Vengeance

[bacpacker]

Good Stuff!

[The Stig]

Shortly after the first explosion at the waterworks, which reverberated off the buildings like a sonic pinball, Mack and Miller made it to the large square. Mack was right; it was the perfect spot for an ambush. Lots of hiding spots meant it was indefensible against snipers. Anybody in the square would be a sitting duck from a hundred, maybe a thousand different locations. Windows, dark corners and open doorways littered the square on all four sides.

The square, which had served as a market and urban meeting place since 1871, was open save a large monument planted in the dead center of the cobblestone expanse. Other than inside the two foot tall wall that surrounded the monument, nothing offered someone in the area any form of concealment or safety.

A hotel flanked the square to the south, while an equally abandoned bank headquarters lay to the east. Behind their position, to the west, was a seven story building with shopping and apartments. Save a few homeless people, it too was uninhabited. All of these buildings were separated from the square itself by a street.

The building to the north however, was directly connected to the square. Three stories tall it had once been a restaurant; but it was reduced to shattered glass and overturned furniture. Any equipment and food-stores had long ago been ransacked. Along the front of this building, at the second story, was a large open walkway that was nearly ten meters wide. It ran the length of the northern building, turned south at the western edge and then slowly descended to ground level. Small businesses and food carts had once occupied this area in a happier time.

Lurking in the shadows of the open walkway to avoid detection, the two men, who had worked together for years all around the world, surveyed the layout of their proposed ambush site. With their expert eyes they both noted the danger the square posed.

“This ought to do,” said Miller. “Donovan will likely come from over there,” he said pointing at one opening to the square, “or from other there,” pointing at the other. Both openings lay to the east side of the square, the side with the destroyed bank headquarters.

Mack scanned the area as best he could from their limited field of view. “I'll take up a position on the second or third floor of the building behind us. That way he'll be walking straight towards me. As long as he doesn't make it to the lee of this walkway he'll be in sight.”

Nodding in agreement, Miller said, I'll find spot over here. That gives me somewhat of a crossfire, especially if he comes at us from the far opening. You take him out, and as many security as possible. I'll lay down distracting fire and take out what I can. We exfil to the west and make our way back to the ferry landing.”

“Roger that”

Looking back towards his friend of many years Miller said, “you sure you're ready for this?”

Smiling in the darkness, Mack said, “time to make your call and bring the old man out of hiding.”

****

The Clermont County Airport is a small local airport atop a short hill. Typical of most airports of it's size it had a small thirty-five hundred foot single runway and was uncontrolled, meaning their was no air-traffic control tower. Only a few sparse hangers, and wrecks of old aircraft, cannibalized for their parts, dotted the landscape.

Since the war started, the airport had been abandoned. There had been a short-lived effort to use the airport to stage raids against the President's forces across the river, but the exposure atop the hill, and proximity to the river, meant it was deemed too dangerous for operations. It could have easily been shelled by artillery from the other side of the river in addition to its exposure to air attacks.

In a wooded area nearly a mile off the end of the runway, Lowry and Reynolds sat in their parked Stryker. They'd been able to remain hidden though-out the day after navigating their way up the hilly service road without incident. Both men were surprised by the lack of enemy activity in the area.

“Ok, I guess this is it buddy,” said Lowry. “Go ahead and radio the Captain and let him know we're here.”

Without hesitation, Reynolds replied, “Roger that” and keyed his microphone.

****

DeMetrie hovered over radios in his communication center and listened in as the various units reported their progress. Referencing a map he issued a few corrections to a group that drifted too far east. Occasionally a radio transmission would be punctuated by an explosion. It was clear all the men were in the process of blowing something up, shooting at something or generally creating mayhem.

Glancing at his watch he realized the men had been across the river too long. The northern most group, the one that drifted eastward, had already engaged an advance element of Peacekeepers coming in from the large University just north of of downtown. If the blocking force hadn't been lured westward yet it wasn't ever going to move. If they stayed on the north side of the river much longer they ran the risk of getting pinned between a force from the east and the blocking force from the rest.

Just as he began issuing the order to bring Saxon's men back the radio crackled to life. Despite a weak signal Reynolds voice was clear as day.

After the usual radio identification call and response, Reynolds said, “We're here and ready.”

DeMetrie, usually reserved, grabbed a headset off the operator. “Good to hear from you stranger. Stay put. We'll be there in one zero.”

The response was simple but packed with emotion, “thank you Sir.”

Turning to his radio operators he said, “get Saxon's men back to the river now.”

****

It was nearly two in the morning and Kirilenko sat quietly in his office. As he smoked a cigar and sipped a small glass of Vodka, he reflected on his long running feud with Miller. They had been harassing each other in a game of cat and mouse for years. While a butcher and ruthless man, Kirilenko was not ignorant. Their dance over the years was part of a bigger picture of lingering animosity between countries that purported to be friends. It was the lingering aftereffects of the Cold War despite the changes of the 1990's and beyond. In a different time and place Kirilenko and Miller might have been friends, maybe even a worthwhile partnership.

But it wasn't a different time or place, and the cold reality was they were enemies.

Kirilenko was shaken from his contemplation as Donovan burst into his office.

“Kirilenko, you were right,” he excitedly proclaimed as he strode towards the Generals desk. “You were right. I don't know how the hell he did it, but a message was left with the security detail at my quarters. He wants to meet in ten minutes just where you wanted. He already planned on going there I guess.” Donovan was clearly excited at the possibility of evening the score with the man who had humiliated him.

Exhaling a long puff of smoke, Kirilenko snuffed out his cigar, stood and smoothed out his uniform. Grabbing the phone from his receiver, he grunted out, “Alert the security detail. We deploy now. I'll going to the lobby now.”

Turning to the Senator, he said with a smile and motioned towards his door, “By all means Senator. Let us go exact your revenge.”

As the elevator descended to the bottom floor Donovan turned to the General. “Listen Kirilenko, I know I've been a hardass. But this is coming together nicely. Once we get this squared away I think there could be a bigger role for you in Crutchfield's plans.”

With a smile Kirilenko said, “Let us end this first. Then we worry about the future no?”

[The Stig]

So far the extraction of Saxon's men was going well. From his hiding spot across town, Miller could hear the echos and explosions as the men fell back towards the river. So far they had been lucky. One man killed and one man slightly wounded. While the death of a man is never good, considering what they were attempting, the casualties were light.

Within thirty minutes of DeMetrie's order all of the troops, including the dead solider, were on the bank of the Ohio River. The rubber boats that had transported them across the body of water separating the states still tied safely where they had been hidden hours before.

They were on a small section of riverbank , slightly east of downtown, that was mostly shielded from view of the bank above. The skyscrapers of downtown hovered overhead and appeared to touch the sky from the odd angle at which Saxon viewed them. The rise of the shallow incline was punctuated by a small stone wall that separated a large urban park from the riverbank area. They hadn’t used the landing spot often in the past due to it's proximity to the city, but so far it had served as a convenient landing for this mission.

“Looks like we'll pull this off Sarge,” proclaimed one of the soldiers.

Looking back sternly, Saxon replied, “Let's not get cocky till we're across the river troop.”

For the next few minutes the men quietly boarded and relaunched the rubber boats and began paddling back to the safe side of the river. He listened to the sound of the plastic paddles as they dipped into the water and pulled the boats away from the bank.

Saxon and his team had crossed in two boats. Soon one of his boats was twenty yards from the shoreline and quickly disappearing into the night. Half his team was on its way back to safety.

Whispering as loudly as he dared, Saxon said, “Alright that's everybody. Into the boats boys.”

As the men piled into the boat Saxon turned to scan the skyline. While enemy troops had been flowing into the area, it appeared that Saxon's force was going to escape just before Crutchfield's men fully saturated their escape route. That was one of the many risks of the plan. If the Peacekeeper's responded too quickly Saxon might not be able to escape the area before he was engaged in force.

He was just about to step into the boat when the rifle shot rang out.

****

As he listened to increasing gunfire echoing off the downtown buildings, and whispering into the radio-microphone that Captain DeMetrie had provided them, Miller alerted Mack to the presence of Kirilenko's men and Donovan.

“Look sharp. Movement on the far south-east corner.”

“Copy that” came Mack's terse reply.

Miller's intuition, like usual, was on the money. He first picked up movement on the far side of the street as a security detachment, wielding AK-74s, briskly made it's way towards the south-east corner of the square. They had just cleared an abandoned car outside the building when they came into view. Donovan had done exactly what Miller had predicted: he and the security folks rushed from the Federal Building to the square.

The men moved forward cautiously, but without delay, as they attempted to provide the appearance of security for Donovan and their real boss, Kirilenko. Trying to maintain cover while moving quickly, it was apparent that Donovan was urging them forward much faster than they cared to go. In a normal situation they would have waited to storm the square in force, secure it fully, and only when the “all clear” was given would Kirilenko or Donovan been allowed to approach it.

Leaning forward slightly Miller quickly scanned the square for any other signs of life. Seeing nothing he again keyed his microphone. “Lead elements crossing the street now. Secondary core coming into view.”

“Copy that. I got em.”

They would allow the group to march fully into the square before opening fire. A standard ambush procedure.

Glancing up and down the buildings, Miller peered into the darkness for any sign of enemy counter-snipers or soldiers. The last thing he wanted was to open fire then get mowed down once his position was compromised. On occasion he'd see a flash reflected in the windows of the higher floors of the hotel to the south.

Peering again across the moonlit square he saw who he was looking for: Senator Donovan. The small man boldly strode across the street as if he were MacArthur returning to the Philippines. As was usual, his desire for revenge, and emotions in general, caused him to act before thinking. Even in the darkness Miller could see the man's erect posture as he crossed the street and approached the square.

“I have the target,” came Mack's whisper.

The lead element of two men entered the square. Walking briskly, slightly crouched and weapons at the ready they moved to the either side of the monument. Their heads twisted from side-to-side as they scanned horizontally and vertically, vigilant for any signs of danger as they took up positions at opposing sides of the square, on the edge of the open area. The man on the north side was a mere twenty-five yards in front of Miller.

As the lead element settled into place, the secondary element entered the square and plowed straight forward. With Donovan close behind they marched to the monument itself and took up positions to the front and rear of the large bronze statute that once welcomed visitors with fountains of water.

Donovan stopped just to the north side of the monument and he too began peering into the darkness looking for any sign of Miller. Hands on hips he seemed oblivious to the danger that surrounded him.

Rifle fire continued to rattle in the distance, while a single shot, much closer to downtown, suddenly boomed out. Bouncing off the buildings the sound added an eerie soundtrack to the otherwise quiet scene.

Scanning to his right, Miller decided he'd take out the advance element man to the north first, given that he was closest. As he quietly adjusted his rifle, he scanned the square for the hundredth time in the past few seconds. Across the street from the square, off in the shadows, Miller made out the feint silhouette that he recognized immediately.

Kirilenko and several security men appeared to loiter across the street from the square, just in front of the hotel to the south. It was as if something were preventing them from entering the square itself.

Glancing around one last time, Miller whispered into his microphone, “Take them”.

[Thor827]

Cliffhanger!!!!!!!

[bacpacker]

I love reading cliffhangers and this is a very good one!

[The Stig]

Instinctively, Saxon began moving at the sound of the rife crack. The bullet had already long since passed him and impacted harmlessly into the water by the time he heard it but he knew that finding some form of cover, immediately, was paramount. The shooter, realizing there were multiple targets on the riverbank was momentarily frozen by the choices, which provided Saxon and his men the sliver of time they needed to react.

His men, to their credit, also exited the small boat, some gracefully, some not. Soon two of them were returning fire on the unknown target while moving to the small area of protection afforded by a tree that had washed ashore.

While they were all soon behind the scant safety of the tree, their respite was not long lived. Several more enemy soldiers gathered behind the stone wall at the top of the hill. Because of the angle of the incline neither side had a good shot at the other.

“Hotel 5 Actual this is Bravo 1, over” he called over the radio. His voice was restrained but even over the digitally transmitted signal the concern in his voice was palatable.

He wasn't surprised when DeMetrie himself answered. “Go ahead Bravo 1,” came the calm, reassuring voice. DeMetrie could hear the gunfire in the background.

“Hotel 5, under fire. All but five on way south. We are pinned down and unable to exfil. Support requested.” Saxon knew there was no support to be offered. DeMetrie had no airpower or artillery at his disposal and was unlikely to instruct the returning troops to row back into the firefight. They'd be sitting ducks for the enemy on the hill.

“Hang tight for zero five minutes. Support is imminent.”

Ducking after a bullet whizzed through a thin section of the tree and impacted the mud several feet beyond him, Saxon replied, “Copy that. Zero five minutes.”

Saxon didn't bother to sign off as he rolled back into the fight and fired several quick shots. At this point his men were using slow, well aimed fire to keep their attackers head's down. So far it was working but as soon as they found a way to flank Saxon and his men they'd be torn to pieces.

As he ducked back into cover Saxon thought to himself, “support? What support?”

Just then the first grenade landed fifteen yards short of their tree and buried itself in the mud before exploding. The earth helped absorb most of the explosive force and shrapnel but the men were pelted by a shower of tiny mud-balls.
The men were just far enough down the riverbank that their opponents would have to forcefully exert himself to cover the distance with a grenade. The constant stream of 5.45 x45 rounds sailing into, and over, the wall also prevented the aggressors from effectively launching or aiming their explosive devices.

“Keep their heads down,” called out Saxon. If they can really launch one we're going to be in deep shit.”

He knew better. It was going to be a long five minutes.

****

Miller aligned the faintly glowing red dot of his rifle sight on the solider who had inadvertently taken a position nearly in front of him. He had instructed Mack to open fire on Donovan and he awaited the first shot before pulling the trigger of his own weapon.

Exhaling slightly he steadied himself and placed the dot on the man's chest. Taking as much slack out of the trigger as he dared, without actually firing it, he mentally prepared to engage the enemy. After shooting the man to his front several times, in rapid succession, he'd move to the men in and around the monument. They would have likely sought cover after Mack's first shot but Miller would shoot any that remained exposed.

In a fraction of a second he also reviewed his escape plan. Running it though his mind, actually picturing it, he made sure he knew and remembered the details he had so carefully crafted. The long drive from ClarMar Farms to the north provided ample time to plot his moves.

As the seconds ticked by the silence remained deafening as Donovan and the men remained stationary in the center of the square.

“Send it,” he whispered into the microphone, again urging Mack to shoot. His voice barely audible to avoid detection from the closest enemy guard.

Forcing himself to remain calm, he quietly adjusted his stance to train his rifle on Donovan. If something had happened to Mack he'd have to improvise a solution. That would change the dynamic of the ambush since Miller would no longer have the advantage of a sniper perched above. The reduction in overall firepower by fifty percent didn't help either but his options were limited. If Donovan left the square he'd likely never be drawn into the open with such ease again.

If Mack didn't fire in the next three seconds, he'd make the shot and engage on his own.

One, one thousand. Nothing but rifle fire rattling in the distance.

Two, one thousand. Donovan remained standing.

Three, one thousand.

He exhaled slightly, confirmed his sight picture, and began to squeeze the trigger.

A fraction of a second before the rifle fired Miller was surprised by the sudden illumination of the entire square. In an instant the entirety of the open area was bathed in lights hung carefully to both turn night into day and avoid detection before doing so.

Miller blinked as his eyelids, programmed by millions of years of genetics, slammed shut to protect his vision. Forcing them open, by shear will, the blurry image of Donovan jumping to cover behind the monument appeared as if he were looking through a thick piece of plastic. He strained to react but the blinding wall of light was overwhelming.

“Miller!” boomed out the voice of Kirilenko over a bull-horn. “Old friend. It is good to see you again.”

Confused, Miller blurted out, “Mack, where the hell are you?” into his microphone.

The answer, which came from ten feet behind him, soon laid bare the situation. “Uh, we have a problem Miller.”

Turning quickly, he was confronted by the image of Mack standing, restrained and weaponless, with two guards at either side and one directly behind. All wielded AK-74's making it clear that Kirilenko was taking no chances.

****

Disarmed, and bound, Miller stood side-by-side with Mack in the middle of the square. Kirilenko and his men surrounded them while Donovan preened around like a peacock.

“Miller, it would seem that this time you're options are very limited,” pronounced Kirilenko.

“Yea, well. Another day at the office I suppose,” came the blithe reply.

Punching Miller in the stomach with what force he could muster, Donovan shot back, “listen here fucker. Its about time you learned a little respect.”

Kirilenko chuckled, “It would appear your gift for pissing people off has had it's usual effect on Senator Donovan. Without looking in his direction, he continued, “Senator, you will find that Miller's ability to frustrate you is only matched by his ability to turn situations to his benefit. I know of this first hand. I suggest we return to my headquarters immediately.”

Taking another sucker punch, which split Miller's lip, Donovan replied. “Sure thing Ivan. But when we get back I'll take first crack at him.”

Bowing slightly in a mock gesture of respect, Kirilinko said “as you wish.” Snapping his fingers a large dark SUV suddenly appeared on the street, as if it had magically materialized. Upon yanking his head to the side, the men began guiding their two prisoners towards the transport.

As Miller passed Kirilenko leaned in and whispered, “do not worry old friend, the Senator will not lay a finger on you.”

Miller, simply nodded as he contemplated his latest predicament.

[bacpacker]

Oh shit!

[piranha2]

Not looking good..........

[The Stig]

The situation was getting desperate on the river bank. The attackers kept up the pressure on Saxon's men, but generally held back as they assembled more and more strength. Once they got enough men, they would concentrate their firepower and attack.

After expending much of their ammo during the actual assault, and using more to defend their position, many of Saxon's men were running dangerously low. As soon as they ran out of ammunition the attackers would overwhelm and kill them all.

“Stack up your grenades so you can throw them quickly,” called out Saxon. Short of affixing bayonets they had no other options. There was nowhere else they could move.

They would have to defend their position to the end.

Just then one of his men called out, clutched his throat, and fell in a heap. Bright red blood sprayed across the night sky as the man's life quickly drained from him. A comrade quickly sprang to his aid, yanking the body back to the safety of the tree.

As he quickly scanned the horizon he saw an enemy solider attempting to scamper from the wall to a small rock outcropping further down the bank and to Saxon's right. It would be an ideal place to provide a crossfire on his men.

Rising quickly he shot the enemy solider sending him crumpling to the ground.

Again calling out on the radio, he said, “Hotel Five Actual, Bravo One. Where's that damned cavalry? Situation unsat. Need support immediate.”

DeMetrie's voice, calm and reassuring, replied without any delay, “Laze your target.”

Stunned by the order Saxon wasn't quite sure what he had heard. “Say again Hotel Five.”

DeMetrie, as calm as if he were asking someone to pass the gravy at Sunday dinner replied, “Laze the goddamned target.” The words came though his earpiece slowly and clearly.

Flipping back over, he activated the infrared laser aiming device on his rifle and contorted his body to be able to point his rifle at the center of the wall above.

“What are you doing,” yelled one of his men.

“Just keep their heads down while I'm hanging out here,” came Saxon's reply.

Almost immediately, the deep thump of a 30mm chain gun erupted as rounds sailed across the river and into the stone wall. Soon it was joined by another and, almost in concert, began to dismantle the wall, piece by piece. Bits of stone, dirt and bodies spayed into the air in response to the projectiles.

Amongst the noise and confusion of the firefight neither side heard the approach of the flight of AH64D Apache Helicopters as they nimbly glided in from the east. Following the curvature of the river they had moved into position across the river and slightly to the east with both groups of soldiers remaining unawares of their presence.

As round after round of 30mm cannon fire decimated the contingent of soldiers atop the hill, the Peacekeeper's suddenly panicked. One solider stood and foolishly attempted to return fire in the face of the tungsten and copper onslaught. He was neatly cut in two as a 30mm round transected his torso. Others attempted to scurry to safety and were also mowed down.

In the space of thirty seconds the solid wall of cannon fire simply erased the attackers from the battlefield.

****

“What the hell was that?” called out Donovan as the sound of helicopters and cannon fire erupted in the distance. Merely fifteen blocks from the scene of Saxon's firefight, the cacophony was clear as it echoed off the valley and building walls.

Kirilenko's men, and the General himself, were quite aware of the source of the sound. With the flick of his hands, he signaled the guards and they shoved Mack and Miller into the back of the SUV's.

He barked out. “Take them back to my headquarters. Hold them in my office. The Senator and I will return on foot. Go.”

Men moved in concert and within seconds the SUV squealed out of the area. The security contingent followed closely behind on foot. Trotting in near unison they too were soon gone.

Donovan turned to see Kirilenko's mouth moving but could hear no sound from twenty feet away.

After what sounded like a large zipper being slowly torn open, an aircraft whooshed overhead, barely above the tops of the skyscrapers. Pealing sharply to the south it disappeared. He ducked although the jet was nearly a thousand feet above his head.

Motioning the Senator closer, Kirilenko called out, “Senator, you are now able to exact your revenge on Mr. Miller” as the roar of the jet faded.

Standing erect, Donovan replied, “Good work General. Had me worried for a second but I'd say we got Miller jammed up pretty good now.”

Kirilenko busied himself with preparing to light a cigar. Without looking up he said, “Yes Senator. But with Miller things are never what they appear. Until we get him back to my headquarters, and secure him, we shouldn't think of him as captured.”

Smugly Donovan shot back, “Yes, well. I'd say Miller's time has run out. I know you're trying to get right with your superiors so I'll be sure to mention to Crutchfield your men's effort in catching him.”

Kirilenko, ignoring the next jet to fly overhead and repeat the pattern of turning to the south, replied drolly, “That's generous of you Senator.”

As he flicked open his lighter, and the flame danced up to light his cigar, a single shot rang out from an unknown direction.

Donovan crumpled to the ground with a loud grunt. The bullet transected his torso, entering in the front right shoulder at a high angle and exiting his lower left buttock. Multiple organs and swaths of tissue liquified as the 7.62x54R round punched its way though the Senator. His body twitched for several seconds as Kirilenko fussed with coaxing his cigar to life.

As the pool of blood formed around the old man's well tanned and wrinkled body, Kirilenko glanced up to the hotel room on the corner of ninth floor of the hotel. Turning his attention back to the remains of the one time used car salesman, he spat on the Senators Corpse and swore in Ukrainian.

He then turned and began walking back to his headquarters.

****

“Hell ya, get some!” shouted one of Saxon's men as the Apache's turned back to the east and disappeared from sight.

They watched as A10 Warthogs streaked across the sky from east to west, banking southward over the city center. Eight of the awkward looking aircraft, designed in the 1970s to defeat Soviet armored hordes, made pass after pass on the assembled group of targets laid before them. Some made runs with their gigantic Gatling guns belching long streams of depleted uranium rounds. The gun so powerful it actually slowed the forward momentum of the aircraft easily tore though the lightly armored vehicles. Smaller Humvees and Hilux's simply vaporized.

Others would drop seemingly benign pods that would split open unleashing hundreds of smaller bomblets. These bomblets would cascade down, like sand through across a pane of glass, devastating multiple football field sized areas. Entire acres of men were torn to shreds.

Although Crutchfield's and the Peacekeeper's vehicles were not aligned in a neat line, they were confined to several square mile area as they raced towards the havoc Saxon's men had created. They were close enough that the A10's could make efficient passes and erase cluster after cluster of men and vehicles.

In addition to bunching them closer together, Saxon's efforts kept the blocking force away from the camp to the north and it's air defenses. Miller and DeMetrie gambled that their enemy didn't have many air defense weapons at their disposal. As such, they would likely be deployed around the base that had been the original source of trouble instead of brought southward with the mobile forces on the prowl for Lowry and Reynolds.

That Crutchfield's commanders chose to take men out of the base to augment the blocking force was a bonus.

While the A10's weren't able to destroy the entirety of the enemy forces, they eradicated enough of them to deal the power of the enemy base fifteen miles north a large blow. With each pass of the tank busting aircraft, the operational abilities of the base were decreased.

As Kirilenko had noted, with Miller, nothing was as it appeared. Saxon's men weren't drawing the enemy away from Lowry and Reynold's escape route, they had been leading lambs to slaughter.

[The Stig]

Reynolds and Lowry were jolted to action by a sudden radio call from Captain DeMetrie.

The instruction to drive to the airport was unexpected. The instruction to take up a position off the end of one of the runways proved baffling.

“Orders are orders,” said Lowry as Reynolds once again fired the engine to the mighty Stryker and the diesel power-plant roared to life.

Mashing the accelerator, the Stryker once again lurched forward causing Lowry to slam the back of his head into the commanders turret.

“Dammit Reynolds,” he shouted. “I'm starting to think you're doing that shit on purpose.”

Smiling to himself, but not responding, Reynolds piloted the armored vehicle into the open field that separated them from the airport grounds.

Quickly covering the distance, the soon approached the chain-link fence that surrounded the small airfield.

“Think we should use the front gate?” asked Reynolds.

Chuckling softly, Lowry said, “nah. Let's use the Stryker gate.”

Mashing the accelerator to the floor, the Stryker accelerated swiftly, much as a sports car on the highway. Crossing over a small ditch the large vehicle bounced into the air and returned to the earth with a mighty crash. Shaken but uninjured, Reynolds continued to aim for the middle of a section of fence.

Rocking across a small blacktopped road, they again entered a grassy area before crashing into the fence. The galvanized and woven wire fence stood no chance and buckled out of the way of the large personnel carrier.

For good measure, Lowry belted out a rebel yell. “Yahhhhh hoooooo” as the Stryker knocked over a taxiway light and a pile of what used to be a small Cessna.

Coming to a halt near the end of the runway, Reynolds idled the engine, but left it running.

“Hotel Five Actual, this is Broadsword. We're at the runway,” Lowry announced into his radio with a mixture of excitement and curiosity.

The Captain's voice, displaying the slightest hint of amusement, “Standby Broadsword, your chariot approaches.”

“What in the hell is he talking about?” asked Reynolds.

“I don't know,” said Lowry, “but we've got company.

****

“Sarge,” blurted out of one Saxon's men. “Sarge. Did you see that shit. Fucking Apache's man.”

There was a sudden wave of relief as the men realized they had received a reprieve from a likely death.

Another solider asked, “Where did the Captain get Apaches? I thought there wasn't one within a hundred miles of here.”

“Listen up,” called out Saxon in his best drill instructor impersonation. “You ladies can hug an discuss your feelings once we're on the south shore. Until then, I suggest you gather up your gear and we get the hell off this riverbank.”

The celebratory mood was replaced with focused discipline as the soldiers responded to Saxon's instruction. Soon they had policed up their gear, gathered up the body of their fallen comrade, and prepared to return to their base for a warm shower and hot meal.

“Uh Sarge,” called out one of the three remaining soldiers. “We got a problem.”

Saxon turned to see what the solider was motioning towards.

The raft, which had gotten stuck on some partially exposed debris after the men hastily departed it, had not drifted out of the line of fire on the river's current. Instead it stayed nearly directly behind where Saxon and his men had engaged the enemy.

It was riddled with bullet-holes and stood no chance of supporting the weight of four men.

“Shit,” Saxon swore. “Ok, put Dobson's body on the raft and use what little air's left to keep it afloat. For gods sake, don't dump the poor guy in the river. The rest of us drop your gear and boots. We're going for a swim.”

****

Lowry watched as the Hilux vehicle entered the airfield grounds on the far side of the airport. Apparently not all of Crutchfield's men had been drawn into the killing fields closer to Cincinnati.

“You coordinate with the Captain, I'll take care of these hammerheads,” commanded Lowry.

“Copy that.”

Over the dull thud of the .M2 machine gun, Reynolds prepared to call the Captain. Glancing up to see the Hilux burst into flames, and bits of metal fly off the rear of the glorified pickup truck, Reynolds saw something else.

Something he couldn't believe.

Just out of the corner of the drivers position, Reynolds made out the darkened silhouette of a four engined propeller cargo aircraft as it approached the runway. Despite the dangers, Reynolds shifted forward and raised the driver's hatch.

As the fat, ugly, cargo plane passed over the roadway just outside the airfield, at the last second, the landing lights suddenly snapped on, bathing the runway, and the Stryker, in blinding white light.

“Cease fire,” called out Reynolds. “Cease fire!”. Lowry, responding to ingrained training, released the fire control and silenced the machine gun mounted above them. Reynolds had realized Lowry was shooting across the runway, and into the path of their rescuers.

The large plane touched down just after the beginning of the runway and with tires chirping, and smoke puffing, the pilot reversed the pitch of the propellers. The big C130 heaved under the sudden change and began rapidly decelerating. Both men watched as the rear clam-shell doors of the rear cargo area immediately began to open as the mighty aircraft slowed and approached the end of the runway.

“Ah, I think I see where the Captain is headed,” announced Lowry. “Tally ho driver.”

Reynolds, looking over at the large, black and completely unmarked aircraft, turned back to Lowry. “Say what white man?” he said in exaggerated jive.

“Drive this thing into the back of that plane,” said Lowry, pointing at the now fully open rear of the aircraft. Both men looked to see the cargo-master at the rear of the aircraft motioning at them.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Reynolds gunned the accelerator, and began aiming the Stryker right into the rear of the aircraft.

****

While audacious, to attempt to steal the Stryker for their own use, it was not going to be an easy task to get the C130 back into the air.

After the cargo-master guided Reynolds into the back of the aircraft, the crew began hurriedly securing the vehicle as best they could. While the parking brake had been set, the last thing anybody wanted was for the Stryker to pitch toward the rear of the C130 as it rotated for takeoff. The sudden change in the center of gravity would bring the plane hurtling back to earth.

While the men feverishly lashed the stolen Stryker into place, the pilots closed the cargo door, and increased the speed of the props only on one side of the aircraft to pivot it around. While not standard practice, they would take off back towards the direction they had landed; towards the south.

For what seemed to be an eternity, the plane sat at the end of the runway, engines running, waiting for the go-ahead from the cargo-master. Until he cleared them, they simply had to stay put.

The co-pilot glanced up to see another Hilux approaching the airport. This once came from nearly the same direction Lowry and Reynolds had approached. Moving slowly from right to left across the nose of the C130, but at the far end of the airport, both pilots watched in anticipation of what might happen. Should the Hilux open fire it's mounted machined guns would easily damage the aircraft and likely destroy it completely.

Into the intercom the pilot said, “Uh, chief. We've got company. We have to roll.”

As they anxiously awaited the cargo-master's reply, they watched as the Hilux slowed just outside the hole in the gate. While they had switched off the landing lights, there was no masking the four engined cargo plane a third of a mile across the airfield.

“Chief,” exclaimed the pilot again, this time with a degree of urgency in his voice.

The co-pilot watched as the Hilux inexplicably continued on down the road, slowly past the hole in the fence, and towards the main gate. The bizarre decision to go around to the main entrance would give the C130 a scant sixty seconds before the guns of the Hilux could be trained on them.

“We're gone,” declared the pilot. The co-pilot, not quite hearing the pilot turned to ask him to repeat himself. The movement of the pilot's arm as it pushed the quad mounted throttles forward, and the turbines turning the propellers suddenly increasing in pitch, made clear what had been said.

The co-pilot then yelled into the intercom, “Chief, we're moving whether you are ready or not.”

Already the big plane had started to shake side to side in syncopation with the engines. The pilot held the C130 steady with the brakes while the engines revved to full power. It was a smart move, he would need nearly every inch of runway to coax his heavily laden aircraft into the skies.

As the Hilux, still oddly moving slowly, approached the main entrance, it's headlights suddenly turned and dimly illuminated the darkened aircraft. The vehicle stopped suddenly, as if it's driver didn't know what to do.

Seeing this, the pilot released the brakes, allowing the C130 to lurch forward like a horse bolting from the starting gate. The big aircraft began gathering up speed, slowly at first, but with each passing foot, it increased.

“Hit the lights,” commanded the pilot. Obediently, the copilot flipped the bank of switches that powered the array of landing lights.

The aircraft had used up nearly half the runway and was approaching eighty knots. In an unloaded state, this would have been the bare minimum to allow flight. With the weight of the Stryker, they needed an additional twenty knots to generate the lift needed for safe flight.

The pilot, eyes glued to the instruments, couldn't see the Hilux as it rapidly accelerated, belatedly responding to the obvious threat before them. The co-pilot could see momentary flickers of light from the top of the cab, and what could only be the flash of the machine gun as it fired. Once again the crew of the Hilux had chosen poorly. The sudden rapid acceleration made aiming the machine difficult. Had they stayed in position, the machine gun could have torn the big plane to shreds.

With scantly a quarter of the available runway remaining, the co-pilot once again queried the cargo-master. “Last chance chief. It's now or never,” he called out.

Finally the cargo-master's voice called out from the belly of the mysterious C130, “You're good. Go. Go. Go.”

With that the pilot gentle pulled back on his yoke and rotated the aircraft. Sufficient lift had been generated and the plane's wheels separated from the earth. The cargo plane raced past the end of the runway, and the inept Hilux crew, as the plane passed through one hundred feet.

“Holy shit,” exclaimed the co-pilot. “Let's never do that again.”

The pilot, sweat dripping from his brow, and still fully engaged with climbing to a safe altitude, nodded in agreement. “Sometimes this secret agent stuff is a real pain in the ass.”