Indestructible: V Plague Book 7 (27 page)

The old helicopter vibrated hard as Martinez pulled back on
the stick and lifted us into the air.  The long, heavy rotors made the thumping
sound unique to Hueys.  The sound that for some reason always made me feel
good.  Maybe, just like the old fire house dog that jumped up every time he
heard the bell, that rotor noise was such a part of my younger days that I got
a little surge of adrenaline just from hearing it.

We had spent several minutes raiding the secure lockers in
the hangar, finding most of what I wanted.  Setting it aside, I’d left the
heavy lifting for Martinez and Katie while I tackled the aircraft’s side
doors.  It took some effort and some language my mother wouldn’t have approved
of, but with the help of tools from the hangar I had gotten them off their
tracks, letting them crash down onto the tarmac.  Next, I spent a couple of
minutes removing the frames for the web sling seats in the back to make as much
room as possible inside.

“What are you doing?”  Katie asked, trotting up.  She was
carrying one end of a long, heavy wooden crate, Martinez following with the
other end.

“Getting us ready,” I said, grabbing the crate from them and
hoisting it into the aircraft.

Prying the lid off, I had quickly installed a pintle in the
mounting point on the side of the Huey’s deck.  Next came the vintage M60
machine gun, which attached easily to the pintle.  I kept working as they
brought out more of the gear I’d selected.  Full cans of ammo were strapped
down to the deck and I strung up the safety harness that would keep the door
gunner from being tossed out when the deck tilted or the helicopter made a
sharp turn.

More gear was brought out and secured as I took a moment to
fashion a harness for dog out of the web sling seating I had previously
removed.  The deck of a Huey is slick, and with the side doors gone there
wasn’t much of anything to keep man or beast from being tossed out in mid-air. 
Makeshift harness firmly wrapped around his body, I called Dog in and connected
a short lead from his back to a swivel hook set into the ceiling.

Finally ready, I strapped myself in behind the M60 as
Martinez and Katie climbed into the cockpit.  The engine fired up and the rotor
was gaining speed as I pulled the charging handle on the machine gun.  Then I
had nothing to do except be a passenger as Martinez lifted off.

“This thing’s a pig,” she said after we had gained a few
hundred feet of altitude and were pounding our way to the southwest towards
Tinker. 

“How about a little respect, Captain.”  I said.  “Older and
slower doesn’t mean there’s not still some sharp teeth left.”

“Are you talking about yourself or the helicopter, honey?” 
Katie quipped, Martinez bursting out laughing.

Sighing, I wrapped my arm around Dog’s neck and pressed my
face against the side of his head.  Maybe he had the right idea when he was
staying away from those two.

Martinez gained altitude as we flew until even with the
moonlight the ground below was only dark and featureless.  Getting used to how
the old girl handled, she made some maneuvers, swaying us back and forth.  She
put us into a dive, pulling out and powering back to altitude as she turned
sharply.  She might have a smart mouth, but the woman’s skills with the stick
were second only to her capabilities with a knife.

“You about done?”  I asked after ten long minutes of aerial
acrobatics.

“Sorry, sir.  Just getting a feel for the lady.”  She
sounded anything but sorry.  “Maybe I was a little too hasty.  She’s not so
bad.”

I didn’t take the bait, knowing there was no way I could
hold my own with the two of them.  Looking around I checked on Dog, very glad
I’d been able to securely tether him.  He was standing in the middle of the
deck, all four legs splayed out to help keep his balance.  His head was down,
ears flat against his skull and he looked miserable.  I rubbed his neck,
turning back when Martinez spoke on the intercom.

“Sir, I’ve got a Navy flight on the radio.  They’re inbound
to Tinker.  You want to talk to them?”  She asked.

Navy?  What the hell?  “Yes.  Can you put them over the
intercom?”

“Can do.  Stand by.”  She said.  “Go ahead sir.”

“Navy flight, US Army helo.”  I said.

“Panther flight copies.  We’ve got you inbound to Tinker on
radar.  We’re coming to join the party.” 

“Damn good to hear that, Navy.”  I said.  “Hope you brought
some party favors.  This is a BYOB event.”

“Copy that, Army.”  He chuckled.  “We’re a flight of twelve
Hornets off the Big Ronnie.  We’ve got the life of the party tagging along, low
and slow.  We stopped off at Hurlburt in Florida and picked up Spooky.  We’re
monitoring the comms out of Tinker.  Sounds like one hell of a fight going on,
but we can’t raise a controller to direct fire.”  The Big Ronnie would be the
USS Ronald Reagan, a newer generation supercarrier.  Most likely in the Gulf of
Mexico or off the southeastern coast for them to be able to stop in Florida,
then reach Oklahoma City.

God bless the US Navy!  When I heard “Spooky” I wanted to
cheer.  Spooky is an AC-130U gunship.  An Air Force C-130 converted
specifically for ground troop support.  Heavily armored, it flies a low and
slow orbit over a battlefield.  Outfitted with a 25 mm GAU-12 Equalizer, one
Bofors 40 mm autocannon, and one 105 mm M102 cannon, it can and does unleash
hell on earth.

“You Navy guys sure know how to party,” I said.  “What’s
your ETA to target?”

“Twenty mikes for Panther flight.  Thirty, three-zero, for
Spooky.”  He answered.

“What’s our ETA, Martinez?”  I asked over the intercom without
transmitting on the radio.

“Fifteen minutes,” she said.

“Panther flight, I’ll be your controller.  Designation…” I
looked around, trying to think of a call sign.  Seeing Dog looking miserable I
smiled and turned back to face out the open side of the Huey.  “Dog four.”

“Copy Dog Four.  Will contact on this frequency when we’re
on station.”

“Dog Four copies,” I transmitted, then switched to
intercom.  “Martinez, give her all she’s got.  And turn up the overhead.  I
can’t hear what’s going on at Tinker.”

A moment later the vibration increased as she pushed the old
Huey to its maximum speed.  Soon after that the speaker over my head blared as
she increased the volume.

“Claymores FIRE!”  I heard.

As Crawford and Pointere watched, males kept pushing through
the front ranks of the females to make their stumbling way across the field of
bodies that had been shattered by the Claymores.  Many of them tripped in their
blind shamble, but many more managed to stay on their feet.  They weren’t
moving fast, but they were advancing, their numbers growing.

Faster than it seemed possible, the open space between the
final layer of mines and the females filled.  The males packed together, the
ones in front slowed by the footing, but as more and more of them trudged along
their feet smoothed the way for the ones following.  Soon, a solid wall of
flesh was only twenty yards from the ring, the snarls and hisses reaching the
defenders.

“Claymores stand by.”  Pointere transmitted over the radio.

  Crawford checked his rifle, knowing that as soon as the
last of the mines detonated, there would be a rush forward by the females.  He
glanced over his shoulder as a Globemaster thumped onto the runway, the ground
shaking from the roar as the pilot used thrust reversers to slow the massive
plane.  At least they’d get some more people out before the defenses completely
collapsed.

At the far end of the runway, evacuees were already queued
up to start loading.  Fuel trucks sat on either side of the tarmac, prepared to
rush forward and hook up the moment the aircraft came to a stop.  The engines
would not be shut off, a risky procedure known as “hot” refueling.  Normally,
passengers would never be loaded with the engines turning as fuel was being
pumped into the wings, but nothing was normal any longer.

“Claymores ready, on my command.”  Pointere broadcast as the
males moved to within ten yards of the ring.

Crawford turned a quick circle, binoculars to his eyes as he
checked on the readiness of the defenders.  Machine guns were manned, a
civilian sitting next to each gunner, prepared to hand them ammo or do anything
they needed once the fight started.  Each of them had received a crash course
in what to do, and how, by the Rangers and Marines manning the guns.

“We’re as ready as we’ll be,” Crawford said to Pointere, who
nodded and keyed the transmit button on his radio.

“Claymores FIRE!”  He ordered.

Explosions rippled around the perimeter a moment later,
thousands upon thousands of males being blown backwards and falling to add to
the layer of bodies on the killing field.  Dust obscured the defender’s view,
but this time there was no silence.  Screams from a hundred thousand throats
sounded as the females surged forward.

A few machine guns opened fire immediately, the gunners
nervous, firing blind through the dust and smoke.  Ripping sounds began around
the perimeter as the hovering Ospreys fired their miniguns.  Hundreds, then
thousands of females were shredded by the withering aerial fire, but in the end
it had about as much effect as trying to hold the ocean back with a plastic
shovel.  More and more machine guns jumped into the fight as sprinting figures
emerged from the dust, rifle fire picking up moments later.

Pointere shouted a few orders over the radio, but quickly
gave up.  No one could hear him and no one had time to do anything other than
keep shooting at the screaming horde bearing down on them.  Crawford had already
raised his rifle, picking off runners with rapid but well placed shots. 
Pointere joined him, the two of them shoulder to shoulder on top of a pile of
sandbags.

I could see the lights at Tinker well before we arrived. 
The only electric illumination visible for as far as I could see in any
direction, they weren’t hard to spot.  I could also see anti-collision lights
on several aircraft that were landing.  Had to be the evacuation flights I’d
heard mentioned on the radio, returning to pick up more people.

Leaning forward out the side door to get a good look, I
glanced into the cockpit to see a compass.  Holding a piece of paper down on my
leg against the buffeting wind I drew on it with a grease pencil Katie had
found in the cockpit.

“Panther flight, Dog Four.  Copy?”  I transmitted.

“Go Dog Four.”

“Friendlies are defending the north-south runway.  Civilians
being loaded onto transport at the south end of the runway.  You have eyes on
the aircraft in the air?” 

“Affirmative,” the Navy pilot responded.  “We’re tracking
them.  Where do you want our first run?”

“Unknown at this time,” I answered.  “I’m still two mikes
out.  Stand by.”

“Panther copies.”

“Claymores FIRE!”  I heard over the speaker at the same time
as I received the Navy’s response.

Watching, I saw a neatly defined perimeter around the runway
and a couple of hangars appear as quick flashes of bright light when the mines
detonated.  I was impressed.  That had to have been over a thousand mines, and
I’d already heard a previous order for use of the weapons. 

As we continued to approach I could see the winks of muzzle
flashes and the path of tracer rounds as machine guns opened up.  Watching for
a moment, I spotted an area at the north end of the runway that was receiving
the brunt of the attack from the infected.  I also noted half a dozen Ospreys
hovering over the perimeter, and getting closer I could tell they were firing
their miniguns.

“Martinez, bring us in over the north end, and tell those
Marines in the Ospreys to get the fuck out of the way!”

She descended fast and I could hear her yelling into her
radio.  Turning, she swung us into a hover a hundred feet over the heads of
half a dozen machine gunners.  To their rear was a large truck with thick
bundles of wires that headed out in all directions.  Had to be the master
control for the Claymores. 

“Panther, Dog Four,” I shouted to be heard over the pounding
of the rotors and the sounds of the battle beneath me.

“Go for Panther.”

“I want half your flight on each side of the runway.  Tangos
are danger close.  Friendlies are marked by small arms fire.”

“Panther copies.  On target in two mikes.”  He answered,
still sounding calm and cool.

While we waited for the Navy, I swiveled the M60 around and
added to the fire being pumped into the females.  The machine guns on the
ground were being run hard, without pauses to let the barrels cool.  Normally
that’s not a good idea, but when the enemy is in your face the last thing
you’re worried about is ruining a machine gun barrel.  You just stay on the
trigger as long as you have ammo and a target.

The fire was devastating.  High velocity bullets ripped
through the herd, severing limbs, smashing bones and destroying internal
organs.  Females fell by the thousands, but for every one that went down there
were more behind them, ready to take their place.

“Why did they hold back from the mines but charge into the
gun fire?”  Crawford wondered to himself as he changed magazines in his rifle. 
He didn’t have time to think about it so he dismissed the thought and followed
Pointere when the Marine slapped him on the shoulder.

Together they ran, firing their rifles as they moved.  The
emplacement closest to them was in danger of being overrun, the gunner firing
at targets no more than ten feet away.  A young female Airman was standing
behind the gunner, firing her rifle on full auto to take the legs out from
under the raging infected.

Crawford and Pointere arrived, taking up positions on either
side of her and together with the machine gunner, all of them were able to stop
the advance.  But they couldn’t push the infected back, no matter how fast they
fired.  The best they could achieve was to not let the females get any closer.

They all looked up in surprise when a helicopter roared into
a hover directly over their heads, the door gunner adding to the fight.  He
worked the stream of bullets back and forth across the leading edge, shredding
bodies.  Slowly, the gap in front of them widened.

“How much longer?”  Crawford shouted to Pointere.

“First one rolling in ten minutes.  Forty until they’re all
in the air!”  He shouted back.

At first, Crawford didn’t recognize the rushing roar he
heard approaching.  His instinct was to turn to his rear and look, but he
didn’t dare take focus off the infected right in front of him.  Then he heard
the sound of heavy canons and a jet flashed by on either side of him, leaving a
wake of destruction among the infected.

He heard another roar coming, then a second pair of jets
screamed by, ceasing fire as they banked and rocketed skyward.  A third pair
appeared a moment later, then a fourth, fifth and sixth.  The destruction they
left behind was awe-inspiring. 

In seconds, they had carved a one hundred and fifty yard
wide swath of death out of the females with their Vulcan 20 mm rotary canons. 
The gunners quickly dispatched the few infected that were between the strike
zone and them, then the firing slowed as there were no more targets inside a
hundred yards.  Crawford and Pointere exchanged surprised glances, then grinned
like little boys.

“Get those fucking planes loaded, Colonel!  Someone just
bought us some time.”  Crawford shouted, turning to replenish his supply of
magazines.

“Good shooting, Navy!”  I shouted into the radio.  “Hold
until they start pushing in again.”

“Panther copies.  We’ll be here when you need us.”

“Isn’t that Colonel Crawford down there?”  Martinez yelled
over the intercom.

“Where?”  I asked, leaning out to look.

“Behind the emplacement to the left of the truck.”

“Yep, that’s him,” I said, spotting the familiar figure.

“And here they come again,” Martinez said a moment later.  I
looked up to see females surging in all around the perimeter.

“Panther, Dog Four.”  I transmitted.  “Let’s rinse and
repeat.  Just like last time.”

“Panther copies,” I heard, wishing it was daylight so I
could see the Hornets turning and lining up for their attack runs.

The females had covered most of the open ground, running up
against the machine gun and rifle fire, which slowed their advance and caused
them to bunch up.  That made them perfect targets for the Navy pilots.  Less
than a minute later the buffer had been opened back up, thousands more females
dead. 

The bodies were piling up, getting deeper by the minute. 
This hampered the infected’s forward progress, but not enough.  Without the air
support they were able to start pushing in again. 

“Panther, let’s hit the bitches again.”  I said, closely
watching the progress of the front ranks of the females.

“Copy Dog Four.”  He answered.  “Be advised this will be our
last run.  Ammo will be depleted and we’re almost bingo fuel.  Spooky is five
mikes out with the throttle through the firewall.”

“Understood Panther, and thank you.”  I replied, looking at
the ocean of bodies below me. 

As far as the lights could reach there was nothing visible
other than tightly massed bodies.  If I could see out into the city or onto the
prairie I suspected all that would be there was more of the same.  I hoped the
defenders could hold out until Spooky arrived on target.