by Doug Burbey
Wonder if he's been as bored as I have?
"I need two things really. First, I need a ride and second, need some muscle."
"Well, my dear friend, I can say two things to your two requests. One, I have all the muscle that three to four women at a time can handle. Two, I do have a ride, but that shit comes with invoiced bill cuz fuel is not free I don't really care if you did pull me out of a burning wreck. I have bills to pay, DK."
"Good, I need you here in six hours or less. Oh, and come loaded for bear. Big fucking bears."
"Well, shit." Greg paused on the other end and Declan all but felt him adjusting his mindset from giving a friend shit, to shit going down. "Got it. I will have to reschedule my pedicure and pop some aspirin, but if you need to call me in for a bear hunt then you know I'll be there. Need the bird fully kitted up?"
"No, the chopper is just so we don't spend three days stuck in Boston traffic. Pick me at my place ASAP. We need to get out to MIT right away."
"Alright, DK, I'll help you go deal with some nerds and bears. Let me find some water, and my damn pants, then I'll go pull my shit together. I'll pick you up in about five hours."
"Thanks, Greg, see you then. Just land out back and try not to muss the grass too much."
"Whatever, shithead. See you soon"
Declan hung up the phone and started a mental checklist of what he needed to get ready.
Ride, check. Extra backup, check. Site Intel, on the to-do list. Now to pick my loadout and pack a lunch.
Chapter 26 – Have Chopper Will Travel
Declan heard the approaching helicopter coming in on a low approach. He hefted his Vulture carbine over his shoulder and walked to the side of the open field behind his house. At first, he thought he was getting a visit from the military as a UH-60 Blackhawk approached his makeshift landing zone but the marking lights and lower body gray/upper body dark brown paint job exposed it as a civilian version of the Blackhawk. A Sikorsky S-70 with external fuel pods. Greg Donahue was on final approach.
Seems Greg couldn't take his war bird with him, so he bought the closest thing to it he could. I bought a house, he bought a sweet ride.
Declan tossed a green soup can shaped object into the center of the field after pulling a pin from its top. A steady stream of white smoke poured from the marker grenade in the center of the field that would show Greg the wind's direction and speed in the improvised landing zone. He then turned his back to the approaching helicopter and lowered himself onto one knee with his head down and the collar of his heavy leather Hunter's coat raised to protect his neck and face from the rotor wash of the landing helicopter. Getting hit in the face with debris hurt.
After he felt the rushing wave of the rotor wash move across his back Declan turned, keeping his body hunched over and his eyes on the figure motioning him forward from the side of the helicopter. He moved to the side door that slid rearwards, revealing the passenger cabin of the helicopter. Declan pulled himself into the aircraft by grabbing a nylon strap by the side of the door. He hesitated a moment, taken slightly off guard by the plush interior that he hadn't expected. He assumed it would be like the military benches that he was used to in a Blackhawk helicopter. Strapping himself into the harness of the plush leather seat and facing forward, he saw the familiar six-foot-five bulk of the pilot sitting at the controls from behind. The pilot pointed at his headphones and then backward towards where Declan was seated. He turned around and noticed a headset hanging from a hook above his seat. Declan took it down, settled it over his ears, then placed his Vulture between his legs with the muzzle facing down. It was an old habit instilled in every soldier since the early days of the air cavalry in Vietnam. Apparently, pilots did not like you accidentally discharging your weapon and shooting through the top of their helicopters into the rotor blades.
Declan still hadn't gotten a good look at the other crewman. He watched him on the outside; then he moved around to the front of the aircraft and entered the co-pilot seat.
He activated the intercom on the headset. "Hey, Greg, I don't get to ride up front?"
"Unless you've been rated to fly an S-70 you aren't getting anywhere near these fucking controls. I will introduce you here in just a second. Sit down and shut the hell up so I can get this bird back up in the air."
"Yes, sir, shutting the hell up for a moment now." Declan settled back into his seat, feeling relatively useless with nothing to do during helicopter operations.
Declan watched the pilot and co-pilot team in the cockpit run through their checks for a few minutes with great interest. While he was never afraid of flying, Declan remained slightly concerned by the fact that the million-dollar machine, with a few thousand points of failure, was being operated by someone who was likely very hungover.
Yay though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I shall fear no evil because hopefully, Greg is not still drunk and about to kill us all.
Declan felt gravity pulling against him in the unexpectedly plush aircraft. He glanced out the window and watched his backfield and house fall away from the helicopter. He then looked around the interior of the cabin, noting differences from the commercial version and that of a standard military transport. Lost were the nylon bench seats and weapon clamp-down brackets. The dull gray steel flooring and generally utilitarian interior had been replaced with three rear facing, and four forward facing, leather bucket seats.
Shit, they got cup holders!
Noise cancellation headphones with microphones affixed above each seat and even a reading light was built into each seat back. A center console running between sets of seats was what looked like some form of low table with a refrigerator.
That totally looks like a beer fridge. Would he really have a beer fridge in here?
"You have got to be kidding me." Declan reached up activated the intercom on his headset again.
"Holy fuck, Greg. You have a beer fridge in here?"
"Only the best for my clients, DK. The rich folk don't like their booze getting warm." Greg replied over the intercom.
"So, what the hell do you actually use this bird for? Not exactly standard lawyer stuff I'm sure."
"Well, as I'm diligently working towards establishing my law practice, I have to earn a little extra on the side with specialized clientele. They demand a certain amount of comfort as I securely move them to and from where they need to be." His voice had tones of affronted protestation and Declan didn't believe a word of it.
"Sounds to me like you babysit rich kids and fly them to the fucking Hamptons for the weekend." Declan goaded his old friend.
"I've been known to do that. Pays the bills anyway. Mostly I get paid to make sure that the rich kids don't get beat up, or killed, or kidnapped." Greg answered as he signaled his copilot and pointed at a blinking gauge in front of him. "Hey, before we get anywhere, what the hell is that giant metal barn over there for?"
Declan took a moment to glance around the back of the chair towards where he thought Greg was pointing. The large sheet metal building, with doors big enough for a tractor-trailer truck to enter, was partially concealed in the woods at the north end of his property. The metal structure had caught Greg's attention as he vectored the helicopter in the general direction of their destination. "That's just my storage shed."
"What the hell are you storing in there a small herd of cattle?"
"That's where I keep my restoration project and my lawnmower. I needed a little hobby besides drinking and watching football."
"I remember you talking about wanting to restore a World War II half-track if you ever got the chance. You finally doing that?"
"Even better. I ran across a guy willing to part with a mediocre condition M3 and started to restore it."
"Are you fucking kidding me, you got a Stuart light tank in there, DK?"
"Well most of her is still light tank. I got a bunch of boxes of shit that are supposed to be the rest of it. I've been fiddling with it on and off for the last year."
&nb
sp; "Damn, that sounds fun. I'll come out and give you a hand with that, in-between babysitting gigs." Greg spoke as he adjusted the complex array of controls in the helicopters dash.
"I can always use a hand. And by hand, I mean you move all the heavy shit around and lift it into the tank while I supervise you, all while drinking beer."
"You know a Stuart isn't worth a shit against a horde right, DK?"
"I'm out of the Horde fighting business brother. Well mostly. Sort of. Now I'm kitting up for the Zombie Apocalypse." Declan smiled as he settled into the ridiculously comfortable passenger seat.
"Ah right. And what are we flying off to fight right now?" Even through the headphones, his sarcasm couldn't be missed. "Though I guess you owning a small light tank makes total sense now. Flipping zombie menace."
"Damn right it does! I'm gonna be the King of the Zombie Apoc. So long as I can find a few hundred crates of 37mm main gun rounds for it. And we aren't going to fight a Horde, just a few lost blood bags."
Greg laughed out loud. "Well good luck with that shit. I'm fresh out of early WWII munitions."
"Well, I may know a guy,” Declan said as he lifted his feet up onto the table between the seats.
"I bet you do, DK. I bet you do. You're making some strange friends lately, it seems. So, as I'm flying you to Boston to likely meet our certain, and horribly gruesome deaths, are you going to tell me who we're working for today?" The humor his voice had started with faded a bit as he talked.
"Sure, the ICERs."
"What the fuck is an ICER? Sounds like a refrigerator repair company." Greg responded, over the headset intercom, with a slight chuckle.
"Stands for International Cooperative Element Responders. So yeah, ICERs."
"Oh, government dudes. OK, got it. Didn't figure you'd be joining back up. Actually, I'm just surprised."
"I haven't joined shit. I'm strictly an independent contractor using my unique skills for some extra cash. A man does need beer money." Declan protested. And he almost believed himself. Almost.
"Uh huh," Greg replied, sounding totally unconvinced.
"Well, I got them to agree to reimburse you for fuel."
Or at least I will as soon as I file an expense report for it.
"Well now, that is so generous of them. I'm thinking of joining the Ice-T team now."
"ICERs." Declan corrected.
"I like Ice-T team better. Oh hey, almost forgot." Greg pointed at his copilot. "This is Joe, Joe Kling."
"Nice to meet you, Sir,” Joe responded with a flat voice without looking back at his passenger.
"Joe's a big conversationalist as you can see. But trust me you want to party with this guy!" Greg reached over and lightly cuffed the copilot on the shoulder.
"Yeah, right, Mr. Donahue,” Joe responded again with the same disinterested inflection in his voice.
Curious Declan asked, "Joe since you're along for the ride on our little adventure, what's your flavor in the fight?"
Declan, sitting behind Joe and unable to see his face, saw the copilots head tilt slightly to the side. "Sir, I don't understand your question."
Declan glanced out the window and watched the rugged hills of western Maryland pass underneath the helicopter as they flew east. "I mean, what's your preferred method of fighting? You a long gunner, grenade tosser, sniper, AK-47 prey and spray type? I need to know how you like to fight if we get into anything."
Joe responded back over the intercom hesitantly "Well, I don't..."
"He's not in this fight DK." Greg cut in quickly. "Joe is the best crew chief in our business but he's not in the ground fighting side of the business. He keeps my bird at a fully mission capable status and if needed, provides close air support when I have my baby all pimped up with the add-ons."
"Got it, Greg, good to have you on board, Joe,” Declan noted the barely perceptible nod of the copilot's helmet.
"OK, Declan, you may as well kick back and take a nap. We got a couple of hours before we get to Boston. Where exactly is it that you want me to land? Please don't tell me it's a 7-Eleven parking lot."
"I want you to land at Pacific Street Park, near the Plasma and Fusion Research Center at MIT. We'll make a quick visit to the graduate student residence hall across the street. Land, we go in, we settle the business, we get back on the bird and get out."
Greg manipulated the navigation panel between his and the copilot’s seat adjusting and tapping on the screen. Apparently, he was engaged in a conversation with Joe on the selected landing point. After two or three minutes, he banked the helicopter slightly on a course correction then reached over and reactivated the internal intercom.
"DK, the park looks big enough and clear enough to land. Only problem we might run into is people in the field, so we may have to shoo them away a little bit when we come in for landing."
"How do you shoo people away from the landing zone from the air?"
"Well, Joe's got the idea that he'll just push you out from the side of the aircraft to fast rope rappel in when we're about 150 feet off the deck and let you walk around and tell people politely to get out of the way."
"Hey, Joe, that's a dumb assed idea. I'm not doing that. I haven't done any real rappelling for over twenty years. Not sure what you think my current skill sets are but rappelling out of helicopters is not on that menu. "
Declan heard both Greg and Joe laughing over the intercom. "Don't worry about it, Declan. We are just going to head straight in and land. You be surprised how quickly people will get out of the way on their own."
Great, smart asses flying me. Why do I hang with these people? Oh yeah, cause I'm a smart ass too.
Declan spent the ride talking to Greg, bullshitting about the old days, and arranging to go out for drinks. Assuming they lived. As they got closer the conversation faded and he watched Greg and Joe manipulate the helicopter across a quick, low approach over Boston towards the Massachusetts Institute of Technology campus. Guided by the GPS navigation, Greg had no problem identifying the cleared park field across from their objective. Declan used the time on the approach to try to get a look at the building they needed to move to as soon as they landed.
"I really can't get a good visual on what's going on in that open courtyard between the buildings right now. Greg, you see anything?"
"No, I can't see what's going on there either. I thought I saw a glimmer, maybe even a faint glow. You know that's never good. But I think you're right, that courtyard area between the buildings might be the objective. You want me to run a racetrack orbit around the top of that building, so we can get a good look in between?"
"No, let's go straight in for a landing and move in from there. If we start to circle around the top of the building we're giving away any element of surprise, we might have."
"You know DK, this bird is not exactly small and whisper quiet. Not sure how much of an element of surprise we're going to get. I'm pretty sure MIT's not used to big assed Sikorskys landing in their parks."
"That's why we got to land and go in fast. I want to go in and quickly bust up whatever shenanigans these idiots are up to. Put the fear of God in them. Then get the hell out of here." DK paused and grinned, " Shillelagh Shenanigans. That's what you should call your firm."
"Ha, ha. Not. Fine, you're the special tactics boss DK. Who am I to second-guess your ridiculous plans like a sane human being."
Declan felt the nose of the helicopter dip forward and the tail rotor slide to the side as Joe and Greg lined up the big helicopter to angle downwards into the park. He looked out the window for obstructions and any civilians. Greg leveled the bird and began a slow vertical descent. Declan felt the connection of the landing gear as it cushioned the body of the helicopter when they met the surface of the park. Declan unhooked his harness and looked forward, seeing Greg pointing towards the road at the end of the field. In front of them, across a two-lane street, sat the buildings they were about to head into. Apparently, Greg was giving Joe some form of instructions that seemed
to become an animated conversation. Declan heard Greg chime in over the intercom as he was reaching up to take off the helmet.
"All right DK, Joe's got a serious question. We clearly have just attracted attention. Response times of campus or local police may vary but someone will undoubtedly be here to check us out, within the next 5 to 10 minutes. What is Joe supposed to tell any cops that show up?"
"That's a very good point. I should've thought of that." Declan thought about this for a moment, then reached into his pocket pulling out his wallet and rummaging around for the ICER card. Pulling it out, he reached forward and handed it to Joe.
"Right Joe, this number on the bottom here is a very nice lady called Cordelia. She's the government bigwig in charge. I hope you're good at stalling. No pun intended. You just need to bluster anybody who comes up and hand them this card. Don't try to explain anything, just point to the number and say ‘Call her'. This is where you need to pour on the aloof bravado with a touch of bureaucratic boredom. Oh, and try not to get arrested before we get back."
"Yes, sir. Hand card over. Act bored and annoyed. I don't know anything. Take off and leave you guys stranded if it appears I could be arrested. Got it." Joe responded and really did sound like he was bored and annoyed with the whole thing.
"I prefer you didn't ditch us, but you got the idea, Joe. Time to motivate, Greg. Let's unass this bird and gear up."
Declan pulled open the side door and stepped out onto the park field yanking the door closed behind himself. He noted that Joe was already outside of the aircraft doing what appeared to be some form of flight checks as Greg exited as well. Greg grabbed what looked like a 7.62 variant of the standard military M-16 rifle, called the AR-10, from a clamp point next to his seat. He draped the weapon's sling over his shoulder, settling it in front of his chest. Greg never carried what he would consider baby weapons. To amplify this fact, in a leather cross draw holster on his chest, he also carried a Ruger Super Redhawk revolver chambered for .44 caliber rounds. The Redhawk could take out a bear, or a low-ring demon, with a single shot but it was not exactly a dainty weapon with low recoil.