Army of the Damned (Sky Ghost #1)

by P. T. Dilloway

  “If you want, you could stay here. Or over in Seattle. We can always use a few more good pilots.”

  “That’s kind of you to offer, Major, but I don’t think so. We don’t like to be too tied down. The way things are it’s best to stay mobile.”

  Hunter nods at this; he looks back towards his Winnebago, where Casey is probably tucking Polly in for the night. There are some advantages to being tied down.

  ***

  It’s almost eleven o’clock when he crawls onto his bunk in the Winnebago. Casey stirs and then wraps an arm around him. “Where have you been?”

  “Debriefing.”

  “Oh, right. The pirates. I heard about that.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier—”

  “It’s all right. You’re busy saving the world while I’m battling dust bunnies.”

  “If you want a job, I’m sure we can find you something to do.”

  “I’m fine. I’ve been helping Janet look after Polly and the other kids. They take more than enough energy.”

  “Speaking of Polly—”

  “She’s staying with a friend.” Casey runs a hand over Hunter’s chest. “That means we have the place to ourselves.”

  “I’m sure we can think of something to do,” he says with a smile. While he and Casey have shared a bed for the last month, they’ve only “slept together” a handful of times, always when Polly was staying somewhere else.

  With all that has happened today, Hunter puts a bit more passion into it this time. He could very easily have gotten himself killed by following that pirate down to the ground. Until a month ago that wouldn’t have mattered all that much, but now he has a reason to be more careful.

  Casey comes with a strangled squeal so as not to alert the RVs near them what they’re up to. He follows soon after with a restrained groan. The used condom he dumps into a paper sack to dispose of later where Polly won’t find it. Then he lets Casey snuggle up against him; he runs a hand through her long black hair.

  “We’re going to hit Portland in a few days. Max’s people say they’re going on a raid in California. We can hit their bases while they’re gone. Force them to scatter. That should make it easier to take them out.”

  “And I suppose you’re going to be leading the way.”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “No, it’s all right. You’ve done so much for me already. Me and Polly. If it weren’t for you, we’d still be stuck in that general store, eating canned peaches. You saved us.” She kisses him on the lips. “Now you’re making a home for us. A real home.”

  “I’m glad you understand. I thought you might be upset—”

  “Of course not. How could I be upset with a hero?”

  “Well—”

  “Don’t be modest. You are a hero. You’re my hero.” She kisses him again and then whispers, “I think I’m ready to go again. How about you?”

  “I’m ready,” he says with a grin and then they start over again.

  Chapter 10

  The pirates in Portland are not exactly early risers, which means it isn’t until noon that Hunter can get the X-29 off the ground. The good thing was it gave him time to say a proper goodbye to Casey, a lovemaking session in the Winnebago followed by a more chaste kiss outside. “Come back safe,” she said.

  “I will.” He gave Polly a more sedate goodbye pat on the head. “You take care of your mom while I’m gone.”

  “I always do,” she said with a huff. He had grinned and then went to get into his flight gear.

  The problem once Hunter is airborne is the rest of the Snowcap Mountain planes are so much slower than the X-29 that it’s like driving in first gear. The F-4 Phantom and F-104 Starfighter are next in line behind him while the Sabres and World War II planes hang farther back. They roughly follow I-5 south from the Seattle area, making it easier for the older planes to navigate without getting lost.

  “Ghost One checking in,” he says. One-by-one the others check in to verify everyone is up in the air without any problems.

  The call sign came thanks to Gary the mechanic. After taking down the two Starfighters in Spokane, Hunter had gone out to the X-29 the next day to find a cartoon ghost sketched on the side of the intake. “What’s that for?” he asked.

  “That cargo pilot said you swooped in like a ghost. I thought it sounded cool. Plus she’s white—mostly.”

  In the end Hunter had decided the name didn’t hurt and it sort of made sense. And for all the work Gary had put into helping to get the plane airborne and battle ready, he deserved a reward. By the end of the day, everyone on the base knew about it, JP clapping him on the shoulder and saying, “Hey there, Casper.”

  “Casper?”

  “You know, Casper the Friendly Ghost?”

  Hunter had rolled his eyes, but there was nothing he could do about it by then. Since he was leading the flight to Portland it only made sense then to use his new nickname as the call sign for the operation. Plus they were sneaking in like ghosts might, though these ghosts were armed to the teeth.

  In first gear, it takes about two hours for them to come up on the outskirts of Portland. Hunter, the Phantom, and the Starfighter go ahead of the others to do a little reconnaissance, especially around the airport. Hunter’s radar is showing clear of other contacts; he hopes that means the pirates really have gone to California. By the time they come back, they’ll find a very different situation.

  There are a couple of F-101 Voodoos on the tarmac of the airport, interceptors of nearly the same vintage as the F-104 on Hunter’s right wing. Hunter buzzes the runway at five hundred feet, punching the afterburner to shake the ground with a sonic boom. If the Voodoo pilots are smart they’ll start running.

  He banks to the right in time to avoid some anti-aircraft fire from below. The Phantom behind him strafes the guns to take them out. “Good shooting, Ghost Two.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You see any other guns?”

  “None that are operational,” Ghost Three says. “I think they’re bugging out.”

  The moment he finishes saying this, the Starfighter goes up in a ball of flame. Hunter sees someone by one of the hangars with a missile tube. A Stinger or SA-7 he can’t tell from here. He flicks the control stick back to loop around. The cannon pod beneath the X-29 buzzes; the guy who destroyed the Starfighter won’t be getting a second shot.

  “Ghost Three is down,” Hunter says. “No chute.”

  “Roger, Ghost One,” General George says over the radio. “Continue the operation.”

  As cold as it might seem, there isn’t time to grieve now. There will be more than enough time for that later. “Search for targets of opportunity, Ghosts,” Hunter says. “Ghost Two, take out the runway.”

  “Yes, sir.” For this mission the Phantom has a special bomb dispenser jury-rigged to its belly. The bomb dispenser releases tiny explosive globes that burrow into the pavement of the runway before exploding. Should the pirates make it back, they’ll find the runway unusable.

  For the secondary runways, the Phantom has a bomb under each wing that works on the same principle as the dispenser. The bombs only put one big hole in the pavement, but that should be enough to make the other runways unusable as well. Hunter flies support for the Phantom, making sure no one gets a shot at it like the Starfighter.

  With the runways gone, Hunter lines up a fuel truck. A few slugs from the cannon pod and the truck is a flaming wreck on the tarmac. He strafes a few of the hangars, setting off an explosion that nearly fries his tail. “Must have been a weapons bunker,” he says mostly to himself.

  Around the city, the other NWAC aircraft are strafing any clusters of pirates they might find or any buildings that look like they’re being used for military operations. From what Max’s people have said, the pirates don’t have many slaves in Portland, not nearly as many as the Seabirds had in Seattle. That makes it easier to pick out targets, since most everyone on the streets can be considered a hostile, either a pirate
or a zeeb.

  Having used most of the ammunition in the cannon pod, Hunter just circles the city to provide cover. There’s no telling when the pirates might come back to find their base in ruins. As he’s circling, General George’s voice comes on, sounding on the verge of panic. “Hunter, we’ve got incoming here.”

  “At base?”

  “Yes. And the city. Vancouver too.”

  “Pirates?”

  “I don’t know, but there’s a lot of them.”

  “I’m on my way,” Hunter says. “Ghosts, RTB. ASAP.”

  Hunter doesn’t wait for the other planes to form up; he hits the afterburners to head for home.

  ***

  He’s about halfway to Snowcap Mountain when the general calls again. “We’re getting reports from Vancouver that they’re using cargo planes to drop something onto the base.”

  “A bomb?”

  “No. They’re saying it’s carriers with zeebs inside.”

  “What?”

  “They’re dropping zombies on the base. They’re using them like bombs.”

  “Who?”

  “No idea. They’re well-equipped, though. Better than anything I’ve seen. Russian stuff mostly. Fulcrums and Flankers.” The general sighs into the radio, sounding exhausted. “Hunter, stay away from here. That goes for the rest of your group. Find somewhere safe and hunker down. Do not, I repeat, do not return to base. No sense getting killed.”

  “General—”

  “That’s an order, Major. We’re already evacuating as many of the civvies as we can. I’ll make sure Casey and Polly are on one of the helos.”

  “Thank you, sir. And good luck to you.”

  “You too.” The radio cuts off.

  “Ghosts, this is Ghost One. You heard the general. Head inland. Try to find somewhere safe to land and then…and then good luck to you. It’s been an honor serving with you.”

  “Hunter, this is nuts,” JP says. “We’re going to give up, just like that? They ain’t even hit Snowcap yet.”

  “They will. Like the general said, there’s no sense in the rest of you getting yourselves killed if you don’t have to.”

  “Wait, what about you?”

  “I’m going back.”

  “Well if you’re going, then I’m going,” JP says.

  “If they do have Fulcrums and Flankers, that crate of yours isn’t going to be any use. Take the others and find somewhere safe. I’m going back to see if I can help buy the evacuation some time.”

  There’s silence on the radio for a long time. JP finally says, “I’m going too. Give them one less missile for shooting at the civilians.”

  The others likewise agree to follow Hunter back to Snowcap—their home. As foolhardy as he knows it is, he can’t help feeling proud of them too. The island has been their home, some only a month, others for over a year, but they’re not going to let it go without a fight.

  “All right, let’s do it,” Hunter says. “Just don’t be too heroic. They get a lock on you, you bail out. Take your chances on the ground.”

  “You think they’re right about Vancouver?” JP asks. “I mean, dropping zeebs like bombs?”

  “I don’t know. I guess we’ll find out.”

  ***

  From what Hunter can pick out, there are at least two squadrons of fighters over Snowcap Mountain. There are also a half-dozen cargo planes. These aren’t C-130s either; these are the mammoth Il-76 Candids, the biggest cargo planes ever built. “If you can, go for the cargo planes. They’re probably a lot more dangerous.”

  “We’re on it,” JP says. “Good luck, Casper.”

  “You too.”

  Hunter can’t see any sign of the island’s helicopters or the seaplane, which he hopes means they’ve gotten to safety. Either that or they’ve already been destroyed. There are black puffs of smoke around the island as the anti-aircraft batteries futilely try to repulse the attackers. As Hunter and company did over Portland, the Russian-built MiG-29 Fulcrums and Su-27 Flankers are diving to and fro, strafing targets of opportunity.

  Hunter drops in behind one of the larger Flankers to launch a Sidewinder. The air-to-air missile zips up the right engine of the Flanker, turning it into so much wreckage. There’s no time for Hunter to celebrate as he picks up a pair of the smaller Fulcrums on his tail. He spins the X-29 into a steep dive. The Fulcrums are nimble enough to keep pace with him as he drops towards the waves.

  The Fulcrums might be nearly as maneuverable as the X-29, but the pilots don’t have Hunter’s skill. One can’t pull out of its dive in time to avoid splashing into the Pacific. The other fires a stream of shells wildly, none getting close to Hunter. He does a quick loop for some far better placed shells in the Fulcrum’s rear. At this low altitude, it smashes down into the water.

  As Hunter brings the X-29 back up, he notices one of the Il-76s delivering its cargo. A series of metal cages descend from the cargo plane, each held aloft by parachutes. Hunter gets as close as he dares, enough that he can see the general is right; the cages are full of zeebs. He has to get those cages before they can hit the ground. A couple of well-placed slugs from the cannon pod sends one screaming towards the earth. The impact might not kill the zombies, but it should make it a lot more difficult for them to attack the living down below.

  The hairs on his neck stand up to warn him that there’s someone on his tail. He rolls left in time to avoid some more gunfire. A larger Flanker gets on his tail. Like its counterpart the F-15 Eagle, the Flanker is more of an interceptor than a dogfighter. It’s not too difficult for Hunter to turn inside it and then finish it off with the cannon pod.

  The problem is that there are far too many of the Russian fighters. He only has five missiles and fifty-six rounds of ammunition left. That won’t be nearly enough to clear the skies of the fighters or the zombie cages.

  The latter he doesn’t really need to use ammunition on. All he needs to do is get close enough for the jet wash from his engine to collapse the parachutes. That sends the cages crashing to either the ground or the ocean. He gets as many as he can while keeping the Fulcrums and Flankers from getting a bead on him.

  He isn’t sure what happened to JP or the other pilots of his flight. Two of the Il-76s have gone down, but the rest have dropped their payloads and are heading inland. While Hunter wants to follow them, he has to focus on the more immediate threats.

  He uses his last Sidewinder on a Fulcrum and then checks his ammo count: eighteen slugs left. “Goddamn it!” he shouts, slapping the instrument panel with frustration. Eighteen fucking bullets. He might be able to get one or two more of the fighters, but that’s all.

  As he uses a third of his bullets on the tail of a Flanker, he finds himself looking down at the island through the top of the canopy. There’s plenty of ammunition and fuel down there. The problem will be actually getting to it. It’s far more likely he’ll be shot down in the approach or strafed once on the ground, but at this point it’s the only chance he has left.

  He’s not going to have much time to do this. He swings around to get on an approach trajectory. A couple of Russian planes follow him to make this even more difficult. There’s the warning tone in his helmet to indicate a missile lock as he drops the X-29 down hard onto the runway.

  The moment the wheels touch the pavement, he stomps the brakes and hits full reverse on the engine. This is what they call a “combat landing,” which at the moment is more than accurate. As he screeches across the runway, Hunter can’t avoid slamming into about a half-dozen zeebs shambling around. He hears the thumps to indicate he has run them over.

  The X-29 finally skids to a stop. Hunter pops the canopy to spring down from the plane before it can get blown up around him. He reaches for his service pistol, raising it as he sees a Fulcrum bearing down on him.

  “Come on, you son of a bitch!” Hunter roars. But the Fulcrum doesn’t fire at him or the X-29. It roars past, doing a wide turn and then heading back inland. The other Russian fighters are following sui
t. They’re bugging out now that they’ve finished their work.

  They could easily have destroyed the X-29 on the runway, but maybe they’re hoping to come back later to salvage it. He has that long to get it refueled, rearmed, and back in the air. But first he needs to look for Casey and Polly.

  He sprints for the Winnebago, though he doubts they would still be there. He throws open the side door to burst inside. “Casey? Polly?” he shouts. There’s no answer. It doesn’t take him long to check the length of the Winnebago, including the bathroom and cabinets in case Polly might be hiding.

  As he starts towards the control tower, he sees the refueling cart pulled up to the X-29. Gary is at the controls, working furiously even as zeebs are shuffling towards him. “Gary? What the hell are you doing?”

  “Making sure she gets out of here,” Gary says. He pats the left wing of the plane. When he does, Hunter sees the blood on Gary’s left sleeve and the gray pallor to his skin. He must notice Hunter staring as he smiles tightly and says, “I’m not going with you, sir.”

  Hunter looks from the mechanic to the control tower. “What about the others?”

  “I…I think they got out.”

  “You think?”

  “Sorry, sir. I didn’t actually see them, but Max was getting the women and kids out in the seaplane.”

  “Where were they heading?”

  “I’m not sure. There wasn’t time to find out. We held them off as best we could.”

  Hunter nods and then pats the mechanic’s shoulder. “I’m sure you did. Thank you.”

  There’s no more time for conversation as the zeebs are getting closer. Hunter steps in front of the X-29 and then holds up his pistol. The gun wavers in his hand when he sees the zombie at the head of the pack. There’s blood staining his face and a chunk taken out of his shoulder, but there’s no mistaking General Gray George.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Hunter whispers and then shoots the general, the man who had been like a second father, in the forehead. The zombie collapses to the tarmac.

  Part 2

  Chapter 11