Though the prisoners are free now, they return to the stadiums for the night. Hunter, JP, General George, and a Colonel Frost from the Vancouver forces gather in the airport control tower to plot what to do next. “The city’s too big for us to occupy,” General George says.
Hunter nods. The Seabirds had much of the city secured, but most of their fences had been smashed. It will take months before the damage can be fixed and they can risk letting any civilians in. “For now we just worry about securing the airport and the industrial area down here,” he says, pointing on the map to where he had left the seaplane the night before. “There might still be some fuel there or maybe something else we can use.”
“The bigger question is what to do with all those people we rescued,” JP says. “We don’t have room for them on Snowcap unless you want to dump them on top of the mountain.”
“Vancouver’s still overrun,” Colonel Frost says.
General George shakes his head. “What we really need is a new place for these people. The problem will be cleaning anything out and making it secure.”
Staring at the map, Hunter starts to laugh to himself. The others all shoot him questioning looks. “I think I know a place where we can put a hundred or so.” He taps the location of the hunting lodge he had left what seems like a lifetime ago. He explains this to the others. “As long as we give them some extra food, they should be comfortable enough for a while. Hopefully until we can get some of the city under control.”
“That’s still going to leave us short,” the general says. “I don’t like leaving those people in the stadiums. It’s a disaster waiting to happen.”
“There are some hotels around the airport,” JP says. “We can start clearing those out and set up a perimeter.”
Hunter continues studying the map of the area. “What we really need is help from someone who knows the area. What happened to that Dylan guy?”
“The old bum? I think he got out with Max.”
“Who’s Dylan?” the general asks.
“We found him wandering around last night. He has been surviving on his own since the outbreak. He knows the city better than anyone,” Hunter says.
“You want us to put a bum in charge?” Colonel Frost asks.
“He’ll just be a consultant,” JP says.
“The guy lived here before the outbreak too. That gives him a lot more knowledge about the terrain than us,” Hunter says.
General George shrugs. “All right, let’s see if we can find him. In the meantime let’s start figuring out who’s going to go to your little mountain retreat.” The general sighs and then adds, “The peace is always harder than the war.”
Hunter can’t really disagree with that after what happened in Iraq. He just hopes this doesn’t end up being as much of a boondoggle.
Chapter 7
As the new commander of the Snowcap Mountain Air Patrol, Hunter gets a whole Winnebago for his personal use. The tires on the Winnebago long ago went flat, but they were able to tow it onto a ferry in Seattle’s harbor along with some other RVs. This helped to alleviate some of the housing dilemma after the liberation of Seattle.
He could have the whole Winnebago to himself, but for the last month he has had two roommates. He rolls out of bed to find Casey using the stovetop to cook Spam patties, the closest they have to bacon or sausage anymore. “Something smells good,” he says and then kisses her on the neck. “I think it’s you.”
“You’re going to make me burn these.”
“All right, I’ll stop bothering you.” He gives her another kiss on the neck and then slides into the booth that passes for the Winnebago’s dining room. Casey sets a plate down in front of him along with a cup of coffee.
“Polly, breakfast!”
The little girl emerges from her bunk, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She drags a pink bunny behind her; Hunter had salvaged it from a gift shop in Seattle. The little girl hadn’t taken the bunny at first, but she eventually acquiesced. Now it’s her constant companion.
Casey bends down to kiss the top of Polly’s head. “You hungry?” When the little girl only shrugs, Casey tousles her hair. “Go sit down.”
Polly sits on the opposite side of the booth from Hunter. She hugs the bunny to her chest while eying him warily. He senses it’s going to take a while for their relationship to thaw. She already lost her father and nearly lost her mother; it might be a while before she’s ready to trust another adult in her life.
Casey sets down a plate for herself and another for Polly. She sits next to her daughter and then motions for them to say grace. After everything that has happened, Hunter isn’t a big believer in religion anymore, but it seems to comfort Casey and her daughter to say the words like they used to before eating a meal.
“So any news?” Casey asks as she cuts up her Spam.
“The fences are coming along ahead of schedule. Another month or two and we should be able to move people into the city.”
“Isn’t that great news, Polly? Maybe we can get our own apartment in the city. Not that this isn’t nice—”
“It’s all right,” Hunter says. “This is a little cozy for two-and-a-half people.”
“I’m sure you could come with us.”
“I’ll probably have to stay here. There’s still a lot to do.”
“Oh, sure,” Casey says. With the world the way it is, they don’t do a lot of planning for the future, and yet inevitably the subject has to come up. Hunter has enjoyed having Casey and Polly stay with him the last three weeks, but in his heart he knew this domestic bliss couldn’t last forever. In the end he’s a soldier and there’s still a war to be fought to make sure Casey and all the others are safe.
“Let’s just see how things go,” Hunter says. He finishes the last of his Spam and coffee and then leans over to kiss Casey on the forehead. He tries not to get too affectionate with Polly around; she gives him the stink-eye just for kissing her mom’s forehead. “I’ve got to go to work.”
“I’ll see you later?”
“I hope so.” He winks to her and then ducks out of the Winnebago.
He crosses the runway to go into the control tower. JP and Max are in the war room, maps spread out on the table. General George and Colonel Frost will be participating in the meeting from Seattle via radio. “Now that the family man is here, I guess we can get started,” JP says with a knowing grin.
Max taps about the center of Oregon on the map. “We’ve been getting reports of a new group setting up in Portland. Some of the Seabird defectors have hooked up with the gangs already down there, bolstering their numbers. They’ve mostly been hitting around Oregon and into northern California, but it’s only a matter of time before they start harassing us.”
“So we harass them first,” JP says. “Right, Hunter?”
“Any idea what we’re looking at here?”
“They’re provisioned pretty well. They’re flying Vietnam-era stuff mostly: Phantoms, Super Sabres, and a couple of Thunderchiefs. We’d be outgunned in a straight fight.”
“So we hit them on the ground,” General George says. “Disable their planes before they can get into the air.”
“Whoever’s in charge there isn’t a complete idiot. They’ve got their planes scattered around. We’d need at least four coordinated raids.”
“I think I can give us an edge,” Hunter announces. “Gary and I have nearly finished upgrading the X-29. Should take a couple more days before we can test it. I’d like something a little smaller for a shakedown if you got it.”
Max rubs his chin. He has taken over as the intelligence chief for the Northwest Allied Command as Snowcap and its allies have dubbed themselves. “There’s a gang up in Spokane. A couple of Starfighters to harass merchant convoys. Not too hard but it’d give you a workout.”
“Sounds good,” Hunter says.
“While Hunter works on that, I want you to press your assets to get us as much as they can about this group in Portland,” General George says. “W
e need to know what we’re dealing with.”
“I’ll do my best, sir,” Max says.
Colonel Frost takes over then to brief them on the latest around Seattle. With Dylan’s help, they’ve been rooting out zeebs and setting up secure locations north from the airport towards downtown. It’s unlikely all of downtown will be secure any time soon, but they should be able to get a few blocks within a couple of weeks.
“We can probably bring over the first group of civilians this week,” Colonel Frost says.
“We’ll restrict it to mostly men, no children,” General George adds. “No sense risking the kids too early.”
Hunter thinks of Polly back in the Winnebago and nods.
***
The little green hangar has become Hunter’s second home on the base. For the last month he has taken the X-29 apart down to its skeleton and then rebuilt it again with the help of Gary Sherwood, the mechanic who had refueled Hunter’s Thunderbolt during the capture of Seattle.
Before the outbreak, Gary worked as a mechanic for Boeing and before that he had done an apprenticeship at Grumman, the company that had made the X-29. While Gary had never worked on the X-29 program, he was familiar with the design enough to be of great help. And no longer under the constant threat of death, Gary was a lot more relaxed, making it easier to pass the time.
“I’m just saying Hulk Hogan in his prime could have taken down the Rock in his prime with no effort at all,” Gary says as they overhaul the engine.
“You realize that stuff was fake, right? The winner is whoever the guys in charge decide would make the best story,” Hunter says.
“Maybe the matches were fake, but those guys weren’t. I met the Rock at a convention in San Diego. When he shook my hand, I swear I heard bones crack.”
“Steroids,” Hunter says.
“Why do you got to be such a party-pooper about it?” Gary looks up from the engine to wipe grease from his face with a towel. “You know it’s been over two years since I saw a wrestling match? Of any type. At this point I’d even take that Greco-Roman crap.”
“Maybe you should talk to General George about it. We could set up a ring and get some folding chairs for guys to hit each other with.”
“That would be awesome. We’d have to find some guys to do it. And then make some costumes—”
“I’ll leave that to you,” Hunter says. He finishes tightening a bolt and then steps back. “All right, I think it’s time we get it back in.”
The installation takes about a half-hour. Then Hunter climbs up into the cockpit to bring everything to life. He already debugged the computer systems; after scrounging some equipment from Microsoft’s headquarters in nearby Redmond he had managed to rewrite some of the code for the plane’s “fly-by-wire” system to bring it into the 21st Century.
He starts the engine slowly, feeding it RPMs a little at a time. There’s a screech at first as the engine comes to life after decades in mothballs. From their examination, the plane didn’t have any rust or other corrosion, but Hunter had insisted they go over every inch to get out any dust or other debris.
Since they’re in the hangar he keeps it throttled down. Hunter lets the engine run for a few minutes to make sure no problems come up. Everything is checking out green so far. He leaves the engine running as he climbs down from the cockpit. He starts for the locker room to grab his helmet and other equipment.
“Where you going?” Gary shouts over the engine noise.
“Might as well give her a real workout,” Hunter says with a wink. He breaks into a run so he doesn’t waste too much fuel on the ground.
The locker room is in the control tower, across from the war room. JP and Max are still over maps of the area, plotting their strategy. He leaves them to it, going instead to his locker and dialing in the combination. His helmet is on the top shelf, while below that hangs his “G-suit,” the vest that helps redirect blood to prevent blackouts during tight turns. He doesn’t plan on pushing the X-29 too much, but after so much work to get the X-29 ready, he doesn’t want it to crash on its first flight because he blacks out.
Gary is waiting for him when he comes back. “Are you sure about this? It probably hasn’t flown in twenty years.”
“No time like the present,” Hunter says. He climbs up into the cockpit and then straps in. He connects his oxygen mask to the plane’s system and then inhales a breath. He starts to cough; the oxygen is a little stale at first, but after a couple more hits it clears up. He unhooks the mask for the moment and then brings down the bubble canopy.
With everything still in the green, Hunter gives Gary a thumbs-up. The mechanic pulls the ladder down to stow it out of the way. He gives Hunter a thumbs-up of his own to indicate the way is clear. Hunter tosses him a salute and then starts to taxi.
It doesn’t take long for a crowd to begin forming. He doesn’t see JP or Max, but JP’s voice comes through on the radio. “Hunter, old buddy, what are you doing?”
“Thought I’d give this girl a little exercise. The skies clear?”
“We don’t have anything incoming for a couple of hours. You best bring that back in one piece or the general is going to fry what’s left of your ass. You got that?”
“I got it.” The crowd is getting thicker, everyone it seems coming out to watch the exotic X-29 make its first flight. Hunter tosses another salute and then starts to rev the engine. He lets the RPMs build a little and then releases the brakes to let the plane spring forward like a bloodhound being let off its leash.
Having only flown the helicopter, sea plane, and Thunderbolt in the last two years, Hunter is thrown a little by how quickly the X-29 is moving down the runway. He tries not to panic, to let his training take over.
He pulls back on the control stick, finally lifting the X-29 from the runway. The G-forces push him back into the seat, but it’s not nearly enough to risk a blackout even if he hadn’t been wearing the G-suit. He can’t help letting out a whoop as the X-29 lifts higher into the air, its engine roaring more menacingly than any sports car.
He watches the altimeter as the X-29 climbs higher, through a deck of white clouds and then emerging into the clear blue sky. He hooks his oxygen mask back on as he passes five thousand feet, then ten thousand. The smart thing to do would be to keep it below ten thousand to avoid putting too much stress on the plane. That is the smart play and yet Hunter can’t resist urging the X-29 higher, until he’s over thirty thousand feet up.
When he was a little boy, he dreamed of flying into space like in Star Wars or other science fiction movies. By the time he had finished his pilot training, though, flying in space was pretty much science fiction again with the cancellation of the space shuttle program. Riding a rocket wouldn’t be the same to him; it was being catapulted like a human cannonball, not flying.
The closest he can get is to take the X-29 to the edge of the atmosphere, to where the sky is a dark blue and icy contrails are trailing from the forward-swept wings. He levels off, nodding with satisfaction at how smoothly the X-29 is handling up here. The engine is still purring like a jungle cat, showing no strain at all.
While it would be nice to cruise up here, over seven miles from the surface, he can’t stay up here forever. He takes a gulp of oxygen and then tips the X-29 into a dive. The G-forces start to build up, pressing him back in his seat again. The edges of his vision dim, but he fights to stay awake and focused.
The altimeter is back to thirty thousand when he hears a clunk followed by seeing red lights come on all over the cockpit. The engine sputters a couple of times and then is silenced entirely. “Oh shit,” he mumbles to himself.
The engine has stalled. Hunter tries to keep from panicking, but he knows what will happen if he can’t restart the engine before he gets too close to the ground. They’ll have to pick his remains out of the wreckage with tweezers.
He takes another gulp of oxygen and then tries to restart the engine. Nothing happens. The altimeter is dropping under twenty thousand now while th
e X-29 is picking up speed. “Come on, baby. Be good to me,” he mumbles as he tries to restart the engine again.
There’s a clunk followed by a whir and then the engine roars to life again. Hunter hauls back on the stick to bring the X-29 out of its dive. As he bottoms out, the altimeter reads seven thousand feet. He pats the control panel gently. “Good girl.”
When he gets down to the ground he’ll have to check over the engine again. But there’s no rush. With a grin he flips the X-29 into a barrel roll. Despite his little scare, it still feels good to be up here again with a real machine, something so fast and nimble that it’s like an extension of his own body.
He descends through the clouds and then screams over the Snowcap Mountain base. He’s sure Casey and Polly are down there, watching him. Casey might have some choice words for him if she finds out about his spontaneous shakedown cruise—especially the stall. It’s not something an earthbound civilian can really understand; for them flying meant being jammed nose-to-asshole in a 747 to eat overpriced peanuts and watch a bad movie. They’ll never know the pure joy of being up here in the clear blue sky, the earth looking so pristine even in these times.
Since the engine seems to be kicking well enough now, he goes through some of his old Thunderbirds maneuvers, looping, banking, twisting, turning, and rolling like an acrobat. The X-29 handles the load as well as his F-16, better in some ways thanks to his refinements to the control systems.
Once the fuel gauge gets to about the halfway point he decides to bring the X-29 in. The landing gear comes down and locks into place, or at least his indicators show that. They must really be in place as he hears them touch down, the back wheels first and then the front. He pulls back on the throttle and extends the flaps to slow the X-29 to a stop.
As he cruises past the control tower, he sees the gathered crowd applauding. He gives them a salute and then pulls up to the green hangar. Gary is there with the ladder to help him down from the cockpit. “How did it go?”
Army of the Damned (Sky Ghost #1) Page 6