Wings of Steele 3: Revenge and Retribution

by Jeffrey Burger

  “Are you watching this?”

  Chase squinted through the viewfinder trying to track it. “Yeah... what the hell is it? Same thing we saw the other night?”

  Dan glanced down at the base, “Uh oh. Whatever it is they don't like it...” he pointed. Red lights flashed on the hangars and a voice could be heard on a PA system though it wasn't clear from across the valley. Figures scrambled around the F-16s and another hangar at the end of the strip opened. Suddenly the base went dark, the only lights remaining on, the blue globes along the runways and taxiways.

  A dark spot appeared on the valley floor nearest the observers on the ridge and Chase focused on it. “Fuck, where the hell did that come from?”

  “What is it?”

  “A Patriot missile battery just appeared from out of the ground...”

  “F-16s are taking off...”

  Chase swung the lens, catching the first pair coming up off the runway from the opposite end as the 747 which was still sitting on the runway. The fighters thundered into the sky, lighting their afterburners. “See, now that's how you're supposed to take off! Where'd our little UFO go?”

  “I lost it... too much going on...”

  The F-16s swung in unison, flying a diamond formation, passing right over their heads, forcing both men to cover their ears, the massive thrust vibrating their bodies and the ground underneath them.

  Chase Holt was struggling with his better judgment to leave, compelled to stay and witness the unfolding events. The 747 began its takeoff run, the sound of its engines heard across the valley floor, the F-35s still patrolling the area in wide circles to the west, the F-16s out of sight somewhere.

  A tart, electric smell in the air puzzled Chase, his mouth watering, his skin buzzing like pins and needles all over his body. He glanced at Dan, “What the hell is...”

  Daylight came instantly from above them, the blue-white light washing over them erasing all shadow and features. Chase cursed his drop in situational awareness. Dammit, he'd allowed the helicopter to sneak up on them. This was bad... Chase gnashed his teeth, his stomach knotting in protest. He rolled to his side to look up, freezing in disbelief, his mind trying to convince him his eyes were lying. That the fifty-foot oblong disk hovering motionlessly and silently above them could be something other than what it was... or wasn't. And it wasn't a helicopter. At this juncture he almost wished it was. “Oh fuck,” he breathed.

  A toxic swamp of panic, elation and adrenalin, surged through his body. He opened his mouth but could not speak, he reached out his hand but could not move, he tried to look away but his mind refused...

  It was impossible to tell if the light went out first or if the disk shot away first. Maybe it was simultaneous, the blast of air creating a small sandstorm on the ridge. Covering his face, Chase felt numb, drained. The F-16s were not far behind, storming across the sky in pursuit, playing tag with the UFO they could not catch.

  Feeling slowly returning to his shaking hands, Chase began slowly stowing his camera equipment into his backpack with clumsy fingers, trying to blink away the white-out. “Time... to... go,” he said shakily. Dan was laying on his back mumbling, staring at the sky. “Dude,” urged Chase, “we really gotta get out of here.”

  “We need to keep filming,” mumbled Dan.

  “Fuck no,” objected Chase, lucidity returning. “Pack it up, we're done. I don't know who that was... I'm still processing that. But someone knows we're here. And with that little light show, I'm guessing so does everyone else.”

  Begrudgingly, Dan began packing his gear, shaking the dead snake and its guts out of the camo blanket. “Just when it was getting interesting...”

  “Not interesting,” corrected Chase. “Terrifying.” Making his way back down the ridge from the Joshua trees to the dirt bikes a flicker of light off to his left caught his attention... headlights. “Hurry the hell up, Murphy, we have incoming!”

  Dan was still stuffing things in his backpack on the way down the slope, half on his butt, half on his feet. “How far?”

  “Neighboring ridge. Doesn't look like a four-by-four...”

  “Dirt bikes or ATVs, can't get anything bigger up here.”

  Chase swung his leg over the seat of his motorcycle, “I'm torn between coasting them down quietly, or going all bat outta hell...” He hurriedly tucked his Shemagh into his jacket before easing his helmet over his night vision.

  Dan slid to a stop and mounted his bike in one motion, quickly fitting his helmet over his night vision, “Those guys are moving, I vote for bat outta hell...”

  Chase squeezed the starter button, “Bat outta hell it is.”

  ■ ■ ■

  What's more dangerous than off-roading in the dark? Off-roading in the dark at breakneck speeds with your lights off, using night vision and wearing no protective gear save boots and a helmet. Try as they might, they could not run side-by-side; someone had to lead and someone had to follow. Following was not a place you wanted to be; gravel, rocks, sand... riding through an all-obscuring sandstorm. Close calls were abundant as they descended the winding trails from the mountain ridge to the floor of the desert; passing giant rocks, boulders, Joshua trees, an occasional cactus, bramble scrub... all at a pace that was far from sane.

  The lights behind them came and went, a flash here a glimpse there. They didn't seem to be losing or gaining ground. “Don't get us lost up here, Murphy!” shouted Chase. A cactus appeared out of the swirl of dust ahead of him passing his peripheral in a blur, eliciting a burning pain across his left leg as the needles slashed through his pants into his calf above his boot. He grit his teeth, blocking the pain out of his mind as he maneuvered his sliding bike through a bend in the trail.

  Running down the stretch of trail toward the damaged fence, Dan slammed on the brakes, almost laying down the dirt bike, a gray pickup truck with wide desert tires straddling the downed fencing. “Oh, shit!”

  Chase skidded up next to him trying to avoid a pileup, “It's empty, don't stop!” He twisted his body around as Dan kicked his bike back into gear, accelerating through the gap between the truck and the fencepost. Chase caught movement on the ridge to the left, two heavily armed men making their way back down in his direction. They were already halfway back to their vehicle when he swung his bike around and headed for the gap. Sparks off the gravel told him all he wanted to know about their intentions. Dan was already out of sight when Chase paused next to the truck, semi-protected from their gunfire by its body. Pulling the Ka-Bar from its sheath he stabbed the sidewall of the vehicle's back tire, having to twist and wiggle it to get it back out, ripping a sizable hole, the air whooshing out with a whistling sound. Returning the knife, he accelerated away hard, the front wheel of the dirt bike momentarily leaving the ground. In his right peripheral vision he saw an explosion of splinters, the trunk of a Joshua tree catching a rifle round. Laying low over the handlebars he weaved until he made the next bend, accelerating hard again.

  Dan was waiting for him at the bottom where the Basin Road crossed the intersection to the trail they were on; Chase slid to a stop on his left.

  Dan dumped the sand out of his Shemagh, “I thought I lost you, what happened back there?”

  “They're in a shooting mood, so I flattened one of their tires to slow them down but there'll be others. You got GPS back yet?”

  “Yeah. They shot at you?”

  “Yeah, so let's get the hell outta here. Head for our gas stop.”

  Dan pointed past Chase to his left, “Headlights.”

  “Shit! Those trucks are no joke, they can go almost anywhere we can...” Chase kicked his bike into gear, “Move it! Move it!”

  Basin Road was far from smooth but it was the best that they were going to get. It wasn't the best place in the world to run flat-out but they really didn't have much of a choice. The DOE trucks were nearly Baha capable and had a serious horsepower advantage. Chase and Dan's only advantage was that they were small objects in a big desert.

  ■ ■ �
�

  The DOE Security truck roared down the gravel road, bouncing and vibrating, rattling, launching airborne across a dip, “This is Unit T4, we're on GP Road closing on Basin Road from the north. Unit T7 what's your location?”

  “T7 is at the head of Basin Wash Trail. Our unit is down, I repeat, T7 is down with a tire... They made it past us.”

  The two agents in T4 had a few choice words, the passenger keying the mic, “Copy that, T7. T4 is now primary unit... T6, location?”

  “T6 is heading north on Road 41 from Reservoir Branch Road...”

  “T4 copies. Step it up T6, they're coming your way on Basin, maybe you can cut them off.”

  “T6, roger that. Do we have air?”

  “Negative T6, go-fasts are dealing with a visitor. Rotaries are grounded.” The agent in the passenger seat was pointing at the lights along his side of the road where Basin Wash Trail crossed over to Basin Road. “Nate, stop, stop STOP..!”

  The driver jammed on the brakes, the truck sliding on the gravel road, jittering on the uneven surface, the oversized all-terrain tires growling. The driver expertly steered into the slide, a cloud of dust and sand carried through the air as the truck finally lurched to a stop next to the two agents on dirt bikes.

  “You guys have a Jerry can?” The closest of the two agents swung his leg off his bike, stepping to the open window of the truck. “Can we grab some gas? We're almost empty.”

  The security agent sitting in the passenger seat thumbed over his shoulder at the bed of the truck, “Sure, grab one out of the rack, we gotta go!”

  “They're crazy bitches... running dark,” said the rider, dragging the heavy five gallon gas can over the side of the truck. “Must have night vision...”

  “Sounds like outside talent,” commented the driver of the truck, turning the wheel toward Basin Road on his left. “Catch up when you can...”

  “Two minutes!' shouted the rider as he turned away, closing his visor. The gravel thrown up by the truck's tires pinged off his helmet and back plate of his off-road armor as it sped off, roaring down Basin Road in a cloud of dust.

  “Well that was rude,” joked his partner, climbing off his own dirt bike.

  ■ ■ ■

  There was no conversation riding at the speeds they were going, it was even difficult to maintain control, the gravel rolling like marbles under the tires of their dirt bikes. Hand signals had to convey what they needed to say. With the headlights ahead on Road 41 it was clear that they were going to have to leave the road or be cut off.

  Chase Holt waved off at a nearly right angle and they slowed enough to leave the road, catching air over the soft lip of soil along the edge of the gravel surface. Cutting a more severe angle away from the road, they would have to slow down to cope with rolls, dips, soft spots and sudden changes in the rugged terrain.

  The spot on Chase's calf where the cactus had slashed through his pant leg was burning like it was on fire, and as much as he wanted to glance down at it, he knew that would be the exact time something solid would appear in front of him. It was intense heart-pounding work that required one-hundred percent concentration to read the desert around them, interpreting the shadows and shapes in the night vision, things whipping past, anticipating the difference between a jump and a drop. Managing to follow the GPS, Dan pulled slightly ahead, angling toward their fuel stop. They needed to cross Road 41...

  ■ ■ ■

  The gray DOE Security trucks T4 and T6 slid to a stop alongside each other, door to door, facing in opposite directions, three-quarters of the way to Road 41, a cloud of dust drifting between them, their headlights glowing through it like fog.

  “Nate...”

  “John,” nodded Nate. “You see anything?”

  The driver of the other truck shook his head, “Not a thing.”

  “They must've left the road somewhere along here...” Nate thumbed behind them along Basin Road.

  “That's a lot of desert. This would be a lot easier with air cover.”

  “Tell me about it. Let's head down 41 to 51, see if they're heading to the highway. We should be able to run them down. We'll call the bikes and head them across the middle, see if they can pick up a trail...”

  “Want us to cut across?”

  Nate shook his head, “It's hard enough in the daytime, besides you're liable to break something trying to cross the Central Wash. Leave it to the bikes...”

  “OK, we'll follow you...”

  ■ ■ ■

  When Dan slowed, easing to a stop, Chase pulled up alongside him. “Why are you stopping?”

  Dan nodded up 41, “Headlights. There's two of them.”

  “If we cross now they'll see our dust trail. Let's drop into the wash and wait it out. Hopefully they won't be able to see us down there...”

  “You sure?”

  Chase nodded, “Yeah, cuz I gotta check my leg too. It's burning like a bitch...”

  “Did you get hit?”

  “Cactus,” winced Chase.

  They idled carefully down between the gully ridges, and stopped at the bottom on the flat riverbed-like wash. Turning their bikes off to prevent detection, Chase unsaddled and sat on the ground. “My pants are wet...”

  “Did you piss yourself or are you bleeding?”

  “Funny man...” Touching it tentatively, he smelled his fingertips, “Damn, it's gas...”

  Dan dug a small first aid kit out of his backpack, “No wonder it burns, we need to clean it.”

  Looking a little like raw hamburger, Dan first rinsed it with water from his hydration bladder then sterilized it with a small squirt bottle of alcohol.

  Chase sucked wind, “Holy mother of... sonofafuckingmotherbitch...”

  Dan couldn't help but snort a chuckle.

  “Glad you find that amusing, Murphy.”

  “Sorry. Most convoluted swearing I've ever heard.” He finished wrapping and taping the wound. “Now let's see if we can find that gas leak...”

  Tightening a loose fuel line fitting on Chase's bike with the blade of a knife, they were ready to go. “Damn, I hear dirt bikes...”

  Dan started his bike, “Me too, let's get the hell out of here.”

  ■ ■ ■

  They heard the DOE Security team bikes but never saw them. Cutting across 41 they paralleled it, finally jumping up on Cutler Road and heading toward the reservoir and their fuel stop. Chase's bike began chugging along as it ran out of gas and he nursed it along until it eventually quit, coasting silently up to the reservoir pumping station.

  Emptying both fuel cans into their tanks, Chase required the lion's share to fill his motorcycle, Dan's bike having had about a third of a tank left. They topped off their hydration bladders and prepared to leave, when they heard the DOE dirt bikes again.

  Dan swung his leg over his bike, “Damn, these guys are persistent...” He squeezed the starter button and his motorcycle puttered to life, “Let's go, buddy...”

  “Shit. She's not starting...” Chase jumped off and began to push it toward the ridge between the reservoirs and the wash below. “Go, go, I'll catch up once I get her started...”

  Dan pointed back behind them, “They're coming up the road!”

  “Go! Go!” Chase's legs were pumping like a linebacker trying to punch through the line as he ran alongside the bike, pushing the button, the starter turning the engine over, trying to get the fuel to the carburetor and prime the engine. Dan disappeared over the edge and down into the wash, leaving him alone, rolling his stalled bike along the ridge between the dry basins. He was just out of the spread of headlights that were closing on him from behind. Once they turned into the pumping station he'd be visible.

  The edge was so near and the damn sand was so soft...

  Suddenly seeing his own shadow in front of him, he ignored their shouts, determined to make the edge of the wash. The pop-pop-pop of the DOE Security team's 9mm pistols sounded weak in the wide open desert. The front tire crested the edge of the wash's ridge when
he felt the hammer blow hit him almost dead center of his back, pitching him forward as his bike dropped over the edge. He fell across the bike like a surfer flat on a surfboard paddling towards a wave. Through pain and stars floating through his vision, he struggled to get himself upright on the bike and maintain control. Flying down the steep wall of the wash between the gully ridges he managed to get the bike in first gear and pop the clutch, the stubborn engine roaring to life, almost redlining. Kicking it into second gear he navigated to the bottom, turning northeast, searching for Dan. Each breath produced stabbing pain and he could feel moisture running down his back. Finding Dan ahead waiting for him in the shadows was a relief and a blessing.

  Seeing Chase had caught up, Dan turned away to take the lead again, almost missing the fact that Chase was waving at him, rather weakly. “I don't think we should stop at the rendezvous,” commented Dan, “we should ride back into town in the dark if we can...”

  Chase eased to a stop next to Dan, killing his engine and rolled off into the sand, the bike dropping over on its side. Turtled on his back in the soft sand he tried to shrug off his backpack, “I'm hit,” he wheezed...

  Turning off his engine, Dan vaulted off his bike, dropping to one knee alongside his fallen friend, unbuckling the backpack that was holding him immobile, sliding his hand along Chase's spine and the padded side of the pack. He could feel a hard pronounced deformity which peaked his interest and he opened the bag to check the contents. “It's water...”

  With the weight removed Chase was able to breathe again. “It's not blood?”

  “Nope. You got hit alright, but your gear took it. It went through your camera and into the spade of your trenching shovel. It was hard enough to rupture your hydration bladder. The shovel acted like a trauma plate and the water in the bladder dissipated the energy.”

  “I thought for sure...”