Mind Kill- Rise of the Marauder

by Peter Casilio

  MacJames turned on to the main country road and the engine roared as the car quickly accelerated. She had to keep driving; if she stopped they would be surrounded by the villains. She had to drive and coordinate her location with back-up. Her thoughts were interrupted by a red light blinking on the instrument cluster.

  The children screamed at her, “PUT YOUR SEATBELT ON!”

  MacJames heard that familiar female voice with the German accent, “Fasten your seatbelt, please.” She grabbed the buckle and quickly snapped it in place.

  “Ms. MacJames, did my Dad say you could drive his car?” Kaitlin asked.

  Shocked by the question, she gathered her wits, “Honey he did; he even gave me a key.” Her right hand reached for Kaitlin in the back seat. “Guys are you ok, are you bleeding?”

  Wide eyed in the front seat, Peter Jakob answered calmly, “I’m good.” His hand firmly grasped the door handle and he turned to look at Kaitlin. “She’s ok, too.”

  MacJames had to call for help, but the agents closest to her position were under siege at Mitchelli’s house. Law enforcement was spread thin in the rural suburbs; they were not equipped to handle a rolling gun battle especially one involving planes. The Secretary of Homeland Security had ordered her to keep the Mitchelli family safe. She had no other choice but to call Washington.

  Secretary Stuart was seated at his desk and his assistant Molly Richards was across from him, taking notes. A green light flashed on his phone council. He pushed the flashing green button.

  “Mr. Secretary, an Angela MacJames is on the phone for you.” The female voice was monotone.

  The Secretary studied his notes. “Tell her I’ll call her back, tell her I’m preparing for a meeting with the President; she’ll understand.” He released the button.

  The Secretary returned to his notes, his assistant systematically placing papers in front of him for his review. The green light flashed again, he pressed the button on his console.

  “Sir, Ms. MacJames is insisting she speak with you. She told me to tell you the lives of the Mitchelli children are in immediate danger.” Annoyed, her voice was still monotone.

  “Good God!” Molly pressed a yellow button on the phone console for him, and Stuart yelled, “Mac, what’s the situation?”

  MacJames quickly gave Secretary Stuart an update on her state. The Secretary promised he would send help. He insisted MacJames stay on the phone and he had Molly patch her line into the department’s command center. Her location was tracked via the transponder in her phone.

  “Mac, you hang in there. We’re going to get help to you and those kids real soon.” There was no response from MacJames. “Mac, are you there?”

  “Dad, I promised Peter his children would be safe.” MacJames’s voice cracked with emotion.

  It had been over twenty years since his daughter had called him Dad. Molly Richards put her arms on his shoulder as she saw his body stiffen and his large leather chair urgently rocked forward towards his desk. “Mac, we’re going to keep that promise, the country will…I’ll do everything in my power. We’ll keep that promise, you and I. I won’t disappoint you again!”

  Molly Richards went to work quickly contacting Central Command for Homeland Security. The general in charge of operations was quickly informed of the situation. Within minutes, all law enforcement in Erie County was alerted to the emergency at hand. Cars were dispatched to the Mitchelli house, their sirens screaming as they spend through the streets.

  Kaitlin looked up staring out the glass roof of the coupe and saw two planes flying above. She screamed, “Planes!”

  MacJames’s heart raced as she looked in her rear view mirror and saw the white car approaching. She pressed the accelerator to the floor. The farm fields became a blur as the car sped down the rural road.

  ***

  Two men in military green jumpsuits with Air Force wing insignias stitched over their left shoulders were eating pizza and watching an adult cartoon, laughing. The animated figures were in bed nude.

  A voice yelled out, “Colonel, there’s a phone call for you.”

  “Jenkins, I know we’re a reserve unit and answering the phone isn’t what you do at your law office. But damn it, get the person’s name!”

  Jenkins answered, “Sir I did. It’s a General Smith from Washington.”

  The Colonel’s face looked puzzled. “Smith? He’s not in the reserves, he’s four stars. Why the hell is he calling?” The Colonel ran to his office and picked up his phone. “Colonel Hart, 906 transport group.”

  “General Smith, Central Command Homeland Security. Colonel, we have a situation and your group is the only assets we have in the area. How many planes do you have ready for immediate lift off?”

  The Colonel looked at his daily service report. “Sir, we have two.”

  “Get them in the air immediately. We’ll patch through your intercept coordinates. Colonel, this is a stage five, repeat stage five mission. Make sure your planes are well armed.”

  The Colonel nervously answered, “Sir, no disrespect intended, but this is the 906th --we’re a reserve transport wing; our planes are not armed.”

  “Colonel, I don’t care if you drop the ramp on the ass of those Hercules and shoot your pistols out the back. We need you in the air pronto and with as much fire power as you can muster.”

  “Yes Sir, we’ll be armed and in the air.” The Colonel placed the phone on the receiver. “Jenkins, hit the horn and open the armory we going to need the SAWs on Spartacus and Popeye.”

  The alarm horn screamed throughout the Niagara Falls Air Base. Men ran down the tarmac to their planes. Drills were usually scheduled; at first the men did not move, they looked at each other checking their watches.

  The Colonel’s voice could be heard over the intercom system. “This is a stage five alert. We need two ships airborne immediately on an intercept coarse to be determined. Ground crews are to equip each flight with two squad automatic weapons, One thousand rounds each. Command will direct tanker for midair refueling.”

  Their training engaged. The reserve airmen moved swiftly and efficiently, their speed was driven. If the nation was under attack, their actions were to defend their country. From the ground crew that prepped the plane for flight to the pilots who flew them, the mission was clear: launch two planes immediately. The men squeezed through the side doors of the short stubby C-130 Hercules cargo planes. The propellers slowly turned and black smoke erupted from the exhaust vents as the Allison turbine engines spooled up. The hum of the propeller blades increased as additional engines smoked to life.

  The wheel chocks were removed from Spartacus and the Colonel moved the four levers in the center council forward.

  His first officer exclaimed, “Harvey, we didn’t finish the preflight!”

  Colonel Hart’s eyes focused beyond his windshield. “No time, Stan. We have to get our wheels up. Make sure the men are secured, we may have to crack the ramp and use those SAWs.”

  The first officer was quick to reply, “Who the hell are we going to shoot?”

  “I don’t know, but reserve Colonels don’t question four stars.”

  Popeye was on the move behind Spartacus. The control tower cleared the runway. Spartacus never stopped at the end of the runway to run-up the engines. The Colonel used the entire length of the nine thousand foot runway to build up maximum groundspeed before he nosed the plane up. The wheels retracted as soon as they left the runway. Popeye quickly followed down the runway and into the air. Their mission was radioed to them by Homeland Security Central Command. The planes’ altitude was directed to be at a thousand feet, extremely low for the mighty machines.

  The commander of Popeye, Major Rollens radioed Colonel Hart. “Colonel, do you have game plan in mind?”

  “Negative, we’re writing the book on this one.” The navigator fed new course corrections to their pilots and the planes dropped their port wings to change course. “Popeye, what’s your fuel status?”

  Major Rollins
checked his note pad strapped to his leg. “At war power, less than an hour, over.” The flight engineer conquered.

  “Copy that, Spartacus has another forty five minutes, then we’re on fumes, over.”

  “Colonel, you can pop the JATO and get a couple minutes off that burn.” Rollens was referring to the jet assisted take off unit, mounted on the sides of Spartacus for short take off runs. It was installed for a demonstration short roll take off at an air show in Rochester New York, scheduled for the following week.

  “Navigation to flight, Colonel, our target should be coming up on the port side any moment now.”

  Colonel Hart’s voice crackled over the radio. “Crews of Popeye and Spartacus, all faces are to be pressed against the glass. We have two bogeys armed in the air and two vehicles pursuing our asset. There’s a government agent in that silver coupe, with two children. Our orders are to use all means to stop the threat and protect the agent and children. Cargo boss, make sure your men are tethered and the SAWs are operational.”

  A voice yelled over the com, “Bogeys four o’clock, they’re all over the asset.”

  The first officer held binoculars up to his eyes. “Weapons confirmed the planes have small arms they are firing at the coupe, repeat the bogeys are firing at our asset!”

  “Popeye, follow my lead.” The Colonel moved a lever on his counsel lowering the large flaps on the wing and he gently pulled back on the throttles. “Cargo, drop the ramp and lock and load those guns.” The cargo plane dropped its port wing and nosed towards the ground. The small blue and red aircraft were taking turns flying low over the Mercedes, firing their small weapons at the car, attempting to disable it.”

  In the car, Kaitlin yelled, “If those men scratch my dad’s car, you’re in trouble Ms. MacJames! Oh, will he be mad.”

  “Shut up Kaitlin, just shut up! They’re trying to kill us!” Peter turned and looked out the rear window. “Oh man their making another pass, Ms. MacJames turn and burn, they’re gaining on us! We’re in a world of frickin’ shit now!”

  MacJames reprimanded the boy, “Watch you language pal, especially in front of your sister! Got it?”

  Kaitlin screamed, “Turn left!”

  MacJames hit the brakes hard and the Mercedes slid though the rural intersection, its tires spinning. The planes shots flew by them, overrunning the coupe. “Kaitlin, why did you want me to turn?”

  “Look, that’s my Poppa’s horse farm! There are his horses.” She put her arm over MacJames shoulder and pointed out her window.

  “You stupid idiot, Kaitlin! We’re going to die and you’re looking at the frickin’ horses!”

  “Ok guys, we’re not going to die. We’ll get out of this. Sit down, Kaitlin, thank you for showing me the farm.” MacJames saw Peter Jakob push a button on the dashboard the car’s engine raced. “Peter, what did you do?”

  “Dad pushes that button, it makes the car go faster. It changes the shift points of the transmission.” The car jerked forward as MacJames pushed the accelerator. “The blue plane is coming at us again and the van is catching up! Shit! I can swear all I want, because unless you kick this car in the ass we’re dead!”

  MacJames looked in her rearview mirror. She could see the van several hundred feet behind her. The children screamed; the blue plane was flying just above the weeds on MacJames’s side of the car and she swerved the car towards the plane. The pilot quickly moved out of the way, correcting his course and flying over the field just beyond the ditch, which was impassable for the Mercedes. The thug in the plane thrust his pistol out the window while the pilot maneuvered his plane closer to the Mercedes, making sure not to fly over the pavement. The gunman fired a shot that glanced off the front windshield. MacJames swerved around a tractor lumbering down the road pulling a hay trailer. The children screamed. The gunman took aim again and the plane closed its distance. MacJames looked in her rearview mirror again to see the van drawing closer, the barrels of their guns protruding out the windows. The pressure in her chest was increasing and she squeezed the steering wheel, hoping Peter Jakob’s prophecy would not come to fruition.

  “Command, can you hear me?” She screamed, making sure she could be heard on the hands-free phone system.

  “Affirmative.”

  “We’re in trouble here! They’re closing in and we are taking fire, repeat we’re taking fire!” Her voice nervously cracked as she spoke.

  “Help is on its way, our logistics says it will arrive momentarily.”

  “Is it going to pop out of the ground?” MacJames screamed.

  Peter Jakob looked out the rear window and his eyes widened as the huge four-engine transport plane approached from behind, its propellers ten feet off the ground as it flew just feet over the van. “OH, They’re here!”

  “Where!” MacJames looked out her window and straight down the barrel of the thug’s gun as he carefully pointed at her from the plane.

  Kaitlin yelled,“Shit!" Man, Ms. MacJames, your friends don’t mess around!”

  The mighty green transport suddenly flew over the coupe, the sound of her propellers startling MacJames enough to swerve the car sharply to the left. She quickly recovered. The mammoth plane monopolized the view out of the Mercedes’ front windshield as it flew over the car. The plane’s cargo crew were visible from the open cargo ramp. The crew boss lay prone on the ramp, aiming his machine gun at the blue plane whose gunman had stopped pointing his gun at MacJames and was now firing at Spartacus. The blue plane’s wings bobbled, its pilot horrified over having a machine gun pointed at him from the rear of the huge transport plane.

  “Flight Bogey’s in my sights, and we’re taking fire.” The crew boss yelled into the planes intercom system.

  “Fire, Fire at will!” Colonel Hart ordered.

  The machine gun smoked, shell casings falling from its chamber at seven hundred rounds per minute. The inexperienced crew boss missed with his first burst then quickly adjusted his aim and ripped the small plane with machine gun fire as its engine cowl exploded into flames. The thug crew screamed as they were engulfed in fire. The Mitchelli children watched in horror as the flesh burned from the gunman’s face. The Cargo boss fired another burst, depleting his two hundred round belt. The small plane rose up over the Mercedes, dropped its wing, and then crashed in a fireball in the field as the wreckage debris flew in every direction. The Mitchelli children cheered their Air Force Reserve heroes above.

  A voice came over the car’s phone system, “Burn you bastards burn.” A crewman exclaimed.

  “Mercedes Coupe, this is Colonel Hart of the 906th Reserve Transport group. What is your status?”

  “Thrilled to see you Colonel!” MacJames took a deep breath.

  “Ma’am, sorry we’re late. Were filling in for the state and county police helicopters which are out of commission today.”

  The C-130 dipped suddenly towards the surface of the road, and moved further away from the Mercedes increasing its altitude, MacJames pleaded, “Colonel, why are you leaving?”

  “Ma’am, please tell your passengers Spartacus can’t maintain her altitude at such a low speed. Major Rollins and his crew aboard Popeye have you at six o’clock. We’re going to gain some altitude and airspeed before Spartacus is thrashing the fields, over.”

  Central Command had patched MacJames’s phone into the radio channel of the planes. She could hear their communications. The voices of the airmen were in stereophonic over the car’s phone system.

  A voice called out, “Major! Were taking ground fire from the van and red bogey, repeat taking incoming from the van and bogey.” The Mitchelli children looked out the car’s rear window and saw three gun barrels pointed out the van’s window at Popeye.

  As Peter Jakob turned up the radio, Kaitlin yelled, “We can hear them, the dudes in the planes.”

  “Quiet!” Peter Jakob yelled.

  “Popeye, a bogey’s on your tail, starboard two o’clock. Bank right, bank right!”

  “Gunners, pump some rounds
on the ground, fire ASAP!” The cargo crew was not trained for ground targets, let alone airborne targets.

  “Flight! Flight! We’re taking many rounds starboard! Bandez is hit, repeat Bandez is hit. Need help, he’s bleeding bad. Gun’s jammed. I have my hands full.”

  “Flight to Navigation, get back there and activate those guns, I want a status report on Bandez.”

  “Spartacus, this is Major Rollins fuel low, overestimated flight time.”

  A Boeing Strata tanker was fifteen thousand feet above the battle, the tanker crew listening intently to the battle raging below.

  “Popeye, this is Captain Wade. Our call sign is Thunder, we’re orbiting fifteen thousand feet above you. We have your go-go juice. We’ve been monitoring your transmissions.” Wade turned to his first officer and said, “Jesus, it sounds like the Battle of Midway down there.”