Wingman (36 page)

Sluggo jumped from the plane just in time to see the two F-4s of The Ace Wrecking Company bearing down on the open field. Each plane dropped two canisters. Sluggo knew they were filled with napalm. He also knew they were sitting ducks . . .

The four napalm bombs exploded simultaneously, dispersing a tidal wave of flaming gasoline jelly all over the field and the desperately fleeing pirates. More than half the bandits were incinerated where they stood. The flames engulfed the pirates' trucks and the C-119, trapping Sluggo and the other three bandits.

The F-4s climbed out and swung back around for another past. This time they came in with cannons blazing, picking off the remnants of the pirate force, sometimes two or three at a clip. The two fighter bombers went around for a third time, and managed to pick off several more pirates, before streaking off toward the south.

In the woods across from the small lake, a Huey helicopter started its engine and slowly began to climb.

"That's a doggone pity," Clyde said, looking at the aftermath of the sudden, deadly effective air strike. "I kind of liked that old Flying Boxcar."

"Yeah," Hunter, sitting beside him, said. "It's a real shame."

Most of the fifty pirates left behind at the Stuka base went back to sleep almost immediately after Sluggo's illfated column left in search of the snowbird. The day had dawned bright, hot and sunny, and outside was no place to be with a hangover, which the majority of the pirates were suffering from. Most just drifted off, with nothing much else to do, to wait for Sluggo to return and portion out the cocaine.

Back on the Pennsylvania Turnpike section turned runway, the F-4s of The Ace Wrecking Company were being rearmed. The Sea Stallion and one of the black Hueys were warming up, their complements of strike force ready and waiting inside. High above, the gigantic C-5A Galaxy orbited.

The second black Huey landed and Hunter and Clyde jumped out. They shook hands and headed for their assigned stations; Clyde to the Sea Stallion, Hunter to warm up the F-16.

His plane was ready to go in less than a minute. His six cannons were fully loaded.

On his wings were four 500pound iron bombs, plus four air-to-ground antipersonnel missiles. The F-4s carried similar loads. The Stallion's Gatling guns were twisting and turning as their operators put them through a last effectability check and the big chopper's loaded missile platform was lowered and raised once to make sure everything was in working order.

Hunter saw the strike force was ready. He ran through one last instrument check in his cockpit, then started the F-16 on its takeoff roll. He lifted off smoothly, the same old excitement running through his body as the plane broke the bonds of earth.

It was good to be flying the '16 again. He really felt nowhere as much at home as in the cockpit of the remarkable fighter.

In quick succession, the rest of the strike aircraft took off. The F-4s were quickly airborne and riding in formation with the '16 in the lead. The Stallion lifted off, followed by the Hueys and the Cobra Brothers. The five choppers fell into formation, with the Cobras in front, the Stallion in the middle and the Hueys in the rear, and turned to follow the fighter jets heading north.

On the steps of the saloon in Ruff Creek, the two town drunks sat, still picking pieces of chimney brisk out of their hair. The day was getting hot and they wished the bar owner would wake up and open for business.

They had all but forgotten about the crazy pilot who had severed the chimney across the street with his low flying antics. Probably the Stukas again, they had reasoned in their hung-over minds, chasing some poor bastard out of the sky. Someone should stand up to those assholes some day, they had said. Put an end to the bandits' harassing of the Creekers and stealing of all the whores.

Suddenly, they heard another rumbling sound, this one ten times louder than the low flyer a couple of hours before. They looked up in amazement to see three jet fighters-not Stukas, either-flying in formation, passing directly over the town and heading north. The planes were followed by five helicopters, flying so low, the two drunks could see armed soldiers staring out the windows at them.

One of the drunks waved. One of the soldiers waved back. Little did the drunk know that he would never see a Stuka pirate in Ruff Creek again.

For the second time that day, the sentries in the watchtower at the Stuka base were rudely awakened. The rumbling of the approaching strike force was shaking the legs of the tower. Empty liquor bottles from the night before crashed to the wooden floor.

One of the guards managed to reach the air raid siren button, and the wail warning signal started up again.

Hunter checked with the Phantoms and all three jets greened up. He did one last instrument check, then climbed to 13,000 for his pop. This air strike would be a pleasure.

Hunter went in first, dropping two of his 500pounders and scoring a direct hit on the Stukas' maintenance hangar. The building disappeared in a cloud of smoke. Captain Crunch followed, putting two bombs right on the base's control tower. Crunch's second Phantom made it three-for-three burying one of the pirates' barracks and igniting a fuel tank nearby.

Hunter climbed, put the F-16 into a tight 360 and came back in, dropping a third 500pounder on the storage facility where he, Al and Zal had once been held prisoner, and a fourth on the sentries' watchtower 100 yards away. Crunch took out another storage building and his partner added another load into the already burning fuel tank.

The target thus softened up, the assault choppers, on Hunter's orders, moved in.

"LZ is hot," Hunter radioed the Stallion pilots, as he streaked in to strafe the runway. "Drop down quick and keep the props moving."

Some pirates were still running out on the runway, trying to get to their gun positions, or taking shots at the jets flying over. Others were firing rifles and machine guns at the descending troop helicopters.

"Cobras!" Hunter called into the radio. "Soften the LZ will you?"

The two Cobras seemed to appear form nowhere and strafe the bandits as they dove for cover. Cobra Brother One stayed on the tails of five bandits who ran into a concrete bunker next to the runway. Pausing to hover for a moment, the Cousin soaked the structure with his flamethrower. The five bandits emerged, completely engulfed, and ran wildly until they were mercifully shot down by Cobra Brother two.

The Sea Stallion was the first to come in. The Troopers, led by Dozer, leaped from the craft before it even touched down. They were met by a band of determined pirate guards firing a variety of weapons from behind the parked F-lOOs and from the ditches lining the runway. A sharp firefight immediately erupted. The assault team hit the pavement and started pumping lead into the pirates' positions. The battle was at such close quarters, the pirates were hurling hand grenades and the Troopers were picking them up and throwing them back. The pirates fired shoulder-launched SAMs right into the assault team. The attackers returned the fire with their RPGs.

All the while, the Cobras were making breakneck strafing runs, using their

flamethrowers and TOW missiles, flying so close to the defenders' lines, the pirates had to duck.

Hunter had lowered his flaps and landing gear and flew as slowly as possible over the battle. While most of the fighting was taking place on the Sea Stallion's port side, Hunter saw a group of 20 or so daring pirates, trying to sneak up on the chopper's starboard side, and attack it from the blindside. That was their mistake; the starboard side hid all three of the chopper's Gatling guns.

"Stallion," Hunter radioed. "Goofballs on your backdoor. Lock on."

"Roger, '16," the call came back. "We see them."

The bandits were detected on one of chopper's target acquisition video streets just as they started to charge. In less than a second, the chopper's shutters opened up to reveal the guns. Inside, the gunner pushed a button. In an instant, every pirate was severed at the waist by a one-second, computer-controlled burst from the chopper's Gatling guns.

"Hueys!" Hunter called, after twisting and flying back over the runway. The two Hueys came in, landing on either side of the Stallion. More of the strike force Troopers jumped out and joined the fray. By this time, bullets were flying everywhere, as were RPGs and cannon shells. The air wash from the choppers gave the appearance that the battle was being fought in a windstorm. Hunter continually passed over the battle scene, adding cannon fire when and where it was needed.

Although they were outnumbered, the strike force quickly gained the upper hand on the runway. The pirate guard broke and started to retreat, half heading for the nearby woods, the other toward the graveyard of wrecked planes at the far end of the landing strip. Dozer and the Stallion troops pursued the bandits into the sea of twisted metal, smashed jet engines and burnt out fuselages. There were many places for the bandits to hide, .and the assault team had to work each plane, one at a time, to flush out the defenders.

Meanwhile, the choppers themselves were catching fire from the bandits in the woods and from some of the perimeter AA guns. One of the bandit gun crews had leveled their guns and were blasting away at the choppers on the runway. Hunter quickly swooped in and put a air-to-surface missile right into the AA nest, silencing the gun.

The Ace Wrecking Company Phantoms reappeared and started buffeting the woods hiding the pirates with murderous cannon fire. At the battle of the airplane graveyard, Dozer called Hunter on the radio.

“’16? Dozer here. We got a nest of snipers. Can you put an arrow in that 707 wreck?"

"Roger, Captain," Hunter answered. "Heads up."

Hunter turned, and bore down on the target. He immediately began picking up

antiaircraft fire from all over the field. Below, he could see the group of pirates, hiding in the burnt out cockpit area of the wrecked convoy plane, training their machine guns on the assault Troopers. Sighting through his HUD, he squeezed the firing button and felt the resulting kick as the air-to-surface missile left his wing and instantly impacted on the pirates' nest. He pulled up, turned left and looked back through the bubble canopy to see the missile had done its work.

"Thanks, '16," Dozer radioed. "We owe you a beer."

"No problem," Hunter called back. "I'm picking up the tab when this one's over."

The battle was slowly winding down as the attackers started to take control. Hunter made several more passes over the base, just to make sure. The place was almost totally aflame. The airplane graveyard was burning. A small forest fire had started. From the air, it appeared that every building was either raging out of control or smoking heavily-every building except one-the black building at the end of the landing strip and away from the fighting.

High above, the C-5 Galaxy circled the base, waiting for his call. Once he was sure the big plane could come in safely, Hunter radioed its pilots.

"Galaxy. '16 here," he said. "Runway clean. Join the party, will you?"

"Roger, '16," the C-5 pilot radioed back. "Looks like we've been missing all the fun."

"Heads up down there," Hunter called to the ground force commanders. "C-5 coming in, followed by the F-4s and the '16."

A chorus of 'Roger" echoed back through his earphone.

The huge silver Galaxy descended onto the runway like a giant, graceful bird.

It touched down smoothly, kicking up a minimum of smoke and dirt as its dozens of wheels touched the runway. A small parachute on the plane's tail helped slow down the big craft with runway to spare.

The F-4s came in next, side-by-side, their wheels touching the landing strip at precisely the same instant.

By the time he brought the F-16 in, the Galaxy's wide-flap mouth was open and Fitzie's monkeys, mixed with some from the old ZAP, were filing out and forming up outside the huge airplane. Also aboard were twelve of the rescued ZAP pilots. He knew they'd be itchy to get into the action. He taxied up to the staging area, shut the engine down and jumped out of the jet.

Dozer and the assault force officers were waiting for him. He shook hands with them, saying "Beautiful work. What about casualties?"

Two dead, six wounded, none seriously. The landing strip was littered with bodies of dead pirates. The surprise attack had decimated what was left of the Stukas.

"It's hard to believe that some of these guys are actually pilots and mechanics,"

Hunter said to Dozer, looking at the carnage on the tarmac. "Drugs. And greed. That's what killed them. What a waste."

Then he turned his attention to the matter at hand . . .

The black hangar was still locked up and apparently untouched. As before, Hunter quickly picked the lock on the doors and swung them open. To his great relief, he saw the twelve F-20s were still there.

"There they are, boys," he said to the army of monkeys standing around him. "Get

'em working. We have an hour, ninety minutes tops!"

With that, the mechanics methodically attacked the sophisticated jet fighters, removing the engine cowlings and lifting the engine access hoods. The ZAP pilots each staked a claim on one of the jets, admiring the beauty of the rare airplanes. For them, it was a dream come true. A week ago, they were languishing in the Mid-Ak's skyscraper prison. Now, they were about to pilot one of the most sophisticated jets ever made.

Outside, he could hear occasional gunfire. The Cobras were still airborne,