Fall Out

[piranha2]

I believe you are correct.

[The Stig]

Nearly one thousand yards away, Lowry casually said to nobody in particular, “you think this is gonna work?” while he peered though his binoculars.

Caddy, eyes trained on the distant complex offered up, “What could possibly go wrong?”

Before Lowry could begin cataloging the various things that could derail their carefully crafted plan Caddy cut him off with a wave of the hand.

The men watched as the trucks and SUV’s screamed into the grain complex and approached the office building. As the seconds ticked by their eyes turned towards their Captain.

DeMetrie, glancing down at the small radio transmitter Klepper had built he said, “well, I guess we’re going to find out.”
****

“Sorry sir” said the pilot as he reappeared in the doorway after retrieving the mechanic on duty. He had been gone for several minutes and the Senator and Clarissa hurried to straighten their clothing and scoot back to their individual seats. As Clarissa pulled her blouse together, and the Senator adjusted his trousers, the pilot and mechanic clumsily climbed into the aircraft.

“Um sir, I was right. It’s a minor problem but we’ll have it fixed in a jiffy,” explained the clearly embarrassed pilot as he and the mechanic shuffled past the separated lovers in the small passenger area of the airplane.

“Yes sir,” offered up the mechanic. “I just have to adjust something on the pilots control panel. We’ll do a quick run-up and taxi and then you’ll be good as new.”

Irritated to be interrupted from his conquest, Donovan growled, “We’ll take my aircraft. I can have my pilot here in thirty minutes.”

Quickly Clarissa leaned over and whispered to him, “don’t worry, I’ll keep you busy”.

As her hand slid up his thigh and she kissed his neck, he dismissed the two in front with, “whatever, just fix it”.

****
The sounds of boots bouncing on metal grates and breaking glass as flash-bang grenades were hurled into the office punctuated the tightly choreographed movement of Lehman’s men as they stormed the office building.

The lead men, those charged with bursting through the doorway first, paused as they awaited the defining explosion of the grenades. Using the stunning effect of noise they hopped to distract the insurgents and prevent them from responding long enough to effect entry into the decrepit office building. A smaller group mirrored the ballet at a side entrance to the thirty-foot long structure.

Within milliseconds of the distinctive whoomp noise of the flash-bang, the lead man crashed through the doorway followed closely by the stack of men behind them. One after another they pushed into the darkness like a human train.

The building layout comprised of a large open area turned conference room and several smaller office towards the rear. The open expanse of the room invited a large number of Troopers to storm their way into the structure.

Within seconds the Troopers had determined nobody was in the building and momentary confusion overtook them. It was only when they noticed the handheld radio wired to a large speaker, tossed to the floor in the jumble of the invasion that the picture started to become clear.

By then it was already too late.

****

Grain elevators served a viable and needed purpose as a central collection point for farmers. After buying the grains from the farmers, the elevator company would in turn resell the bulk product to larger concerns elsewhere. It facilitated the business process so large consumers of wheat wouldn’t be forced to deal with hundreds of thousands of farmers.

As the grain was offloaded from the farmer’s trucks it would be augured into the elevator, transported to the top of the tower and then poured into the individual silos for storage. Millions, if not billions of tiny kernels of wheat or corn would be stored for bulk processing and shipment.
While this process streamlined the process of getting wheat from the field to the dinner table, it came with a significant side effect.

The cascade of grain pouring into the silo cast off billions of tiny dust particles. As the particles remained suspended in air they were present in a high enough concentration to become flammable. The smallest of sparks would be enough to ignite the dust and create a massive fireball. However, since the stout concrete walls of the silo contained the ball of rapidly expanding gasses a fire was transformed into a full out explosion.

Utilizing this knowledge DeMetrie and his men had utilized the last of their explosives to turn the massive grain structure into an improvised fuel air bomb. Not wanting to risk the men in a front on confrontation, and too low on supplies for a battle of attrition, Miller and DeMetrie decided one large blow would have to suffice.

They got lucky when they realized the silo nearest the office, separated only by several feet, was half full. More importantly there had been several deliveries earlier in the day which created the deadly brew of dust and air. To ensure the mixture stayed rich enough, Lowry and Reynolds removed some of the grain from the bottom of the silo and stacked it at the base of the main auger into the elevator. Not thirty minutes before the Troopers arrived they activated the main elevator further building the concentration of dust in the air. The final touch was the closing of all vents in the silo’s wall. Like a clock waiting to sound it’s alarm the silo was poised to unleash it’s explosive fury.

A half second after the Troopers realized the office building was empty DeMetrie depressed the button on the radio transmitter. A signal was sent to a small device that detonated several packages of C4 explosives ringing the inside walls of the silo. This ignited the dust in suspension and in the confined space of the silo, the rules of physics prevailed to produce a thunderous explosion.

Within a fraction of a second the office building, and the cars parked around it, simply ceased to exist. Concrete rockets hurling through the air at near supersonic speeds bludgeoned those not vaporized by the massive wall of over-pressure. Bits of grain, chunks of rock, metal and body parts flew through the air further adding to the killing field.

Several tiny packages of C4 taped to a glass jar full of nails and other debris had been hidden around the office perimeter and they too exploded, sending a wall of flesh shredding missiles through the air. It had been Lowry’s suggestion and an attempt to kill any stragglers that lagged behind.
It wasn’t needed.

Through shear luck several men survived, but they were too wounded and dazed to respond to any further threats. The overwhelming majority of men who were dispatched that night to apprehend the insurgents laid in tiny bits over the grounds of The Iverson Grain Company.

[bacpacker]

Whoops I think Lehman screwed up. Over confidence will do that.

[Stg1swret]

I'm waiting for Senator to get his , should be a classic.

[The Stig]

The first sign something was wrong was when Donovan realized the high-speed taxi to ensure the repairs were completed had transitioned into a full-blown takeoff.

Through his haze of hormones and lust he recognized that the aircraft had rotated for takeoff and was straining to gain altitude.

As the airplane roared into the air he yelled out, “What the hell is going on?”

As if on cue Clarissa recoiled in horror away from the Senator leaving him exposed and unable to strike at her. Confused the Senator glanced up towards the cockpit to realize the mechanic was holding a pistol aimed squarely at his chest.

“What the….” The cloudy mist of romance gave way to the dawning reality before him.

“You ok?”

Clarissa mumbled out “yea I’m fine” as she hurriedly worked to rearrange her clothing. She wiped the back of her hand across her face in an attempt to wipe away the disgust she felt.

“It would seem, Mr. Donovan, that you’re in a bad spot,” said the mechanic as the airplane climbed through one thousand feet. The clank of the landing gear locking into place and the roar of the engines seemed odd next to the silence in the cabin.

Spitting anger Donovan raged, “I don’t care who you are, land this damn airplane right now.”

The mechanic continued, “I don’t think you are in much of a position to be giving orders. Now, as the saying goes, we can do this the easy way or the hard way, your choice.”

Donovan, pants open and shirt disheveled, weighed his options as panic started to set in. Any attempt to lunge at the mechanic would result in a bullet to the chest. The airplane wasn’t pressurized so the mechanic wouldn’t hesitate to fire. Doing nothing didn’t strike him as a good route either. Glancing sideways at Clarissa he did the mental calculations of being able to grab her as a shield before the mechanic reacted.

Actions are quicker than reactions he reasoned. If he timed it just right, he’d be able to grab the woman and at least bargain his way out of this.
Seeing Donovan’s glance and his obvious weighing of his options the mechanic gave Clarissa a nod.

It turns out actions truly are quicker than reactions. She stabbed him in his wrinkled thigh with the syringe and pushed the plunger down as hard as possible before he could react. The syringe of animal tranquilizers had been hidden onboard for just such an event, as there was a real danger for Clarissa being in such close proximity to the Senator once he realized he’d been had. They had been taped into place under her seat so she could grab them if needed.

Before the plunger reached the bottom of the syringe the Senator drifted into an inky world of blackness.


****

Collapsing back into her chair, Clarissa felt an avalanche of shame and disgust. She remained silent as she contemplated what had just unfolded. Even though their plan had worked out she was in no mood for celebrating. As she moved into the rear row of seats the waves of inward anger rolled across her soul.

After restraining the Senator and trussing him up like a turkey Miller moved into the small seat next to Clarissa. Leaning over he gently whispered in her ear,

“I’m not going to try to say something profound to make you feel better. Just know that you did what you had to do to protect the lives of thousands of innocent people. There is only honor in that.”

Giving her a light kiss on the forehead he maneuvered his bulk back into the front seat with the pilot, leaving Clarissa with her thoughts.

She knew it would take time but Miller was right. She slumped back into her seat and drifted into a solitary place to try to sort things out.

****

“You know you’re a horrible mechanic. There’s not a damn thing on the panel that would fix a problem in the engine” said the pilot jokingly after Miller had settled back into the front seat and donned the headphones.

“Sorry Webb, it was the best I could do at the moment. Did you get the message to my contacts in DC?”

He hadn’t seen Webb since the night nearly a year ago when he helped whisk some of Miller’s friends to safety in the middle of a firefight with corrupt contractors. His family and friends, of whom Webb was one of the closest, had been hiding out in safety on a ranch in Wyoming, far from the troubles plaguing the country back east.

“Yes. I got the message out I’ll be dammed if I know what it meant.”

Miller chuckled; “well, you may not know everything about me” was his cryptic reply.

Scanning the instrument panel, and doing a quick visual check to ensure their climb was continuing normally Webb asked, “so down to the coast like we talked about?”

As part of the elaborate scheme, the instructions Miller had Klepper send over radio had been for Webb to land the plane on a desolate strip of highway to pick up Clarissa. Miller had quickly briefed him on what to expect from there before driving like a mad to get to the airport in time to incapacitate the mechanic. Finding the spot wasn't difficult, it was the exact spot Webb's brother had landed the plane to rescue Webb and some of Miller's other friends a year before.

It was there that Miller had told Webb to expect to fly to the coast if all went well. Glancing back again to ensure Donovan was out, and verifying that he was fast asleep, Miller replied in the affirmative.

“Hope the security forces don’t mind us dropping in” pondered Webb as he adjusted on of the myriad of knobs on the control panel.

“Well,” said Miller after some thought. “Guess there’s only one way to find out. Better head south.”

As Webb banked the plane and began what promised to be a short trip to the coast he flew along in silence. Although he had no idea what was happening, or had been happening the past few days, he trusted Miller.

“Assuming they show up, I don’t foresee any trouble. Most of Donovan’s real fighting forces are either up on the border in the north, or running around various places dealing with irritants,” said Miller. “There’s probably just a few contractor types and I’ve got something for that.”

“When you say irritants do you mean irritants you like you?” teased Webb.

“Yea. Something like that.”

Miller smiled as the plane flew through the inky blackness. They weren’t out of the woods yet.

****

DeMetrie and his men had chosen their perch to activate the ambush on the Troopers wisely. Just after pushing the button on Klepper’s radio transmitter all four men ducked behind a stout fallen tree not 5 yards from where they were laying. It had fallen nearly perfectly across the lip of a small depression which formed the perfect makeshift trench.

They were smart to do so. Bit of concrete and metal were flung the three quarter mile distance and pelted the tree and dirt around them.

“Holy shit!” exclaimed Lowry.

Even the normally unflappable Caddy was impressed. “I can’t believe that actually worked. A wheat bomb? Wow.”

“Ok boys, the show’s over, time to scoot, “ commanded Captain DeMetrie. Like a den mother protecting her scouts, DeMetrie didn’t want to stand around in the event another wave of contractors showed up.

“Dang Captain, always pushing us,” taunted Reynolds.

“Would it help if I said we could take our time getting where we need to go?”

After DeMetrie’s men glanced at each other out of the corner of their eyes, they all said, in unison, “Hell yes.”

[bacpacker]

Another good chapter Stig.

[The Stig]

Webb held the plane on a steady decent as he approached for landing at the large international airport. Since the creation of the Southern District all general aviation and commercial flights had been grounded and the only activity at the airport were military aircraft moving through the area. Occasionally a general aviation aircraft would land at the airport, usually at the behest of the Troopers or Donovan’s staff, but those landed with proper clearances and plenty of advanced notice.

Sudden arrivals in the middle of the night were not part of standard operations.

To give them as much surprise as possible Webb brought the plane in low and planned to swoop down onto the runway before anybody fully recognized what was happening. Having already descended to treetop level to avoid radar detection, there wasn’t much lower they could go. Clarissa had given up looking out the window to avoid the apprehension growing in her stomach.

Flying low level, at night, after a long multi-day flight was taxing and required all of Webb’s attention to avoid a collision with the trees or ground. Doing so would have ended the flight by shattering the airplane into a million pieces.

Realizing he was crossing the highway just off the end of the runway, he flipped on his landing lights just in time to recognize the airport environment. Donovan’s security people had been kind enough to leave the runway markers, albeit on a lower setting, ablaze to help guide them in. As the tires chirped and the plane briefly shuttered, Miller motioned to a distant hanger near the control tower, but away from the commercial terminal and military hangers. “Over there Webb. Park near the base of the tower.”

Coaxing the aircraft off the runway, Webb kept the taxi speed high as the plane maneuvered through the maze of taxiways on the way to the tarmac near the base of the control tower.

“Ok” Miller said with a serious tone. “For this to work, you guys have to follow my lead and do what we discussed. Got it?”

After Webb and Clarissa both nodded in the affirmative he continued, “it’s probably going to get hairy and be some yelling but just stay calm and whatever you don’t get out of the plane.”

Before Webb or Clarissa could respond a second time a voice blared through Webb’s headphones. Someone in the control tower just recognized that an unauthorized aircraft and landed.

“THE UNAUTH AIRCRAFT TAXING TOWARDS THE TOWER. STOP. DO NOT TAXI ANY FURTHER” came the irate warning.

Webb didn’t need to tell Miller they’d been busted. He was watching the large SUV with flashing red lights converging on their position.

“Turn the plane around so we’re not pinned in,” he instructed as Webb began the wide turn to position the plane.

“This can’t possibly go wrong,” Webb thought to himself as he checked to ensure the short-barreled AR-15 he had stashed in the small area between his seat and the sidewall of the aircraft was loaded.

****
The propeller hadn’t stopped spinning before the small door at the rear of the door fell open and Miller emerged. Checking to ensure his pistol was fully secure in its holster he maneuvered to the rear of the plane just in time for the first SUV of security people to arrive.

Amidst the screeching of rubber on concrete, contractors poured out of the vehicle, guns at the ready, before it had fully stopped. Miller, taking charge before any of them did something rash, yelled out, “The Senator is sick! He’s on the airplane. Set up a parameter now!”

He was sure to make clear his hands were empty, but short of that Miller dove in as if he had been commanding the contractors for the past year.
Pointing at the contractor closest to him, “You, come over here and post guard.” The young contractor, not sure of what to do looked back to his teammates. Miller didn’t hesitate, “Don’t think son, act. Do you want to be the one who dropped the ball and didn’t get Senator Donovan medical attention right away?”

The other contractors, also not sure what to do, lowered their rifles as they attempted to grasp the situation.

Miller barreled ahead like a bull in a china shop. “You the team leader?” he asked of the next man.

“Yes, and you need to stand down so we can figure this out.”

“The only one standing down will be you if the Senator finds out you dicked up his transfer to a medical evac,” said Miller, putting all of his energy into the bluff.

Hesitating the young team leader desperately tried to wrestle back some control, “sir, we want to assist you, but we need to verify….”

Cutting him off with a wave of the hand Miller pointed at the door, now guarded by the young contractor. “Go look for yourself if you insist.”

Hesitantly, the young team leader climbed the first step of the aircraft’s small door and peered inside. Seeing the Senator, passed out in the rear seat, clothes disheveled and shirt missing, he suddenly realized an emergency was unfolding. Seeing the pretty lady, unabashedly sitting with her shirt wide open further reinforced what had unfolded.

“Good” said Miller with authority after sensing the contractor had taken the bait. “Now, you three set up a parameter. A C130 should be calling in any minute for clearance to land. That’s the emergency evac. I got him stabilized for now, but he’s got to get back to the capital.”

Again trying to wrest control of the situation, the young contractor suggested, “Sir, we can transport him to the hospital. It’s less than five minutes away.”

Looking at the contractor as if he suggested Miller stick his hand in a bag of mouse traps, “Listen. The Senator has a special condition and I highly doubt your hospital can deal with it. The Herk is on standby 24-7 for just such an occasion. It’s stocked with all the required medical equipment and the Senator’s personal doctor is onboard. Now, if you think your little hospital can top that, by all means please take charge of the situation.” To complete the ruse Miller even stepped to the side and gestured for the young contractor to take responsibility.

Miller had always been pretty good at poker. Tonight, like many other nights, his bluff worked. Before long two of the contractors had joined the other guarding the aircraft while Miller guided the young team leader on how to coordinate the response of his fellow security forces.

****
“You mean to tell me you’re taking the Senator out of here as if nothing were wrong?” yelled the senior security contractor on duty at the airport that night.

“You’ve got to be kidding me”. The older man literally stomped his foot into the ground to emphasize his point. Miller, never one to be intimidated let the contractor blow off steam. Everything had been going well until the senior man at the airport, from a local contracting firm, caught wind of what was going on. He didn’t take to his young subordinate telling him everything was fine, and he really didn’t take to a stranger, with a half-dressed Senator in the back of an airplane telling him what to do. Soon he and four more guards were on scene to sort out the late night unauthorized landing.

“Sergeant,” said Miller patiently, “ I know this is a lot to swallow but do you really want to be the one that stood between the Senator and the proper medical care?” Miller jerked his thumb back towards the airplane where Webb had been feigning giving the unconscious body of the Senator various forms of medical attention.

Face turning crimson and stepping forwards to stand face to face with Miller the old Sergeant yelled, “I don’t give a tinkers damn who you think you are. This is my airport and you’ll do it my way. The ambulance is on the way and that’s final.”

Speaking in a soft, calm voice Miller attempted a new tact, “Tell you what Sarge, you clearly don’t believe I’m his personal bodyguard, that’s his personal pilot and the lady is his personal….well….you get the idea. Make you a deal. If the Herk calls in for approach clearance and asks about Juliet Mike 1 you’ll step aside and let us do our jobs. If they don’t mention it you can arrest me and my friends, take the Senator to a local hospital and sort things out.”

Not in the mood for games the older man simply grunted.

Tensions ran high for the next three minutes and Miller prayed nobody would think to simply call the capital for confirmation. After seemingly hours the voice of the C130 pilot finally cracked over the radio’s.

“Tower, Speedbird 1 here.”

“Go ahead Speedbird 1,” came the crisp reply for the tower forty feet above Miller’s head.

“Tower, Speedbird 1. Request permission to land on runway one eight. On priority medical evac mission at the request of security personnel on your end.

As the pilots transmission ended there was static laden silence as the tower delayed their reply. They had been made fully aware of the situation that unfolded beneath them. Upon the end of the transmission the Sergeant stood upright from where he leaned against an SUV and looked Miller dead in the eye. Miller, sheepishly, held his wrists forward, prepared for them to be cuffed.

Inside the aircraft, Webb carefully maneuvered his short-barreled AR to a slightly better position on the floor and gently moved the safety to the off position. Clarissa’s eyes went wide a saucers as she watched his movements and realized what he had done.

“Goddamn pilots” Miller thought to himself. “Can’t they remember one lousy line.”

[The Stig]

Throughout the night the bloodbath in and around Lexington continued as the Presidents forces decimated their over-extended and surrounded opponents. Crutchfield’s men attempted to fall back and reestablish some form of order but the defensive retreat was becoming dangerously close to being a rout.

Crutchfield’s commanders, most of them in Lexington, finally grasped the enormity of the situation. All troops had been ordered to fallback on Lexington as they attempted to establish a defensive perimeter. But instead of moving north in units or organized clusters, the men south of, or near, Richmond began a life and death trip through a gauntlet of hot steel and explosions.

Lexington had been left with a skeleton crew of defenders after having been picked over to augment the main force. The main force had been weakened by the struggle near Cincinnati and the strain it was putting on Crutchfield’s commanders was glaringly apparent. They’d be lucky if the main assault force would return to Lexington with fifty percent strength, and the troops eighty miles further north in Cincinnati were likely too weak to break through the lines to relieve them.

In short, they were cut off from their lines and the President could grind them to pieces at his leisure.

To add to their misery, Apache attack helicopters snuck over the horizon to dispatch any armored vehicles that escaped the cauldron of death near Richmond. One by one, Hellfire missiles picked off the exposed and vulnerable tanks and armored personnel carriers.

As men all over the city ran to strengthen whatever defensive position they could, death began raining from the air as laser guided bombs fell into the strong-points created since Crutchfield’s men captured Lexington. One by one, fighter-bombers streaked across the sky while concrete and iron were reduced to rubble as bombs fell with pinpoint accuracy.

Crutchfield’s men were too busy trying to survive to realize the President had sent teams into the area to designate various targets for destruction.

The President had conserved his strength until the right time. Now he was unleashing it with a vengeful fury that threatened to consume an entire army of Crutchfield’s men.

****

“Next strike in zero five minutes,” whispered the young Private to his Sergeant.

“Copy that,” whispered back Sergeant Saxon. The two men were acting as forward air controllers of sorts. While their team of eight other men kept watch over them, Saxon and the young Private Dickerson had worked their way into a position to overlook a large swath of land. It had taken nearly a day of maneuvering but they found a small hill that provided a panoramic view of the north side of Lexington. From their vantage point they could see several key positions along with large clusters of vehicles moving down the beltway that looped around the city. Using a laser designator they would pinpoint targets for the strike aircraft as they’d swoop onto the target area like a hawk securing an afternoon snack.

Crutchfield was able to muster some aircraft into the area to provide support to the beleaguered defenders of Lexington, but they were regularly swatted from the sky by F15’s and ground based missile systems before they could get close to the city. The President’s aircraft criss-crossed the city with near impunity save several ground based antiaircraft weapons.

Occasionally green tracers would arc through the sky in a vain attempt to drive off the airborne attacks. One by one, however, Apache helicopters would dart in and erase the emplacement.

“Strike inbound. Three six to one eight zero. One foxtrot sixteen. TOT in zero one” came the matter of fact call from Private Dickerson. Wounded in the opening days of the conflict, Dickerson was recently back to active duty and assigned to Saxon’s squad. He was already proving his worth as a capable spotter. A single F16 was about to make a run from due north towards the south and would be over the target in one minute.

“Copy that,” replied Saxon. Adjusting a dial on his laser designator he focused them on the small cluster of Humvee’s and one Bradley Fighting Vehicles that had sought refuge in a grove of trees.

“Three zero seconds”

Through the viewfinder he could just make out the shapes of some men moving around the vehicles, unaware of their impending death.

“One five seconds, illuminate,” instructed Dickerson.

“Illuminating,” replied Saxon as he pushed the button that activated the unseen beam of light that acted like a gigantic rope pulling the bomb to its destination.

Almost simultaneously the dark gray F16 streaked overhead about seven hundred yards to their left. The bomb fell, unseen in the darkness, and followed the laser beam all the way to the impact point, which coincided with the top of one of the Humvees.

Even from their distant vantage point the concussive wave of the bomb blast washed over them as the Humvees and enemy soldiers vaporized under five hundred pounds of explosives.

Before the sound of the bomb blast reached their ears the F16 was pulling up hard as it banked to the left. Saxon briefly saw the afterburner ignite before the tail of the engine rotated out of view.

“That’s odd,” thought Saxon. I thought Dickerson said the run-out from the strike would be straight south.

The riddle was answered as a ball of light streaked across the sky and detonated near the tail of the fighter aircraft in a flash of sharp light. There was a delay of nearly a second during which Saxon thought perhaps the ground-launched missile had missed its target. What couldn’t been seen in the distant night sky was the tail of the aircraft separating from the fuselage. Just as Saxon began to turn his attention away from the aircraft, a fireball erupted from the aircraft as it exploded into thousands of tiny pieces.

There was no sign of the pilot ejecting.

[The Stig]

Feeling the metal handcuffs slipping around his wrists Miller wasn’t sure what was about to happen next. He was reasonably sure Webb would open fire from inside the aircraft. He was also reasonably sure he stood no chance of surviving a gunfight, in the open, against eight armed men. Chances were good Webb and Clarissa wouldn’t make it either.

This was most definitely not part of his original plan.

“Tower, this is Speedbird1. Request status update on Juliet Mike 1. Was told he’d be waiting for us.”

The man in the tower shot out of his chair and mashed the microphone button. “Say again Speedbird 1”

“Requesting status update on Juliet Mike 1. He’s attached to Sierra Delta and was told he’d be escorting the evac party.” Sierra Delta was the universally accepted code word for Senator Donovan.

Below them, listening to the transmission over several handheld radios, the older Sergeant stiffened as Miller pulled his hands back. He wasn’t one to take a loss of face lightly but in the end it appeared to all involved that Miller was as he implied.

“No worries,” said Miller with a broad smile. “Once they set down, have them taxi over to us. Take your men thirty yards out and make a perimeter to scan for any insurgents who might want to take a potshot. I’ll affect the handoff to Sierra Delta’s medical team. Once they depart, we’ll do the same in our aircraft.”

Assuming everybody was leaving on the C130 the security man raised an eyebrow after hearing the last comment. Miller explained, “We have to take care of the girl. Her….particular skills….are what set off the Senator’s reaction. We don’t want her running around after seeing all this. Once we finish that task we’ll make our own way back to the capital. We’ll be in a hurry to leave to get that job done, you understand.”

A slight smile crossed the older security man’s face as he finally connected the dots between the scantily clad, attractive woman and the incapacitated senator. This wouldn’t be the first time hanky-panky got an older man into physical trouble.

“Alright, we’ll go ahead and set up now. Sorry for the confusion. Procedure’s are there for a reason”

“Like I said,” responded Miller, “no worries. For all you know I could be some insurgent wacko.”

The senior security man turned and began gathering up his contingent of contractors to begin the process of setting up an outward facing perimeter.

****

“I’ve got him untied and ready to go. We just going to dead lift him into the plane?” asked Webb as Miller hastily returned to the plane.

With only a few minutes before the C130 would be into position for the transfer, they still had to hand off the Senator, and both planes had to taxi back to the runway for takeoff before anybody caught onto their charade. So far they were pulling it off, but at any minute someone might verify the information and discover the real truth of what was happening.

“Yea,” said Miller. “Let’s get his shirt back on, and drag him to the top of the stairs. As soon as we can we’ll drag him out and get him to the Herk.”

“Miller,” called out Clarissa. “Who the heck is coming in that plane?” she asked while gesturing to the C-130 that was about to touchdown on the distant runway.

“Oh,” he answered. “just some friends of mine.”

She looked at him quizzically. Despite all of the time they had spent together in recent months she really had no idea who John Miller was.

“Ok pull,” commanded Miller as he and Webb gracelessly drug the Senator out of his seat and towards the small door. Carrying an adult male body, which is lifeless, in the small confines of the airplane was no easy task and it took nearly two minutes to move him the four feet to the rear door.

The roaring turboprop engines of the C130 blasted them with warm air as the venerable transport aircraft turned one hundred and eighty degrees to face back towards the runway. They would have positioned the large aircraft closer to Webb’s if not for the control tower. Still the exhaust and noise was nearly overwhelming.

Miller, already on the ground pulling the Senator’s body out of the plane, yelled back to Clarissa, “go buckle yourself in.”

Webb looked up just in time to see the cavernous cargo area of the nearly solid black C130 laid fully bare by the lowered cargo door. As he got his footing after descending the stairs he watched as thirty heavily armed and armored soldiers piled out of the back of the plane and set up a perimeter of their own. Behind them came two medical personnel who ran to meet them, take possession of the body and finish the fifty-yard journey back to their mysterious aircraft.

Miller was in the process of advising the medical personnel about real reason for the Senator’s condition when he heard “Miller!”

He looked up to see a strange looking man in dated six-color camouflage pants and plain drab three-quarter t-shirt yelling over the din of the engines. He rushed in closely behind the medical personnel and marched, hand extended, directly towards Miller.

Taking a second to recognize his old friend Miller, accepted the hearty handshake while calling back, “Mack!”. Pumping his hand feverishly, Miller continued, “damn man. It’s been what, five years?”

“More like seven,” responded the man as he pulled his baseball cap tighter to avoid having it blown off in the prop-wash of the still idling aircraft. The pilot had kept engines going, and props spinning so they could depart at a moments notice.

“Can’t believe they stuck you with this baby-sitting mission,” yelled Miller over the roar of the engines.

“Someone had to come save your ass….again” screamed back Mack with genuine affection.

Glancing over his shoulder, Miller continued, “Would love to reminisce but I don’t think we should stick around any longer than needed. This one’s on a shoestring.”

Again shaking Miller’s hand, Mack yelled back. “Good catch on this one. Your message was a pleasant surprise. We had a couple things in the works already, but this is better. Papa asked for a report when you can get it to him.”

Punching Miller affectionately on the shoulder, Mack spun smartly back towards the aircraft while making a circular motion with his fist. The thirty-man squad of multicam clad troops filed into the back of the plane behind him.

“I think that’s our cue to leave,” said Miller as he lightly pulled Webb back towards their own aircraft.

Glancing back towards at the solid black C130 one last time Webb was unable to make out a single identifying insignia on the aircraft. Before the cargo ramp was fully closed the pilot had pushed the throttles forward and the big plane shuttered as it began rolling.

It seemed that there was much about his past that Miller had neglected to share.

****

“Ok, let’s get the hell out of here,” called out Miller as Webb frantically flipped the switches and pressed the buttons that would restart their transport to back to the safety of the skies.

“Miller,” said Webb flatly. “You’ve got some serious explaining to do.”

“Later Webb. Later, “ was all Miller replied.

While it seemed like an eternity, Webb had the engines restarted and running normally in under a minute and a half. Soon the plane was gently swaying in unison with the uneven torque of the propellers.

His eyes scanning the instruments, and fingers dancing across the control panel, Webb calmly stated, “I’ll forgo the request for takeoff clearance.”

“I think that would be wise,” was all Miller said.

Miller may not have been so deadpan had he been able to see the situation unfolding outside of Webb’s window. He had glanced over in time to see the senior contractor yelling into a radio and wildly gesturing back towards them. It would seem that someone had, indeed, thought to radio the capital to clarify the situation. The other contractors stood around him in confusion while he continued to animatedly converse with the person on the other end of the radio.

Pushing the throttles forward with authority, and releasing the brakes, the plane leapt forward under the thrust generated by its propellers. Webb smartly chose to taxi directly towards the closest runway with sufficient length for a takeoff. Now was not the time for proper engine run-up, last minute systems checks, and correct alignment into the wind.

Noting the lumbering C130 rotating for take off, and virtually springing into the air, he continued to navigate the maze of taxiways before mercifully finding the entrance to a runway.

Without so much as an instruction to hold on, Webb rammed the throttles forward and the heavily modified engines immediately roared to full power. Miller felt himself being pushed into the back of his seat as the laws of physics took control of his body.

In what promised to be the shortest takeoff roll he’d ever performed, he watched in agony as the airspeed indicator finally flickered to life and began moving towards the appropriate level to allow flight. As the tires thumped across cracks in the runway, Webb was shocked to see the contractors several hundred yards back shooting their rifles towards them. Even though they were under the illumination of the tarmac lights Webb watched the flashes clearly imitating from the ends of their rifles. Instinctively, he crouched down as far as he could into the limited protection of his seat.

Skillfully pulling back on the yoke, Webb coaxed the aircraft into the air. Holding it steady only a few yards above the ground to retract the gear and gain airspeed, he then allowed his aircraft, like a thoroughbred horse charging down the back straightaway, to rocket though several hundred feet while banking sharply to the left.

“Whoa,” was all Miller could say as he was pressed back into his chair.

From the back of the airplane, Clarissa yelled out, “are there barf bags on this flight?”

[The Stig]

“Ok,” whispered DeMetrie, “give them the signal.”

Reynolds aimed his blue filtered flashlight skyward and blinked it for three long flashes and three short ones.

They had heard the aircraft fly overhead at the assigned rendezvous point at the correct time but instead of using their radios first to contact it, they chose to use the prearranged light signal. While they’d dealt a massive blow to the Troopers in the area, DeMetrie and his men remained cautious. Thus the light signal, to avoid radio detection.

Once Webb spotted the signal indicating all clear on the ground, Miller clicked the microphone of the team radios in the same pattern as Reynolds had used for the light.

DeMetrie and Reynolds kept watch near the end of a long stretch of highway. It was a stretch of highway not unfamiliar to DeMetrie. Several of his men had given their lives here just over a year ago to protect people they had never met. While the loss of any of his men tore at his soul, the loss of men on US soil, to fellow Americans ate away at him.

Lowry and Caddy kept watch on the other side of the road, closer to the touchdown spot of the aircraft. If Troopers did try to ambush them, at least some of DeMetrie’s men eoulf be able to respond quickly.

They could hear the airplane but it was several minutes before it became visible against the starlit night sky. DeMetrie watched it sinking rapidly, almost to the point where he became concerned the pilot was about to scatter his plane across the ground instead of landing on it. His fears were put aside when the powerful landing light suddenly flipped on, bathing the entire area in front of the plane in bright light.

Lowry, who just happened to be looking towards the plane was momentarily stunned by the cascade of blinding light.

The plane touched down and gently rolled out, coming to a stop just abeam DeMetrie and Reynold’s position.

****

While Caddy, Lowry and Reynolds kept guard Miller and DeMetrie swapped notes about what had unfolded throughout the course of the night.

“Sounds like you knocked the snot out of them Mike,” said Miller.

DeMetrie, never one to get carried away was genuinely impressed with their handiwork. “Tell you what Miller, it was a sight to behold. We took a whole mess of them out in that one blast. I don’t think we shut them down, but in this county anyway there out done for.”

Continuing on he said, “I’m more impressed that you nabbed the Senator.”

“Yea, it didn’t come without a price,” Miller said, alluding to Clarissa’s sacrifice of dignity. “But he’s on his way back to DC now. I imagine there will be quite a fallout because of his sudden absence from the Southern District.”

“Who the hell came to pick him up?” asked the confused DeMetrie.

Smiling Miller responded, “just friends from the past. Haven’t seen most of them in a while but I figured that folks in the administration had a few things they’d like to discuss with Donovan. Call it an early Christmas present.”

Wiping sweat from their brows, Miller and DeMetrie swapped notes for a few more minutes before both men felt they were spending more time on the ground than was prudent.

“Ok Mike. Guess this is the end of the road for now. Webb here will fly you guys up to Nashville. From there you can make contact with the President’s forces,” said Miller. He was genuinely sad to see his partnership with DeMetrie coming to a close. He respected the Captain, not only for saving his life a year ago, but also for taking up arms with Miller against the Senator’s oppression.

“It was a heck of a run Miller. Many thanks,” was all DeMetrie could come up with to reply.

Both men stood in silence for a few seconds. It was that awkward silence of two men who had forged a bond on the field of combat that couldn’t be described in words.

Instead the two men quickly embraced and patted each other on the back.

“What are you going to do Miller?” asked the Captain as they walked back towards the plane and DeMetrie signaled the men to load up.

“Well, I’ve got to make sure Clarissa here is take care of then I’m taking a nice boat ride up-river on the way back to Wyoming.”


****

After stowing most of their gear in Miller’s truck, the men exchanged farewells before piling into the plane one by one. Webb busied himself with getting the plane going again and preparing for another difficult takeoff.

Miller called up to Webb, “take good care of these guys.”

Looking back down at his friend, “you want us to pick you up at the normal spot up-river?” Webb asked about the spot where arms shipments would be handed off from the ClarMar Farms truck to the boats used to move the goods downriver towards their ultimate destination.

Thinking for a bit Miller replied, “no, I’ll find my way. I want to clear my head a bit before I see the girls.” Miller wanted to spend the time crossing the three states between the Mississippi River and Wyoming getting the events of the past year squared away.

Nodding down at his friend Webb simply said, “I’ll let them know to expect you. Stay safe”. With that he shut the small window to his cockpit.

As DeMetrie climbed aboard the aircraft he looked down at the man who had become his good friend. There was nothing left to say. The engines of Webb’s aircraft coughed and turned over and began spinning up to speed. It was time to go.

He wondered if he’d ever see Miller again as he pulled the door closed.