by Ricky Sides
Then the soldiers spotted the massive form of the approaching Constitution. They were so caught up in watching the approaching battleship that they failed to notice the much smaller fighters that were hurtling toward their camp until the fighters opened fire. Twenty-four fighters made strafing runs the length of the camp. They carefully avoided the hostage building and the command post. Ground teams needed those facilities intact. But they laid down a withering fire with their laser miniguns as they flew over the defenders. The renegades died by the score. Many had been hit a dozen times as the miniguns inflicted their punishing barrage.
Now, the defenders were getting into anything that would serve as a shelter from the view of their airborne attackers. Captain Young had a message sent to Lieutenant Wilcox that they were a go for release and drop down to the surface. The captain was watching this with deep interest. If this worked well, he planned to ask the council for an APC to augment his ship. He could easily see that such an arrangement would have great tactical value, and the performance of his ship had not been appreciably hampered by the weight of the APC resting on its hull.
Bill noted with satisfaction that the lieutenant’s little ship landed safely. He saw about a hundred men trying to run to the command post to intercept anyone who might try to exit the ship. “Samantha, see if you can discourage those men moving to intercept our ground forces,” Bill said to his gunner.
“Aye, sir,” Samantha replied. A steady burping sound reverberated through the control room as the forward conventional minigun shredded the charging men in their tracks.
“Missiles launching to the left,” Bill stated calmly.
Samantha’s hand darted to the control that activated the forward laser minigun. She expertly hit three of the five approaching missiles. One struck the hull of the ship just aft of the control room and exploded, but the other struck the windshield and detonated.
Bill was on his feet in an instant. He ran to the control board and slammed his hand on the switch that activated the camera system. A concealed panel opened and a monitor moved up into position in front of the pilot. Bill hurriedly pulled the wounded man from the pilot’s seat, shouting for Holly to summon help to get the pilot to the infirmary. He’d been struck by flying glass as the missile blast penetrated through the multi-layered windshield. The engineer went to aid the wounded pilot while Bill flew the ship. The pilot had numerous cuts from the flying glass. Fortunately, his glasses prevented the flying fragments from striking his eyes, but his face had numerous severe cuts that would require stitches.
Moments later, Lieutenant Carter and some of his strike force personnel arrived. One of the men was a medic. He took over the emergency treatment. Soon the medic had the pilot stabilized enough to move. They loaded the man on a stretcher and raced through the ship to the infirmary. Doctor Dean and his nurse Edith were waiting to perform emergency medical treatment. The nurse began to work on the patient immediately. She was cutting the clothing away from the embedded pieces of glass when the strike team left the infirmary. They returned to the control room to assist in the cleanup of the scattered glass.
On the ground below the Constitution, there was a momentary lull in the fighting while the control room crew of the ship dealt with the emergency. Thinking that they had defeated the massive ship easily, the missile firing team celebrated briefly and then reloaded for another salvo at the ship. They were just beginning to aim the missiles when half a dozen drones flew down to hover in front of them. The drones fired at the startled men, killing them on the spot. Captain Young ordered a drone to hover over the missile launchers and supply of missiles. He wanted to secure those weapons for the peacekeepers if possible. This was why the drones had closed to point blank range with the wielders of the weapons systems. They’d wanted to terminate the personnel, but not damage the weapons.
The Captain ordered the drones and fighter escorts to concentrate their fire on the areas around the command structure. They had to give the strike team time to enter and try to learn what they could. Bit by bit, the drones, fighters, and the guns of the Constitution drove the base defenders further and further away from that area of interest.
Lieutenant Wilcox and his team tried again to enter the command building, and once more, they were forced to retreat by the heavy small arms fire being directed at the doorway. One of the strike team members was hit twice as he tried to escape the line of fire from the doorway. The lieutenant grabbed the man as he was falling and dragged him away from the open door.
The man’s body armor had stopped one of the bullets, but another had penetrated his upper arm. Lieutenant Wilcox signaled a medic to help the man back inside the APC where he could be treated.
The lieutenant looked at the sergeant who was his second in command and said, “When this is over, remind me to ask Pol about a ballistics shield we can use to storm buildings.”
“You’ve got it, sir,” the sergeant said.
“For now, this will have to do,” the lieutenant said, as he pulled a grenade from his web gear. He pulled the pin and released the spoon. Stepping near the door, he tossed the grenade inside. Shouting emerged from inside the building. A moment later, there was an explosion. The sergeant dove through the doorway and emptied his assault rifle at knee level, moving the weapon from left to right as it fired.
Two team members darted past the prone man when he stopped firing. They held their weapons at the ready, but there was no answering fire from the occupants of the room. When the smoke cleared, they found that the sergeant had shot the few men that had survived the explosion of the grenade. There were no survivors in the front room, but a door led to another room. The lieutenant approached the closed door, and stopped with his body beside it. Turning to his men, he motioned them out of the line of fire, and then he tried the doorknob. The door was locked, and his attempt to open it drew fire from inside the room.
The strike team held their fire. They knew that the lieutenant wanted the commander alive, and the odds were good that he was the man in this room. The lieutenant held his hand out to a man armed with a shotgun. “It’s loaded with buckshot,” the strike team man said in a whisper.
The lieutenant nodded his understanding. He turned the muzzle of the weapon toward the doorknob and fired one round with the weapon. The doorknob vanished, leaving a gapping hole in the door where it had been. Three more pistol shots perforated the door in response.
Handing the shotgun back to its owner, the lieutenant stood with his back to the wall and held up three fingers. The team knew this meant he was going through the door on a count of three. They began to silently count and prepare themselves to rush through the door in his wake. They knew the lieutenant was taking reckless chances, but with a nuke aimed at LA, the stakes were high. On three, the lieutenant went through the door, which crashed open with no resistance. The commander of the base shot him four times. Two of the shots hit his armored chest region and did little harm. A third hit him in the shoulder, but was stopped by the bullet-resistant, soft armored, uniform. But the fourth bullet hit him in the side of the neck. The lieutenant went down bleeding profusely.
The lieutenant’s men swarmed into the room overpowering the commander who’d had to try to reload his weapon. “Don’t kill him!” the lieutenant shouted.
“Be still lieutenant!” a medic shouted as he rushed to help the man. He clamped a hand over the wound and shouted for help. “In my bag, get me a pressure bandage now!”
One of the men moved to help the medic. “Check the room for intelligence material. Get that map on the wall and someone, bring the Spanish speakers in here,” the lieutenant was ordering, even as the medic struggled to save his life.
The medic managed to get the bandage on the lieutenant. He then got some men to get the lieutenant loaded onto a stretcher. The medic escorted the lieutenant to the APC and entered it with him. Examining his patient, he noted that blood from the neck wound was already seeping through the bandages. He moved to the door and shouted for the serg
eant to come to the door of the APC. When the sergeant arrived, the medic spoke urgently when he said, “Sergeant, Lieutenant Wilcox is going to die unless we get him to one of the ships immediately. I suggest you grab the commander and what intelligence you have in your possession and get in so we can evacuate the Lieutenant.”
“No,” the lieutenant said quietly from his place on the floor. “The stakes are too high. Sergeant, carry on with your mission. That’s an order.”
“Yes, sir,” the sergeant said, and then he backed away. He turned and hurried back inside the building and rushed the men as much as he could. He had them concentrate on grabbing anything that might be of use in gathering intelligence. He had the commander taken into the APC. Three minutes later, he emerged with the last of the men.
“I hope you were thorough, Sergeant,” Lieutenant Wilcox said.
“We were, sir.” The sergeant saw that the medic was working feverishly to attempt to stifle the flow of blood. Checking the head count, he saw that everyone was present and accounted for, so he ordered the door secured and the APC to fly to rendezvous with the Peacekeeper. Moving to the front of the APC, he instructed the pilot to contact the Peacekeeper and inform them that they had a medical emergency. Lowering his voice so that he wouldn’t be overheard he said, “Tell them Lieutenant Wilcox took a bullet to the neck and is bleeding out. I’m afraid he’s dying.”
“Will do, sergeant,” the pilot replied as he lifted off the ground and turned the APC toward the desired destination.
Chapter 18
Just minutes into the battle, the Peacekeeper landed with the control room facing the structure that contained the women who had been forced into a life of prostitution. As they landed, the bay door descended, and Sergeant Thompson and his strike force team exited the ship. One of the citadel fighters hovered nearby to protect the bay door. Pol was flying one of the drones, and it too hovered protectively near the door. The remaining drone flew ahead of the strike force team. It would be used to breach the large doors in the front of the structure.
By the time the strike force team arrived, the drone had already breached those doors. It hovered a few feet inside the entrance to the cavernous warehouse, spinning on its axis as the operator looked for any sign of the enemy.
When Sergeant Thompson entered the building, several women began to shout and scream. Three partially clothed soldiers charged the men with drawn pistols firing as they ran. The laser of the drone flashed briefly, drilling one of the men in the head. Two shots rang out to the left and right of Sergeant Thompson as strike force members shot the other two enemy soldiers.
More strike force personnel entered the warehouse, accompanied by some of the Spanish speaking Cubans. While several men secured the door, the rest of the team raced through the building seeking more of the enemy. In five minutes, they declared the warehouse secure and the Cubans got the terrified women calmed sufficiently to get them headed for the rear of the ship, which would take them to safety.
They had just begun to load the women, when Tim came running out the bay door of the Peacekeeper with the doctor in tow. Pol followed in their wake with a large bag of medical equipment. Sergeant Thompson was about to ask what was going on, but the APC came in for a hot landing with its door turned toward the bay door of the Peacekeeper.
Tim was running toward the APC before the door opened. When the door did open, men of the strike team inside rushed out carrying a stretcher. A medic ran beside the patient. He was holding pressure on a field dressing. The team stopped so that the doctor could examine the lieutenant.
Time seemed to freeze for Sergeant Thompson as he stared at the tableau unfolding before his eyes. He didn’t hear the sounds of the battle raging just a few hundred yards away. In morbid fascination, he stared at the droplets of blood dripping from the stretcher to the sand below. He wasn’t aware of moving from his position, but suddenly he was looking down at the pale face of Lieutenant Wilcox, the man who had been his mentor for years.
The spell that was holding him in thrall was broken when the men carrying the stretcher started moving again and one of them bumped him. “Sergeant, get the women aboard. We need to get airborne and move away from this area, so the doctor can attempt emergency surgery,” Tim ordered.
“Yes, sir,” Sergeant Thompson responded. Turning to his men, he said, “Alright, you heard the Captain. We’ve got to get airborne now, so get these passengers aboard and seated in the cargo bay!”
The bay door was closing when the last man jumped back down to the ground and headed back to the APC. While the Peacekeeper was taking the lieutenant to a safe place to perform emergency surgery, Lieutenant Wilcox’s strike team was returning to the battle in their APC.
For thirty more minutes, the battle raged at the enemy encampment. The men in the APC were directed to the shoulder fired missile caches that were being guarded. They retrieved those weapons. Twice more they were directed to other rare weapons that the captain of the Constitution felt should be retrieved for the peacekeepers.
***
Five minutes out from the missile command, Namid felt the urge to radio the Constitution to see how the battle at the base was going. She spoke with communications officer Holly Baxter who informed her that the fighting had ended just minutes ago. She told the pilot that they’d taken a missile to the windshield, and the pilot had been wounded, but was expected to recover. When Namid asked about other casualties, Holly told her that two strike team members had been shot, and that Lieutenant Wilcox was in emergency surgery. When Namid asked about his prognosis, Holly informed her that the lieutenant wasn’t expected to live.
Namid sat in her cockpit in stunned silence. Tears filled her eyes as she thought of the last time she’d seen Jack. He’d wanted them to take the next big step in their relationship, but she hadn’t felt ready. Now she’d give anything if she’d given him a different answer that night.
“Namid, are you alright?” Jeff asked. He’d heard the conversation because Namid had used the common channel to make the radio call. “Jack’s tough, Namid. He’ll pull through. Don’t pay any attention to what she said.”
Aboard the Constitution, Bill caught the end of Holly’s report to Namid. He asked, “Who were you talking to, Holly?”
“That was Phoenix, sir. She wanted an update on the battle here and an account of the casualties.”
“You didn’t tell her about Lieutenant Wilcox’s condition, did you?” he asked.
“Yes, sir, I did,” Holly admitted.
“Put me through to her now, Holly,” Bill said.
“Aye, sir,” Holly responded.
“Phoenix, this is Captain Young. Don’t worry about the Lieutenant. I’m sure he’ll pull through just fine,” promised Bill with more assurance than he genuinely felt. Unfortunately, Bill was one of those people who are inherently honest, and can’t deceive anyone even when they try. Namid read the truth in his voice, and knew that he didn’t believe a word of what he’d just said. She remained silent as her fighter closed on the mobile missile command center.
After it became obvious that she wasn’t going to reply, Bill turned to Holly and said, “Holly, you’re a good officer. You almost never make mistakes, but you just made a big one. Namid and Lieutenant Wilcox are romantically involved. Now she’s not responding to us or her squadron, and in minutes she has to lead them on an attempt to destroy the missiles.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I had no idea the two were a couple, or I would never have told her in that manner,” Holly explained.
With a sigh, Bill turned and went to his seat. “Please inform Lieutenant Carter that we’re going to land. I want his team to search the area looking for serviceable weapons and or stockpiles of ammunition. We can’t leave that ordinance lying around. Suggest they use the sled.”
Turning to the relief pilot who had reported for duty, Bill said, “Get us down on the ground in that large clear space, so we can deploy the strike team. Peter, how long for you to make emergency repairs to
the window?”
“I’ll need the sled, Captain. With it, and a couple of men to assist, I can have a replacement in place in thirty minutes to an hour, depending upon how hard it is to remove the fragments from the outer window framing,” said engineer Peter Boyd.
“Alright, Holly, belay that advice to the strike team. Peter needs the sled for the next hour. Have them pile the weapons in stashes that they can pick up with the sled later.”
“Aye, Captain,” replied Holly.
“Namid, snap out of it girl!” Jeff said with a tone of urgency in his voice. “We are closing on the missile position. Look Namid, just break off and I’ll take command,” he advised.
“No, Jeff. I’ll do my job,” Namid replied.
“That’s more like it. We are forty seconds out from the center of our search radius. It’s time to form our pairs and intervals,” Jeff advised.
Namid was rapidly blinking her eyes, trying to clear the tears. With her flight helmet on, she couldn’t wipe them away, and her vision was blurry. Responding to Jeff she said, “Alright you guys, form up in pairs and back off to thirty second intervals at an attack speed of three hundred miles per hour. I’ll make the first strike solo. I’m betting that the missiles are right in the middle of the ten-mile search radius. It has worked out that way in the past.”
“Roger that, Phoenix,” Jeff said.
With the precision of the professional pilots that they were, the squadron paired up and formed their intervals as they reduced speed to designated speed for the attack run. Within moments, Namid saw two of the missiles on the ground below. One launched as she was making her initial run. Incredibly, she saw the missile rising straight toward her. She tried to focus on targeting the missile, but her vision was blurry and she couldn’t see to get the lock. Firing despite a visual lock, she missed. She fired two more shots, and then threw her fighter into a hard forty-five degree turn to starboard, out of the path of the missile. Her fighter was buffeted by the turbulence created as the missile flew dangerously close to her.