by Dave Edlund
“Thank you. This is helpful. Please email those records right away. Also the latest tax returns.”
“I’m on it.” Stephens was about to hang up when Colson stopped her.
“You aren’t going to ask about the manhunt for Peter Savage?”
“Should I? Is there a new development to report?”
Detective Colson sighed. “No, nothing yet. Maybe later today. But this information about Barnes is important. I’ll make sure the word gets out to the search party. Also, I need to have an urgent conversation with the FBI. They’ve got a serious problem at their Portland office. I’ll let you know when I have something to share.”
“Thank you, Detective.”
“Oh, one more thing,” Colson added, almost as an afterthought. “We found some charred papers in the fireplace. Apparently Mr. Savage attempted to destroy a large stack of documents. Except they didn’t all burn to ashes.”
This news certainly had Stephen’s attention. She listened for the detective to get to the point.
“The top portion of several sheets was only partially burned. Although the full documents were too far gone to get the subject matter, Detective Nakano and I can make out government seals.”
“Seals?”
“Yeah, you know. Emblems.”
“Yes, I understand. What are they? What departments or agencies?”
“Oh, you’ll love this. The White House and the Department of the Navy.”
Stephens was still thinking about her conversation with the detective when her phone buzzed. It was Lieutenant Lacey.
Chapter 37
Eastern Drainage of Broken Top
April 22
Homer was looking skyward, searching for the bird. As the sound grew louder, it became more difficult to pinpoint a direction due to the growing echo.
“Does that radio work?” Jim asked, his voice anxious.
“Sure,” Vashal said.
“Call your commander and tell him we have a terrorist action underway. Ground troops and aircraft. Automatic weapons. Give him these coordinates.”
“Wait a minute, you said this was a training exercise.”
“Just do it!”
Vashal keyed the radio and reported in.
At the same time, Jim was on the sat phone to Lieutenant Lacey. He had just established communication when the Battlehawk passed overhead. The missiles and 20mm gun slung underneath the cockpit left no doubt about its intended use.
“Lieutenant!” Jim shouted to be heard above the din of the turbine engines and rotors. “The situation has deteriorated. We have located Peter, but we can’t reach him. Presently engaged with approximately four, possibly more, hostiles.”
“Copy that,” Lacey replied. “What’s that noise?”
“Attack helicopter, presumed hostile unless you’re going to tell me it’s ours.”
“No, sir. Colonel Pierson does not know of your action. Per your orders he has not been briefed.”
The Battlehawk circled low while the pilot and copilot got their bearings, located the two groups of “friendlies” by the smoke, and identified the large rock feature where the primary target was located. As the bird came over Boss Man and Homer a second time, Homer opened up, stitching a line of bullets across the armored belly of the craft.
The pilot did what he was trained to do and twisted the collective control at the same time he ran up the engine throttle. The helicopter swiftly rose and accelerated away. He addressed his copilot and quickly ran his eyes across his instruments. All gauges and indicator lights were good, no damage was sustained. “Did you get the shooters?”
“Negative. I think they are to the east of the south squad, but I did not get a visual.”
The pilot swung the Battlehawk around: it had traveled far beyond the Tam McArthur Rim. As he turned, he maintained a low elevation. To an inexperienced aviator, it looked like he might fly into the sheer cliff, but he cleared it by twenty feet. As they crossed the Rim, the land fell off and within a second Homer and Boss Man were shooting again at the attack helicopter.
This time the pilot and copilot saw the muzzle flashes. The pilot had just enough time to squeeze off a short burst from the 20mm gun.
The bullets impacted to the side of Jim’s position. Any doubt Vashal had about the seriousness of the situation had just evaporated.
Lacey had a complete auditory record since Jim had not disconnected the call. He picked up the phone as the bird passed overhead. “We need air support now!” he shouted.
“I’m on it. Keep the line open; I’ll be right back.”
Jim set the phone by his side to grip his rifle with both hands. The change in pitch of the sound from the engine and rotor blades indicated the helicopter was turning to make another run. When he estimated it was within range he began shooting. Homer joined him, and a second later Deputy Vashal was discharging his Glock at the aircraft.
The Battlehawk was designed for combat, and as such, it’s armored underside and front of the cockpit could take repeated hits from small-caliber arms. If they had a .50 caliber Barrett, or shoulder-fired missiles, they could bring the aircraft down. But they had neither.
s
Before Lacey dialed Colonel Pierson, she buzzed Stephens’ office. “Stephens. I need you here now.” Lacey didn’t wait for a reply as she redialed.
On the second ring Colonel Pierson answered. How he managed to always be near a phone was a mystery to Lacey, but she was grateful nonetheless. After the perfunctory greetings, she got right to the point.
“Sir, Boss Man and Homer are on a mission in Oregon, mountains to the west of Bend—”
“Mission? I didn’t authorize any mission to Oregon or elsewhere. And need I remind you of the delicacy surrounding military actions on domestic soil?”
“No, sir. I understand, sir. This is an urgent matter—life and death—and I don’t have time to explain now. The Commander needs air support ASAP!”
Stephens crossed through the doorway and quietly closed the door. Hearing Lacey’s strained voice, she took a chair at the desk.
“You know I can’t authorize that,” Pierson replied. “Even if I could, it would take hours for armed aircraft to get there by the time the request went up the chain of command and back down again.”
“Sir, there has to be something—”
Pierson cut her off. “Lieutenant. There’s nothing I can do to get Jim out of this pickle, whatever it is.” And then he added, almost as an afterthought, “I wish I could.”
Lacey was not surprised by the response or the brevity of the call. It was an unsanctioned mission. The rules about military undertaking action on U.S. soil were very clear—and sacrosanct. In time of emergency, the state governor could call up the National Guard. But unless the Guard was federalized, they remained under state authority.
“That’s it,” she murmured. Lacey pointed at Stephens. “Get on the phone to the governor of Oregon. Tell her it’s urgent—terrorism or whatever. Just get the governor. We need her to authorize the Air National Guard to send an F15 to intercept an attack helicopter shooting up our men. You have the coordinates.”
“Armed?” Stephens asked.
“Wouldn’t be much use otherwise. Now go!”
She reported back to Jim. “Sorry, sir, Pierson wouldn’t authorize a sortie. His hands are tied since the mission is off the books.”
“Understood Lieutenant—”
The rapid staccato of the 20mm gun swamped out Jim’s words.
“Sir,” Lacey added. “We’re working on a solution. We might be able to get the governor to authorize the Guard to intercept.”
“Get on it. We don’t have anything to take down that helicopter.”
She left the connection open and searched for a contact number for the base commander of the Oregon Air National Guard. She knew the 142nd Fighter Wing flew out of Portland, knew they had a pair of F15 Eagles on alert standby 24/7. She dialed, and after three transfers was connected to the base commander.
“What?” the Colonel replied. He had never heard of military aircraft being used in terrorist actions. “Who did you say you were with?”
Lacey rolled her eyes, she didn’t have time for this. “The Strategic Global Intervention Team. We are associated with the DIA.”
“Uh huh.”
“Look, sir. With all due respect, I have eyes on the ground. Trained and experienced combat soldiers. If they say an attack helicopter is shooting at them, that’s what it is!”
“Look, Lieutenant. My pilots and aircraft serve under the authority of the Oregon governor. If she says to launch a pair of Eagles, my pilots are ready. Until then, I don’t see how I can help you.”
Lacey wasn’t ready to give up, not yet. “I understand the chain of authority, sir. I also understand our duty to our brothers and sisters in uniform. Right now you have a couple dozen men and women on the ground in that section of wilderness with nothing more than small arms against a fully armed, military gunship! Sir.”
For several long seconds there was no reply. When the Colonel spoke his voice was even. “I’ll phone the governor and relay this information, requesting we send a pair of Eagles to investigate. But mark my words, Lieutenant. If this is a hoax, I’ll see you are busted all the way down to private.”
“Thank you, sir. This is not a hoax. My people—they need help now. There must be something you can do. Are there any aircraft already in the air?”
Again the line was silent while the base commander considered the request. “I have two Eagles on a training exercise, logging hours. They are over water, near the coastline. I’ll have them do a flyby. In the meantime, I’ll call the governor.”
“Thank you, sir!” She hung up and returned to the satellite phone.
“Commander, are you there?”
Her ear was filled with rapid gunshots and a very deep boom that she knew was an explosion.
Boss Man heard the tinny voice and picked up the sat phone. “I hope you have good news.”
“Maybe. The Guard is vectoring a pair of Eagles over your position for a flyby.”
“We need more than a flyby!”
“Understood, sir. Working on getting approval from the governor for an armed sortie. Don’t know how long that will take.”
What Lacey heard was an explosion so loud she thought it was in her office.
The satellite connection went dead.
Chapter 38
Eastern Drainage of Broken Top
April 22
The second missile detonated very close, showering Boss Man, Homer, and Vashal in rocks and dirt. Jim had dropped the satellite phone as he ducked and shielded his head. It landed hard, breaking the internal electronics.
“Let’s go!” he ordered. The pilot had pinpointed their location. They couldn’t hang around with high explosive missiles raining in.
The three men dashed for another stand of trees as the Battlehawk flew overhead. Jim wanted to be far away by the time it turned and came back.
They ran hard and fast and made it to the protective cover before being spotted. The Battlehawk fired another missile obliterating their former position.
“Those missiles are pretty accurate,” Homer observed.
“Must be guided. Nothing that I know of—maybe experimental.”
Jim turned to Vashal. “I lost the satellite phone. Do you still have your radio?”
The Deputy produced it as proof.
“Good. Brief your commander. They will have heard the 20mm gun and explosions. Tell him to call the governor. We need air support, and it can only come from the Air Guard under the governor’s authority. Do it now!”
While Vashal was on the radio, Homer and Boss Man fired again at the helicopter as it passed, trying to further distract the pilot from opening up on Peter’s hide.
It worked, and the pilot looped around, showing less fear of the damage the small arms might inflict on his aircraft. He came in slower, and stopped to a hover at the far range of the rifles.
Boss Man and Homer fired anyway, the muzzle flashes gave away their location. The pilot aimed the 20mm gun at them and fired. Jim dove to the side and Vashal and Homer ducked, trying to become one with the earth. A line of dirt geysers raced between them.
The SGIT soldiers came up shooting from behind two thick trees. Bullets pinged off the nose and chipped at the reinforced polycarbonate windshield but didn’t penetrate. A flash of white light and a smoke stream marked the launching of another guided missile.
“Incoming!” Homer shouted.
The explosion was deafening as the missile detonated ten feet up on one of the trees, cutting it in two. The top portion toppled over. Wood fragments—some large enough to impale a man—rained outward and down.
“Are you okay Vashal?” Jim shouted, his hearing just about gone, replaced by constant ringing. The deputy was sitting with his back to the tree, arms folded over his head.
“Vashal! You okay?” This time he turned his head and nodded. His lips moved, but Jim didn’t understand what he said.
The Battlehawk stayed on station, hovering, watching for signs of activity—of life—but saw none and concluded the targets had been destroyed. Slowly, the helicopter turned, pointed to the large stone outcrop where Peter had been last seen.
A deep double boom arrived a fraction of a second before the pair of F15 Eagles. Jim and Homer both looked up just in time to see the sleek, gray aircraft sweep overhead. The leader and his wingman had been redirected from a maritime interdiction exercise just off the Oregon coast near Florence, being briefed on the new mission inflight. With afterburners on, traveling at Mach 1.2, they reduced throttle and dropped altitude as they came even with South Sister Peak just west of the Tam McArthur Rim. For the pilots, it sounded like another phase to their training. A dry run at an air intercept.
As the Eagles passed the coordinates at 200 feet above ground level, the roar from the engines was incredibly loud.
“Looks like the cavalry has arrived!” Homer shouted as he raised a victorious fist in the air.
The Battlehawk shook violently from the turbulent air in the wake of the high-speed fighters.
“What was that?” the copilot asked.
“An empty threat. Stay on task,” the pilot replied.
The F15s banked into a tight turn, gaining altitude and bleeding off speed for a second pass. The leader radioed his flight command. “Blue leader. We are turning for a low-speed pass.”
“Roger, Blue Leader.”
s
Peter still cradled his rifle, pressing has back against the hard stone. He didn’t know how he could defend himself against the helicopter and missiles. At least the enemy was also staying put.
He wedged most of his body into the cleft in the stone, shielding Diesel as best he could. Peter’s spirits lifted when the two jet fighters raced by, but then sank again as they passed, the roar of their engines replaced by the high-pitched whine of the Battlehawk’s twin turbines. He cautiously peered around the side of his stone shield and saw the helicopter hovering, pointed at him. He saw the flash as two missiles were fired, and he ducked back, pulling Diesel in tight.
The explosions were deafening. Peter couldn’t hear anything for several seconds. Not the whine of the engines, not the thumping of the rotors, not the gunfire. Nothing. Then the silence was replaced by ringing.
He seemed to be engulfed in a cloud of dust. Gravel and fine dirt rained down, but the rock barrier held.
The two laser-guided missiles had impacted the soft earth a couple of feet in front of the stone outcrop, dampening the explosive force of the warheads. Seeing the cover still intact, t
he pilot started to fly the Battlehawk around to the far side.
Boss Man and Homer opened up again, but the pilot was no longer dissuaded by the impotent threat.
The black, menacing machine slowly came into view to the side the boulder. Peter had sensed its approach. As his hearing gradually returned, he noticed the changing pitch and tone of the rotor thump and engines. And he was ready.
The pilot came in close, wishing to end the mission. The arrival of military aircraft was a bad sign. It would not be long before reinforcements arrived, and he still had to escape.
As the cockpit came into view, Peter raised his .340 Weatherby. Aiming for the crew, he fired. He cycled the bolt, and fired again.
Unlike the assault rifles used by the Guardians and the SGIT soldiers, Peter was shooting a large caliber, heavy bullet. Intended to dispatch the largest, most dangerous animals on the planet with a single shot, at close range the bullets smashed through the thick Plexiglas canopy—both rounds striking the copilot.
The pilot veered away. Cursing his lack of caution, he would use distance to his advantage, and terminate the target.
s
Blue Flight completed their turn and was approaching when the missiles exploded.
“Blue Leader. We have live ordinance here: missiles, small arms fire. Unidentified attack helicopter is firing on ground elements. Personnel only, negative on vehicles or heavy equipment. Request instructions.”
Flight command came back immediately. “Say again. What are the markings on the attack aircraft?”
“Repeat, no markings. Looks like a Black Hawk but is heavily armed. Aircraft is unidentified.”
“Affirmative. You are instructed to harass that bird. Try to drive it off.”
“Roger. Be advised that Blue Flight is unarmed. Will try to shake off unidentified aircraft, but suggest command launches the alert aircraft ASAP.”
“Affirmative, Blue Leader. Inbound alert flight on its way. ETA five minutes.”
Blue Leader and his wingman completed their flyby, attempting to raise the Battlehawk pilot on standard military frequencies. They got no response, and he showed no indication of breaking off his attack. The helicopter had circled to the opposite side of the stone monolith and suddenly retreated.
