by Mark Rounds
“Say numbers again,” said the controller, not quite believing what he was hearing.
“I say again, ten thousand,” said Lee and then slightly sarcastically, “do you require I spell?”
“Negative Tomboy One-Two,” said the controller. “Standby.”
Several minutes or an eternity passed, depending on how you measured it, until Lee got a response on the radio.
“Tomboy One-Two,” said another voice over the radio. “This is Red Rover One, can you determine their intentions.”
“Sir,” said Lee with some restraint as the suffix ‘one’ meant the wing commander was speaking. “The larger mob is definitely moving your way. The smaller group near the salvage yard is trying to get organized. Sniper fire seems to be hampering the action. Suggest I put some ordinance on the target near the salvage yard.”
“Negative One Two,” said the Commander. “We have a plan for them; suggest you expend your napalm canisters on the larger mob.”
“Roger Wilco,” said Lee as he banked and began a run on the longest axis across the mob. At the proper moment, Lee pulled up on the left most lever in the cockpit and a thirty-five gallon drum of homemade jellied gasoline tumbled from the bottom of the plane. There was a three-second delay while the drum slowed and then the lanyard fastened to the drum and the bursting charge pulled taught. This was the simplest solution Lee could come up with to get the napalm canister to explode while in the air above the target. The lanyard actuated a small charge that was just enough to burst the drum and ignite the napalm.
They had tried it several times in practice, but owing to the shortage of fuel, only one drop had been live. This time though, things worked perfectly, and burning jellied gasoline rained down upon the horde of Infected. At first it didn't seem to faze them but after a couple of minutes, enough damage was done by the flames that many of the Infected in the target area collapsed. Others seemed to vector around the burning area.
“Red Rover One,” said Lee into the microphone. “It seems to have slowed them a little. I am headed in for a second pass.”
He was answered by a barrage of static. Apparently, someone was beginning to jam their radio transmissions.
Undeterred, Lee began a second run. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a team drop to one knee and point a long tube at him. Some old memory from Desert Storm awoke and screamed “STINGER!”
Chapter 22
July 10th, Friday, 10:09 am PDT
Security Forces kennel, Fairchild Air Force Base, WA
Capt Stutesman had always been athletic, doing 5-K charity runs and mushing sled dogs while stationed at Elmendorf. She covered the four blocks from the practice field to the kennel in three minutes flat. Things were not in good order when she arrived.
The lone airman whose job it was to feed, water, and walk the animals under her care had not shown up this morning. Two of the dogs had been sick and all were hungry. Jen made two phone calls and found that the airman who was her only support had failed a drug test and subsequently tested positive for the Plague. She was furious no one had called her, but quickly got down to business. Normally there were twenty-three dogs on base. Three were drug dogs, one was a bomb dog and the other nineteen were sentry or guard dogs. Luckily, most of the dogs were now residing with their handlers, but there were still six working dogs in the facility and Candy.
Candy was a special case. Her handler had succumbed to the Plague early and left her heartbroken. The normal procedure in cases where the handler was a casualty or left the military was to get a new handler with the dog as soon as possible. There was a new handler inbound from the training center at Lackland, but when ‘The Plague’ disrupted travel, Candy's new handler never arrived. Now, against her professional judgment, she was gradually becoming attached to Candy. Before the Plague, she had her own apartment off base; it would have been just barely possible for her to actually adopt Candy but now that she shared a room at the BOQ with two other female officers, there was just no room.
Feeding was quick as the food was all pre-measured, but cleaning up after the two sick dogs was not. When she was done with that, she made the mistake of checking on Candy. She was a healthy four-year-old German Shepherd cross that tipped the scales at a respectable eighty-five pounds. One look at those soulful brown eyes, and Jen couldn't help herself. Even though she knew something was popping at the airfield, she let herself into Candy's kennel and was rewarded by some serious tail wagging. Normally an exuberant young dog like Candy might have jumped up on Jen, but she was still a well-trained sentry dog so waited patiently for attention.
Jen scratched her big shaggy head and quickly cleaned her kennel. Then she sat down and Candy put her head in Jen's lap. Jen spent the next few minutes telling Candy her troubles. She was so involved with Candy that she was genuinely surprised to hear small arms fire and the ‘womph’ of deployed napalm. She hustled to the window but none of the windows faced the runway. In her rush, Jen ran out of the door and left Candy's kennel open. Candy followed her out of the kennel and stood beside her as she watched the wave of Infected reach the edge of the field.
July 10th, Friday, 10:17 am PDT
In the air west and south of Fairchild Air Force Base, WA
“General,” said Major Kong, a Texan who had been flying C-130's and C-17s for fifteen years. His eyes were not wavering from the runway ahead as he lined up on downwind as he spoke, “We will be on the runway in ten minutes. I suggest you buckle up as it's gonna get a mite bumpy. The tower also reports that there are hostiles outside the wire to the east of the runway. They suggest we abort.”
“Thank you, Major,” said Gen Antonopoulos. “Land as planned.”
“Lieutenant Parks,” continued Gen Antonopoulos more loudly as the focus of his speech was not on the intercom.
“Yes sir, General,” said a fresh-faced young man with Ranger tabs on his multi-cams.
“Deploy your troops in a hasty defense to the east as soon as we hit the dirt,” said Gen Antonopoulos. “and have those armorers ready when we land.”
“Airborne Sir!” said Parks.
“Major Kong, can you get in touch with the Wing Commander at Fairchild?” asked Gen Antonopoulos over the aircraft intercom.
“Negative sir,” said Major Kong. “He is in transit and will be airborne in five. I do have the Deputy Commander of Operations on the horn though.”
“I'll talk to him,” said Gen Antonopoulos. He switched channels on the intercom.
“Red Rover Two, this is Haven One, how do you copy?”
“I have you five-by-five,” said Col Cady. “I know you have heard this from your pilot, but I strongly recommend you abort. We have hostiles on the wire.”
“I am aware of your situation,” said Gen Antonopoulos. “We are on downwind and I can see some of the hostiles from here. Your situation report said you have several hundred non-essential personnel training as security forces, but that you have insufficient weapons. The report further states that you have issued one rifle per squad for training unless they privately-owned weapons, correct?”
“Yes, sir,” said Col Cady.
“Get them down to the runway now,” said Gen Antonopoulos, “and have the first flight ready when we drop the ramp. I will have armorers standing by with pretty passable copies of Remington 870's and ammo to issue.”
“Roger that sir,” said Col Cady. “They will make a dandy second line of resistance provided you can get down in one piece.”
“I'll leave that to Major Kong, Colonel.” said Gen Antonopoulos.
“Major Kong,” said Gen Antonopoulos after he had switched the channel on the intercom, “did you catch that last? Can you get this plane down in one piece?”
“Sheeeeit Colonel,” said Major Kong, is Texas drawl getting thicker as he spoke, “I can land this plane on a napkin. As to them other guys out there shootin, heck fire. I been to a county fair and a rodeo and they don't look like they can hit the broad side of a barn, let alone a moving plane. I'll
get us down alright.”
“Make it so, Major,” said Gen Antonopoulos covering up a grin.
July 10th, Friday, 10:22 am PDT
On the ground east of Fairchild Air Force Base, WA
Nergüi watched the crop-duster with growing alarm. For his plan to work, the ten thousand Infected out in front of his infantry company had to overwhelm the defenders so that his gang of mercenaries could force a breakthrough. Then he could get at Gen Antonopoulos. Killing him would behead his enemy, already weakened by internal strife, and if they could capture him, he would be a treasure trove on intelligence. Only that crop duster could see everything.
“Ælfheah,” said Nergüi to his follower. “Have those cretins with the Stingers see if they can shoot down that damned plane. Don't let them shoot more than one or two missiles. We will need them if one of those transports gets airborne with the General on it.”
Ælfheah nodded and sprinted over to where the two Stinger teams were standing at a pace that would have made him a contender for the Olympics. While he was directing them, the biplane dove towards the ground and made a run on the mob in front of him.
“Shoot down that plane!” shouted Nergüi but he was too late.
The biplane leveled out and released a drum that tumbled and then jerked. What followed was a small pop followed by the yellow orange flare of a gasoline explosion. Dozens of the Infected were covered with the burning napalm. They continued running toward the fence for the 'Call' was powerful, but soon, ligaments burned through, and many collapsed in flaming heaps.
“Can't you hit one slow, meandering airplane!” screamed Nergüi as the plane receded out of sight. “If he returns, shoot him down! Or I will personally eviscerate you!”
Nergüi was secretly worried. If the Infected were too scattered by air attacks, he would have to battle through trained, well-armed defenses. He had actually listened to Macklin and knew that his troops were currently no match for that kind of resistance. His thoughts were interrupted by the howl of a turboprop engine. There was that damned biplane again screaming in low over the sagebrush.
“Shoot him down!” shouted Nergüi.
The two missile teams began tracking the aircraft but he was flying so low that it was difficult to get a good sight picture. Then one of teams fired and the missile followed the aircraft straight and true.
July 10th, Friday, 10:09 am PDT
Security Forces kennel, Fairchild Air Force Base, WA
Jen looked down and saw Candy sitting patiently at her feet and then glanced over at the Apron beside Base Ops and saw her Flight in formation under the shelter for Air Ground Equipment like generators and starter units.
“Shit,” said Jen. She rushed back to the kennel and tried to put Candy back in, but the dog was having none of that. Since her handler had died, Candy had exactly two walks, both by Jen. Candy wasn't about to pass up an opportunity to get out of that smelly, loud, cold kennel.
“Shit!” said Jen for a second time. She had to get over to her Flight NOW!
“Come on, Candy,” said Jen who took off at a run. “You get to meet the troops.”
Candy, who thought this was all great fun, took off at a run and easily caught up to Jen, tail wagging and barking.
July 10th, Friday, 10:12 am PDT
In the air east and north of Fairchild Air Force Base, WA
Reacting instinctively to the Stinger, Lee goosed the throttle and was rewarded with the sound of the turboprop spooling up. Then he dove even closer to the ground while banking away from the firing team. When he got close to the ground, he released the second napalm canister. He was flying so low at this point that the drum actually bounced twice before the lanyard pulled taught and ignited the bursting charge. Lee saw the flare of the flaming gasoline behind him and when the flare was higher than the altitude he was flying, he banked the Turbo Ag-Cat to the right, hard.
The seeker head on the Stinger was blinded by the flash of flame and lost track of the turboprop. When it emerged from the wall of flame, it followed the largest source of heat in its window. As Lee had banked out of the way, all the missile could sense was the burning napalm spread across the ground and so plunged into the flame, its three kilogram warhead adding to the inferno that blazed in the field. Lee kept it low until he was outside the five miles that he dimly remembered was the max range on the Stinger and tried the radio again.
“Red Rover Six, this is Tomboy One-Two, do you copy?”
“This is Red Rover One,” came a weak reply through the static.
“I am under attack by manpad missiles,” said Lee calmly into the microphone. “I have expended all my napalm, I can reengage with my machine guns.”
“This is Red Rover One,” said the voice on the radio, somewhat stronger now over the jamming. “I am airborne in a UH-1N and can see what's going on. I have a visual on the Stinger team. There is no way you can get at them. They are out in the middle of a wheat field. Head back to the barn.”
“Negative One,” said Lee. “I can come in lower and strafe them before they can get a bead on me.”
“Red Rover Two Three,” said an exasperated Col Phillips, “if you fly any lower, it's called taxiing. Return to base.”
“Roger One,” said Lee and bank toward base. Then the voice in his brain that often got him in trouble spoke.
“I will return to base,” thought Lee with a laugh, “just like the Colonel ordered, right over the top of the Stinger teams!”
Lee banked around and came in low, so low that he had to climb just a bit to clear a barbed wire fence.
“Red Rover Two Three, Break OFF!” screamed the radio but Lee ignored it, focusing on flying his plane low enough to trim the grass. He reflected upon the thought that stunts like this were probably the reason why he never got promoted beyond major.
The do-not-exceed airspeed on the Turbo Ag-Cat was 136 knots but the turboprop engine had 750 horsepower, so Lee was flying at least twenty knots faster as he overflew the Stinger team, guns blazing. The two M-60's chewed up the team and several people surrounding it.
July 10th, Friday, 10:21 am PDT
On the ground east of Fairchild Air Force Base, WA
Nergüi lost track of the airplane with the flash of the explosion. His mob of mercenaries and drug users faltered with the air attack and now some were on the ground cowering.
“Get up you fools!” shouted Nergüi. “They will come back and kill you if you stay out here. Safety is in the base. Forward!”
Using his followers as file closers, Nergüi got his formation up and moving again. But he was so busy he didn't see that the biplane was coming around again, if anything even lower than before.
The first inkling he had that it was back in play was the now terrifying growl of a full throttle turboprop. In pure frustration, Nergüi pulled his Browning High Power and began firing the pistol at the plane doing no harm but alerting the Stinger teams. The lead team was caught in a vortex of machine gun fire from the aircraft and went down in a heap as did several of the men standing near it.
Incredibly, the other team managed to 'hip shoot' the Stinger, and it found the heat signature of the exhaust of the big Ag-Cat and began tracking straight and true.
July 10th, Friday, 10:22 am PDT
In the air east and north of Fairchild Air Force Base, WA
Lee did not see the second Stinger team as he left. Seconds later, out of his review mirror, Lee spotted the missile in the last seconds of its trajectory towards his airplane. He was all out of air speed and ideas so he waited calmly for the end of his last flight, ruminating that it had been one hell of a ride.
The next thing Lee heard was a loud thump as his plane shuddered, and that was it, he was still flying. Incredibly, the Stinger team had fired too close and the warhead had not covered the safety distance and so was not armed. All it did was impact hard into the empennage and get stuck. The impact and various missile parts did jam the rudder hard over. Even with all his strength, he couldn't turn into it
and pushing on the rudder pedal was like pushing on a block of cement. The plane was beginning a long, slow skid back toward the enemy, so Lee retarded the throttle, dumped the flaps and landed in the scrub land between the base and the oncoming horde.
The plane rolled to a stop and Lee crawled out, covered with sweat. His seventy-two year-old bones creaking with abuse.
He saw the horde approaching and knew he would never be able to outrun them so he drew his Smith and Wesson Model 10 .38 Special Revolver and decided to take as many of them with him as he could, saving the last round for himself. He was sorry that he wouldn't get to tell Midge one more time that he loved her, but all in all, it had been a good life.
However, well before the Infected had a chance to close to pistol range, the Colonel's UH-1 settled down in front of him. The door gunner on the side facing the Infected opened up with a long, barrel-warping burst to keep the crowd of Infected away for the few seconds they would need. From the other side of the chopper, the other gunner and an air crewman were furiously waving at Lee to get into the aircraft, which he did at his best speed. As soon as he had one foot on the runner, the door gunner and the other crewman grabbed him under the arms and waved at the pilot. The pilot, with one eye on the approaching Infected and the other eye on his crew, gunned the throttle and yanked up on the collective, getting the chopper in the air with a jerk.
Lee was chagrined to learn that the other ‘crewman’ who hauled him in was none other than the wing commander himself. It was just as well that he couldn't hear anything over the roar of the turbine as they climbed away, because he was more than certain that he was receiving a first-class ass-chewing.
July 10th, Friday, 10:23 am PD
