by Gerry, Frank
Tien pulled out of her jacket pocket the remote detonator. A simple black plastic box, with a push button switch covered by a protective clear cover, and a single LED light. She flicked the cover up with her thumb. The LED turned red. She immediately pushed the button. A fraction of a second later the baby stroller bomb detonated. The explosion was deafening, even from as far away as they were.
“Bye bye, Goodman you motherfucker!” Dylan yelled into the onrushing wind.
Tien was rocked side to side on the bike as she tried steadying her Khymat rifle. “Drive straight,” she yelled. A red dot landed on her chest from the lead drone. “I'm painted,” she called out. Dylan began counting the seconds in his head, One, two, three, four. Tien took careful aim, got target lock, and blew the lead drone to fiery pieces. The red dot no longer on her. Seven, too late, Dylan thought. He swerved the bike hard over to the left, at the very instant a two foot long anti-personnel missile came in fast from above. The missile exploded on the pavement a few feet back and to the side, a piece of shrapnel lodged into Tien's boot. Dylan didn't want to think what would have happened if Tien didn't get that shot off in time.
They also knew they didn't have to worry about Hellfire III missiles. They were useless in tree covered streets with tall buildings on either side. Not to mention with zero aerial visibility. The threat came from the anti-personnel missiles carried by the lower flying attack drones.
Dylan slowed the motorcycle down to take a left onto Huron Ave. Two drones got into targeting range. They fired their lasers, two red dots marked Tien's chest. Dylan started his count again. He didn't need to be told they were marked, he knew. He gunned the bike again, driving straight down the center of Huron Ave. Traffic passing on either side of them. Three, four, five, Dylan counted in his head. Tien took another shot, killing one of the drones.
Dylan managed to get the bike moving over fifty miles per hour, then close to sixty. The second drone with target lock fell back out of range. On the count of seven, he swerved the bike hard over to the left, narrowly missing an oncoming car. Two anti-personnel missiles came crashing down just feet away from the tail end of the bike. This time closer that the first strike.
“Arghhh. Fuck. I'm hit,” Tien screamed in pain. Shrapnel hit her in the leg, the chest, and face. Her body armor protected her chest. But the shards of burning metal tore her flesh on her leg just below the knee and on her cheek. Blood started to flow from her face.
Dylan kept the bike close to sixty, the drones couldn't keep up. Sirens were blaring in the distance. “How bad are you hit?” he yelled. She pulled out the small piece of metal sticking out of her cheek. “I don't know. Got hit in my face and leg. Face isn't bad. I don't know about the leg.”
“Apply pressure, we'll take care of that once we're in the car,” he said. They had prepared for possible injuries, storing a first aid kit in the getaway car.
Dylan slowed down to turn right onto the Parkway. He floored the bike as fast as it could go. The Parkway had no trees or tall buildings, It was open to the sky. They were easy prey for Reapers if the fog cleared.
Once the drones were out of visual sight, he took a turn onto the first side street. Then the next right, then left. Getting into tree lined residential streets.
“OK, stop the bike already,” Tien said.
The plan was to dump the Khymat rifle and untie themselves as soon as possible. Allowing Tien sit on the back of the bike in the normal position, drawing less suspicion. Though, the adrenaline pumping through Dylan's vein's kept him driving like their lives depended on it.
“Alright, yeah. You're right.” Dylan pulled the motorcycle over to the side of the road. Sirens could be heard over on the Parkway.
Tien hopped up on the back of the bike, sitting forward. “Do you think we got him, Goodman?” she asked.
“I hope so. Anyone in that command truck is definitely toast.”
Tien applied pressure to her leg wound. “Let's get to that stolen getaway car. I'm having trouble stopping the flow of blood from my leg.”
FORTY THREE
Tien was laying on the couch in the the living room to their safe house in West Newton. Her legs were propped up with several pillows. Blood was beginning to ooze through the bandages.
The six o'clock news was being broadcast on the TV mounted to the wall. Dylan smiled as he carried a tray into the room. “I made some tea. All we had left was some peach tea. We're running low on everything,” he said, placing her cup on the coffee table that was pulled up close for her to reach.
“Thanks,” she said without taking her eyes off the TV. She didn't want to miss anything on the main news story of the day; the terrorist attack in Harvard Square.
Dylan took notice of the blood. “We have to change those bandages in a little while.”
“Shush, I wanna watch this,” she said, her eyes still fixed on the TV.
Dylan kicked back on the love seat next to the couch. “It's still too hot,” he said to himself, after taking a sip of the tea.
A minute later the news switched over to a story of a van crashing through a doughnut shop. Tien turned to Dylan. “Apparently the terrorists set off a gas explosion next to the Cambridge Commons. Destroying a supermarket food truck,” she said, filling him in on what he missed while making the tea.
Dylan laughed. “Those terrorists are a bunch of idiots. Modern day Three Stooges.” They broke out in laughter together.
“How's the leg?” Dylan asked. He had sutured her leg wound soon after getting home earlier that day. Using nylon fishing line to make the stitches.
“It hurts like hell doctor.”
Tien turned the TV down and turned back towards Dylan. “Why I am the one that's always getting shot or blown up?” Tien lamented, half joking.
“Bad luck, shear bad luck.”
The wound to her face wasn't that bad. Really just a nasty cut. Butterfly bandages were all that were needed. A gauze pad covering the bandage to soak up the blood.
“We're going to need to get you medical treatment. That fishing line is going to have to be removed. Better to have that done by a real doctor,” Dylan said.
“I don't look forward to returning to headquarters. We're going to have our asses chewed out. They'll know that Cambridge was us. And we're going to have to tell them the truth,” Tien said while picking up her tablet computer. An icon appeared on the screen just as she turned the display on. “Speak of the devil, we have a coded message.”
Tien tapped on the icon, going through the security protocols, answering the challenge questions, providing the quantum encryption keys. Finally the message was displayed. She read the communication to herself.
“What's it say?” Dylan got up to try to look over her shoulder.
“It says, we failed. Command knows we tried to kill Goodman. They're informing us that Goodman is alive and well. He was never in the mobile command center. He was at Homeland Security's headquarters all along.”
Dylan put his hands behind his head and walked over to the center of the room. “Sonofabitch!” his voice rising at the end of the curse. “Goodman must have smelled a trap all the while he was setting one for us. That clever fucking bastard.”
“Oh my God, we have good news,” Tien said, trying to read as fast as she could from her computer screen. “Brooksie is alive and well. And he escaped from detention.”
Dylan spun to face her, then raced over to sit by her side.
Tien finished reading, then conveyed the message. “With all the commotion we caused today, and the destruction of their mobile command center, there was a lot of confusion going on at headquarters. Apparently, one of our agents embedded in DHS Headquarters helped Brooksie escape during the turmoil. He's at an undisclosed safe house right now. He's a little bruised and battered but doing OK.”
Dylan let out a sigh of relief. He put his arm gently around her shoulder. “I thought he was dead for sure. I felt so guilty.”
Tien put the tablet down. “I know. I saw how
it was eating you up. None of this was easy. But at least now we know he's OK. This confirms those original reports of his death were intended all along to to bring you out in the open so they could kill you. And you should feel good knowing that it was our actions today that enabled his escape.”
Dylan, lost in thought for a moment, nodded his head. “Yeah,....... true.”
“Another thing,” Tien continued. “We've been assigned to assassinate a top Freedom Party official. Looks like they were impressed with our worked today. Guess we're not in the doghouse after all.”
“They need people like us,” Dylan said, his attention refocused back to Tien, “people not afraid to take action, if we're ever going win this war."
