by T I WADE
An hour later, and after the final reports from all three pilots, Preston and Carlos both took off in formation ten minutes after Lady Dandy headed north. Their tanks, guns, and rockets were full, and heavily loaded they headed west to meet up with Martie who was currently over Siler City 30 miles west of the farm. She was flying high at 12,000 feet and they rose to meet her five minutes later and got into formation on each side of her.
“Want two good-looking men to escort you home, darling?” joked Preston, and got one finger pointing upwards from the right window of her 210 in response.
“Go out and play, little boys,” she said, trying to be cross. “And you’d better get take-out on the way home, because after a hard day at the office, I’m cooking corned beef and hash. The First Family said that they were looking forward to some good home cooking and we are all going to eat corned beef just to piss you off, General Preston,” and with that she pushed the joystick down and pushed the 210 in a dive for home, leaving the two Mustangs flying by themselves.
“Come on, Carlos. Let’s go get the bounty on some bad guys,” and Preston turned his aircraft to the right and headed in formation west towards Charlotte at 5,000 feet with Carlos just behind him.
They flew over Charlotte 15 minutes later at 320 miles an hour. That was as far as Martie had come, and Preston decided to check out several of the roads leading in from the west. They stayed above I-85 and cruised down to Atlanta, arriving over Atlanta 40 minutes later. They had only seen one old truck and the highway looked pretty empty of dead cars.
“If they are staying out of the weather and coming from the west, I reckon they would use I-20, wouldn’t they?” suggested Carlos. “How’s your fuel, Preston?”
“Three quarters full, and I agree,” replied Preston. “Let’s continue along I-20 to Birmingham, and then turn north up 59 to Chattanooga. If we haven’t seen anybody by then, we can turn for home. If they are further out, they won’t get to us until morning. I suggest we climb up to 15,000 so we can see more. The weather is so clear out there.”
At 15,000 feet, they were just under the requirements for oxygen masks, and from that altitude they could see for 30-40 miles in either direction.
“There looks like a long convoy of moving vehicles coming towards us, about 12 miles west of us on the highway,” stated Carlos a few minutes later. “On my map, they are passing a highway exit to a town called Helfin or Heflin, a mile to the north of the highway. Do you see them?”
“Roger, I have visual. Do you think they can hear us at this altitude?” asked Preston.
“If they were not driving in vehicles, I would think so, but stuck in cold weather, and in moving trucks and cars with the windows tight, I don’t think so.”
“Okay,” replied Preston. “It looks like they are doing about 40 miles an hour and there is an area of open highway about three or four miles in front of them. I want to go down low and buzz the convoy right over the top of them. You stay off to the side, Carlos, and tell me if they shoot at me with anything. If they do, we then come in from the east, in front of them, and hit them hard.”
“Roger that. I’ll be your wingman, Mr. Vader,” replied Carlos and they went down fast, the convoy still several miles in front of them. Carlos peeled off to the right side and Preston screamed down and flew over the top of the vehicles at 100 feet and 400 miles an hour with Carlos a quarter of a mile out.
“I see them trying to get out of the car roofs and windows,” stated Carlos. “One guy has a shoulder rocket-launcher and is trying to fire at you. A couple of others are standing up through the sunroofs and trying to fire at us with carbines. I don’t think they are friendly and they definitely are firing first.”
They carried on a couple of miles past the convoy and then they turned left and returned east several miles south of the highway at 500 feet. There was no way that the convoy could see them.
“I think we should fly a pass with machine guns all the way down the convoy and then turn back and use the Sidewinders,” Preston called to Carlos. “The convoy is about half a mile long. I’ll take the second half at 500 feet and you come in and gun the first half at about 700 feet. Just look out for any explosions. With the Sidewinders, we should be at least above 1,000 feet altitude or more, as those babies pack a punch. Then we come in again with the guns until they are empty, use up our rockets, and survey the damage. What do you think Carlos?”
“I think that by the third run the riders will be in the nearest ditch and the vehicles empty. I should probably fire down the ditch instead of the vehicles,” Carlos suggested. Preston agreed as he flipped off the safety on his never-used .50-caliber machine guns, which packed a total of 1,250 rounds per aircraft, and would give them about six seconds of firing, Preston estimated. It would take about three seconds to strafe half of the 50 vehicles below them.
“Testing guns,” Preston stated and fired a very short burst. The Mustang shuddered slightly and Preston told Carlos to keep his sights on the convoy and to expect a slight decrease in speed. They climbed higher and decided to go in at full throttle, 430 miles an hour, and gently dive in from about 2,500 feet to pepper every vehicle. They turned sharply westwards at 3,000 feet and the convoy came over a brow five or so miles in front of them.
It looked like the men in the convoy were not expecting an attack as they stayed in one long line, kept moving forward, and several vehicles had men sticking out of every orifice. Preston got ready, set his sights, and pushed the throttle forward as far as it would go. The engine began to scream as the Mustang went down in a shallow dive. “I’m a couple of hundred yards behind you,” stated Carlos. “Don’t put on the brakes for any reason. You turn out left and I’ll turn out right and then we can regroup for Round Two.”
The first vehicle, a truck much like Preston’s own Ford, quickly came into his sights and he waited until he thought that he had passed over at least 20 before pressing the firing button on his joystick. The first vehicle in his sights stopped immediately and literally blew up. He kept his eye through the gun sight and felt the blast from underneath. He managed to keep firing until the last vehicle and took his finger off the button as he turned left to get out of the area. He rose to 2,000 feet and turned.
“Are you ok Carlos?”
“I took a little damage but everything is holding together. It was that first blast of yours that got me.”
“I want to go straight back in from the west before they scatter,” continued Preston. “I don’t know what damage these rockets do, but let’s climb up to 5,000 and then swoop down to 2,000 and Carlos, no closer.”
“Roger,” replied Carlos, and they rose and turned towards the heavily smoking convoy, still in the middle of the road and both armed their rockets. They had two triggers for these and each trigger released two rockets at the same time.
“Carlos, we have two shots at this. I’m going to do the last half again and you fire at the forward half just before we go over.”
Preston went in first, lined his sights up on the third car from the rear and pressed the first trigger. Two rockets flew away from him and went into the rear of the fourth and fifth vehicles from the end of the convoy. It was a little off, he thought to himself as he pressed the second button and the second set went even further along the convoy and blew a truck up and onto the one in front of it. Even at 2,000 feet, the blasts were felt. He turned left as he had done the time before. “Are you okay, Carlos?”
“I’m fine, the second two rockets went off late and hit the second car instead of about five down.”
“Let’s get rid of what we have left and survey the scene. As you said, let’s go in together and you spray the closest hedges, or whatever is on the side of the highway, the nearest the highway our vehicles are on, and I will make sure as many trucks as possible don’t work.”
They started on the first non-burning vehicle this time. Preston nearly got to the end of the convoy before the chambers rattled empty and he knew their attack was over.
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p; For the first time, they really looked at the damage from 5,000 feet. It was a mess down there. At least a dozen of the vehicles were burning brightly; another large explosion blew a couple of men into the air and bodies lay everywhere. It looked like the convoy had come to a halt.
“My oil pressure is a little low,” reported Carlos. “Let’s head home and as soon as we are in radio range we can get Sally and her military guys out here to set up a road block for the night.”
“Good idea,” replied Preston, and they climbed for height and headed straight home.
Thirty minutes later they scrambled Sally on the radio and told her about the incident on I-20 about ten miles before Heflin, Alabama, and told her to get her boys down to set up a road block at the Alabama-Georgia border. There were about 200 men in 50 vehicles, minus dead and wounded, and the convoy was about three miles from the Georgia border. She acknowledged and both Mustangs rose to 16,000 feet and saw other aircraft heading out 15 minutes before they arrived at the farm. Martie was getting her moment in the sun, and came over the radio to say that she was flying fighter escort for her friend Sally.
“Don’t get too close, Martie,” warned Preston. “They have shoulder rockets and you will not have much time before dusk. If you use your guns, don’t get closer than 1,000 feet. Sally, tell your passengers that we will be coming back just after dawn with back-up and we will be in radio contact before we arrive. The current situation report is that we used everything we had, about a dozen or more vehicles are on fire out of about 50. There are many dead and I’m hoping they can’t move forward. Aim for the smoke, it is easy to see. We messed them up pretty bad. Over.”
“As Martie says, you boys have all the fun. I’ll keep an eye on her and make sure she comes home. And leave the light on for us, we are going to need it,” replied Sally.
They got a landing report from Maggie and came in from the south and pulled up next to Lady Dandy on the apron. The President and First Family were stretching and waved as they arrived. The mechanics dashed out to inspect the aircraft and both pilots jumped down and shook hands with each other and then told the president about the attack. A few minutes later, Tech Sergeant Matheson came up and told Carlos that he had two small holes in one wing and a tiny piece of metal had done a little damage in the engine. They could have it repaired in about 24 hours.
Meanwhile Sally and Martie headed out at 5,000 feet—Sally with a full load of soldiers, and Martie with full tanks and a full load of weapons. It was only 50 minutes of flying before they saw the plumes of smoke rising ahead of them, and they decided to first take a look from a higher altitude and see what was moving. They climbed up to 7,000 feet and flew about a mile north of the highway. Sally had the co pilot take over the flying as she trained powerful binoculars onto the road below them.
“I see about 50 vehicles,” reported Sally. “There are a dozen or so who have left the road and are under trees about 100 yards to the southeast of the convoy. I think I counted 12 vehicles still burning, another three that are destroyed, and about 14 vehicles about a mile in front of the burning vehicles and slowly heading east. I’ve found what looks like about 800 yards of open road five miles ahead of them and I’m going east and will come in low for a couple of miles and get the ground troops in. Martie, stay up here and tell me if they are getting close to me.”
Sally switched to her internal intercom. Gentlemen, prepare for ground evacuation in five minutes. Over.” She then switched back to the radio. “Martie, I’m landing, turning around, lowering the ramp, and then I’m out of there!”
“Roger that,” replied Martie. “I think you have about ten minutes of daylight left, and I want to hit those vehicles on the move and then see if I can shoot a couple of these rocket things into the group under the trees. Then the boys can clean up for us, right boys?” There was an acknowledgement from the troop commander in the rear of the 130.
“And don’t be nice guys, boys,” added Sally. “They have probably killed a lot of innocent civilians getting those vehicles, and when you come upon bodies, check them for everything—we need their cell phones.”
“Roger,” answered the major in command.
She guided down on low power for several miles behind the landing area, her co-pilot taking fixes of landmarks so that he could tell her the distance from the landing point, and she turned in for final approach at 1,000 feet, then dropped down to 500 feet to stay higher than any electrical lines or cell phone towers.
“I’d say three miles,” her co-pilot stated as she brought the speed back to about 20 miles an hour above landing speed and began her landing checks. “Two miles to target,” continued her co-pilot. Sally was struggling with the sun off to the left of the road, which was affecting her vision.
“The enemy is about three miles in front of your landing area, and I counted 14 vehicles. They seem to have men lying on the roof. I’m going in from the west and will start my run when you tell me you are airborne, Sal.”
“Roger that,” Sally replied. “Just remember we have our own troops down there when you go in. Out.”
“Half a mile to touchdown,” added her co-pilot.
“I have it on visual,” she replied, and she took Tom in on the westbound side of the highway, skimming a few feet over a couple of dead cars standing in the middle of the road.
“I’d say about 1,000 yards of clear road ahead of us,” her co-pilot added. The wheels touched, and Sally worked on slowing the fast moving aircraft as silently as possible. She used up the whole space and hit the brakes hard as she closed to within 50 feet of an upside-down burnt out Volkswagen beetle, next to a low slung sports car, also burnt to the ground and with dead bodies still sitting in it. She turned off the highway as far as she dared, her co-pilot giving her distances to anything the wings could touch, and she slowly turned the large aircraft about and as she got back onto the asphalt, the co-pilot pushed the rear door release.
Immediately, Sally began her take-off checks as the door slowly opened and the full load of troops ran onto the road and around the aircraft to cover her take-off.
“The convoy is about a mile behind you, Sal,” stated Martie. “You’d better get moving so that they don’t see you, and stay as low as possible. I’m at 1,000 feet to the south and going to come in from the west, guys. Keep your men off the road.”
Sally slowly pushed the throttles forward as the door came up and she tip-toed the now empty aircraft out of there as quietly as possible, clearing two stationary cars by a few feet and following the contours of the road as she brought her undercarriage up and kept the engines on as low revs as possible.
“I’m clear,” Sally stated into the radio. “Martie, fire a short burst to get the feel of the guns. They will slow you down slightly and screw up your aim.” Sally, now that the sun was behind her, could see clearly in front of her and kept the aircraft as low as possible until the ground fell away as the road went over a brow. She gained a safe height and kept the revs down for another five miles before pushing in the power slowly, pulling the aircraft up and turning to the north and then to the west to see what was going on behind her.
“I’m going in with the guns on the moving vehicles. I’m about a mile out at 1,000 feet and diving in from the sun,” Martie stated, her excitement coming through the radio, and making Sally smile.
“I got some, I got some!” Martie shouted over the radio several seconds later. “Two trucks are burning and several are trying to get off the road in all directions. I’m coming back in from the north.” Several seconds later she came back on the radio, “I got another one! It just blew up in front of me! I’m turning in at 1,000 feet and going in from the south.”
“Roger that,” replied Sally. “Martie, you should have about six seconds of ammo before they start clicking. When they click, leave the firing button alone—you’ll be out of ammo. You can then arm your rockets.”
“I got the two I was shooting at!” Martie shouted over the radio another 20 seconds later. “One e
xploded and made the other one catch on fire. I’m heading back west to hit the stationary group hiding under the trees with my rockets. Thanks Sal, I heard the clicking. Over.”
“Ground troops—‘Martie the Terrible’ is finished in your area. I see two to three vehicles still driving around trying to hide. They are about a mile in front of you and I’d set up a road ambush if I were you, plus a couple of side ambushes in case they try to rough it, but the trees look pretty dense and I don’t think they can get far off the road. I see eight burning vehicles, three sitting still on the highway, and three mobile—and a couple of those have smoke coming out of them. We’ll be in bright and early tomorrow, guys. The sunset is beautiful. As they say ‘red sky at night, trooper’s delight.’ Out.”
“Thanks for the lift, ma’am. We can see that that girl can shoot and we’ll see if we can leave a couple of bad guys for you to deal with tomorrow. Out,” replied the major on the ground.
Martie went in from the north since they were hiding in the trees on the south side of the road. She watched as her first two rockets landed 20 or so yards short and blew up in the verge not causing any damage. She flew over and around and on her second attempt, her two rockets went straight into the group of five trucks and she watched as the middle truck literally lifted off the ground and exploded about ten feet in the air, spewing the other trucks with fire. She screamed the Mustang upwards as the sun went down over the horizon.
Apart from the several fires burning up and down I-20, the area was getting dark beneath her.
“Come on girl, let’s go home,” advised Sally. “I don’t think they’re going anywhere tonight, and if they are I believe they are in for a nasty surprise. The boys are heavily loaded with everything they could carry. I have you on visual about a mile to my south.”
They moved into formation and flew home silently, Sally letting Martie alone as she worked through the ramifications of her action. Men had died down there, even if they were the enemy. Either she was made for this type of work, or she wasn’t. Sally knew her friend well and believed that Martie was a fighter—a good person to have around in times of need—but left her alone to her own realizations. The end of the fifth day of the new world looked like there could be hope.
