Dark Grid (Book 3): Dark Coup

by David C. Waldron

  “Other side of the base,” Nichols said. “We have a half-a-dozen patrols looking for anyone putting up a fight. I think we surprised them.”

  “Any casualties,” Diego asked.

  “Not yet,” Nichols said, “on either side. You know how it goes, ninety percent of the rounds are going to go wide or be fired in haste. We were a little more entrenched when we ran into them, but it’s almost like they’re only putting up a token resistance.”

  “Depending on where they’re from,” Diego said, “that may actually be the case. Bragg was in on the raid and they’re as deep in the rebellion as we are.”

  “Point,” Nichols said.

  “Any luck finding the base commander,” Diego asked.

  “Not yet,” Nichols said, “we’re looking, though. If we can find him, then maybe we can keep this from turning into a bloodbath.”

  …

  It took almost an hour for Diego’s and Nichols’s men to gather external tanks–and the associated hoses and couplings that turned their stub wings into the Extended Range system–onto pallets, and load it all onto the five flatbed trucks they would be…liberating from the base. They had also identified three 10,000 gallon tanker trucks of JP-8 jet fuel that could be used by both the Black Hawks and virtually all of the current military vehicles currently in use back at Promised Land.

  Having the full JP-8 tankers would free up the diesel they had for any civilian vehicles, and the farmers. The Black Hawks would be providing air support and cover for the drive back, which Diego sincerely hoped would be as uneventful as the flight up had been.

  The first thirty minutes of flying cover over the base had been more than a little stressful. Diego’s biggest worry usually came from his threat indicator, but being inside the base’s perimeter and so low to the ground, he knew he and the rest of his birds were particularly vulnerable to shoulder-fired surface-to-air, or in some cases even surface-to-surface missiles. If someone decided to take a shot at him, those shoulder-fired missiles would give him absolutely no warning prior to the inbound warhead.

  Nichols radioed in to let him know about a new minor skirmish on the ground every five minutes or so. Several times, Diego could make out gunfire on the ground from the muzzle flashes in the dark. The defense was hasty and, while fairly well organized, ultimately almost totally ineffective; after all, they really hadn’t expected someone to do exactly what Diego and his men were doing right now.

  Half of the engagements had ended when the defenders were caught from behind by some of Nichols’s men. The other half were still going on when they found the base commander, who had been leading a squad of defenders, and convinced him to call off the defense. The longer it had gone on, however, the more convinced he was of what he’d told Nichols earlier.

  It really did seem like the defenders were only putting up a token resistance so they could, in good conscience, say that they’d fought for the base. Of course not everyone seemed to be playing by those rules, but the overwhelming majority appeared to fall into the category of ‘just enough to make it look good…and for heaven’s sake, don’t kill anybody.’

  Egress would be the tricky part, as it always was; getting everyone back into the birds while keeping them covered, and not letting the defending guards get a shot off while they left. Diego didn’t have any delusions about the guard that had tried to prevent him from landing in the first place. It wasn’t often that you got knocked on your butt by prop-wash, but when you did it had the tendency to create a little animosity between you and the pilot who’d knocked you down.

  …

  Diego was a firm believer in not asking his men to do anything he wasn’t willing to do himself. To put that into practice, he’d been the first to put his bird down and would be the last to pick up his troops. The last had just gotten in and the door was shut when he heard his co-pilot swear. He looked over to where his co-pilot was looking and saw that the original guard—the one who wouldn’t stand down—was readying a shoulder-mounted missile.

  “Designate,” Diego said to his co-pilot, flipped the switch for the external loudspeakers again, and turned the Black Hawk to face the guard as soon as it cleared the ground.

  “Don’t do it,” he said. “I swear you won’t get the chance.”

  The co-pilot had designated the guard with a red teardrop that looked like a drop of blood.

  “Nice,” Diego thought. “You have got one sick sense of humor.”

  Diego had a pod of 70mm rockets and a 7.62mm machine gun on each stub wing on either side. The rockets were already active and tracking the designator. Realistically, if he launched one it would tear the guard apart as it went through him since it couldn’t–literally couldn’t–detonate at less than five-hundred-and-fifty yards.

  “And if I unleash the 7.62’s,” Diego thought, and shuddered.

  The guard and the Black Hawk faced off for several seconds until one of the trucks belched as the driver put it into gear. Apparently, he’d waited long enough and was getting out of there while Diego and the guard played chicken. The other trucks followed his lead and the movement seemed to break the guard’s will.

  Diego couldn’t hear what the guard screamed at him but he could read his lips just fine. The guard hurled the missile launcher at the helicopter and it bounced off the nose.

  “Gonna have to throw that one out,” his co-pilot said, “probably cracked the propellant.”

  “May have cracked the man,” Diego replied.

  …

  “Thirty thousand gallons,” Mallory said and then muttered a thank-you prayer under her breath.

  “And all of it JP-8,” Diego said, “so we don’t have to worry about the Hawks for the time being.”

  “That frees up a fair amount of the petrol diesel for farm work,” Mallory said. “Not that we’re going to lift the restrictions on fuel any time soon. Like you said, the helicopters need the JP-8. We’re lucky we have so many multi-fuel vehicles though. We could probably run them on transmission fluid if we had to…not that we have much of that either.”

  “We have enough for what we have planned, though,” Ben said. “That was the whole point of this raid and we got everything we needed, and then some.”

  Mallory nodded. “What else can you tell us about the base defenses,” she asked, “and the defenders in general?”

  “They didn’t act that thrilled to be there,” Nichols said. “I kept telling Diego that the defense, while fairly well organized was, well it was half-hearted. The base commander, Tippets was his name, wouldn’t say a word once we found him, other than to call off his troops over the base PA system. I was half tempted to grab his dog tags because he wasn’t even giving the old name, rank, and service number line.”

  “Tippets,” Ben said and closed his eyes. “I know that name, but where from?”

  “Most likely he’s either from Bragg, Mackall or Stewart,” Nichols said.

  “Lieutenant,” Ben asked.

  “Captain,” Nichols replied.

  “That could have been yet another one of those field promotions,” Mallory said. “From the sounds of it, Olsen’s been handing those out like candy.”

  “I want to say he’s from Mackall,” Ben said. “If he was, then there’s a good chance we could have a back-door relationship with the base.”

  “Are you thinking of anything specific,” Mallory asked.

  “No,” Ben said, “just trying to keep our options open and put everything on the table.”

  “Let’s not count our chickens before they’ve hatched,” Mallory said.

  Ben shook his head. “I’m not,” he said, “believe me. I guess deep down I’d just really like to get my base back.”

  “One thing at a time,” Mallory said.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The plan was simple on its face…fly into an unknown area without having previously ascertained the loyalty of the troops on the ground, attempt to land, con them out of fuel, gather any intelligence they could, and then le
ave. Oh, and if they could not get blown out of the sky in the process that would be great.

  Diego might respect Majors Franklin and Jensen for what they were doing–defying the Colonel and keeping the torch lit, and all that–but they had obviously never planned many, if any, air missions.

  Diego had insisted that wherever and whenever possible, each leg of their trip would be no more than six-hundred miles, so that they would always have enough fuel to make it back to somewhere “friendly” to refuel. They were currently approaching Randolph Air Force Base, just north of San Antonio, Texas, after being in the air for a little less than four hours. They were coming in from the north to mask their original heading, but Diego was fairly sure that if the base had power they had already been painted, or at least hit with passive radar.

  “Eagle flight,” Diego said over the radio, “let me do the talking.”

  After a half-a-dozen affirmatives, Diego waited for the radio, the radar, or both, to come alive.

  …

  “Inbound lawn darts,” the base radio operator said. “State your intentions and maintain your present heading at four-thousand feet. Hold station in fifteen klicks.”

  “Lawn darts,” Diego laughed to himself. “I haven’t heard these things called that in a long time. At least it sounds like the Air Force is still in charge down there.”

  “Wilco,” Diego replied. “Can you get the head zoomie on the horn?”

  “My birds, however, do not fall out of the sky, thank you very much,” Diego thought.

  “You Army or Navy,” the operator on the other end asked, not taking obvious offense to the epithet that had identified Diego as not being in the Air Force. “Not that it matters.”

  “Army,” Diego said.

  “Hold one.”

  …

  “This is Major Dunkin. Who are you, and did Colonel Tweed send you down,” a new voice demanded. “Never mind, maybe I should just shoot you down now and when you don’t make it back Tweed will get the picture. We’re not playing ball!”

  “Negative, Sir,” Diego said as soon as the line was clear. Dying before they made useful contact with the first base really wasn’t his idea of a great way to end the day. “I have no idea who Colonel Tweed is.”

  “Well, you’re coming from his general direction, son,” Major Dunkin replied.

  “In my defense, Sir,” Diego said, “I’m coming from the general direction of quite a lot.”

  “I’ll give you that,” Dunkin said. “Maintain your current heading and speed. Follow the instructions we give you and maybe you can land and we can have a chat. The radar is coming on now. If we sense so much as a garage door opener being used on your birds you can kiss your butt goodbye. Do I make myself clear?”

  “As glass, Sir,” Diego said.

  …

  The last fifteen minutes had been some of the most nerve-wracking stick time Diego had ever experienced. Usually in hostile territory you expected to encounter enemy radar and then maneuver to evade and prevent them getting a lock on you. Even the situation around Natchez Trace hadn’t been this bad, because at least he’d known where the people on the ground stood in relation to their own Colonel.

  This Dunkin character, he was a complete unknown. He hadn’t just painted all of Diego’s birds, he’d had multiple active locks on every single one, and the threat indicator had been going nuts. Diego had wanted nothing more than to turn tail and run, with every fiber of his being, but within a minute they were so far inside the radar envelope that none of them would have survived.

  Now they were setting down inside a secured perimeter and it looked like Dunkin still wasn’t taking any chances. There were guards everywhere, and at least a dozen .50 mini guns trained on his birds.

  “At least they’re taking us seriously as a threat,” Diego said to his crew chief.

  …

  “No weapons,” Lieutenant Glass said as he ‘greeted’ Diego and his group.

  “Not a chance,” Diego replied.

  “You aren’t going any further armed,” Glass said.

  “Fine,” Diego said. “We’ll sit right here. We aren’t disarming. We’ve done everything you’ve said up to this point, but just like I’m not leaving the Hawks unattended, I’m not surrendering my sidearm. And neither is anyone else.”

  Glass was obviously gritting his teeth when he said, “Wait here.”

  “We’re outnumbered fifty to one,” his crew chief muttered. “It isn’t like we’re going to take over the base.”

  “No,” Diego said, “but any one of us could take out the Major fairly easily and they know it. It’s the principle, though, and they know that too.”

  Glass came back a minute later, accompanied by a tall, balding, red-faced officer who had obviously lost a lot of weight over the last year.

  “Just what do you mean,” Dunkin said, starting out loud and obviously planning to end with a yell, “disobeying an order.”

  Diego looked around, checked behind him and then pointed at himself. “Me,” he asked. “You aren’t in my chain-of-command.”

  “I landed at your base by invitation,” Diego made a bit of a face, “okay, at gunpoint, but before the missiles had a lock I could have left at any time. I’m here because I want to be here, not because you want me to be here. You don’t give me orders…sir.” The fact that the sir wasn’t capitalized was obvious.

  “And just why are you here,” Dunkin asked, “if the Colonel didn’t send you.”

  Diego was extremely aware of the number of guns pointed his direction and blocking the way between his men and his birds. “To find out how you’re getting along,” he said, “and what’s really going on out here in the rest of the country.”

  Dunkin frowned at Diego as he thought about that for several seconds.

  “You,” Dunkin pointed at Diego, “and three others can come with me. The rest will be taken to the mess where they can at least sit down on something that isn’t moving and get something to drink.”

  At the questioning look on Diego’s face, Dunkin nodded. “You can keep your side arms,” he said.

  …

  “Where are you from,” Dunkin asked, “why are you here, and what do you want?”

  “In that order,” Diego asked.

  Dunkin shrugged. “As long as you answer all three,” he said.

  “We’re from further east,” Diego started. “Home has changed for us recently due to circumstances similar to your own. We really are trying to find out what the situation is around the rest of the country, what’s really going on, and not just what’s being fed to us by some self-appointed regional commander.”

  Diego paused for a few seconds before he continued. He’d already said more than he had initially planned to, based on how things were playing out.

  “As for the third question,” Diego said, “I need some answers first.”

  “You haven’t given me much to go on, Son,” Dunkin said.

  “And you haven’t given me anything, Sir,” Diego replied.

  Dunkin sighed. “Fair enough,” he said. “Colonel Tweed has all but declared himself Supreme Military Overlord of the Southwest. There were some orders that came down a little less than a year ago. ARCLiTE. Supposedly from Central Command. Seemed legitimate at the time, especially since he’d authenticated with the President’s own call-sign and counter authentications.”

  Dunkin shook his head. “Since then,” he said, “things have gone downhill fast. The Constitution’s out the window. We’ve had over three-dozen Guard and Reserve units ‘disappear’ under very suspicious circumstances, and the Colonel is instituting more and more heavy-handed restrictions and laws.”

  Dunkin’s eyes narrowed and he set his jaw as he looked at Diego from across his desk. “I’ve shot three men in the last six months for espionage and sabotage, Son,” he said. “As much as I would have liked to give them a court-martial, I couldn’t, and I wasn’t about to run the risk of them getting away to cause more trouble. So, what do y
ou want?”

  “Allies,” Diego said.

  …

  “Completely trustworthy,” Dunkin said.

  “But you said I could test them all,” Diego thought to himself.

  Dunkin nodded and went into the room with the fourth candidate.

  “Airman,” Diego said.

  “Chief,” the Airman replied, surprising Diego that he knew an Army Chief Warrant Officer rank from a hole in the ground.

  “I just have a couple of questions for you,” Diego said, without sitting down. “First, how long have you been in contact with Colonel Tweed?”

  “Excuse me,” the Airman said and started to get up.

  Diego pulled his side-arm but didn’t point it at the Airman, not yet. “Sit down,” he said. “I’m not done and I have the full backing of the Major right now, so answer the question.”

  “I’ve never been in contact with the Colonel,” the Airman said and the look of disgust and pure hatred on his face was almost enough to convince Diego. “He’s guilty of treason and his body should be hung out for the buzzards. I don’t know where he’s getting his orders from, but regardless, he’s broken his oath, and for that alone in this time of crisis he should be shot!”

  Diego holstered his weapon. “Good enough for me,” he said. “The Major will tell you where to go and I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”

  Instead of shaking Diego’s offered hand the Airman swung a roundhouse that Diego was only partially able to dodge and that would leave his jaw bruised and sore for a week.

  “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming in here and accusing me of…” the Airman said.

  “And the Major has already shot three moles in the last six months,” Diego said, rubbing his jaw.

  The look on the Airman’s face said he hadn’t been aware of the moles.

  “And what I’m going to be telling you is sensitive enough,” Diego continued, “that I can’t take any chances. It’s even worth getting sucker punched.”

  Diego worked his jaw. “Which won’t happen again, by the way,” he said.

  …

  “So, Airman,” Diego said to the last candidate. “How long have you been in contact with Colonel Tweed, and how did his last orders change now that Dunkin is executing the traitors?” Diego had no idea why he had changed up his script, but he’d gotten bored after fourteen interviews so he figured he’d toss this guy a curveball.