Air Marshals

by Wynne, Marcus

  Charley kicked the terr away from him. He got his feet underneath him and charged the man, grabbing his gun hand and deflecting it down. The gun went off and Charley felt the punch, like a stab of steel rebar, in his Second Chance body armor. He held onto the gun and tried to turn the barrel into his opponent's chest. The terrorist's lips were skinned back from his teeth. He looked like a vicious lean faced rat with sweat matting his hair to his forehead. Charley brought his head down on the man's nose, breaking it. He slammed it down again and felt the man's grip on his pistol loosen. Charley went for the weapon strip and felt the pistol fall away. He slammed his elbow repeatedly into the terrorist's face and slammed his forearm into the side of the neck, trying for a brachial nerve stun. The terrorist stomped down onto Charley's foot, then drove his knee up, missing his groin but catching his ribs. The knee came up again, and Charley drove his thumb into his opponent's eye. The man bit Charley's hand, and Charley shoved his fingers into the man's mouth, between his gums and his mouth and ripped up. The terrorist's hand came up and Charley grabbed the man's face and armbarred him around into a figure 4 choke, then into a neck break as he threw his weight forward and back. He heard the vertebrae go and he twisted the neck hard to the left to be sure, before he let the terrorist drop.

  Geordie Griffin had his hands full. His terrorist turned out to be about the same size as him, 165 pounds and full of fight. The gun had gone off twice, and then somebody had jumped right down out of the goddamn ceiling and scared the shit out of both of them. It was right about then that Geordie lost track of the gun and so did his terrorist, who lost interest in Geordie, and seemed intent on getting to something down under the counter. Whatever it was, it wasn't good, so Geordie whaled into that boy like his momma had wailed into her area rug. Geordie caught a finger in the eye, and returned the favor with a hooking punch to the floating ribs, which doubled the hijacker over and bounced him off the back counter of the galley and onto the floor.

  "No!" Geordie heard. He looked and it was the guy who had fallen through the ceiling, lunging at the terrorist Geordie had knocked down. The terrorist held a book sized portable radio in his hand, and pushed a button on its side.

  ***

  "There's somebody else back there fighting!" Butch said.

  "I can't get a shot unless the civilian rolls free," Steve snapped. He blinked the sweat out of his face. The plane was descending rapidly. He heard the change in the tenor of the engines.

  The pilot's voice came over the intercom. "Stand-by for landing, fasten your seat belts, fasten your seat-belts, standby by for landing."

  The flight attendants looked at each other and hurried to buckle themselves in. Several of them chose to brace themselves in the doorwells or on the galley floors rather than to cross the free fire zone of the aisles.

  "We're going in!" one of them shouted.

  ***

  A loud burst of static came over the radio as Walker Hilton lined his aircraft up for his final approach. "What the fuck is that?" he said.

  ***

  DULLES INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT:

  Simon Dinkey stood in front of a bank of cameras. CNN was in the forefront. Behind him the runway was lined with the blinking lights of emergency equipment. The camera men scuttled to frame Dinkey with the ponderous approach of Flight 107 in the background as it descended onto the runway.

  "Behind me you can see Flight 107 coming in, safe in the custody of US Federal Air Marshals, who have prevented a mid-air hijacking attempt by as yet unknown perpetrators..." Simon began, brushing his carefully styled hair back.

  There was a boom, audible over all the other background noise, and the eyes of the world saw a fireball burst from the rear left side of the 747.

  ***

  FRANKFURT, GERMANY:

  "You cock sucker," George Baumgarner said to Ahmad Ajai. He lunged across the table at the Iranian and struck him several times before the German police pulled him away.

  On the CNN broadcast, the rest of the shocked men in the interrogation room saw the 747 wobble and the wings begin to yaw.

  ***

  DULLES INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT:

  When Farouk Hamas pressed the button, the steady beep became a single sharp tone as a radio signal boosted by the extra battery packs went to the activated receiver in the suitcase bomb packed into the baggage hold. Planted there in Frankfurt as a fail-safe device, the bomb, containing almost two pounds of military explosive, detonated perfectly. It shattered the aluminum baggage container, which channeled the blast and blew out the compartment door and much of the surrounding aluminum skin, laying bare the stringers and runners of the airframe. Baggage and pieces of aircraft blew out into the sky. If the plane had been at altitude, where explosive decompression and greater speeds would have been factors, the rush of air past the exposed airframe would have ripped the plane apart. But since it was lower and slower, the damage, while considerable, was limited to the baggage compartment and a relatively small surface area and had little impact on its air worthiness.

  ***

  Walker Hilton felt the plane shudder under his hands and the thump that rose from the floorboards. He focused on the runway coming up beneath him and the lights of the emergency equipment ahead. A whole series of lights flashed into life on his panel; the one that scared him was the one that said "Fire in Baggage Hold." He kept the nose up and felt the sudden thump as the plane bounced once, twice, then settled in on its huge tires as he threw the engines into reverse and dropped the flaps full.

  "Dulles Tower, this is 107, I have fire warning in Baggage compartment, I say again, I have fire warning in baggage compartment," Walker snapped into his microphone.

  ***

  Charley felt the thump under his feet and knew then that something had gone. He snatched the radio away from the grinning Farouk, who caught a kick in the side from the enraged Geordie.

  "Did he just blow us up?" Geordie demanded.

  The plane shifted underneath their feet and the two men stumbled into each other as Farouk grabbed the counter to hold himself.

  "We are all going to die!" Farouk shouted.

  Steve Paulson braced himself with one hand in the forward galley as he felt the plane shift. His Sig was locked to the bulkhead wall as though it were clamped. Farouk was clear and Stevey double-tapped him twice in the chest from 30 yards away.

  "You first," Steve said as the plane thumped down and he lost his balance, falling backward.

  ***

  "Who's shooting, goddamnit!" Geordie shouted from the floor. Farouk slumped down, clutching his hands to his torso, two bloody holes six inches apart in his chest.

  "Don't let him get his hands onto anything," Charley said.

  All their weight shifted forward as the plane went into reverse and full brake. Charley stayed on the floor and curled himself around the carry-on bag the terrorist had been struggling to get to. He opened it up and saw the bundles of explosives inside, with another radio set on top. Charley grabbed the carry-on and stuffed it beneath him as he crawled on all fours to the left rear door.

  "What are you doing?" Geordie shouted over the screams of the passengers. He looked forward, and saw smoke coming up through the floor. "The fucking plane is on fire!"

  Charley crawled into the door well. He hit the buttons that opened the door and activated the slide. The door swung out and then slammed to the rear. A cloud of smoke sucked in. Charley pushed the carry-on bag out the rear door.

  ***

  Bob Tallbert had his HRT shooters arrayed alongside and inside the emergency vehicles, backed up by Bob Young's eager Delta commandos. The fire chief stood on the running board of his vehicle with Tallbert.

  "They've set the goddamn plane on fire!" the chief shouted. "The pilot is gonna stop it right there. We've got to get those people out, Tallbert!"

  "We'll cover your people, but we're going to have to treat the pax like hostiles till we've got them cleared," Tallbert said. He issued terse commands through his throat mike, turned
and pointed at Young, doubled his fist and pumped it twice. "C'mon, chief!" Tallbert roared, the fight in him. He slung his MP-5 at the ready. "Let's go save some lives!"

  The emergency vehicles pulled out and raced along side the wounded 747. Billowing smoke and a few early flickers of flame started up out of the baggage compartment and the gaping hole around it. As the plane slowed, the left rearmost passenger door popped open and something fell out.

  "Are they jumping out of the damn plane?" Tallbert asked.

  "I don't know. Did anyone see if that was a passenger jumping out of the open door?" the Chief shouted into his handset.

  The explosive package Charley pushed out the door detonated about twenty five yards from a racing firetruck laden with fireman, rescue personnel, and a handful of Delta commandos. The concussion collapsed the windshield of the firetruck and the panicked driver drove the vehicle off the runway into the grassy drainage where it tipped over on its side, spilling equipment and injured men.

  "Delta 6, Delta 6, this is Assault 2, we're taking fire from the rear of the aircraft! They're throwing satchel charges at the emergency vehicles, we've lost one vehicle!" came the transmission from Tallbert's handset.

  Tallbert snapped into his handset. "Scout snipers, scout snipers this is Hurt 6, Hurt 6, glass and confirm open door, glass and confirm last report of terrorists throwing satchel charges."

  "Do we have a green light to engage on confirmation?" came a reply from one of his snipers.

  "Roger, green light on confirmation, green light on confirmation, all guns are go."

  On the terminal rooftop, across the hoods of vehicles, and in grassy hides around the designated aircraft stop point, the best snipers in the world trained their high-powered scopes and rifles on the open rear door of the 747.

  ***

  The plane slowed to a halt. Walker Hilton looked at the board and saw more fire warning lights starting to light up.

  "We're going to have to evacuate right now," he said to the flight engineer.

  "I can't get off this fucking plane fast enough," the flight engineer said.

  "We've got passengers to get off! Get yourself together!"

  The flight engineer struggled with himself. "We can get these people out, but we have to get out quick, Walker. We don't have much time."

  The co-pilot hit the switches to put on the intercom. "Ladies and gentleman, remain calm. Flight attendants, man your doors for immediate evacuation. Man your doors for immediate evacuation."

  The passengers were screaming in the back of the plane. The loudest cries came from the section filling up with smoke, where they could feel the floor heating up beneath their feet.

  "Mommy, mommy we're going to burn!" screamed a little girl.

  "Listen up people, nobody's gonna burn, stay calm," said Geordie Griffin, starting down the aisle. "We're going to get out on the right side of the aircraft, that's your right, no, your other right, fella, let's go, get these women and children over there." He stooped and picked up the frightened girl who had seen him first climb over the seat backs. "Miss, you need to get right over there by that door, here, take this here baby with you while I get her mama out." He handed the young woman the screaming little girl, then lifted the mother, frozen with fear, out of her seat and carried her across the empty seats to the far aisle. Charley Dey yanked on the manual controls and opened the door. The slide exploded outwards.

  "You!" Charley grabbed a young soldier. "Out the door first, soldier, get to the bottom and help the rest out!" He threw the man into the door. The young soldier slid to the bottom, turned and yelled, "C'mon!"

  ***

  "They're evacuating the aircraft," Tallbert snapped into his throat mike. "Perimeter 1 and 2, set up initial perimeter; Perimeter 3 and 4, establish hostage processing point, co-locate with medical triage unit, any serious casualties to be examined for weapons and explosives; Support 1, deploy uniforms to medical reception facility to secure all wounded pax; Scout Snipers, give me confirmation on hostile movement in rear doors."

  John Onofrey, brother to Mad Max Onofrey of ISA, was one of Delta's premier snipers. He was bellied up behind his .300 Winchester Magnum, a custom rifle built on a Sako action in a MacMillan kevlar stock and a stainless steel Douglas custom bull barrel, with a 6x24 Kahles scope. The stock was cemented to his cheek, his eye the exact offset necessary for his parallax. The cross hairs were dead center on Charley Dey's back.

  "I do not have hostile confirmation, Hurt 6, I say again, I have acquired a possible target, but I do not have hostile confirmation. It looks as though he's helping the pax out the door. No hostile confirmation. There are at least two bodies in the back on the floor, and one man helping pax out the far door. This is Scout Sniper 4, out," Onofrey whispered into his throat mike.

  Tallbert watched as his hand picked agents, backed up by teams of black clad Delta commandos, wove in and out of the rescue personnel, racing towards the plane and the first passengers sliding down the escape chutes. He looked up, and saw the doors pop on the upper flight deck, and a ladder come down from the cockpit. The escape chute popped open on the upper passenger deck and a woman stuck her head out and saw the fire on that side of the aircraft. She disappeared back in.

  "Command and control, this is Hurt 6. We've got movement on the upper deck as well. Scout snipers, give me some intel."

  Martin Thomas, an HRT sniper folded over the hood of an unmarked squad, glassed the door. "One female up and mobile..two females and one male, operating the opposite side escape chute, one female assisting the other female and the male out the chute...smoke obscuring...appears to be a flight crew member and the female assisting another flight crew member out the slide..."

  On the other side of the aircraft, another scout sniper confirmed. "Roger on that last, wounded personnel upstairs being off loaded, rescue personnel are moving up the wing to them now. The female is going back in."

  ***

  Joan went back into the upstairs cabin after seeing the two passengers down the slide. "Out, now!" she shouted at Walker and the flight engineer. The flight engineer needed no further urging; he was out the door and down the slide onto the wing, where rescue personnel picked him up. Two black-clad HRT shooters appeared in the open escape door.

  "Come out now!" the first HRT called to Joan.

  "No! I don't leave my dead!" Joan shouted. She grabbed the heavy weight of Donald Gene Nelson under his arms and dragged him to the door.

  "Who is that?" the HRT said. "He's dead."

  "My partner," Joan said, out of breath.

  The two HRT shooters looked at each other, then slung their guns.

  "Let us help you, marshal," the first one said.

  ***

  It seemed like the stream of bodies never ended. There was always another one to take the place of the next going out the door. Charley and Geordie handed the passengers out, the flight attendants herding them along to each door. The smoke was whirling up thickly now, and fire trucks were outside directing spray, chemicals and water, onto the blazing baggage compartment. Charley saw a black balaclavaed head, then the sub-machine gun and the torso of a shooter come wiggling through one of the left side forward doors, forward of the blaze, followed by several more. Two of them split off and sprinted down the aisle and came in the back of the galley, pausing over the two dead terrorists.

  Charley shouted at them. "Charley Dey, Alpha-1! You got comms with the ground?"

  "Confirm Dey in right rear door," the first shooter said. "I'm HRT, Dey."

  "I don't need shooters right now. I need somebody to get these people off."

  "Roger that," the HRT said. "Hurt 6, this is Assault 2 Alpha, status on fire, over." The black clad man nodded his head, listening intently. "Roger Hurt 6. Dey, the boss says the hell with the crime scene, get the bodies off. We're supposed to watch your back till everybody's clear and then carry you out if we have to."

  Charley stepped aside and let the other HRT step in and start handing people out. "What abo
ut the rest of my people? I've got one upstairs, one in first class, one in business and a couple in the first part of coach."

  "The one upstairs and her partner are clear," the HRT said.

  "What partner?"

  "She wouldn't leave without her partner. He didn't make it."

  "He was dead when we landed."

  "Yeah. She said she wasn't going to leave her dead. My boys helped her take him out of there."

  "Thanks," Charley said. "Thank you very much. What about the others?"

  "Not clear. They're working doors, according to our snipers. Which one of these two," he gestured at the bodies, "was throwing satchel charges out the door?"

  "It wasn't a satchel charge. It was an explosives package meant to go off in here and kill us. I put it out the door."

  "That charge took out an emergency vehicle...hurt some people."

  "Anybody killed?"

  "Not yet."

  "Had to be done...it would have taken the back of this plane off."

  "Shit. Yeah. Let's get out of here, Dey -- it's getting too damn hot."

  ***

  Butch and Jon worked the escape doors, with Steve hanging back to cover them in case any remaining terrorists charged out of the herd of escaping passengers. Four HRT shooters burst down the aisle behind Steve, MP-5s drawn down on him.

  "Put the weapon down!" one shouted.

  Steve opened his fingers, leaving his thumb and forefinger on the weapon. "Federal Air Marshal, Paulson, Delta 1, authenticate charley alpha tango echo, what do you want me to do?"

  "Set the weapon down, Paulson! Interlock your fingers and step back!"

  Jon turned and said, "He's a fucking marshal!"

  An HRT drew down on Jon. "We don't know that yet. Stay where you are. Keep your hands in sight."

  "Jon! Don't do anything stupid!" Steve and Butch spoke simultaneously.

  "Sorry, Jon," the HRT said. "We got do it this way."

  "Cred and ID in my left inner pocket," Steve intoned.

  An HRT reached into Steve's jacket and pulled out the folding ID case, nodded. "Sorry, Steve." He bent and handed him back the Sig. "Here you go, marshal."