by Leo Nix
“Looks like Brad's team have pushed off too,” said Burger. He turned when he heard a burst of gunfire and one of the girls scream, a bullet had knocked Gracie to the ground. It had gone in one ear and out the other. She was dead and her friends were clearly in a state of hysterics.
“Shit,” Burger said under his breath as he turned back to gather the girls and force them to run with him.
Obi-Wan spun on his heel and fired as he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He instinctively waved his hand to send his team off once more while he and Fortune laid down covering fire at the movements around them.
“Loading,” he said softly, slipping one of the few remaining magazines into his AK47. Fortune nodded and did the same as soon as Obi-Wan was ready. Together they fired and ran to join the others, leap-frogging each other towards the vehicles. Bullets followed them as the terrorists realised they were escaping.
When they arrived at the four-wheel drives, ready packed for just such a situation as this, they noticed there was only eleven of their group left: Burger, Fortune, Skip, Pipeline, Murphy, Kerrie, Danielle, Emily, Julie, Trisha and Hooky.
“Where is everyone?” asked Obi-Wan, he looked around and unconsciously noted how well the team had positioned themselves to defend the vehicles.
“We passed the police team, they were all dead,” replied Pipeline his head hung down as he gasped for breath.
“Damn it. And we saw Brad, he was dead too,” offered Gary Fortune.
Danielle said softly, “I saw Ray and Cindy, they're dead.” She had walked to stand beside Laurence Burger, she now leaned on his shoulder breathing heavily with exhaustion, grief and fear.
Hooky shook his head and said, “We lost Dyson and Lana, and both Kerrie and I are ineffective.”
Obi-Wan nodded. “So it's just us then. OK, into these three vehicles - stick with me.” In moments the vehicles roared into life skidding up the dry creek-bed towards the desert.
They left the terrorists confused, wondering where their enemy had disappeared to. The vehicles were below eye level and all the terrorists could hear was the sound of revving motors disappearing into the desert.
Captain Lim sat in the air-conditioned cabin of his luxury Range Rover. It was the very model and colour he had always lusted after but would never own on his bank-clerk salary. He listened silently to the reports from his staff through the window and considered his next course of action.
The captain had done extremely well. He had knocked out both helicopters, killed most of the police and scattered the remaining few into the desert. He needed to freshen up at the hotel in Shark Bay and consider his next move.
There was no need to contact his superiors until later that afternoon. So he decided upon a swim in the pool, a few drinks with his friends, and then he would report in. Lim felt expansive enough to invite his NCO's to join him for a drink when they arrived at the hotel.
“Well done everyone. Sergeant Francis, take Corporals Santos and Hawker and bring in anything the police left behind. Send a squad to determine the direction they've headed and post them to block the main road. Set up for an overnight stay and we'll relieve them in the morning. The rest of you will be heading back to our base at the hotel for drinks and dinner.
“We'll convene at 2000 hours tonight after I speak to headquarters. I'm not sure if they'll send us after them but just in case have your troops prepared. OK, driver, let's head off to the hotel.” Captain Lim pressed the button of his window to close out the world. It slid smoothly upwards to keep the cool, air-conditioned air in, and the desert heat out.
On his arrival at the hotel he was disappointed to find his colonel waiting for him. Colonel Harry McIntosh had indeed escaped. He'd commandeered a car at the caravan park and beaten Captain Lim to the hotel. He now took command of Captain Lim's men and sent them to form a wide umbrella to capture or kill the police and special operatives. Meekatharra was one township he considered worth sending a squad to investigate.
“Captain, get me some prisoners. I want to see them bleed and hear them scream.”
Chapter 6 – The Four Musketeers
They saw the incoming surface-to-air missiles and fired off their counter-measures. Major Samuels pulled the chopper lift and stick sending them higher. No sooner had they started the climb when a second set of missiles came at them. The warning blast signalled the missiles were locked-in so Samuels manually hit their second set of counter-measures. Again the missiles exploded harmlessly but no one noticed several pieces of shrapnel hit the Stealth Black Hawk deep in its under-belly.
Once they had settled their bird and prepared to return to assess how best to attack their enemy, Captain 'Curly' Moe did a double take at the dials on the dash.
“Hey, Major, something's going on here, it looks like we've been hit.” Quickly flicking a series of switches to diagnose the problem the major looked carefully at the diagnostics.
“What the hell?” Samuels frowned and checked again, this time running specific diagnostics manually. “We've got a problem here. Curly, take the stick, I'm going to get BB to have a look around inside.”
“Hey BB, what's up with the electrical system? It looks like the hydraulics are working, the pedals and flaps are fine but the engine indicators are all over the place,” he called to Crew Chief Brian 'BB' Bingley.
BB unclipped his headgear at the side door where he manned his M240 machine gun, then clipped back in at his own computer to run his checks. Next he pulled up the access floor panel and climbed down into the space where various electrical systems were housed and began running through his systems checklist. This was something they'd diligently trained for many times but it was never much fun in a moving aircraft.
“Major, I can see it,” he called into his mic. “We've got several pieces of shrapnel and they've taken out one of our computer servers. It's still working but there's damage and I'd say we'd better get her down where we can do repairs. I doubt this baby can get us home, nor will it carry a load.”
“BB, is it that serious?” asked Samuels, his brow was creased but his demeanour calm, professional.
“Sir, it's serious enough that I crapped my trousers as soon as I saw the damage.”
“Right you are, BB.” As Major Sam Samuels settled back into his pilot seat he had his copilot plot a course to the nearest airfield. “Curly, I don't care where it is as long as it's close. I can smell BB from here - so it must be serious.”
“Sir, we've got one airfield just south of Exmouth on the coast up north, it's not fully manned and I doubt they'll have the electrical parts we need, but it should do us fine,” said Curly.
“Chief, how long do you think we have? I need two hours to put down at… RAAF Base, Learmouth,” called Samuels into his mic.
“Sir, I think we've got two hours. I'll keep working on it, but no longer than two is my guess… shit!” he said dropping his screwdriver, it fell between the panels. Fortunately it was attached by a hand-strap. Slowly, carefully, he drew the lanyard up - but it caught on a piece of broken panel right where the shrapnel had entered. He cursed and tried again.
'This is going to be a fun trip,' Crew Chief 'BB' Bingley thought to himself.
They didn't make it to Learmouth, they had to put down on the West Lyons River still quite a distance from their destination.
“Moe, check the controls again will you. I've got the helm but she's sloppy as all-shit.” Samuels spoke calmly into his mic, “BB, we've got slack here in the controls, what can you see in there?”
“As I said earlier, sir, we're just about done. Hang on, there's smoke coming up through the panels - I'd say right now is a good time to put…” there was the noise of a fire extinguisher. “Sir, we've got flames here. Let's do it now before fate decides for us.” Before he had finished speaking BB could feel the rapid acceleration towards the ground and knew he had better get his ass up into the body of the Black Hawk and belt-up.
“Crew, we are in a controlled dive… at this stage. I
t looks like we'll make a soft touchdown but prepare for a crash landing.” Samuels had performed many systems-fail simulations over the years but this was his first real crash-landing in his beloved stealth Black Hawk. As they side-slipped he searched for a place to land his craft. It had to be flat and large enough for the giant helicopter - then he saw it, at the bottom of a canyon, alongside a flat, narrow dry riverbed.
“Moe, what's this place called?” he asked his copilot.
“Sir, by my calculations it's a region called the Pilbara, that must be the West Lyons River… not much of a river is it?” he replied. “We're quite a ways from Learmouth and even further from the Exmouth township.”
As the Black Hawk settled to the ground both BB and his crew-mate, Lance, jumped out and hosed down the underside of the aircraft with their fire-suppression equipment. They took their time knowing full well that if they lost their helicopter now they may-as-well kiss their lives goodbye.
Lance came back from his reconnaissance towards dusk. He was tired, depressed and he collapsed beside the campfire without speaking.
“Thanks,” he said taking the cup of coffee from Samuels' hands. “It's a maze of buttes, canyons and dry creeks, this place is a labyrinth. But I saw water, the creek has some shallow pools with some scummy water in it. If we boil it we should be able to drink it.”
“Did you see any sign of habitation? People? Smoke? Anything?” asked Curly. Lance shook his head as he downed the rest of his coffee. Putting his mug out for BB to fill again he continued. “Nothing, Captain. It looks like this desert maze we're in goes on forever.” He lay back in his camp chair and poured a little precious water onto his shemagh scarf, and gently rubbed at his face and neck.
“Buddy, you'd better drink some more water after walking about in this heat.” BB brought another water bottle over and placed it next to his friend. “I've got some food, chicken and spiced vegetables, it's nice too.” He left the plate on a small table beside his friend.
“We're now locked-out from all communication with Pine Gap and Obi-Wan's crew. We've got no other form of communication, even if we try the alternative satellites we get kicked. Radio communications has been well and truly jammed,” BB said to his friend. “But the good news is there's plenty of food and there should be more water here, somewhere. In fact this is probably a favourite holiday destination of the rich and famous. Unfortunately they're not here to rescue us.”
Major Samuels looked side-ways at his crew chief. “We keep getting this radio interference, BB, it may be a local signal, someone who can hear us… we'll keep calling Pine Gap regardless. We never know, the jamming may stop and some local might receive us and come to our rescue. That's about all we've got to hope for right now.”
Lance finally sat up, he'd only now realised how hungry he felt and began eating his stew. “So what's the damage bill, BB?”
“We've got a stuffed computer server, a simple remove and replace job but we've not got the parts. We have the tools, the access to the computer and we've got fuel and caches all the way back to Pine Gap, but we're stuck out here in the desert holding our dicks in our hands.” The solid, blond-haired mechanic stood up, took a second serving of stew and sat back down. His mind becoming fixated on his machine, he felt responsible for its repairs and his crew's safety.
“Sam,” offered Curly, “is it worth one of us heading through the bush and trying to contact Learmouth or Exmouth? I'm sure there'll be someone there who can help us?”
The tall, thin major put his cup of coffee on the sand at his feet. Looking in the direction of the setting sun he considered the idea.
“I'll send you and Lance out in the morning, together. Head out at dawn and get as high as you can. Take the maps and create a search grid. If we're going to be here for very long then we need to know every square inch of this place. Our bird is possibly the only stealth aircraft left. If we compromise it then we might as well be dead because Sue-Ellen will surely want our heads on a platter if we don't bring it safely home to her.”
After three days of doing everything they could to fix the electricals and what minor damage was done to their aircraft, the crew of MH-X Stealth Black Hawk, call-sign 'Maverick', settled in for their long wait. On the third night, they were surprised when they received a clear channel on their radio console. A previously empty slot was now working. It had zero jamming and no noise. It was as clear as though they had been standing next to the stranger on the other end.
“Maverick, this is Goldmine, do you copy?” was their first communication with the outside world since their aborted rescue attempt at Shark Bay. Captain Moe was on radio watch, he spilt his coffee over his shirt front when he heard the voice.
“Holy shit! Major! We have a contact!” he called. Quickly wiping the coffee from his shirt he acknowledged. “Goldmine, this is Maverick, I copy you, over.”
“Maverick, welcome to Goldmine's channel, over.”
“Goldmine, please identify yourself, and how the hell did you make this connection, over.”
“Maverick, I've been listening to your sorry story for the past week. I know things and I can help you, but first, you have to pass the test. Please put Major Samuels on, over,” continued the strange voice with the strong Australian accent.
“Goldmine, I think you need to identify yourself first. Who are you and how did you contact us? Over.”
“No deal Maverick, get Samuels first, then we'll parley. Over.”
By this time Samuels had climbed into the helicopter and was now seated, waiting to take the mic from his 2IC.
“Goldmine, this is Maverick Actual, Major Sam Samuels, and you are?”
“What a pleasure to meet you, virtually, sir. I will give you what you need. But first I want to know that you are who you say you are, over.”
“Go ahead, Goldmine, ask away. Over.”
“One question Major, name your commanding officer's husband and why he isn't there with you now. Over.”
“Goldmine, that's easy, but I have a question for you, if you don't mind humouring me. Who is my commanding officer's child and where may they be based? Over.”
“Maverick, good question. OK, I'll go first. Name is 'Tanner', and he's based about six hundred kilometres north of you. Over.”
Samuels smiled and looked across at his three crewmen now crowded inside the chopper.
“Thank you, Goldmine, it's now my turn. The name is 'Reece', and his absence is due to an unfortunate accident some years ago. Over.”
“Nice work, Maverick, now we can get down to business. I must say that I knew who you were anyway but thirty years as a spook is hard to shake. Before I start, do you have any questions? Over.”
Samuels nodded his head thinking of a million questions he'd like to ask, he settled for just two.
“Right, firstly who do you represent and work for? Secondly, how did you make contact with us? Over.”
“I'm a retired spook, ASIO and beyond. I'm working covertly with several of your friends whom we shall not name, even though this connection is ultra-secure. I'm on your side Major.” There was silence as they heard the disembodied voice mumbling something. “OK, I've sent you a detailed data file of your location and I will inform your friend of your position and situation.”
“Friend? Over.”
“The Star Wars guy, you know him I presume?”
“Roger that, Obi-Wan's one of ours. But you haven't answered my second question, over”
“Maverick, I'm an ex-communications engineer, a bit like a souped-up Obi-Wan. I've created my own code, uploaded it as a Trojan into the bases military satellites, and inoculated them from the spies currently present in Pine Gap. I have a direct connection to the world from here, no one can break my code, it isn't in the books. No-one can access or control the satellites now, no-one but me. I have some friends on the network too, you will be talking with Joey, call-sign 'Tonto' over the next couple of weeks while I organise your rescue.”
“Goldmine, that's great,
but can you put me through to Commander Cullen? Call-sign QE3? I need to speak with her, it's urgent.”
“That's a negative Maverick, that place is crawling with spies - they're all bloody spies for fuck sake! I won't talk to them and neither will you - nor can you, period. I've had to lock-down Pine Gap for security purposes.”
“Goldmine, that's an order, not a request!” came Major Samuel's terse reprimand.
“Fuck you!” Goldmine closed down the connection.
Chapter 7 – Desert Hell
Staff Sergeant Ben 'Obi-Wan' Kennedy kept his foot on the accelerator pushing the four-wheel drive to its limit. He kept his foot down until he was satisfied they were out of danger. Once they'd left the cover of the dry creek bed and were on higher ground he stopped and pulled out his binoculars.
“Not much out there, mate,” said Skip, his face was smeared with blood and sweat – it matched his short, red beard. “We've got the HF CB in the back. I'll try to get Maverick, he must be somewhere… did anyone see him go down?”
It had all happened so fast that no one quite knew which helicopter crashed. Hooky said he saw the Black Hawk fly away but it looked like it dropped suddenly, like it was hit, but he wasn't sure.
Burger was still in his vehicle, Danielle sat beside him, her arm around his shoulder. They'd both lost friends and so they sat comforting each other, as lovers do. The three girls from the bar in Geraldton were with Murphy and Pipeline. They stood outside their vehicle drinking from their water bottles. The girls hugged each other in their grief and shock at losing Gracie.
“Come on girls, we've got to get you to Pine Gap. We'll look after you as best we can but you have to help us,” said Pipeline in his deep, southern drawl.
“We can help drive if you need us to, Pipeline, we're not useless,” offered Emily. She was standing next to Murphy, claiming him as her own. She felt that she was on some sort of firm ground with him - and she wasn't going to let one of her friends take him, not now, not after what they'd just been through.
