steadied himself. Hank kicked open the door leading into the back section of the airplane. He entered and soon tossed out a couple of large nylon bags. Sam continued to look around at the wreckage that littered the flat landscape they'd crashed down on. There was no fire, but the prairie grass was pulled out and strewn everywhere. The smell of jet fuel soon caught his attention. Then he focused on what looked like a piece of clothing on the ground about a hundred feet in front of him. His mind raced to comprehend what it was, a shirt or jacket. It seemed to be filled with something.
“Hey, please don't dwell on that.” Hank beckoned as he came back out.
“On what?”
Hank frowned and shook his head. “You don't want to know.”
Sam gasped as he looked back to the bloodied piece of clothing. “Did anyone else make it?”
Hank again frowned. “We're it, kid. Sorry.”
Sam couldn't stop staring at the grisly remains of one of their operators.
“Hey, Sam. I need your focus here. Have you handled a gun before?”
“Um,” Sam replied, bringing his attention to the guns Hank was holding. “I did a little hunting with my dad.”
“Good,” Hank replied as he handed him an automatic rifle. “It's not loaded, but please handle it like it is.”
“Why do we need guns?”
“Look, Sam, there's a lot I can't get into right now. I've got a job to do and then we've got to get clear of the area.”
They both carefully stepped out of the wreckage. Sam finally saw the jagged remains of the front half of the airplane. It was disturbingly clear that no one could have survived in that section. Hank dragged out the oversized nylon bags and started to take things out of them.
“This is an emergency beacon. It'll let Blanchard Control know someone survived and they'll find us, eventually. That's the good news. The bad news is that we don't have a radio to talk to anyone.” Hank held up the broken radio and tossed it to the side. “It's busted to hell.”
“But the beacon is all we need, right?”
Hank ignored the question and picked up a small case. “Here's a first aid kit. Find some gauze and clean up. We're going to have to clear out in a couple of minutes.”
“Why? Shouldn't we wait around for rescue here?”
“Normally, that would be the smart thing to do, but I'm about to make what's left of this airplane go away.”
“Say again?”
“Protocol, Sam,” Hank explained as he took out a backpack. “We can't afford to risk anyone stealing this equipment. This is an explosive charge, and I'm going to use it to make the back part of this airplane a useless pile of scrap metal.”
“But won't someone come for us soon?”
“Maybe not soon enough and maybe not the right someone. We got shot down, in case you forgot.” Hank paused as he handed a small, plastic case to Sam. “That's the data tape of our LIDAR test. Keep that with you. It's important. We can replace all this equipment, but not so easily what's on that tape.”
Sam tucked it away as Hank continued to work on the explosives. “Are you saying someone's coming after us?”
Hank again ignored his question. “I'm setting this for thirty minutes. It would be best for us to get at least a mile away.”
“I'm up for it,” Sam replied with an overly enthusiastic tone while nervously eying the explosives.
Hank bellowed a laugh. “Anyone tell you you're fucking hilarious?”
Sam dabbed the gauze over his cut and cleaned the blood away from his face. Hank disappeared back behind the rear door. He soon reemerged and quickly picked up the bags. “Let's roll, kid. The clock's ticking.”
“Which way?”
Hank pointed toward a line of trees in the distance. “That looks like it's maybe a couple of miles away.”
“Works for me.”
Hank handed Sam one of the two half-emptied nylon bags. They both slung their rifles and started a slow jog. Five minutes passed when they were startled by the roar of a fighter-jet streaking over them.
“That's the good guys!” Hank exclaimed as they picked up their pace. The strange-looking fighter-jet banked sharply and looped around. They continued to watch it in the fading sunlight.
“What's he doing?” Sam asked.
“Shit!” Hank blurted as he stopped. They both stood and watched the jet drop a series of flares and fire a missile into the treeline well ahead of them. The resulting explosion crackled from somewhere deep inside.
“Not good.”
“What's not good?”
“The flares and missiles are a signal to us. We have company closing in.”
“Signal?”
“Yeah, because there's little chance of actually hitting anything in there with that kind of ordnance. Blanchard Control has to know we don't have a radio.”
“Who's coming after us?”
“They're nasty bastards we don't want to meet if we don't have to.” Hank paused and looked around. “We're changing direction. They'll head to the crash site first, but know someone survived after the airplane goes boom. They'll then come looking for us so we'll head further out onto the plains. It'll be dark soon and it'll be easier for us to see them in the wide open. Rescue is probably still an hour or two away.”
They changed direction and continued their jog over rolling hills of a vast plain of ankle-high prairie grass. It didn't seem like much time elapsed before they felt the deep thud of a large explosion.
“There goes what's left of our airplane,” Hank said through his panting. “Now they'll know someone survived.”
“Why would they come after us?”
“To see if we salvaged anything, like that tape. Or maybe to capture us. They're pretty fucking bold knowing there's a rescue team on its way.”
“You're just so full of good news,” Sam quipped.
“H
ey, seriously, Sam. You need to stay positive. We have the advantage. They're looking for us and I'm pretty damn good at not being found. Focus on that. Focus on your girl back home. She must be something special if you were going to pass on that opportunity earlier.”
“She is special.”
“I figured so. Just keep thinking about her. We'll get through this. Now, let's shut up and jog.”
* * *
“This looks like a good place,” Hank said as they finally stopped. They stood and panted, catching their breath after a nearly continuous jog. In front of them was a cluster of brush with a couple of trees in it.
“Isn't that a little obvious?”
“Maybe, but it's also the highest ground in sight. We should be able to see them coming from a long way off. All we need to do is to stay out of trouble for another hour at most. The cavalry is coming and they'll come right down on our beacon.”
“Won't the bad guys do the same thing?”
“I didn't want to say anything about it earlier, but yeah, it's likely. It would've been much better to have a working radio instead of this fucking trouble-magnet.”
Sam chuckled. “More good news.”
Hank walked closer to the nearest bush and dropped his bag. He looked over the cover as Sam approached in the fading sunset.
“Damn, I wish we had night-vision goggles.”
“Is this going to work for us?” Sam nervously asked.
“It'll be good enough. Time to load the guns.”
Sam pulled the rifle off his shoulder. “I've never fired one of these before.”
Hank took his rifle and held it up in front of him. “Sam, this is the M16A4 automatic rifle, the newest model made. I'm going to load you a magazine containing thirty bullets. You will keep this weapon on safe until I tell you otherwise. When I give you the okay, you will switch it to burst mode only. This will fire three bullets every time you pull the trigger.”
“Not automatic?”
“For a newbie, full auto would be way too much for you. You'd blow through the mag too fast and probably wouldn’t hit anything.”
Sam sighed as Hank carefully handed him the weapon.
“Hey, look at me. I'm trained for this shit, okay? I did a lot of this recently in places I can't tell you about. If you keep your head, do everything I tell you exactly when I tell you, then we've got a great chance to get through this. You'll be home screwing your girlfriend soon. Understand?”
The Initiative: In Harm's Way (Book One) Page 15
