by Frank Perry
personnel. They were well trained from their disbursement and supporting fields of fire. They had enough firepower with Thunder, but his troops could be in the way.
He crouched and ran back to the helicopter. The radio was still working. Over COM1 he yelled, “Thunder, lay some rounds into those cars. Do not overshoot. We have troops on both sides, over!”
Thunder responded, “Wait one.”
Without acknowledgment, Thunder had been hovering at five hundred feet and was climbing to one thousand when the call came. The altitude would increase the firing angle. About ten seconds went by when a burst of 30mm ammunition exploded the center of the convoy. Three limousines blew into the air before bursting into fuel-fed fires. This gave more light behind the Russians and the fight began favoring the outnumbered Rangers.
Three men charged Peter with guns blazing. He rolled to his right again, not able to shoot. They were within a hundred feet when he resumed firing. Someone to the right saw the charge and also fired. One attacker faltered from a well-placed shot, but two were too close to Peter for a second shot.
He flipped to full auto and fired a burst as bullets ricocheted around him. He half rolled again, firing without aiming. One of the men fell. The second man tried to fire at ten feet, but his magazine was empty, or the weapon jammed.
Peter rose as the attacker threw his weapon at him, causing him to stumble. The man jumped on him cursing in Russian. The man’s knee pounded his abdomen, knocking him backward. He instinctively crouched, shaking his head violently in a low fighting position as the bigger man charged again. The attacker was expertly trained and relentless in his attack. This wasn’t a points match; it was hand-to-hand combat that would end with only one alive. Peter stopped being the mission commander and became an individual grunt. His focus narrowed; his hearing shut out all noise; his pulse quickened.
They both went down clutching and clawing, rolling several times before Peter pushed himself free. He recognized the Russian killer who had tried to kill him at the country club.
The Russian had grasped Peter’s fighting knife in his right hand. In the tussle, he’d pulled it from Peter’s scabbard. Peter circled right. In the background, gunfire had slowed. Most Russian combatants were down. He kept circling, waiting to lunge. His opponent wasn’t inclined to rash movement. Peter had seen the man move at the shed and knew he’d lost some flexibility. He could not crouch and rotate for long. The Russian lunged. Instead of backing away or parrying the thrust, Peter dodged and leapt forward, gripping the knife hand and arm under his left arm. They were momentarily locked together when Peter dropped and swung his right leg in an arc throwing the man off balance. With quick reaction, Peter pulled his smaller throwing knife from behind his waist and thrust it into the man’s larynx. The Russian was paralyzed for one second, and then with superhuman force, pulled Peter’s knife hand free, but his coordination was wasted. Peter thrust again, slicing the knife sideways inside the bigger man’s throat. Blood gushed in torrents while the dying man’s eyes remained fixed on Peter’s face. He fell onto the road, still flailing, then his body began to spasm as life drained away.
Peter recovered his fighting knife and M4. He checked the magazine and moved toward the enemy. Muzzle flashes were left and right. He could see both FBI agents firing their pistols from prone positions along with the soldiers. There was no firing ahead as he jogged toward the convoy. About ten people remained engaged in the fight on both sides and he sensed that the Russians were now the minority. When he reached the rear of the cars, he yelled, “Cease fire, Army Rangers, Cease fire!”
He could see all the cars clearly in the firelight. A few shots followed then it stopped. In the firelight, he could see dead and wounded Russians on both sides, his troops were out in the fields in better shape. Some Russians moved to their feet and raised hands, but most were motionless. He saw the FBI jackets first, and then his men started taking shape in the darkness.
Blue Thunder had killed Anatoly Machin, the arms merchant and extortionist. The detonator box was destroyed. Within minutes after the shooting stopped, the situation was under control and Striker Two was left in command. Luke Gallagher was the senior law authority on scene and took operational control with the Guard soldiers supporting. None of the soldiers were seriously hurt. Angela was also unhurt and exhilarated, knowing that she had helped strike back against the bombers. She was shocked at Peter’s bloody appearance. He explained that his wounds were superficial and most of the blood wasn’t his.
He ordered the Strike team to mount up on Little Birds Two and Three for transport into Chicago. Little Bird One was destroyed. Thunder would accompany them. Angela asked to join the trip back to the city, since Luke had plenty of backup.
Fox Hunt
En route to Chicago, the Little Birds were re-designated as One and Two. Little Bird Three was re-designated One with Peter aboard. They flew to Naperville for fuel, rearming and food. The total time on the ground was limited, so Peter instructed anyone wanting to sleep to stay close to the helicopters. He walked to a mall restroom, which was re-opened for their use. He stripped and washed off blood and dirt. The cuts on his face had coagulated, but some would need to be sutured once this was over. Some of the bullet fragments that had glanced off the road surface were still embedded in his face, legs and arms.
He took a wet cloth and cleaned his body armor and BDUs as much as possible before re-dressing. He laid his weapons across several sinks and cleaned away dirt and blood. His sidearm had remained holstered and only needed superficial cleaning. His knives were wiped clean. His M4 had fired almost two full magazines, forty shots, but there wasn’t enough time to clean it.
Redressed, he went to the armory for fresh 5.56mm M4 magazines. After rearming, he headed for the mess trailer grabbing three power bars and an orange juice box. Then he went back to Little Bird One to use the radio. When he checked his watch, he still had thirty minutes before liftoff. Most of the other soldiers were drinking coffee, still exhilarated from the morning’s action. Some were sleeping.
His first call was to the Compass Call, “Big Eye One this is Striker One, over.”
Compass Call responded, “Striker One, this is Big Eye One, over.”
“Big Eye, be advised the mission to neutralize weapon controller was successful. Thanks for your help! Over.”
“Thanks sir, I’ll pass along, over.”
Peter continued, “Roger that Big Eye. We’re now moving to help locate and disarm the bombs. Please coordinate with DOD SIGINT for any chatter that will help us locate the five remaining weapons, over.”
“Roger Striker One, acknowledge mission for detonator is now over. New mission to locate five platforms through chatter, over.”
“Roger, Striker One, out.”
He switched COM channels and began to key the mike when he saw Angela standing about ten feet away drinking coffee and looking at him.”
Lowering the handset, he said, “Hi.”
She seemed a little coy, “Hi. You clean up well.” He started to speak but she continued, “I was wondering, how you can manage to pull off such a plan, clean up like you’ve just been working in the garden, and behave calmly after such an experience?”
He starred back a little too long without speaking. He wasn’t comfortable with this dialogue. He answered, “I dunno, haven’t thought about it like that before.”
She continued, “Colonel, you’re a unique guy. I admire you. We came through this thing without any serious injuries. Those men weren’t amateurs and you were outgunned on the ground, yet somehow, I sensed that you knew we would be all right”
He stammered a little, “Agent Kerr, Angela, I, ah, just have confidence in military equipment and training. That’s all.”
“Okay, I just wanted to say something to you before you take off again.” She took one long sip of coffee then turned her eyes from him. He watched as she moved away. He was thinking: ’Ma
n, this isn’t the time for this. I wish I knew what to say to women...forget it.’ He found himself conflicted with emotion.
He resumed keying the handset, “This is Striker One. Wheeler are you up on COM1? Over.”
Wheeler answered, “Wheeler Aye sir, over.” The EOD team was staged with their equipment. Ben Harris, DEA, was also with them with the illumination systems and goggles.
Peter said, “Wheeler, is Harris ready? Over.”
“Yes sir, we’re all ready to go on your orders, over.”
Peter said, “Okay, stand by, Little Birds en route for pickup at the federal building, ETA is twenty-five minutes. This op is going airborne. Have minimum equipment per man. The transmitter has been destroyed, only threat now is local detonation, over.”
“Roger sir, HUA, awaiting pickup sir, over.”
“Striker One, out.”
Wheeler and his men had been reviewing their notes and video from Woodstock. In the meantime, Ben Harris had been preparing his equipment for deployment, and training the EOD team. They were ready to get into the action. Airmen did not always carry weapons, but they all had M9 side arms for this mission.
As the MH-6J’s approached the city, flying at three thousand feet, they saw an astonishing and eerie sight. The city was dark except for billowing smoke and fire. It