Текст книги "The Battle for New York"

Автор книги: T. I. Wade

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

“Roger. We are getting on white gear and heading out. What about the line of vehicles? Shall we leave them alone? Over.” The commander of Team Two needed to cover all the bases.

“Take the keys out of the ignition and put them under the seat of the front passenger, not the driver’s seats. Confirm!”

“Copy that, the left passenger seats,” the commander replied, and within five minutes Major Patterson could see dim white shapes leave the express jet and crawl over to the large mounds of snow between the arrival area and the runway.

It was a clear sparkling night, and it took three more hours before the dozers returned, parked, and the tired drivers were relieved of their lives, cell phones, and clothing. The salt team had also been terminated and the airport was finally clear of unfriendly visitors. It was time to get into action. The Chinese pilots were given two of the captured radios and the vehicles were inspected and relieved of two more radios and a lot of ammunition. The major worked out that the incoming aircraft would need to use the radios to ask for landing instructions and he prepared his Chinese guys, both C-17 pilots to call the shots.

It was midnight by the time they were finished. The terminal was cleaned and the pile of dead bodies was moved to another stranded aircraft, the blood and remains cleared away and the bar made to look like a party had taken place. The major’s men opened the clothing store and pulled several tables into the hallway, piling all the expensive coats, hats, and other winter items onto the tables as if the visitors had made a presentation for the incoming dignitaries.

He and his men also piled up a mountain of chairs and tables in front of where they had set up base as a wall against any incoming fire. He did the same on the other side of the bar area and called in the squad from the M-90. Patterson placed 30 of the soldiers on the other side of the mountain of furniture with sniper rifles, automatic rifles, and grenades. They were hidden behind the large assortment of steel and wooden furniture 50 yards from the bar area. The Major wanted to have 60 of his troops inside the terminal on both sides of the entrance door and an attack zone 100 yards wide.

He ordered 20 of his men in the 777 to exit and put on the confiscated clothing. This group would be led by one of his Chinese American pilots, Captain Chong, who would form a guard with all their captured shoulder rocket launchers.

Four of the Air Force personnel including Major Patterson, as well as the two Chinese-American pilots, could fly anything Air China flew into JFK on the now cleared runway. He allowed all his men to come into the warmer concourse and gave his orders.

“OK, guys, we believe we have two jets incoming just after dawn from Beijing or Shanghai. We need to get our pilots aboard each jet and hidden in a way that they can take over the jet once take-off is under way. Pilots, I think that the only people expected on board will be the flight crews on the way back. Also there will be no fighting until both aircraft are at least halfway down the runway, or already airborne. I’m hoping that most of the troops will be in here, in the middle of our ambush. If anybody gets over our wall of chairs and tables before our attack, take them out silently. I will place a lookout on the Van Wyck Expressway in case they have more men incoming with motor vehicles. The worst scenario is two jets with a maximum of 700 to 1,000 troops, but I’ve heard that there will be engineers included in the group. Do not—I say again—do not attempt to take out the engineers, unless they are a direct threat to your life, or you see them talking on a cell phone. We have to play this by ear, and until the aircraft are out of here, we only kill by hand, understand?” Every soldier nodded.

“You all have your orders. I want three of our best hand-to-hand killers behind our terminal. Take out by hand any enemy soldiers who go for a piss or walk around the building to smoke. The worst case, if there are more than one or two, use your silencers, understand?”

Again everybody nodded.

“I want every short man possible dressed in the semi-descent smelling civilian Chinese clothes we have taken off them. Hide your eyes and faces with new scarves from the store, look Chinese and everybody—do not kill any person dressed in civilian clothing! It could be one of our guys. Password if you have to question somebody is ‘Allen Key.’ Repeat after me, ‘Allen Key’.”

“Allen Key,” the crowd in front of him repeated.

“If you are about to get your throat slit by one of your own guys, say the code words ‘Allen Key’ quickly, guys,” instructed the major. “Okay everybody, get into a warm place and get five hours of sleep. We will head outside just before dawn.”

Thirty minutes before dawn, Major Patterson went outside with the remainder of his troops, now all dressed in white Arctic gear, and began to place them in sniper positions around the cleared areas where the two aircraft were expected to unload. They dug into the snow and disappeared from view. By dawn, he had 60 men with every sort of weapon at their fingertips around the area, as well as 20 men dug in on the roof of the terminal with sniper rifles at the ready. The rest were in the confiscated clothing as well as new clothing from the store, all had thick hats and bandanas across their faces, and apart from their eyes, were indistinguishable from the 42 men who had arrived at the airport 24 hours earlier.

As the sun rose over the horizon, the radio crackled on, and a voice in Chinese asked for conditions for landing. A few minutes later they could see two minute black aircraft shapes over the eastern horizon coming in to land. Major Patterson radioed McGuire and told them that they had incoming and would call again once they were ten minutes from take-off.

Chapter 8

Where are the Hit Squads?

Back at the North Carolina farm, the dawn on the sixth day found aircraft and another group of soldiers getting ready for action. Preston had fueled every working aircraft to the brim the evening before, and the plan was to first go out as far as the two 172 spotter planes could, at least 200 miles out along I-40 and north along I-95 at 10,000 feet, and search for any movements on the two major incoming highways. With the snow and icy roads, the travel into North Carolina would be slow for anybody coming from the north and northwest, and Preston had a gut feeling that anybody using his brains would stay as far south as possible.

John and Pam were planning to fly out along I-40 and Maggie and Barbara were flying north. Martie, in the faster 210, was to fly south, first down 1-95 as far as South Carolina, and then west across country to pick up US 64 in case they were not using major highways.

A plan of action had been put together the previous day. All the fighter aircraft had been checked and their guns and Sidewinder rockets deemed ready for action. A fresh group of 100 well-trained and hardened Marines had been brought in from Camp Lejeune in Jacksonville via a C-130 that had returned from McGuire at dawn and picked them up. Carlos was happy to see that Sally was the pilot and the president, now comfortable in the house, was happy to see the First Family exit first out of the cargo door. They rushed up to greet him and he introduced them to the whole team.

Carlos and Lee had worked for 24 hours solid on the electrical equipment, and they figured that they could scramble the whole system if need be. Unfortunately, as he explained to General Allen over his own cell phone that he had now working, everyone would lose communication while they scrambled the satellite feeds. The general told him that every available aircraft in the United States would be up and running by the end of the sixth day, and that they would all be sent to McGuire, apart from Sally and her aircraft, which was the transport for the southern attack.

“Preston, John. Do you copy? Over,” came the first mid-day radio call from the spotter aircraft.

“John, this is Preston.”

“Preston, we are at our limit, about 220 miles west of you. We are currently over the Ashville airport at 16,000 feet. We have binoculars on the highway over the mountains. Pam tells me there is no group of vehicles and she can just about see the Tennessee border. She confirms no convoy. In the last two hours we have seen three vehicles and more could be hidden by the mountains, but I must return, my tanks show half full. Over.”

“Roger that,” replied Preston, “Martie can head over that way a little later. Out.”

“Preston, this is Mike. Do you copy? Over.”

“Mike, this is Preston.”

“We are well into Virginia and have seen a couple of vehicles on I-95 North, but no convoy. I’m returning to base.”

“Roger that, Mike,” Preston replied.

The hangar was full of soldiers sitting around and waiting to board Tom, the C-130 patiently waiting on the runway. They carried a lot of gear and were ready for anything.

Baby Huey had arrived back from Andrews where Buck had flown the president’s family to meet up with the C-130 for the trip to North Carolina. Now it was time to change into Lady Dandy and do some convoy-spotting in comfort. The President and First Family were going along and were excited about it. The Secret Service agents would be in attendance and the furniture, snacks, and drinks from Baby Huey had been transferred into the DC-3.

Preston was planning to take the FedEx Cargomaster up in an hour and head out along US 64 and back over I-40 landing before dark. He had suggested to Buck to go south to South Carolina for an hour and then head northwards to the Virginia border. Preston was going to do a full western sweep of North Carolina. Earlier, Tom had gone into RDU with fresh pilots, packed what was left in the food and drink department at the terminal, and returned, leaving all the troops stationed there in case the convoy got through and decided to attack the Raleigh airport unannounced during the night. Two hundred enemy soldiers was a force to be reckoned with, and a plan had been arranged in case the incoming death squads didn’t arrive where the civilian air force personnel were setting up an ambush scenario like the one before. Everybody was keen to find the convoy and get the fight away from the farm.

“Preston, this is Martie. Do you copy me? Over.”

“Martie, it’s Preston,” he replied.

“Preston, I went as far as Charleston. I’m currently at 15,000 feet and have turned northwest, following 77 north and about to fly over Columbia, South Carolina. I have seen several vehicles going in different directions, but nobody within ten miles of each other. I plan to fly over Charlotte and then turn northeast over Mount Pleasant and follow US 64 home.”

“Roger that, Martie,” replied Preston. “Carlos has just come in and said that we should take the Mustangs for a ride around the block. He said that he’s sick of radio work and needs some fresh air. His buddy can look after things while he is away.”

“Preston, that’s not fair!” retorted Martie with everybody listening in. “You send me out in a 210 to do your dirty work and then the boys go out and play with their toys!”

“You tell him, girl!” crowed Maggie through her radio.

“Well, if you see those bad boys,” added Mike on his radio, “Stop their forward movement and blow their transportation to bits. Then we can all have a good night’s sleep while they are fixing their engines and flat tires!”

“See?” replied Preston. “Martie, there is method to my madness. I promise you will be flying with us tomorrow, okay?”

“Bloody load of old codswallop, or whatever those weird English say! I’m going to complain to the Equal Rights Commission!”

“There isn’t one left, love,” added Barbara. “It’s now us against them again. Us against the men, I mean. From now on and in our next civilization, I’ll be the one carrying the wooden club and you’d better be listening, Buck!” she added.

Preston mentioned to Carlos that they should take off before Martie got back, and Carlos readily agreed, prompting a grim look from Sally in sympathy for her friend.

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.

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 exploded 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.