Vengeance

[The Stig]

“Captain, it was a thing of beauty I tell you,” proclaimed Lowry. “I sees this Stryker sitting there and I say to my self, ‘self, you want that. Go get it’. Now you have to understand Sir, Reynolds here was reluctant to do anything. I mean, he doesn’t want to get in a jam over stolen government property and all.”

“Oh no, never!” called out a solider. Reynolds rolled his eyes.

The assembled group of men, DeMetrie, Lowry, Reynolds, Saxon and a host of others
huddled around the Captains desk in his office. They were dirty, tired and hungry but they couldn’t help but take a few minutes to gloat over the successful mission and return of two popular soldiers.

Reenacting the scene for all to enjoy, Lowry continued, “so I go creeping up to the back of the Stryker, tippy-toe up to the commander’s turret and there’s my foe. My nemesis! The man standing, well sleeping, between me and my new ride.”

Deadpan, Reynolds said, “So Lowry bored him to death with one of his stories.”

Ignoring the quip, Lowry continued. “So I present to you Captain DeMetrie, loyal leader of this band of merry mirth makers, a new set of wheels. I have to say Captain, swiping the get-away car was pretty inspired. I’m impressed.”

Smiling, DeMetrie said, “Can’t take credit for it. It was Miller’s idea. Actually pretty much all of tonight was Miller’s idea.”

“Where is he Sir?” asked Reynolds.

Looking at his watch, the Captain said, “by this point….aw…who am I kidding. Hell if I know. You know how he can do things sometimes.”

The stories, the banter, the good natured teasing continued for a good ten minutes while the men decompressed from the events of the previous few days. DeMetrie was proud of his soldiers. They had fought well, and hard, in an odd situation. He mourned the death of those he lost, as he always did, but overall they had banded together and were now all safely back across the river.

“Alright boys. Glad you’re all back but there’s a war on. Saxon, make sure all the teams are fed, rearmed and resupplied. We’ve got to get teams back in the field. Get with all the team-leaders and figure out how to get back on the rotation schedule. Report back when you’ve got it.”

Saxon nodded, and patting Lowry and Reynolds on the back left the office.

“The rest of you, go get cleaned up, get some shut-eye and report in to your team-leaders at 0:630. Good work tonight.”

As all the men shuffled out of the office, congratulating Lowry and Reynolds on their return, DeMetrie sat behind his desk. After the office cleared, he let out a long sigh.

“Boys, I’m glad you’re back safely. But next time you pull a stunt like this, I’m leaving your asses behind enemy lines. I’m getting too old to keep you two out of trouble.”

Lowry and Reynolds both mumbled a “Sir” in response to the comment.

“Ok, go get cleaned up, get some chow, and get your gear together. Wish I could give you more time, but we’ll go back at it in the morning. We’ll have to shuffle some men around to compensate for personnel and we’ll tackle that first thing.”

Both of his soldiers, men he truly loved, stood, and in best military form, saluted the leader that moved heaven and earth to bring them back.

DeMetrie was exhausted. He was right, there was a war in progress, and there would be no time to celebrate. The fight would continue. The raids would still be launched. Men would die as the country continued to rip itself apart. As he mulled over the personnel matters one fact kept nagging at him.

They’d dealt the strength of Crutchfield’s forces a significant blow. They would be weaker and less effective for sure. But the camp to their north, the one that had been the source of all their attentions, remained unscathed and operational.

****

First the knob to Kirilinko’s office door turned. Then it was turned, in rapid succession from right to left in a futile attempt to open it. The door had been locked from the inside. Loud yelling, in a foreign language, erupted as the General’s men realized something was wrong.

Within seconds, someone attempted to bash through the door, which only resulted in a deep bruise and sore shoulder. Dink has moved two large pieces of furniture across the opening to further prevent it from opening.

Turning quickly to his men. “Dink, you take the General, Webb take Mack. Make sure they can’t make a sound.”

As Webb and Dink began the process of rounding up their captives, and hoisting them too their feet, Miller dug though a small knapsack that Dink had brought along for just such a circumstance. Kirilinko’s eyes widened as he saw Miller pull the explosives out of the fabric bag.

Dink leaned forward, “No worries boss, that will hardly leave a mark.” While Dink chuckled as his humorous quip, Kirilinko frowned and was not equally amused.

“I assumed you barricaded the entrance to this stairwell so his men can’t get in,” asked Miller nodding towards the rear staircase. Papa had used his vast resources to secure plans to the building, which helped his men to craft their plan.

“It’s wrapped up tight,” replied Webb. “They can’t get into the stairway, but we can get out to the street.”

“Ok, go. Get the hell out of the building,” advised Miller. “If either one of them make a sound, or try to escape, blow their heads off.”

Dink and Webb nodded and forcibly manhandled their charges towards the door.

As the men on the other side of Kirilinko’s office recovered from their confusion, the pounding on the office door continued. It was clear they had recovered sledgehammers, or were using rifle butts to impact the door. While it was stout, it would not last long under the assault.

Calmly, Miller placed the small charge of explosives at the base of the shelving unit and other furniture Dink had carefully placed over the doorway. Pulling out a small length of wire from the device, he attached it to the side of one of the pieces. Once Kirilinko’s men breached the doorway, the wire would be pulled further from the explosive unit and detonate it.

Carefully flipping a small switch illuminated a red light indicating the charge was armed.

As the door continued to jump and bounce under the impacts, the stack of furniture had already moved nearly an inch. Miller carefully, and quickly, backed away.

Grabbing the knapsack, he retrieved another device, along with his rifle, and went into the stairwell of the rear entrance to Kirilinko office. Pulling the door shut behind him, he placed another explosive charge on the ground and then wedged the end of the wire detonator into the door jam. If the first unit failed, this unit stood as a backup.

Repeating the process of arming the charge, he grabbed up the rifle and began heading down the stairwell, two and three stairs at a time.

****

“Looks clear,” announced Dink as Miller rejoined the group at the bottom of the stairwell.

The small ten foot square area had two doors. One lead back into the first floor of the building and was locked. For good measure it also had a large board under the handle to pry it shut thanks to Dink and Webb. The other door, already open, led into the street. The bulb to the light hanging over the entrance, had been removed earlier in the evening leaving the area darkened.

Miller nodded. “Ok, get out of there then. I’m right behind you.”

As if to reinforce the direction, someone turned the knob on the door from inside the building into the stairwell. Without hesitation, a voice yelled out in Ukrainian before attempting to force this door much like the one leading into Kirilinko’s office.

“They know something wrong,” whispered Miller. “Go, get out of here.”

Without a word, Dink and Webb shoved their prisoners into the street.

Miller removed the final charge from the knapsack. Tossing the empty bag to the side, he placed the charge like the others.

When people face a sudden problem, an obstacle to their progress, it is human nature to suddenly focus on it. It becomes an obsession and the instinct is to solve the problem before moving on. It was this piece of genetically engineered human nature that Miller hoped would buy them time to escape. He figured in the confusion of the night, and without a strong hand at the control, Kirilinko’s men would follow this same pattern and focus on the locked doors.

All it would take would be one savvy leader, one man with experience, to send soldiers around the outside of the building and they’d all be dead.

He hoped he had gambled wisely as he exited the building and descended the short flight of stairs.

[The Stig]

Miller looked up to see Dink and Webb, along with their charges, disappearing around the corner of the building across the street.

They had to cover a number of city blocks to reach their destination, while transporting two prisoners against their will, though an enemy held city. Like much Miller attempted in his carer, this would not prove to be an easy task.

As he neared the middle of the street a jarring explosion rocked the top floor of the Federal Building that served as Kirilenko's headquarters. Glass and bits of masonry were hurtled though the air by the explosive Miller had left behind. It appeared that Kirilenko's men had breached his office.

“Hey, you!” yelled out a guard who rounded the front corner of the Federal Building just as Miller approached the edge of the same building where Dink and Webb had disappeared only seconds before. “Stop right there!” called out the man in some sort of surreal scene out of a B-grade Hollywood movie.

Miller, just before rounding the corner of the building, turned and fired his sound suppressed rifle. Three 5.56x45 rounds hurtled towards the guard and knocked him to the ground. Considering Miller's forward momentum and his snap response prompted by the sudden command, it was a striking feat of marksmanship.

Miller back-peddled and somewhat shuffled around the corner as he righted himself. Just as he did the explosive charge on the ground floor, the doorway he had just left erupted with a earsplitting roar. Despite being a relatively small charge the sound and fury were all directed through the small doorway and the concussive blast echoed off the myriad of surfaces of the surrounding buildings.

Stopping to get his bearings he spotted Dink waving at him from a doorway at the next block. Without hesitation, Miller ran towards the darkened entrance to a hundred year old building.

****

“Boy, we best get out of here fast. Colonel Sander's men,” said Dink jerking his thumb towards Kirilenko, “aren't going to be stymied by those little firecrackers for long.”

Miller nodded. “Did you set up the other distractions?”

Kirilenko and Mack both exchanged glances at the mention of distractions. In Miller-speak that was a polite euphemism for explosives. More succinctly put, Miller was a fan of using chaos to sow confusion and panic just long enough for him to accomplish whatever goal he may have at the time.

Webb, with a broad smile, replied, “of course.”

“Alright, hit them and then we roll. We've got less than ten minutes to cover six blocks” advised Miller. Without skipping a beat he added, “and you two best keep minding your manners.”

The anger in his eyes towards Mack was palatable.

***

The Universal Savings and Life building was a middle-aged building in the cluster of several hundred buildings that comprised downtown Cincinnati. There were many newer and more modern buildings that served as corporate headquarters and the lifeblood of commerce in the city. At the other end of the spectrum were the buildings that dated back to the early 20th and even late 19th centuries. Buildings that had been given extended life by renovations and improvements.

But like many cities in the industrial Midwest, there was a spate of buildings constructed in the era of Truman and Eisenhower and came to age before Kennedy was gunned down. These buildings represented the post World War II boom era in American history and stood as a monument to the commercial engine that propelled the world forward from the ashes of destruction.

The USL building, as the locals called it, was born in this time. At a relatively short nineteen stories, at least by skyscraper standards, it one stood as one of the taller buildings in the downtown during it's heyday. Gleaming in the mid-century architectural style when it first opened, the USL ultimately housed thousands of workers and a host of business, in addition to the flagship tenant, over the years.

In addition to all it's history, the USL building had one other feature that served Miller's purposes. It was an anachronism, a throwback to a different time in the history of corporate aviation.

The USL building, unlike any other building in the city, had a helipad.

[The Stig]

The command center in the ground floor level of Kirilenko's former headquarters was awash in confusion. The ranking officer was overwhelmed by the fast moving events and there didn't appear to be much hope of him getting ahead of the curve. What had started out as a slow evening turned into a fast paced swirl of shouted orders and quick responses.

After the men had returned from Fountain Square most of them retired to their makeshift barracks on the first floor. With the exception of the guards in Kirilenko's office most of the men stood down and tried to relax as best they could.

As the events changed, and it became clear that something had gone wrong in the bosses office, the men fought to catch up and react but it was already too late. The sudden explosions, on different floors of the building, including one inside of Kirilenko's office threw the entire security organization into a tail spin.

Within another minute, before the commander could recover and grab the reins of his command, reports of additional explosions, in several parts of the downtown area nearer the river, became flooding in from forward observation posts. What tiny shred of control the commander wielded melted away in an instant as simultaneous explosions demolished four different buildings, all of different types and construction.

Soldiers soon began moving to the rhythms of their own fears or experiences as the local commander floundered. What had been a calm and orderly command center hours before was reduced to yelling, shouting and near pandemonium.

Patrols would be sent out. Men from the regular army and even some of Crutchfield's men would augment Kirilenko's security staff to help secure the downtown area. Eventually order would be restored.

It would all be too late.

****

“How much further do I have to drag this guy?” complained Webb as they moved into the shadows of a building merely one block from the USL building. “He's fighting me all the way.”

Miller, without so much as a second thought, punched Mack in the face. Grabbing his shirt collar, he hissed, “If it were up to me your body would be in the river. I won't hesitate to end you, get it?”

Mack's eyes narrowed but wisely decided to remain silent. As the blood oozed through the fabric Webb had used to gag him, Miller leaned in closer. “All those lies. All those people you got killed. I don't know when you went bad, or how Kirilenko got to you, and don't really care. All I know is that one way, or another, you're going to pay.”

Kirilenko, oddly, had been compliant and made no effort to escape. It wasn't that he wasn't looking for an opening, he was. He was smart enough to recognize the right opportunity had not yet been presented. He would bide his time.

“Miller, I think we best get moving,” urged Dink after glancing at his watch.

Nodding in agreement, Miller quickly peered around the corner of the doorway where they had sought refuge. Looking up and down the street it was the tiniest movement that caught his eye . Sometimes it does not take large, flagrant movements to draw the attention of the human eye. Sometimes it is the little movements, fleeting as they may be, that give away one's position.

Further down the street, closer to the river, a patrol of Kirilenko's security force was moving across an intersection. Through coincidence they were en route to one of Dink's bomb sites and just happened to be crossing that particular intersection at that particular time. It was the cruelty of fate that led the patrol to set up camp in the intersection to await further orders.

And like soldiers the world over, they took advantage of the momentary break to grab a quick smoke or find an impromptu bathroom.

“Damn,” whispered Miller to himself. Their ride would be arriving in five minutes and they had to cross the street to the USL building.

The last thing they needed was an enemy patrol camped out on their doorstep.

[The Stig]

Despite the close proximity, there was a good chance they'd be able to cross the street unobserved. The building where Miller and his compatriots were hiding was slightly behind the crest of a shallow rise. Between the darkness and the geography they could possibly make the crossing without drawing the attention of the enemy group.

Miller was not a big fan of “possibly” but they were left with little choice. They could move back down the block but they had little time for course adjustments. They would plow ahead if they wanted to make the pickup.

Turning to the group he said, “We've got company down the street. Make sure you are in the clear and then make the crossing. Stay low, and hug the backside of the crest and you should be fine.”

Dink laconically asked, “you going to make a scene?”

Smiling, Miller replied, “Hell no. We don't have time for hijinks. You two go and I'll take up the rear. ”

Webb and Dink regained their purchase on their captives and prepared to guide or drag them along. Both of them reiterated how they'd be killed immediately should they try to signal the enemy.

Thinking for a few seconds, Miller turned back to Mack. “If you escape don't forget that I'll still have Kirilenko. I'll be able to spread whatever rumor about you I want to his men. You won't be able to sell your bill of goods to them and you damn sure won't be welcome in what's left of America. Think about that before you try to pull anything.”

Without giving Mack the chance to reply Miller turned back towards the street. Taking one last glance, turned back and nodded his head. “Ok, across you go.”

First Dink grabbed the General and shoved him out of the breezeway. Without saying a word the two men quickly crossed the darkened street. They moved quickly, with purpose, but without running. It seemed to take an eternity but they made the trek without incident.

As they cleared the sidewalk, and disappeared into the shadows of the entrance of the USL building it became Webb and Mack's turn to make the crossing. Miller nodded and soon the second pair began the same trip across the four lanes of asphalt and urban grime. Dodging an errant piece of trash that blew across the road, Webb quickly joined Dink in the darkness of the USL building.

Miller took stock of their situation. He checked the direction from where they had come to ensure they were alone other than the stationary patrol. There were no signs of any enemy activity other than the echos from blocks away. Glancing back towards the patrol they were stirring. The men were still milling around but they had all stood, were adjusting their gear and appeared ready to press forward towards some unknown objective.

“Why the hell did they have to pop a squat right there?” Miller thought to himself. Crouching down, Miller took a deep breath before stepping into the street. Putting one foot in front of the other he walked with the same steady pace as the other groups had. He didn't want to sprint and attract attention and clearly spending more time in the street than necessary wasn't a viable alternative.

Moving quickly and smoothly he was soon across the street and in the protective confines of the dark entrance to the USL building.

“I thought sure that was going to go tits up,” whispered Dink.

Miller smiled, “You clearly underestimate the skills of professionals such as ourselves.”

****

Giving themselves time to adjust to the darkened USL building, the men quickly consulted a floor-plan that Papa had provided. Having friends like him was proving useful.

Spinning around to survey the large and mostly demolished lobby, Miller said, “Looks like the stairwell is over that way, behind that elevator bank. Come on.”

Carefully navigating the debris and broken pieces of furniture, the men found the doorway leading to the stairwell. Once inside the stairwell, and shielded from being seen outside the lobby, all three men illuminated the structure with their torches. Seeing that the stairs were still in tact, they all breathed a small sigh of relief.

With the advent of war some buildings were torn to pieces by looters and rioters. Still others were destroyed by errant artillery shells and bombs. Surprisingly, a fair number of the buildings still were functioning and the businesses they housed fought to eek out a living. There was some chance the USL building may have been damaged or destroyed although all available intelligence suggested it remained unscathed.

But what the men didn't know about was the interior of the building. They very well could have found a wrecked staircase and no access to the heliport on the nineteenth floor rendering their carefully crafted plan a disaster. The stairs, wide and spacious, were mostly in tact. Some bits of the marble stair risers had been removed but otherwise they were fully passable.

“You boys ready for the StairMaster workout from hell?” asked Miller. We have about four minutes to climb nineteen floors.”

Dink and Webb sighed and began the process of fighting and dragging their captives up the staircase.

****

From the air the downtown area was mostly cloaked by darkness. With the advent of war the ambient lighting provided by buildings, advertisements and automobiles was gone and made for a startling level of darkness. Save the moonlight there was very little to be seen from the air, or at least from a low altitude.

Donning night vision goggles the pilots looked like space aliens as they piloted their craft along the river from east to west. The muted light inside the cockpit was just sufficient enough to illuminate their masks and provide a surreal hue to the scene.

The co-pilot, after flipping a switch, activated his intercom. “Looks like that repair is holding well. We'll be on target in zero three minutes.”

The young Lieutenant manipulated the controls to follow the undulating contour of the river as he labored to distinguish river water from the dark horizon though the green-gray tint of his night vision equipment. He kept the Blackhawk mere feet off the surface of the water to maintain the element of surprise as much as possible.

Replying back to his co-pilot, the Lieutenant said, “Look sharp everybody. Once the turn marker is called we'll do a steep climbing right-hand turn. I'll have to gain height in a hurry so hold on tight. We'll circle once to get a fix on the helo pad, dash in to get the troops, and get the hell out of dodge. Climb-out will be sharp and steep to the east at first, but as soon as we get enough momentum I'll dash back across the river. Copy?”

The co-pilot, crew chief and door gunner all affirmed the instructions.

Thinking to himself the pilot added, “and let's hope the bird holds itself together long enough to get us through this.”

****

As they reached the pre-planned marker where they'd bank to the north and climb, the co-pilot calmly but suddenly called out, “Marker, climb, climb climb.”

With as much speed as he could maintain without sending the craft spiraling into the ground below, the pilot smoothly yanked back on this controls and sent the Blackhawk skyward. To anybody watching on the ground it appeared as thought it leapt out of the river. The craft groaned in protest at the sudden change in direction but held together as it clawed it's way towards the heavens.

The co-pilot, monitoring the skyscraper's to their immediate right, noted, “good rate of climb. Keep it up. You'll clear those buildings.”

As they zoomed over the ruins of a baseball stadium the chopper continued to climb and roll out so that it was heading north. They were to the west of the USL building and would circle around it from the north side and come back in from the south to land. The Lieutenant would have preferred to proceed directly from the river to the helipad but the distance and height of the buildings surrounding it prevented this tactically sound plan.

With the addition of height, the view of the city changed dramatically. Visible were several fires that dotted the row of buildings just behind those facing the riverfront. One especially bright fire raged in a building almost directly north of them. They didn't know it, but the pilots of the helicopter had a birds-eye view of Kirilenko's headquarters, now fully engulfed in flames.

Although only those on the right side of the aircraft could see it, the fading embers of a host of armored vehicles were visible off to the east. Even under the oily smoke the flames of Crutchfield's armored force danced in the moonlight.

“You see the building yet,” inquired the pilot as he turned back to the east in a gentle rolling maneuver.

Glancing down from his vantage point, the co-pilot calmly replied, “negative.”

Several more seconds ticked by before the Lieutenant again asked about the status of the building. Again the reply was negative. Despite his effort to pick it out, and with the help of the memorized street map, the co-pilot simply couldn't find it in the darkness.

“We've cleared the eastern edge of downtown. I'm rolling back to the south,” advised the pilot. He had begun descending back towards earth again while completing the turn. If they judged everything correctly he could glide onto the landing pad at a gentle constant rate. This was much preferred to swooping down at a high rate of speed. In addition to the stress of slamming into the helipad, there was always the risk of impacting an unknown obstruction. Blasting into the landing pad only increased those odds.

The seconds eased by in excruciating agony. The plan rested on finding the building and zooming in for a quick landing. They could ill-afford making another pass.

“Come on guys, find the damn LZ,” instructed the aircraft commander.

The crew-chief had joined in the search and with the aid of night vision goggles, much like the co-pilots, he scanned the tops of the buildings. Looking down at the buildings proved to be a much different view than the non-nondescript street maps. The lack of light only added to the difficulties. Even counting the buildings was proving fruitless.

“I'm about to turn back to the west. I need to roll out somewhat on target and I don't want to make another pass.”

As he smoothly moved the control stick to the right, and continued to lower the cyclic control, the pilot was greeted with further silence.

“I got nothing,” announced the crew-chief.

Dejectedly, the co-pilot responded similarity.

Frustrated, the pilot ordered, “I'm rolling out back to the north in about fifteen seconds. Find the damn LZ.”

Finding the round pad, in the sea of buildings, at night, from a moving helicopter, was proving to be too much for the young crew.

As he turned back to the north, and continued to flair as low as he dared, the pilot called out in a flat tone, “We'll make a pass to the north and hopefully find it.”

Both he and the co-pilot were shocked when rifle fire erupted below them.

[The Stig]

“Holy shit,” exclaimed the co-pilot as the 5.45x39 rounds whizzed past the chopper while it descended into the darkness.

Pulling up on the cyclic control, while banking back to the right, the pilot attempted an evasive maneuver rather than continuing to descend towards the unseen landing zone. As the chopper banked the left side gunner briefly saw the muzzle flashes of the patrol that had planted itself in the intersection near the USL building. He let fly with a short burst from his machine gun in an attempt to disrupt the group and prevent them from continuing to shoot at their aircraft.

Because the enemy troops were at street level, the chopper quickly disappeared from their sight as the tall buildings blocked their vision.

“Everybody ok? Anybody hit?” called out the Lieutenant. The crew all murmured in response.

After a second the co-pilot called out, “It’s night, we can’t find the LZ and now there’s enemy troops in the area. Abort this thing and head back.”

The Lieutenant concentrated on flying and began to circle the chopper back around to make another pass and attempt to find the USL building.

“Did you hear me? This is a no-win. Come on,” urged the co-pilot a second time.

Without looking, and keying the microphone so only the co-pilot could hear, the Lieutenant calmly replied, “You’re right, this sucks and I’m scared too. But those are our troops out there and we’re not going to leave them behind. I’m not going to let them die because things got hard. We will find them and we will bring them home safely. If we don’t see the LZ this time, we’ll keep making passes until we do. You can either continue to co-pilot this aircraft, or you can get out of the bird….immediately.”

The Lieutenant hopped his co-pilot couldn’t see his hand shaking on the control stick.

Fact was he was terrified too.

After several long seconds the co-pilot finally responded, “Roger that. I’ll give you the call when to bank for the second pass.”


****


Miller and his group had just cleared the doorway leading onto the roof as the chopper circled searching in vain for the USL building. They had been navigating across the dark rooftop, heading towards the helipad, when the Blackhawk began it’s decent into darkness and the patrol open fire on it from the street below.

“Damn,” called out Dink as the chopper rolled to it’s side and banked sharply away from the rifle fire. “That’s gonna throw a kink in things.”

Even from the street below, the men could hear the enemy soldier’s as they excitedly responded to the brief encounter.

Miller reacted first, “They’ll be calling in for reinforcements. Dink, go to the edge of the building and keep their heads down. Webb, radio DeMetrie and let him know there’ll be a light beacon on the pad for their next pass. I’ll light up the pad so we get that chopper in before more enemy get here.”

Dink nodded and handed over control of his prisoner to Webb. As he navigated towards the short wall that represented the edge of the building, Webb called out, “For Christ’s sake don’t take a header over the edge.”

As Miller disappeared down the fifty-foot walkway to the helipad, located on the southwestern corner of the roof, Webb got to work contacting DeMetrie.

For his part, Dink got to the edge and took up a firing position that provided access to the street below. Peering over the lip of the building he involuntarily blurted out, “whoa” as the sudden change in perspective caused a momentary bout of dizziness. Regaining his composure he carefully steadied his rifle and started to pick out targets in the dimly lit street. While it was dark, and the street nineteen stories below, he was able to make out just enough movement to fire off successive rounds from his suppressed rifle.

Slowly, only a round at a time, he began peppering the street with enough bullets to disrupt the enemy soldiers.

He hoped it would be enough.


****

“Turn north now,” called the co-pilot as the big chopper gracefully banked back to the north. They were preparing to make another pass in hopes of finding the elusive landing pad. Using the same approach as before, they would head north while descending and progressively slowing the Blackhawk. If they found the LZ a slight adjustment to the controls would allow them to quickly land.

The pilot focused intently into the dark. Besides wanting to avoid crashing into a building, he tried to pick out the enemy soldier’s below while scanning for any signs of the landing pad in the distance.

He was so focused he didn’t hear the radio come to life.

The co-pilot reached over and physically tapped his arm.

“There’s going to be a light beacon this time. With the NVG it should light up like a Christmas tree” yelled the co-pilot into the microphone.

Simply nodding in acknowledge the message, he keyed the intercom, “Look sharp. Gunners do what you can but we’ll fly right over the enemy. We’re going in and should find the LZ straight ahead. We’ll make the pickup and haul ass.”

Straining out into the darkness the pilot looked for the beacon. Before he could focus his eyes, the copilot excitedly called out, “I have the beacon! I have it. Straight ahead about eight hundred yards and just off the nose to the right.”

“I see it,” calmly replied the pilot as he began what he hoped would be the final decent onto the top of the building.

****


Like a scene out of any number of Hollywood movies, Miller stood in the middle of the helipad structure, and with two flashlights slowly waved them above his head. Crossing his arms with each motion, the light beams were as clear as day to the pilots above. The noise of the rotors had been increasing as the chopper moved closer to them.

Glancing down and to his left he could just make out Dink as he continued to fire at the soldier’s below.

“Dink,” loudly called out Miller. “As soon as that thing starts to flare for landing, bust ass and get over here.”

Without looking back Dink replied, “Don’t worry. You ain’t ditching my ass this easy.”

Glancing back towards the chopper he could see that it was now over the first row of buildings facing the river. They were about five hundred yards from the building and the noise of the rotor blades suddenly increased in volume. The deep, pulsating thump reverberated off the buildings and soon masked the sound of the rifles below.

Making sure the pilot had a good bead on them Miller glanced back and his heart sank.

Keeping one flashlight pointing straight up, he pivoted slightly and used the other to illuminate the scene.

Webb lay sprawled out on the ground, face down and not moving. Kirilinko knelt next to him, with arms still tied behind his back. He looked Miller directly in the eye as if to communicate he was not a threat.

The General was frantically yanking his head back towards the stairwell.

Mack was nowhere to be found.

[bacpacker]

Man your cranking em out this week. Nice work I must say!

[The Stig]

As he knelt over Webb’s body, Miller wasn’t sure what to expect.

In the darkness he felt for a pulse in his neck. His hand shook slightly as he felt for the artery that would announce whether Webb was alive or if Miller had gotten another one of his friends killed.

As he scanned the rooftop for any sign of Mack, Miller sought out any sign that his friend was alive. With great relief he felt the pulse, surprisingly strong, as it coursed through Webb’s veins.

Rolling his friend over, and using his flashlight to inspect his body he could see no wounds or signs of serious injury. Pulling Webb upright, Miller continued his brief inspection until someone bumped against him.

Startled, he turned to see Kirilinko who was clearly trying to get his attention. Without thought Miller removed the gag over the General’s mouth.

Over the roar of the approaching helicopter, Kirilinko yelled, “The stairwell! He went down the stairwell. You friend will be fine but Mack has his rifle.”

Looking down to confirm the rifle was missing and not sure of Kirilinko’s motives, Miller glanced back towards the stairwell. Seeing no sign of Mack he turned back to check on the Blackhawk. It was nearly on top of the helipad, seconds from touching down. Its wheels strained to reach out and find purchase on the worn concrete surface.

As Miller struggled to lift Webb’s body he was quickly assisted by Dink. Not realizing what had been happening behind him Dink had continued to fire at the enemy forces below. As he turned to run to the chopper he saw the scene unfolding before him and quickly realized something was wrong.

“What happened?” yelled Dink over the thunderous pounding of the rotor blades. He took Webb’s unconscious body from Miller and prepared to drag his friend to safety.

Yelling back, Miller replied, “Get him on the chopper. Then come back for Kirilinko. I’m going after Mack.”

The massive rotor blades kicked dirt and debris into the air as fully settled onto the landing pad. The tail wheel barely fit onto the rear of the large round pad, and much of the tail and rotor hung over the edge, exposed to enemy fire.

Looking his friend in the eye, Dink said, “Let it go boy. He’s screwed without Kirilinko around. Last time old Ivan’s men saw Mack he was a prisoner.”

“He’s not getting away again. I let him go for too long already.”

As the crew chief from the Blackhawk approached them, Dink merely nodded and began hauling Webb to safety. Fighting the downdraft from the chopper, and Kirilinko’s bulk, Miller pulled the General to his feet.

He was surprised when Kirilinko yelled, “Your friend is right. Nobody knows he’s turned except me. My men will shoot him on sight.”

“Come on sir,” yelled the crew chief. “We took hits on the way in and a bunch of badguys were running towards the building from the north side. We have to get out of here.” The urgency in his voice and his gesturing towards the side of the building made clear he was not overemphasizing the danger.

As if to punctuate the warning, the machine gunner on the left side of the chopper fired a burst from his machine gun. Amazingly, he briefly saw some enemy soldiers far below despite the odd angle and the darkness. The machine gun burped out a stream of lead in a low rumble that was audible over the rotor blades.

Before Miller could push Kirilinko to the crew chief the General yelled, “There will be another day when you can finish this battle Miller. Now is not the time.” He looked directly into Miller’s eyes as an uncle might to a nephew.

Miller commanded the helicopter crewman, “Go, get him on board” as he turned Kirilinko over to him.

Turning back towards the stairway, Miller weighed his options.

While his desire was to hunt down his traitorous partner, and kill him, he quickly realized he had no real options. Chasing after Mack invited walking into an ambush. With enemy soldiers likely flooding into the building, his chances of staying alive long enough to find Mack were getting slimmer by the second. Worse yet, the chopper sat as a giant target atop the helipad. Leaving it hanging only exposed it to more danger.

Looking one last time at the stairwell, Miller realized his nemesis was right: he’d have to fight the battle another day.

He turned and ran to the chopper.

***


“Hold on,” announced the pilot as the crew chief gave him the signal to depart. After glancing back to ensure he had all the passengers, he continued, “This is going to be interesting.”

Revving the turbine engine to full power, he paused briefly and smoothly pulled up on the cyclic control. As the chopper first lightened, and then gradually climbed into the air, the engines ran to max power to lift the mechanical beast and it’s additional load off the USL building.

As the Blackhawk climbed high enough to begin forward flight, the scene below was quickly apparent to those in the cockpit. A mass of soldiers and several Humvee’s had gathered at the base of the building. Some of the troops were firing upwards, while some stormed into the USL lobby in a belated attempt to reach the captured General.

“Oh shit,” called out the pilot as tracers whizzed by the cockpit of the helicopter.

His consternation was further heightened when tracers soared by his windshield from right to left, instead of from below. The co-pilot quickly yelled out, “targets starboard side! Three o’clock in the doorway.”

Somehow a couple of Kirilinko’s men had raced up the nineteen floors in time and were firing at the chopper as it rose from the helipad and strained to gain momentum. They had arrived shortly after Dink fired his first shot and climbed the stairway in record time. Fortunately for Miller and his men, the heavy exertion caused the soldier’s aim to suffer. In their panic they fired from the hip and mostly missed the chopper.

None of the men considered the consequences of shooting down the chopper with their General inside it.

As the Lieutenant lowered the nose and allowed the Blackhawk to spring forward, the crew chief unleashed a long burst of machinegun fire towards the muzzle flashes of the enemy soldiers on the rooftop sending them scattering for cover. It was enough distraction to eliminate the danger from the rooftop.

“You’re clear of the building, roll starboard!” yelled the co-pilot as several rounds whizzed though the thin skin of the chopper.

Without responding the Lieutenant deftly moved the controls and sent the chopper rolling to the right while climbing. While the bullets and glowing tracers attempted to follow his aircraft, they quickly stopped when the buildings blocked them from view of the soldiers on the ground.

For nearly thirty seconds the chopper flew due east while it gathered speed. They were well clear of the downtown area before the pilots breathed a sigh of relief and turned their aircraft back towards the south.

They flew in silence as each man contemplated what had just transpired.

[bacpacker]

Large Pucker factor in the episode! Great story.

[izzyscout21]

when does the set come out in a hardback edition?

[The Stig]

“Devil Dog!” called out Papa as he strode across the brightly illuminated hanger.

The Blackhawk had flown directly to the remnants of the Greater Cincinnati International Airport. Mostly destroyed in the fighting that had taken place over the past few years, one runway was still operational as was one small hanger tucked into the back corner of a maintenance area.

Though his considerable connections, Papa had an advance team flown into the airport to power up the hanger, and then flown in himself on a commercial airliner that he had acquired years ago as a personal aircraft.

It was almost like a scene out of a movie: the twin engine jet, in ambiguous corporate livery, the four heavily armed men, with automatic rifles that stood in a semi-circle at the foot of the stairs. Despite the war that ravaged the area, floodlights bathed the hanger in bright white light. All of it emphasized that Papa wielded a considerable amount of power.

The Blackhawk had landed just outside the hanger, and while Miller, Dink, Webb and the General shuffled inside the hanger, the crew waited around the chopper, preforming post-flight tasks.

Without hesitation Papa walked directly to Kirilenko, who was still restrained, hands behind his back. “Hello Gegory. It's been a long time.” A smile crossed his face. The two men, both of immense physical proportions eyed each other up and down for the first time. After years of squaring off from across the world the two combatants took in their opposite number in person for the first time.

After several seconds, Kirilenko said, “Papa, it has been too long. It would appear Miller has gotten the best of me this time. Once again I have underestimated him.”

Miller, standing to the side, stated, “you being in our country made the logistics of nabbing you a little easier.”

“Don't take it hard Gegory,” said Papa. “it's not like you haven't gotten some over on us before.” He was clearly referring to Kirilenko's successfully turning Mack against his employer and country.

“Yes,” said the General. “But he is of no use to me now.”

Papa turned and nodded to the four men at the stairs of the jet. Without hesitation, and in unison, they walked forward and prepared to escort the General onto the aircraft.

Turning to Miller, Kirilenko looked deeply into his eyes. “I've always respected you Miller.”

Miller nodded but said nothing in reply. With that the armed guards politely, but without any question as to who was in charge, escorted the General onto the aircraft.

“What the hell was that all about?” asked Dink. “The man's been treating you like an old lost army buddy all night.”

Miller, watching Kirilenko disappear inside the airliner replied, “I don't know. He's up to something.” Turning to Papa, Miller continued, “He's got something big planned. No idea what, but he's playing some sort of game.”

“No worries Devil Dog,” replied Papa. “He's not going back to DC for a while. We're going to have a chat first. The man has a lot to answer for and I want it before those nimrods in Washington come in and screw everything up”

“That's good. He didn't make a single effort to escape or fight back. We had the drop on him, for sure, but it's almost like he wanted to be captured.”

Dink, interjected, “Miller, I can't believe you orchestrated that entire thing. I always knew you were a cheating, conniving, carpet-bagger but that was something.”

With a smile, Miller said, “Papa, may I introduce my friends Dink and Webb.”

“Excellent!” proclaimed Papa. “You boys have really helped out on a couple of big jobs. Let me know if you're ever looking for other work.”

Deadpan, Miller said, “Prepare yourself, this is the start of his recruiting speech.”

“Nonsense,” said Papa with a smile. “Seriously, good work and thanks for helping out Miller here. He needs a little special assistance now and again.”

“Yea,” replied Dink as he shook Papa's hand. “I've noticed that he needs us around to keep him out of trouble.”

“Alright, I've got to get back to the farm and get to work on Kirilenko,” announced Papa. “Miller, thanks for all this. I know it was hard.”

“I'm glad I know for sure about Mack,” replied Miller as he shook the big man's hand.

Leaning in, Papa asked, “You sure I can't get you to come back to work for me?”

Ignoring the question, Miller turned as Captain DeMetrie approached the group. He had driven Webb's truck, with all their gear, to the airport and planed to ride back to his headquarters on the Blackhawk.

“Papa,” said Miller, glad for the interruption. “Let me introduce Captain Mike DeMetrie.” Turning to the Captain, he continued, “Mike, this is my old boss. He helped line up some of the fireworks for us tonight.”

Reaching his hand out, DeMetrie said, “Many thanks Sir. I'm not sure how Miller can call A10's and Apache's mere fireworks, but I appreciate the help. Got my men back safely and kicked a big piece of Crutchfield's ass in the process.”

“Captain,” said Papa with a smile. “Any friend of Miller's is a friend of mine.” As if he suddenly remembered something, he asked Miller, “is this the same Captain DeMetrie that helped you down south?”

“One in the same. Truth is he carried the load while I ran around playing my games,” replied Miller.

With a loud laugh, Papa said, “Captain, if you ever get tired of the regular Army you've got a job waiting for you.”

“Thank you Sir. I think I'll stay with big green for now. They offer so many benefits. I'd hate to give up the fancy accommodations and fine dining.”

Papa's loud voice boomed out over the hanger. “Have Miller explain how to contact me if you need a favor.”

Looking at his watch, Miller's boss realized it was time to go. “Good work everybody. This is a big catch that means a lot both to the war effort and to me.”

Papa shook everyone's hand and said his goodbyes.

When he got to Miller he wrapped his big bear-like arms around his shoulder and guided him away from the group and towards the airplane stairs. “Don't blame yourself for Mack. He never could deal with being your second fiddle, that's probably how Kirilenko got to him.”

“You know Papa,” said Miller, “I've replayed all those conversations and times together over and over once I retired. He'd said things before that should have tipped me off that he wasn't happy. We were so focused on the missions that I don't think I heard what we was trying to tell me.”

Like a father would counsel his son, Papa turned to face Miller. His tone softened, “Miller, you one of the best at what you do. One of your strengths is not getting distracted by unimportant details and staying focused on the mission. Your job was the mission and that's what comes first. I failed Mack, that's my responsibility, not yours.”

Nodding his head Miller offered, “Not a lot of room for friends in that equation is there?”

Shaking his head no, Papa relied, “no room at all. Its hell, but its the job.” Papa paused for a moment and then asked, “you sure you don't want to come back to work?”

Miller smiled. “You've got a plane to catch.”

****

The men all assembled around the Blackhawk and engaged in small talk until the screaming engines made conversation impossible. Soon, the aircraft taxied off to the far runway and then men stood around, like kids waiting for a train to pass, while it prepared to take off. The first signs of daylight were streaking across the eastern horrizon.

As the big jet containing Papa and Kirilinko rotated for takeoff, and sprang gracefully into the night air from the distant runway, DeMetrie turned to Miller.

“Thanks for all your help. Lowry and Reynolds send their love.”

Shaking the Captain's hand, Miller replied, “them getting lost turned out in everybody's favor. I don't think we could have pulled this off without the distraction created by rescuing them. Are they liking their new wheels?”

The Captain replied, “Like kids on Christmas. Lowry says they're going to paint shark's teeth on the front and take it drag racing in the morning.” After thinking for a second he added, “shame they don't realize I'm making that Stryker my command vehicle.”

“What's the future look like for you and your men Captain?” asked Dink.

“For now we hold the line here. Crutchfield's been quietly feeding in more men to the area, and the Peacekeepers are a wild-card. Tomorrow we're back to running ops and trying to keep a full on invasion from brewing.”

“Hell of a task Sir,” said Webb.

“Definitively not easy. All the real fighting and material has moved eastward. I have to beg borrow and steel every little scrap of equipment and manpower I can get. But in the end it's all part of the adventure we signed on for right?”

“Take care Mike,” said Miller holding out his hand. “You guys stay safe out here.”

“Back to the shadows Miller?” asked the Captain.

With a passing smile, Miller replied, “it would appear that I keep getting dragged back into the thick of things doesn't it?”

“Maybe someone is trying to tell you something?” stated the Captain.

****

The atmosphere deep inside Crutchfield's headquarters was a strange mixture of luxury and wartime operations. In true Liberal fashion, Crutchfield had decorated his offices in lavish appointments despite the economic suffering of those around him. The rich leathers, deep hued woods, polished stainless steel and never ending food contrasted sharply with the plight of the people who by choice or circumstance resided inside the borders of his attempt at a new empire.

It was mid morning as he reviewed briefings on the state of his rebellion. Peering though his spectacles, he read line by line and absorbed the information. He was expected at a meeting with his generals any minute, but he found the flood of information oddly relaxing.

There was a knock at the big oak door, and frowning he called out for the person interrupting his reading to enter.

The aide covered the somewhat considerable distance to his desk, and stood, waiting to be recognized like a school boy in front of the principal.

With a sigh, Crutchfield tossed his glasses on the desk. “Yes, what is it?”

“Sir, there's an urgent bulletin from the Western Department,” announced the Major. He was one of hundreds of aides to Crutchfield and like most of the others, the leader of the rebellion didn't bother to learn his name.

“Go on,” he said clearly annoyed. As the Major began to speak Crutchfield leaned back in his chair.

“Mr. President, it would appear Senator Donovan has been killed and General Kirilenko has been captured. Our commander in the field reports that a small group of men, possibly commandos, somehow infiltrated Kirilenko's headquarters and kidnapped him. He also goes on to report a number of military items which have already been passed along to the proper commanders.”

Taking in the news, Crutchfield thought over the information for a few seconds. As the Major stood before him the silence soon became uncomfortable. It was clear that Crutchfield took great delight in making others uncomfortable.

Finally looking up he curtly dismissed the Major.

Waiting for the man to finally pull the large door to the office closed Crutchfield resumed reading over the reports and documents.

It was as if the information didn't effect him or his plans in any way.

****

They had been driving for what seemed to be a lifetime. They had to detour far to the south to avoid Illinois on the trip back to Webb's ranch. All of the men would be happy to return to their home and families.

Much of the ride had been made in silence as each man contemplated the events that had transpired. Occasionally conversations would boil to the surface, much of them related to improving security at the ranch or replaying details of their most recent adventure.

Somewhere in Kansas Dink finally declared, “Miller, you are a ruthless bastard. You really set all that up?”

From the backseat Miller muttered, “haven't we been over this already?”

Webb, who was in the passenger seat, apparently asleep, stated, “go with it, he won't shut up unless you indulge him.”

“Come on son. I know you're just a Yankee but that was pretty damn impressive.”

Sighing, Miller pulled himself upright in the seat. “Yes, that whole thing was a charade to draw out Mack, prove he had flipped and grab Kirilenko. That we eliminated Donovan was icing on the cake.”

Webb added, “and you helped DeMetrie get his men back and take a bite out of the enemy forces.”

After several seconds of silence passed, Dink prodded further. “You are really leaving a brother hanging here Miller.”

Miller continued, “Like I said before, I had my doubts about Mack but no proof. We'd worked together for a long time before Moscow so I didn't want to believe it myself. Once I retired and could think it over my doubts grew but what was I going to do about it?”

“I could see where that'd eat at a fella” stated Dink.

“Yea. Then this war came along and we've all been dancing around trying to stay alive. Next thing you know, a hit squad is blowing the shit out of Webb's living room and we found out Kirilenko is in the states. That's when it all came together. That opened the door for a real opportunity to nab him. We had to get to Donovan anyway to stop him so grabbing Kirilenko in the process only made sense.”

Pausing to take a drink out of his soda, he continued, “Papa already had Mack infiltrating Kirilenko's organization. He wasn't convinced Mack was dirty so he figured Mack would either do something to out himself, or under the assumption I was wrong, he'd have a solid asset. But basically he was giving Mack rope to hang himself.”

“Which he did,” said Webb. “So when Mack showed up at that rest stop, what was his endgame? Was he going to kill you?”

Letting out a deep breath, Miller replied, “Don't know. His hand was forced at the rest-stop either way. Papa would have a hard time buying that we'd been taken out like that. So Mack had to kill his team to make us think that was part of his plan. I think from there he was just making it up as he went, and followed my lead while he tried to maneuver me into Kirilenko's trap.”

“How did you know Kirilenko wouldn't just whack you out?” asked Dink.

Chuckling, Miller replied. “And pass up tormenting his nemesis? Nah, that was too big of opportunity to pass up. I was more anxious that Donovan might do something stupid, but I was reasonably confident that Kirilenko's would jump at the chance of capturing me while retaining Mack on his payroll.”

“And probably send Mack back to report the failed mission, the death of one John Miller and continue to feed Kirilenko information,” stated Webb.

“Yep. Kirilenko was just holding Donovan's hand while Crutchfield figured out what to do with him. Once Donovan was out of his hair he'd set up operations as normal and what better than an asset high up in Papa's organization to help him reverse his fortunes and find glory in America?”

“And Mack was in tighter than a tick on a dogs balls,” announced Dink.

“Classy,” groaned Webb.

Reflecting briefly, Miller said, “I really don't think Mack had much chance to pass along anything vital since Moscow. Kirilenko is a smart cat. He wouldn't have gone to that well too many times.”

Silence fell again as the miles ticked by and the rhythm of the road lulled them to sleep.

Hours later Dink finally broke the silence. “Here's what I can't figure.”

“Oh boy, here we go,” said Webb with fake disgust.

Ignoring Webb, Dink continued, “back at Kirilenko's office, what would you have done if me and Webb couldn't sneak into his office and save the day?”

Webb thought for a second before adding, “your chestnuts would have been on an open flame for sure.”

Miller, burst out laughing. “I was just playing the odds.”

“How do you figure?” asked Dink.

“Really Dink, you have to ask why I gambled that a redneck would know how to break into a building and lurk in the shadows while someone else did the work?”

As Webb spit his soda on the dashboard, Dink fumed in the front seat. “Southern Gentleman never get the respect they deserve.”

Miller leaned back in his seat and drifted off to sleep.