“There’s no road!” Peter Jakob suddenly screamed.
MacJames was distracted by Popeye’s battle with the remaining plane and pursuit vehicles. “Hang on!” she yelled as the car braked hard then turned left.
“Hang on Crew, we have to cover that car! The bogey’s turning inside us; we’re going vertical!”
Rollins pushed the engine throttles forward and the plane nosed up nearly vertical. The crewman in the cargo bay held on to the cargo nets on the outside walls. The navigator held onto Bendez as their bodies lifted off the floor.
Captain Rollins turned to his first officer. “Help me with the rudder,” he said. “And feather the starboard engines as we finish the turn.”
As the mighty plane nosed up and vibrated violently for a turn it was not engineered to make, the yoke shook under the strain of the climb. The plane gradually slowed. “Kick the rudder.” The first mate held left rudder and feathered the port engines as the tail of the plane swung upwards towards the sky and the nose pointed to the ground. “Give me starboard power, full throttle.” Major Rollins maneuvered Popeye through an immanent turn, the quickest method to adjust the transport’s direction without increasing the distance between the Mercedes.
***
“You kids stay off my sod. This grass is expensive and your damn toys cost me a ton of money.” The old man yelled at the children as they held their electric planes and remote transmitters in their hands. They looked beyond the sod farmer at the large planes in the sky approaching.
“You kids have no respect; dag-namit, look at your elders when they’re talking to you!”
The fat sound of Popeye’s props biting the air interrupted the man. He turned slowly to see the four-engine squatty plane pull out of its turn and head towards his farm. He could see men in the pursuit vehicles, shooting at the plane as it made its turn.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph did you ever imagine you’d see that? That’s another joyride at the taxpayers’ expense.”
***
“Mercedes Coupe and Popeye, do you read me? This is Spartacus.” Colonel Hart looked at the flashing light on his dashboard indicating he had fifteen minutes of fuel remaining. MacJames and Popeye acknowledged the Colonel.
“Mercedes Coupe, we’re out of fuel--we have to extract you now. There’s a large sod field ahead of you. I am going to land and stop at the east end of that field. Spartacus weighs eighty thousand pounds, we can’t risk taxiing to you; we may sink and get stuck. You need to get to my plane. We will provide cover fire. There’s a farmer’s entrance to the field a half mile ahead of you, on the right.”
“Roger Spartacus, understood. Looking forward to meeting you on the ground.”
Captain Wade keyed his mic. “Crew, hang on. Thunder’s not missing this game. We’re diving, we’re going to take a run at those bastards.” The Strata Tanker did a wingover and quickly lost altitude. “Flight to operator.”
“Flight, this is Martin.” Martin piloted the boom, which transferred fuel to the receiving plane.
“Martin you have one minute to rig that flow switch; we are going to dump some fuel out the boom.”
“What flight? Are you kidding?” Martin nervously raised his voice.
“One minute. Thunder’s going to make a boom, get it done, Flight out.”
Martin opened a small panel below his operator’s position at the tail of the plane. Lying on the floor of the plane with a pen flashlight in his mouth, he flipped some switches and locked the breakers off. He then bridged a circuit with an eight-inch wire with alligator clamps at either end.
Popeye flew over the Mercedes, its navigator firing the machine gun out her cargo ramp at the bogey, “Got him, repeat bogey’s on fire, scratch another bogey!”
Colonel Hart lowered the landing gear as he made his short final approach. The sod farmer watched on a hill just above his sod field as the six tires of the transport plane touched down on his expensive grass. The rich, vibrant Kentucky blue grass flew in every direction as the plane slowed to a stop at the end of his field. A swath of sod twenty feet wide and twenty-five hundred feet long was destroyed. The tires left deep brown ruts. The farmer’s pipe fell out his mouth. The Mercedes immediately followed the C-130 onto the field, chasing the plane as it slowed to a stop. The sod farmer watched as the Mercedes coupe drove onto his field spinning its tires, sod flying from all four of its wheels. The two children on the field were jumping up and down, screaming with excitement. One stopped and took pictures with his phone while the other held his remote control plane, mimicking the C-130’s landing.
The two pursuit vehicles stopped at the west end of the field and the four men got out, concealing themselves in a drainage ditch. They began shooting at the Mercedes as it drove towards the C-130. The thugs looked up when they heard the roar of the tanker’s jet engines screaming at low altitude.
Captain Wade shouted over the radio, “Spartacus this is Thunder. We’re in orbit over your position. That field looks awfully short for your takeoff roll.”
Both Thunder and Popeye circled the field, their orbits miles in diameter. Spartacus lowered its rear cargo ramp and its crewmen ran down the ramp. They kneeled, holding their machine guns on their shoulders, and fired short bursts at the thugs hiding in the drainage ditch.
“Spartacus to Popeye, we’re taking fire can you assist, over?” Colonel Hart could hear the metallic sounds of bullets hitting his plane.
“Thunder to Spartacus, this a level five mission, correct?” Captain Wade strained to hold his yoke back in his lap performing a 2 g turn.
“Roger that, Thunder. War time.”
“Thunder will illuminate the ground fire, prep for a hot takeoff.” Captain Wade looked at his first officer. “I hope this works.” He leveled his wings and maneuvered Thunder parallel with the west end of the sod field where the thugs were lying in the drainage ditch, firing at Spartacus. “Martin, dump on my mark in approximately thirty seconds.” Captain Wade dropped his flaps and struggled to push the plane’s yoke forward, getting as low as possible to the ground. “Drop the gear to slow us down.” The first officer flipped the large toggle switch on the instrument panel and the landing gear locked into place. The plane shook violently. Its engines were at full throttle with flaps and gear down.
Martin was lying prone in his operator’s position with his boom lowered. The grass field dominated the view from his control window. His boom looked as if it were going to touch the ground.
Flight yelled over the radio, “Mark dump, dump, dump.” Martin engaged the flow pump and hundreds of gallons of fuel per second shot out the end of the boom.
Captain Wade yelled to his first officer, “Angel flares, Deploy!” The first officer pushed a button on his yoke, and flares started ejecting out the bottom aft portion of the tanker’s fuselage. The flares burned extremely hot, their deployment intended to attract heat seeking anti-aircraft missiles. They shot out two at time from the bottom of the plane.
Martin’s control window filled with a fireball of flames just as the Flight ordered him to cut the flow of fuel. The red flames reflected off his window onto his face. “Operator to Flight, Captain you got some balls! What a fire storm. Tallyho, mission accomplished.”
As the Mercedes drove up the loading ramp into Spartacus, Peter Jakob and Kaitlin looked out the rear window. They heard the refueling tanker screech by and their faces lit up when the flares ignited the jet fuel.
MacJames looked out her rear window and gasped. “Oh my God, who would have thought!”
The explosion blew a blast of hot air across the two children and the sod farmer, knocking the farmer’s hat off his head. The children dropped to the ground for cover.
The assassins rolled on the ground as their clothes caught fire. Their weapons were dropped in the flaming ditch. Their clothes smoldering, they lied motionless after only a few seconds.
Spartacus’s cargo door raised as the cargo plane’s engine strained to move the plane on the soft sod.
&
nbsp; “Cargo to Flight, car secured, passengers shaken up but ok, they’re strapped in for takeoff.”
Spartacus rutted up a new section of sod, Colonel Hart did not want to get stuck in his landing ruts. He stopped the plane and ran the engines up full throttle. The large four bladed prop’s windblast blew the sod from the ground, hurling it hundreds of feet behind the plane. The Mitchelli children held MacJames as the plane vibrated and the cargo crew gave them the thumbs up and yelled, “You’re in for a fun ride! Hang on kids, it’s going to be ok!”
Colonel Hart released the brake and the cargo plane slowly headed towards the flames at the end of the field. The first officer held his hand close to the jet assisted take off switch. The additional thrust from the eight rockets mounted on the sides of the fuselage were needed to blast the plane off the short field.
Nervously the first officer asked, “Colonel, have you ever taken off on grass before?”
The flames reflected off the Colonel’s sunglasses as they quickly approached the flames. “I told you before, we’re writing the book with this mission. Light those candles up!”
The first officer turned the JATO rockets on and the children jumped from the noise of the rockets magnified by the hollow cargo bay. The plane was nearing the end of the field and the rockets scorched the sod as the plane rolled over it.
“It’s going to be close, help me with the yoke!”
Colonel Hart pulled back on the steering wheel and with the assistance of the first officer, the plane’s wheels bounced off the ground. The plane flew level then rose steadily above the field, shooting though the flames as it flew over the burning ditch. The sod farmer fell to the ground as the cargo plane barely passed over his head. The children next to him lay on their stomachs, excitedly watching the plane climb to altitude.
“Command, this is Colonel Hart. The assets are in our cargo bay. They are ok, repeat ok. We are low on fuel. We are next in line to top off our tanks. Where do you want the assets delivered, over?”
***
Secretary Stuart had been holding a rosary in his hands attempting to conceal it from view. He was sitting next to Molly in the command center, monitoring the communications. When he heard that the children and his daughter were safe, he closed his eyes saying a prayer to himself. Molly poured the secretary a glass of water and placed her hands on his shoulders.
CHAPTER 26
“Do you understand?” Coarseni questioned Mitchelli for the third time.
“Dom, I’m cool. I know how to set the charges, why do you keep asking me?” Mitchelli and Coarseni sat next to Buckala on a hay bale. Mitchelli put his arm around his friend.
Coarseni’s eyes widened. “Because you keep smiling at me and your eyes are glazed over. Stop hugging me, it’s like you want to kiss me! It’s freaking me out.”
“Chill baby, everything’s going to be fine.” Mitchelli winked at Coarseni.
Coarseni looked at Buckala who had just cleaned his pistol and shoved it into his holster. “What the frick is with you, do you hear the shit that’s coming out of your mouth? Sal, tell Mr. Chill Baby how frickin’ goofy he’s acting. Tell him please before I slap him.”
“Hey guys, why don’t we go to town for dinner? I’m buying.” Mitchelli gave Coarseni another hug. “Hey, I hear there’s a restaurant with a Karaoke machine.”
Butaninni entered the barn and Buckala walked over to her and grabbed her arm. “What did you pump him with?”
Butaninni jerked her arm away, breaking his grasp. “Stand down! What the hell is your problem!”
“That’s not Peter Mitchelli. He’s a nice pleasant affectionate guy who wants to do Karaoke tonight. If doesn’t shut up I’m going to kill him. He’s not who we were expecting to meet.”
Coarseni yelled out, “If he’d stop hugging me, I’d like this Peter Mitchelli better.”
“I gave him his medicine you stupid ass, when I found him he was holding on to it, nearly unconscious.” Butaninni fired back.
“I want to see his medicine,” Buckala demanded.
Coarseni joked, “Bullshit Sal, I want to take it!”
“Go to hell,” Butaninni said. She walked over to Mitchelli, “Are you staying for dinner?”
Before he could answer Buckala responded, “Dom and Peter are going into town for dinner. I thought I’d have dinner here alone with you.”
“Give me a break tough guy,” Butaninni said, turning to face Buckala. “Don’t overestimate yourself.”
“Come on baby, how about we go in that shitty farmhouse of yours, down some of Peter’s pills and cozy up in your bed?” Buckala put his hand on Butaninni’s waist.
“Hey Sal, back off, ha. Buddy, we can all go to dinner in town.” Mitchelli looked at Dom. “Right Dom?”
Buckala grabbed Butaninni, placing his hands on her behind and pressed his lips against her face. “Come on, bitch. Stop playing hard to get.” Butaninni slapped his face and Buckala’s lip began bleeding.
Mitchelli stood up. “Sal, hey. Go easy man. Melanie’s not like that.”
“Bullshit, she’s doped you up, you dumb shit.” Buckala grabbed her breast.
Mitchelli moved to stop him and Buckala punched him in the face with a right cross. Mitchelli stumbled backwards. “Hey, Sal. Ease up, bud.”
Buckala ripped Butaninni’s dress, exposing her breast. She yelled and punched Buckala in the face. Buckala slapped her with the back of his hand. She fell to the ground. Mitchelli moved towards Buckala, but before he could make a move, Buckala roundhouse kicked him in the chest. Mitchelli fell to the ground beside, Butaninni holding his ribs.
Butaninni screamed, “Leave him alone you bastard, just leave us alone! He’ll explode if he doesn’t take those pills.”
Mitchelli looked at his trembling hands. His vision narrowed, his heart raced, and Butaninni’s screams were muted. He watched as Butaninni stood her ground like a good soldier and confronted Buckala. Why was his friend doing this, what had happened since he left Buffalo? He could not feel his bruised ribs or his swollen face. He watched Butaninni hitting Buckala; he pushed her to the ground. She stood back up and punched Buckala in the face. The middle-aged female soldier was no match for the younger Buffalo Cop. Buckala swung to hit her, Mitchelli intercepted his fist just inches before it struck Butaninni in the face.
Buckala countered with a left hook, and Mitchelli ducked the punch pushing Butaninni out of harm’s way. He hit Buckala with an uppercut as he rose from his crouch. Buckala winced with pain as he fell to the ground.
Dom yelled, “Ok Sal, you brought him back from Zombie land, now how are you going to shut him down?”
“Mitchelli, is that the best you got?” Buckala jumped on top of a hay bale and attempted to kick Mitchelli in the face. Mitchelli blocked his kick and grabbed Buckala by his belt and shirt, throwing him across the barn.
Stunned by Mitchelli’s strength, Butaninni grabbed his arm, attempting to stop him from going after Buckala. It was too late, his muscles flexed and her grip failed. Buckala attempted to stand as Mitchelli punched him in the face, left, right uppercut. As Buckala fell backwards, Mitchelli kicked him in the chest. Buckala’s body fell against the barn wall, blood running down his face. Coarseni ran to stop Mitchelli. Mitchelli turned quickly readying his arms in a fighter’s stance. Coarseni looked in his black empty eyes, the gaze of a killer, a man driven insane.
“God, now I know.” He backed away from Mitchelli transfixed on his eyes. He attempted to look away but could not. At first he could not speak, his jaw shivered as his words left his mouth. “Sal… he’s back, you’re on your own. I’m not messing with him.” Coarseni held Butaninni as she stared into Mitchelli’s eyes. “Honey, stand clear, believe me you don’t want any of this.”
Mitchelli moved towards the stunned Buckala. Buckala drew his pistol and said, “Peter, I’m done. You beat the hell out of me, back off.” Buckala pointed his gun at Mitchelli who was unarmed and spitting blood from his mouth. “You dumb shit, back off you crazy f
rickin’ mother bastard.” Buckala raised his gun and Mitchelli quickly pushed it aside. It discharged, the bullet harmlessly hitting the ground. Butaninni screamed. Mitchelli grabbed the pistol, twisting the barrel towards the dazed Buckala and ripping it from his hand. He pointed the gun at Buckala’s chest.
Buckala stared into Mitchelli’s eyes with a sudden awareness. “You are a frickin’ killer. I was right, I knew the first time I saw you. This isn’t your first time. You son of bitch, is this how the others got it?”
“Stop!” Butaninni screamed, “Peter, you’re killing him, stop!” she ran next to Mitchelli.
In Mitchelli’s state he could not hear her plea; he looked at Buckala and grabbed his shirt, pressing him against the wall. Mitchelli’s left hand shook as it held his partner. He looked at the blood running from his friend’s nose and mouth. Mitchelli pointed the gun barrel at Buckala’s face moving it around as though searching for a spot to shoot. Stop the threat; kill to survive. Murder to save your business. Mitchelli put his finger on the trigger while pressing the barrel against Buckala’s face. Finish your job, go home to your children, this man is your friend. The gun moved back from Buckala’s face and he pushed the gun barrel against the barn wall. He pressed the magazine release with his thumb and the magazine fell to the dirt floor. He racked the slide ejecting the chambered round. It flew backwards towards Coarseni. Then in a matter of seconds he dismantled the pistol into three pieces and shoved them into Buckala’s stomach.
Mind Kill- Rise of the Marauder Page 61