Dark Road (36 page)

“What are they doing?”  She said to Sergeant Morris who was in the camouflaged bunker with her along with a few others.

“Seriously,” he said.  “You’re asking me?  Uh, ma’am.”

Mallory barked a short laugh.  “No, just thinking out loud.”  She said.  “I would like to know what they are doing up there, though.”

…

“Well, I’ll be,” the pilot, Chief Warrant Officer Peyton Briggs said.  “They won’t paint us if we don’t get too close.  I wonder how low we can get.”

“Delta two through Delta eight, hold station, I’m going to try something and if it doesn’t work Delta two becomes delta leader,” Briggs sent out on the team radio channel and then descended to see how low he could go before he started generating interest.

It didn’t take long before he picked up his first radar hit and a few seconds later he had two more.  That was enough for Briggs.

“Let’s pull it back to about I-40 and see if we can land,” he radioed to the rest of his team and they all made a tight turn back to the freeway.  There would be just enough space in the area within the on and off-ramps to set down all eight Black Hawks.

“My turn,” Delta eight called in as they approached their potential landing zone.  “I’ll be the guinea pig this time.”

He got within twenty feet of the ground before the radar lit him up, but, sure enough, it was there.  “No good,” he said as he pulled back up.

“Roger that,” Briggs said.  “They painted us all when you got too close.  Suggestions?”

…

Mallory could just barely hear the helicopters now and figured they were trying to land out near the entrance to the park, off of I-40.  That was the largest, flattest area outside of the spaces they had cleared here inside the park, and the only area she could think of to land the birds without running the risk of damaging the props.

“Be right back,” she said as she got up and scurried out of the bunker.

“Ma’am,” came the stifled cry of one of the men who had been tasked with protecting her.

She was jogging to her command tent when she heard the unmistakable whine of one of the Black Hawks coming in fast, far faster than they had been coming in before.

“Damn,”
she thought,
“prior planning prevents piss-poor performance!  This is why you don’t do things by the seat of your pants Mallory!”
and she started sprinting the rest of the way to her command tent.

About thirty feet from her destination two things happened at once.  The Black Hawk came over the trees and almost froze in place.  That may have been because time seemed to stand still or because the pilot was just that good.  It had come in just over the trees and she could feel the prop wash pushing down and out.  The nose was tilted up just a bit so the pilot might very well be that good.

It was far enough above her that it wasn’t threatening to knock her down, but if her helmet hadn’t been buckled on it would have blown it off.  The doors were open and she could see the men inside.  She knew without counting that there would be fourteen troops, fully geared up and ready to do whatever they felt necessary.

…

“God speed Delta three,” Briggs said as the third ‘Hawk in the formation opened its side doors and took off at 120 nautical miles an hour.

Warrant Officer Damian Stanton had been flying for five years and had flown this stretch once before.  The joke on base was that flying it once beforehand for Damian was like cheating; flying it again at 120 at treetop level would be nothing.  He’d seen where he would stop—what looked like the main open area of camp—and dare them to shoot him down.

From where they had taken up station, halfway between the highway and his destination, the flight took a little less than a minute, including acceleration and deceleration.  Damian cursed himself for slowing down too fast as he’d stopped a little too close to the trees.

“One,” his co-pilot said ten seconds into their flight, referring to the number of threat radars.

“Two, three, four,” he said at fifteen, eighteen and twenty-one seconds.

“Five, six, seven,” he said at twenty-eight, thirty one, and forty-nine seconds.

“Eight,” he said at fifty-two seconds.

“Launch!”  His co-pilot yelled.

…

The second thing to happen was that she heard a new noise.  A noise she hadn’t heard since heavy weapons training.  A noise she didn’t recognize until it streaked past her at twice the speed of sound, missing the ‘Hawk by about thirty feet.

Mallory froze.

…

Damian knew he was dead.  He’d just killed himself and seventeen other men, plus the man or woman standing on the ground beneath them.  The threat indicator showed less than a mile away and at Mach 2.2 he had just over 2 seconds to live.

“I’m sorry, guys,” was all he could say over the radio.

And then the Stinger went thirty feet in front of his cockpit window.

“Black Hawk squadron invading the airspace around Natchez Trace and U.S. Army Base Promised Land,” the radios on all eight helicopters came to life on the standard UHF FAA frequency that was monitored at
all
times, “the next shots fired will not, I repeat, will
not
miss.  Do you understand?”

“Roger, good copy,” Damian replied.  “Blackhawk three clear.”

Damian gently pulled up and made his way slowly back to the rest of his squadron.

“This is Blackhawk one,” Briggs said on the FAA frequency.  “We are leaving the area, you have my word.”

“We’ll trust but verify, if it’s all the same,” the voice on the FAA frequency replied.

“Understood,” Briggs said and switched channels.  “Delta lead to Delta team, we’re gone.”

Briggs changed channels again.  “Delta lead to Delta base, mission is a no go, repeat mission is a no go.  We almost lost three to coordinated Stinger fire.”  He was deliberately being vague about what had happened just now.

What he’d said was technically correct, and he’d
meant
that they had almost lost chopper three to fire that was being coordinated by multiple radars.  Base could take what he just said any way they wanted.  Briggs wasn’t going anywhere
near
that place any time soon if he could help it.

“Understood Delta lead, Delta base out.”

Briggs shook his head and started the flight home.

…

Once the Black Hawk in front of her slowly turned around and headed back the way it came, Mallory made a mad dash to the command tent and turned on her HAM rig.

“Alpha Prime calling Optimus Prime, come in Optimus Prime!” she almost yelled.

“This is Optimus Prime, authenticate…”

“Screw that!” she snapped.  “You know damned good and well who this is.  Get the Major on the radio right now.”

“Um, ma’am, I’m sorry but I can’t do that,” was the very stunned and incredibly apologetic response.

“Can’t or won’t,” She said.  “Because I’m getting tired of being told he’s unavailable.”

“Well, ma’am, he’s actually unavailable right…”

“Then where the hell is he!” Mallory yelled.

“Um, ma’am,” came the flustered response.  “He should be down there!”

“Oh.”  Mallory paused for a second.  “In that case, I’m sorry.  Alpha Prime clear.”

…

Mallory came out of her command tent with the modified radio Sparky had given her a couple of weeks ago and turned it on, wrinkling her nose at the smell of spent solid rocket fuel that still hung in the air.  Thankfully, she was greeted with the normal screen and not “NO OPER”, which would have really made her day.  She hit scan and put it on her belt, to replace the one that no longer worked, and started walking to the bunker she had vacated just a few moments ago.

Halfway to the bunker, the radio paused in its scan for transmissions.  “…copy?”

Mallory grabbed the radio before it could move to the next channel.  “Say again, I only caught the end of your transmission.”  She said.

“This is Omega Prime, because I absolutely
refuse
to go by that ridiculous call sign any longer, calling Alpha Prime, do you copy?”  Ben said.

The relief that Mallory felt was palpable.  Ben was here, he’d come through.  He was obviously local because she could hear him on the squad radio and he’d modified it to ignore the presence of a satellite uplink.

“This is Alpha Prime,” she was still going to give him a hard time.  “You took your time getting here.”

“Blah blah blah,” Ben said, trying to give as good as he got.  “Tell your people to stand down long enough for us to come in the side door and drop this stuff off.  I don’t want to be gone too much longer.”

…

“Long story short, the Colonel may or may not have a mole,” Ben said.  “I can’t be absolutely sure either way.  This is the fourth stop we’ve made and I’ve been off base for three days already.”

Mallory was trying not to let her frustration at not being able to contact him for the last few days show, but Ben was either too good at reading her expression or knew she would have been chomping at the bit with no communication from him.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t contact you before I left,” he said.  “I only told three people where we were going to be and when.  When I get back I’ll be letting the Colonel know how I feel about the orders, but not until then.”

“Have you had problems with security?”  Mallory asked.

“I think I have it resolved but I won’t know until I get back.”  Ben said.  “That’s part of what this trip has been about.”

Ben took a look at the men and women unloading the trucks of munitions and supplies.  “We got a tip that we shouldn’t try to bring anything in via air,” he said, “which makes me wonder how tight a grip the Colonel has on the loyalists, as you call them.  That’s the other reason this took longer than initially expected.  Instead of a twenty minute flight, it was almost a three hour drive--and we set up a perimeter.”

Mallory nodded, “And I’m glad you did,” she said.  “When he came in over the trees I thought I was done.”

“I’m just glad he stopped and didn’t try to land,” Ben said.  “I really didn’t want to shoot him down.”

“Would you have?”  Mallory asked

“Yes,” Ben said.  “If he’d started his descent, the next one would have taken him out.  It was already locked on and was closer than the first.  He’d have had less than a second to react.”

Mallory took a few moments to come to grips with the fact that she’d almost met her maker--for more than one reason--today before Ben spoke again.

“And yes,” he said, “I would have felt like hell when I found out.”

“You said you didn't want to be gone too much longer,” Mallory said.

“Kicking me out?” Ben asked with a chuckle. 

“Something like that, I guess,” Mallory said, “but not without a hug. C'mere you big lug, thanks for saving our butts.”

Kyle came around the corner just as Mallory and Ben were embracing, but neither of them saw him before he did an about-face and made himself scarce.
What was that all about?  The Major and the Major?
Kyle shook his head and took a breath as he strangled the next thought before it finished forming. Doesn't matter, man, she's an officer now and you're enlisted, and you've always been in the same chain of command. Your role is the competent goofball, so just walk away.  Which is what he did--like he had somewhere to be or something to do, which he didn't.

“Ok, that wasn't technically regulation,” Mallory said, “but oh well. We're old friends and we haven't seen each other in a long time and, hey, we're both officers—so, no harm, no foul, right?” 
Besides, that felt kind of nice.

“Right,” Ben said. “But now I really do have to go.”

Mallory's non-reprogrammed radio came to life, “Major, you have an incoming call.”

Both Ben and Mallory stared at the radio for a second before she replied. “On my way.”

“Care to join me?” She asked Ben.

“I think I can postpone my departure for this if it's who I think it is.” He said.

...

“This is Major Jensen,” Mallory said into the mic.

“This is Colonel Olsen,” was the reply. “This is the last communication you will receive from me or anyone else using your issue equipment. At the end of this transmission your satellite link will be severed, and you will be permanently locked out unless you immediately implement the second set of orders transmitted to you regarding ARCLiTE. Do you understand?”

Mallory didn't even bother to think about it. “I understand and refuse to comply, or implement any of the illegal, immoral, unconstitutional or unethical orders, as a whole or in part, that you have issued.” Mallory said. “Nothing about my position has changed, and nothing you have said or done has given me the slightest reason to reconsider, Mr. Olsen.”

The Colonel didn't bother to correct her, he knew what she was doing and wasn't going to play her game. “Very well, I wish you the best of luck,” Colonel Olsen said.

And then the console for the radio went dark.

“I sure hope Sparky can fix this,” Mallory said.

Epilogue

“I think it’s time we moved again,” Rachael said to Joel as she came into the cabin’s small kitchen, followed closely by Millie.  After the family had moved to the cabin, Millie had remained by their side—possibly afraid that she might get left behind.

“Not again,” Maya said from the kids’ bedroom.

“I didn’t mean the whole family.” Rachael said, which finally got Joel’s attention and he looked up from the stacks of paperwork strewn over the kitchen table.

Joel started to get up, which would have upset the whole mess on the table, “It’s time, now, already?” He asked.

“No,” Rachael smiled, “not quite.  Braxton and Hicks were idiots but the contractions are happening with enough regularity that I need to be staying closer to the hospital.  And what do you mean
already
?  It’s March, Mr., in case you haven’t noticed, and I feel like a beached whale.”

Joel got up more deliberately than his last attempt and went to his wife.  “You’re as beautiful as they day we met…more so.”  He hugged her from the side without even realizing what he was doing, which he had gotten good at again, and started cleaning up his mess.