Flight of the Serpent

by R. R. Irvine writing as Val Davis

  “I thought Vic was flying the plane.”

  “Serpents this age have been known to bite their own crews.”

  Before Nick could ask what qualified as a bite, Gault was out of his seat and into the fuselage. After that, she couldn’t take her eyes off the yoke. What was Gault thinking about? Sweat ran down her forehead and into her eyes.

  The yoke in front of her moved slightly. Was Campbell making the adjustment, or was the serpent getting ready to strike?

  She scanned the gauges, looking for some telltale sign of rebellion. Nothing was blinking. Nothing was moving.

  Wait a minute? Her head jerked up. Somebody had to look where they were going.

  Thank God. The sky ahead was clear.

  Again, the yoke quivered. She reached out, hands poised to grab hold.

  “Stop!” someone said into her ear.

  “Shit!” She swung around to see Russ Yarbrough standing behind her. “You scared the hell out of me.”

  “Relax. The scary part comes later. John asked me to keep you company for a minute while he roots out the first aid kit.”

  “I hope it’s not as old as this plane.”

  Yarbrough shrugged. “The older antiques get, the more valuable they are.” He leaned forward to study the instrument panel.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked.

  “Don’t ask me. I shoot planes down, I don’t fly them.”

  “You’re all crazy.”

  “It takes one to know one,” Gault said, sneaking up behind her. He handed Nick the first aid kit.

  Thank God, she thought. It was brand-new and still sealed.

  “Can we move back into the fuselage?” she said, “so I can have more room to work.”

  “Good idea,” Yarbrough said, slipping into the pilot’s seat.

  Once Nick had poured disinfectant into Gault’s wound and bandaged it, they did a quick check of the waist gun. Yarbrough had used bungee cords to suspend the M-60 in the firing window on the port side of the fuselage. The cords, one attached at each corner, gave the machine gun a wide field of fire.

  The M-16 rifle had been bungeed to the starboard side. The Stinger missile was stowed nearby, secured to a fuselage strut.

  “Russ is using his head,” Gault shouted over the engines, whose vibrations were shaking the bomber like a wind chime. “By mounting his machine gun on my side of the ship, I can maneuver him into a better firing position.”

  “And if they come at us from the other side?”

  “Russ will have to switch positions and go with less firepower.”

  “Don’t forget I know how to shoot,” Nick said.

  “I haven’t, but I’m counting on a little help from Lady Luck. If the Hueys come, chances are they won’t expect us to have an M-60.”

  Sure, Nick thought. The serpent’s attack would come as a complete surprise. Like hell! They’d left three dead men behind at the airport. Maybe four by now, if Christensen hadn’t made it. And she had no doubt about those two gunmen. They had to have been working for Karl Maitland. Which meant, Maitland and his entire security force would be ready and waiting for the serpent’s arrival at Mesa d’Oro. Gault had to know that, too.

  So say something, she told herself. But she couldn’t. To put the obvious into words might have weakened his resolve. If he turned back now, the lost opportunity would haunt him the rest of his life and haunt her, too.

  She hugged him just as a downdraft shook the serpent.

  “We’d better get forward,” Gault said, “before Russ starts tinkering.”

  ******

  Back in the cockpit, Nick followed their progress on the map. Every so often, she’d touch her finger to a spot corresponding with some landmark below and check her reading with Gault, who’d either nod or shake his head.

  She pinpointed them exactly as they flew over St. George, Utah, and crossed into Arizona. Thirty miles later, the map was virtually blank, just like the desert below. There were no roads, no rivers, no towns, nothing.

  Gault triggered his mike. “Russ, it’s time to check your gun.”

  A moment later, Gault lowered the wing to port, allowing Nick to see the tracers streak away from the plane.

  “Okay,” Gault said when the firing stopped, “your turn’s coming up, Vic.”

  “What are we going to drop?” Campbell asked.

  “Russ and I have attached that booby trap we found to a small can of gasoline. That ought to give us a big enough explosion to see if you’re on target.”

  “What altitude?”

  “What would you suggest?”

  “The lower we are, the more accurate I’ll be.”

  And more vulnerable, Nick thought, but kept it to herself.

  “How high’s the mesa?” Campbell asked.

  “The map says nineteen hundred and sixty feet,” Nick said.

  “Then twenty-five hundred ought to give us enough leeway.”

  “Twenty-five hundred it is,” Gault said, easing the yoke forward and beginning their descent. “Everybody look for a target. Russ, let me know when you’re in position to drop our bobby trap and I’ll open the bomb doors.”

  “I’m there,” Yarbrough said.

  “Doors coming open.”

  “Roger. Doors are open. Just give me the word, and out she goes.”

  At twenty-five hundred feet the landscape looked as barren as the moon. The only possible targets were outcroppings of red rock, but most were small and too close together to single out. Just when Nick thought they’d have to alter course to find a suitable target, she saw a freestanding pinnacle of rock about a mile directly ahead.

  Gault must have spotted it at the same time because he got on the intercom. “Do you see it, Vic? Straight ahead.”

  “How could I miss it?”

  “I’ll circle around for a bomb run.”

  “I hate to bomb a landmark like that.”

  “Okay. See how close you can come, then. I’m warming up the autopilot.”

  As soon as they were on the run, Gault turned the serpent over to his bombardier. They were about three miles from the target, Nick judged, and slightly to the left. But Campbell quickly corrected until their alignment looked good, at least from Nick’s point of view. Or was that an illusion because she was on the starboard side?

  Beside her, Gault appeared totally unconcerned.

  She was about to nudge him when Campbell said, “Bombs away.”

  “Away,” Yarbrough echoed.

  “Bomb doors closed,” Campbell said. “I’m giving her back to you, John.”

  “Got her,” Gault answered, one hand on the yoke, the other switching off the autopilot, causing the serpent to lurch slightly.

  To keep the target in view, he immediately banked steeply to port. A few seconds later, flame blossomed near the base of the pinnacle.

  “Christ!” Campbell whooped on the intercom. “You can’t get any closer than that with a make-believe bomb with lousy aerodynamics.”

  Nick glanced at Gault, who was nodding. Tears were in his eyes. He leaned over to speak into her ear. “Until this moment, I didn’t really think we could do it. Part of me kept saying it was nothing but an old man’s fantasy. Now, I know the serpent’s as deadly as ever. And that scares me for your sake. Because now I can’t turn back.”

  Chapter 54

  The Huey gunships came out of the sun. Nick’s full attention had been focused on Mesa d’Oro, and she didn’t realize anything was wrong until she felt the serpent shudder. A piece of cowling exploded from the outboard engine on her side of the plane. Smoke immediately began trailing out behind them. Gault leaned across her for a closer look.

  “Cannon fire,” Campbell shouted from the nose. “Hueys coming around for another pass. Watch it, Russ.”

  Nick held her breath. If they attacked on the port side, they’d come under fire from the M-60.

  She looked to Gault to see if he was going to break off the bomb run. But his hands remained where they were, in his l
ap. Only his head was moving, swiveling constantly to catch a glimpse of the attacking helicopters.

  He’d told her in advance what to expect. Once on the final bomb run, with the serpent properly trimmed and the PDI centered, there could be no maneuvering; no evasive action that might spoil Campbell’s aim. From that moment on, they had to fly in a straight line and take their chances. During the war, that had included both fighters and flak.

  The serpent shuddered again.

  “Fuckers took a chunk out of one of our stabilizers,” Yarbrough reported.

  The serpent tilted momentarily, then righted itself.

  “They’re smart,” Yarbrough said. “They’re staying out of range. Watch it, they’re swinging underneath us.”

  Even as Nick watched, the outboard engine on her side of the plane took another hit.

  Immediately, Gault cut in the fire extinguisher and feathered the prop. Then his hands moved to the yoke. “Vic, I’m coming off autopilot. We don’t have a chance otherwise.”

  “Shit,” Campbell said.

  Over the roar of the three remaining engines, Nick heard Yarbrough open fire, a long burst. “Damn! The bastards are quick.”

  Nick released her seat belt. “I’m going back to help.”

  “Nick—”

  “If we don’t get them off us, it’s all for nothing.”

  He started to reach for her, but missed as she plunged through the hatch. Ahead of her shafts of light began appearing as cannon shells punched through the fuselage. Sideslipping, the serpent took evasive action, coming off course and away from the target. Nick’s stomach lurched.

  When she reached Yarbrough, she was stunned at the number of holes around his firing window. His being untouched seemed a miracle.

  She plugged into the intercom to hear him say, “Nick’s manning the starboard gun. Now do your stuff, John, and give us a shot at the bastards.”

  Even on three engines, Gault handled the serpent precisely. Three times, he brought the Hueys into their field of fire. But now that the serpent was no longer headed toward Mesa d’Oro, the choppers seemed content to stand off and play a waiting game.

  Nick clenched her teeth in frustration. At the best of times, the M-16 had an effective range of four hundred yards, and that was in the hands of an expert. On full automatic, at two hundred rounds per minute, its thirty-round magazine allowed about five seconds’ firing time. Not much of a match for two Huey Cobras.

  “Do you know anything about Stingers?” Yarbrough shouted without aid of the intercom.

  She shook her head. “Too much back-blast.”

  “What choice do we have?”

  “I’m not sure how it works,” she said.

  “I do. I read the instructions.”

  She helped him get it ready. When it was on Yarbrough’s shoulder, she called Gault on the intercom. “We’re going to try the Stinger.”

  “You told me Sawicki said we couldn’t fire inside the plane.”

  “Russ thinks he can line it up so the back-blast goes out the firing window behind him. Now lure them in close.”

  “Jesus,” Gault said. “Be careful.”

  Nick detached the M-16 and moved it and herself out of the back-blast area. Even as she did, the serpent turned toward Mesa d’Oro again. When the Hueys moved to intercept, they came in on Nick’s side, forcing Yarbrough to reverse direction. Once he was braced again, he glanced over his shoulder to make certain he was lined up with the opposite firing window.

  “Turn to port,” Yarbrough said to Gault.

  The serpent veered.

  “A little more. Perfect.”

  At a nod from Yarbrough, Nick threw herself on the deck.

  The back-blast blew out enough fuselage to double the size of the starboard firing window. It also blew away the M-60 machine gun that had been stowed nearby.

  Through the surviving window, she watched the missile streaking toward the leading Huey. The chopper veered. So did the Stinger.

  The initial explosion wasn’t much more than a puff of smoke. For an instant, she thought they’d missed, or that the Stinger was a dud. Then flame erupted, and the helicopter turned turtle and fell like a rock, blazing into a fireball long before impact with the ground below.

  “Okay, John,” Yarbrough said. “That ought to give the other bastard something to think about. Now let’s hit the target.”

  Like Yarbrough, Nick had expected the second Huey to turn tail rather than face the possibility of another Stinger. But it came right at them the moment the serpent turned toward Mesa d’Oro again.

  “He must know we only had one,” Nick said.

  “We lost the M-60,” Yarbrough reported to Gault. “All we’ve got left is a .45 automatic and the M-16.”

  Yarbrough looked at Nick, who nodded despite the fear gnawing at her.

  Yarbrough triggered his mike. “Go ahead, John. Start the bomb run. We’ll do our best back here.”

  “Autopilot engaged,” Gault responded. “The serpent’s yours, Vic.”

  The Huey’s next pass was tentative, as if probing their firepower. He fired from long distance, his cannon shells coming in a lobbing arc. Only one struck home, blowing out a chunk of fuselage just behind the bomb bay.

  Yarbrough opened fire with the M-16 rifle. He’d loaded the clips personally, with tracers every fifth round.

  But his target wouldn’t stay put. It kept darting in one direction, then another, until finally the chopper swept past them, beyond Yarbrough’s field of fire.

  Once out of sight, it must have turned sharply, because cannon fire immediately began raking the other side of the fuselage. Yarbrough was hit and flung to the floor.

  A searing pain erupted along Nick’s cheek, staggering her. When she reached up, her hand came away bloody.

  Distantly, she heard Campbell say, “Fifteen seconds to target.”

  ******

  Gault was counting down to himself when the number two engine took a hit. The temperature immediately began rising. His hand hovered over the feathering button. Internally his count reached five, then four, three, two, one. He held his breath.

  “Bombs away,” Campbell said.

  At the sudden weight loss, the serpent rose as if riding an unexpected thermal. The sudden gain in altitude saved Gault’s life as cannon shells slammed into the fuselage directly below him. The B-24 shook violently but still responded when he banked away. The turn gave him a clear view of Mesa d’Oro.

  For a heart-stopping moment, he thought they’d missed. Then, in the next instant, explosions ripped the top of the mesa. A heartbeat later, the HADES bombs detonated. The entire plateau went up like an erupting volcano.

  “You see that?” Campbell shouted. “I haven’t lost my touch. Shit! I’ve got a warning light. The bomb doors won’t close.”

  “It’s just as well,” Gault said.

  “What?”

  “I’ll tell you later.”

  Gault switched off the autopilot just as the Huey attacked again. Number two took another hit and caught fire. Instinctively, he hit the feathering button, closed the fuel shut-off valve and booster pump, switched off the generator and ignition, and locked open the cowl flaps. In theory, without fuel the fire would blow out.

  “I’m coming up,” Campbell said.

  Seconds later, he slid into the copilot’s seat. By then the flames had subsided into smoke.

  “She’s still with us,” Gault said.

  Campbell nodded. “Lady Luck.”

  The Huey made another pass.

  “Why doesn’t the son of a bitch go home?” Campbell said.

  “He doesn’t have a home. We bombed it.”

  Cannon fire raked the fuselage directly behind them, blowing away part of the upper turret.

  Gault squirmed, remembering the armor plating he and Brad had scrounged during the war. Sitting on it was the only way to protect your backside when the fighters came in for belly attacks.

  “We’re dead, John.”

&nbs
p; “Not as long as I can keep us in the air,” Gault replied.

  Campbell slipped out of his seat. “You keep flying. I’m going back to the waist and get myself a gun. Maybe we can take them with us.”

  ******

  Nick’s legs were shaking hard enough to rattle the empty cartridge cases at her feet. Yarbrough lay half-buried in them, blood seeping from a wound in his chest. A second piece of shrapnel had sliced open his thigh, which Nick had tied off with a tourniquet. His survival, she figured, depended on how quickly they could get him to a doctor.

  Miraculously, Yarbrough was still plugged into the intercom which, considering the hits they’d taken, was proof of yet another miracle.

  “Nick’s manning the M-16,” he told Gault in a shaky voice.

  “Vic’s coming back,” Gault answered.

  The Huey gunship was holding position, five or six hundred yards off their starboard side. No doubt he was wondering, like Nick was, how long the serpent could stay airborne on only two engines.

  When Campbell arrived, he knelt beside Yarbrough and held his hand.

  “Goddamn,” Yarbrough said, “we’re still the best.” He looked up at Nick and smiled. “Now if she’d do her job and take out that damned Huey with the M-16, we could all go home.”

  “Is there another gun?” Campbell asked.

  “Only my pistol,” Yarbrough said.

  Campbell took it and stood up, bracing himself against a piece of fuselage that was still intact.

  “Are you any good with that?” Nick asked.

  “I fired one fifty years ago.” He nodded at her M-16.

  “But never one of those. With all that plastic, it doesn’t look real.”

  “You saw how Nick handles a gun back at the hangar,” Yarbrough said. “She’s good. So all we have to do is get her a clear shot.”

  Just as he spoke, the gunship accelerated forward and out of Nick’s field of vision.

  “He’s coming at me head-on,” Gault said from the cockpit.

  The bomber sideslipped first one way, then the other, but that didn’t stop the cannon shells from striking home. Nick felt the plane stagger, then lurch to one side before slipping into a dive.