***
Hunter’s radar starts to go wild again about twenty miles southeast of Utopia. As fast as these targets are moving, they have to be what’s left of Utopia’s air force. “Heads up, guys. It’s time for the main event.”
While he tries to sound nonchalant, his stomach is tying itself into knots. This is it—for all the marbles as the saying goes. If they fail here, then Utopia will eventually rebuild and the next time there won’t be anyone to stop them. They’ll wipe out the rest of humanity to repopulate the world with Reverend Shelley’s followers.
His radio comes to life. JP drawls, “Hey, Hunter, old buddy. Looks like you dumped that puddle-jumper for a real plane. That’ll make this a lot more fun.”
“You still talk too much, old buddy,” Hunter growls.
He’d like to fire a Sidewinder just to give JP something to think about, but he can’t waste his ammunition. He doesn’t increase his speed either, not wanting to use up his fuel too quick. The drop tank on the belly is close enough to empty that he jettisons it to make the X-29 lighter and thus more agile.
It’s only another minute before he can see the formation of Utopia planes. He counts sixteen in all, which gives Hunter the advantage in numbers. The warning tone sounds in Hunter’s ear to indicate a missile lock. The Flanker in the lead launches a pair of Russian missiles. They’re probably radar-guided, so he waits a few heartbeats and then dives, spewing a cloud of chaff in his wake. The chaff is like industrial-strength tinsel that’s designed to confuse an enemy’s radar.
The chaff does its job, the missiles exploding harmlessly after failing to lock onto a target. But the first shot has been fired. That Flanker has to be JP, the traitor who sold out NWAC, killing General George among others. Hunter’s eyes narrow and then he starts to climb towards the Flanker.
Though he doesn’t really have the fuel to waste, Hunter boosts the throttle to close the gap between the X-29 and Flanker quicker. The moment his gunsight turns red, Hunter triggers a burst from his cannon. JP’s Flanker drops into a roll to the left. Hunter is already diving after him.
He ignores the rest of the planes in the sky to focus on the Flanker with JP at the controls. If nothing else, he’s going to make his former best friend pay for what he did. Everything else has become secondary.
As wingmates on the Thunderbirds and in the war, they got to know each other’s flying technique pretty well. Hunter already knows JP is going to try to stand the Flanker on its tail and regain the advantage before he does it. When JP suddenly comes out of a screaming dive to change direction, Hunter is already waiting for him with his cannon at the ready.
JP must have known Hunter would foresee his maneuver, as he’s quick to change direction again, so that Hunter’s barrage only scatters a cloud. Hunter curses to himself and then tells himself to relax. He can’t let himself get too tight; that’s how mistakes happen and any mistake up here can be deadly.
The missile lock tone sounds in Hunter’s helmet again. He looks over his shoulder to see a Fulcrum behind him. That’s just the kind of mistake he was worried about. Hunter yanks the stick back to throw the X-29 into a tight loop. Before the Fulcrum can counter, Hunter is behind him and firing a Sidewinder. The Fulcrum’s pilot manages to eject a few seconds before his plane explodes.
Hunter curses to himself again; he has lost sight of JP’s Flanker. It’s almost impossible to tell which one it might be of the handful that are still up here. He might as well forget about it and hope that luck is with him.
Then he sees a glimmer of light from the sun reflecting off a canopy. A single Flanker is streaking below him, probably less than five hundred feet off the ground. That has to be JP, trying to sneak out on his new friends so he can live to fight another day.
“Not this time, old buddy,” Hunter growls. He thrusts the control stick forward to put the X-29 into a steep dive. The Flanker is moving fast, probably at full afterburner. The X-29 is able to keep pace and gradually catch up, until he’s right on JP’s tail.
The Great Salt Lake is ahead of them, its orange, red, and yellow surface reflecting the early morning light. At this low of altitude, there’s not much for JP to do except to try to climb. But he’s too late; Hunter is already pressing the button to launch a Sidewinder.
He watches as the missile streaks towards the Flanker. JP drops flares to confuse the Sidewinder. The heat-seeking missile takes the bait, curving away from the Flanker to explode harmlessly over the water.
In the meantime, Hunter has angled the X-29 to catch the Flanker as it continues to climb. Hunter squeezes the trigger, holding it down a few seconds longer than usual. Bullets rake the Flanker from nose to tail, finally hitting something vital enough that the Flanker goes up in a ball of flame.
Hunter can’t help cursing again to see the ejection seat falling away from the plane. The seat starts to drop towards the lake while JP’s parachute opens to let him coast down to the water’s surface. All Hunter needs to do is line up the chute and fire another burst of his cannon or let his jet wash collapse the chute.
Yet as he looks closer, he can see there’s no need to do either. JP is hanging limp from the parachute straps, his chin tucked against his chest. There are bloody stains on his flight suit to indicate at least one of the X-29’s cannon shells got him. Pulling the ripcord for his chute was probably the last thing he did.
Hunter watches his old friend drop into the calm water, the parachute collapsing around him. JP floats on the surface, unmoving for a few moments. As Hunter comes back around, he sees JP flailing around. With the lack of coordination of his movements, it’s clear he has turned.
“Looks like it’s time for my baptism,” Hunter mumbles as he banks the X-29 hard to the right.
Lining up the zeeb of his former best friend in his gunsight, Hunter feels the same pang of sadness as when he had to put down General George. Despite everything JP did, he was Hunter’s friend for a long time. They survived the war and the outbreak together; Hunter had often enough trusted his life to JP.
“Sorry, buddy,” Hunter says and then pulls the trigger. The zeeb goes limp. Hunter shakes his head and then turns back towards Utopia.
***
The airport is under Briggs’s control by the time Hunter hears the bingo fuel warning. He circles once and then brings the X-29 down for a hard landing that nearly chips his teeth. Worry of some lone Utopia soldier with a Stinger or SA-7 missile more than his fuel situation prompted the quick landing.
As a freed mechanic fuels the plane under the watchful eye of a Marine, Hunter goes to find Briggs in the control tower. “How heavy was the fighting?” Hunter asks.
“Token resistance for the most part. Didn’t even try to sic the zeebs on us. Any they had left they blew up in their cages. Now they’re collapsing back to the city. Probably going to make their stand at Temple Square,” Briggs says while studying a map of the city spread out on a table. “I’ve got a couple of squads watching them, but we’re not engaging yet.”
“If you can get the locations to the boys upstairs we can probably thin them out a little.”
“Or let them get all good and clustered together,” Briggs says. He taps Temple Square with his index finger. “This area isn’t really defensible. There aren’t any hills or trees or rivers or anything that will give my guys a problem. The only problem would be their armor. That’s where your boys come in.”
Hunter studies the map for a moment and then nods. When it comes to this phase of the operation, he’s better off letting Briggs take the reins; he’s the one with experience in fighting on the ground. “All right, so we’ll let them make their last stand and then pound them with everything we’ve got. How many planes have come in to refuel so far?”
“Nine of the fifteen we have left,” Briggs says. “The rest can come down any time.”
“Let’s bring them in so everyone is ready. Your guys in good shape? If you need a rest—”
“Rest? We’ve spent the last two years resting.
The problem is going to be to get them to stop fighting. It’s going to be like the burning of Atlanta in Gone With the Wind.” When Hunter gives him a quizzical look, Briggs adds, “My wife made me watch that. Before…you know.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
Briggs nods, but there’s no change to the stony look on his face. “I’ll get the orders sent out. You best get back up in the air and do your thing.”
“Home stretch now, Colonel,” Hunter says and then takes off for the stairs. When he gets back, the X-29 is refueled, the cannon reloaded, and fresh Sidewinders under the wings, not that he should need them now.
He takes to the sky again to preside over what should be the fall of Utopia.
***
As Briggs predicted, the Utopia soldiers prepare their last stand in Temple Square. And as Briggs indicated, it’s really not much of a defensible position. There are some trees, but not enough to be of much use. Some of the Utopia soldiers have taken up positions in the dried-up hole that used to be a pool of water, which does little to protect them from aerial bombardment.
The most defensible position would be the Mormon Temple itself. Hunter would be loath to destroy a landmark like that from the air while to storm it from the ground would be costly. That would be the best strategy, yet it’s not one the Utopia troops are employing. Maybe the temple is too holy for them to “desecrate” with their weapons.
Whatever the reason, the remains of Utopia’s military are in for a slaughter. Hunter watches as Briggs’s Marines move in from all sides, taking care to stay out of range of the tanks in the square. Those are the last real threat, one that’s about to be dealt with.
Hunter watches the trio of Hornets streak in low, though they don’t really have to worry about anti-aircraft fire. Wayne is in the lead Hornet, having volunteered for this last mission. He pulls up slightly as he lets go a pair of five-hundred-pound “iron” bombs. One of the bombs hit a tank squarely on the turret. The other misses, but not by much.
The other two Hornets are nearly as precise on their runs. The Hornets bank to the right and then climb for altitude. Hunter sticks around to do a bomb damage assessment in case they need another pass. The tanks in the square are smoking hulks now, leaving the Utopia troops with no armor and no air cover.
While the Hornets have softened up the square, now it’s time to bring in the big guns—literally. “Send Bertha in,” Hunter says.
“On our way,” Max calls back. Hunter can hear the rumble from the Candid’s engines even before he can see the cargo plane. The troops on the ground have to be wondering what the cargo plane is doing, if it’s going to drop some kind of explosives, or maybe a few zeebs.
Then the Il-76 banks right and the guns along that side open fire. The artillery pieces fire first, belching thick puffs of black smoke as they hurl shells into the square. The Gatling guns are next, spraying the square with one hundred rounds per second. Tongues of flame leap from the barrels as they keep pounding Temple Square. The few trees are quickly cut down into toothpicks, as are lampposts, mailboxes, and of course people.
The enormous gunship, given the unoriginal nickname Big Bertha, does a full circle of the area before Max pulls away to let Hunter inspect his handiwork. It’s not a pretty sight. The square looks as if a tornado has blown through, only this was not a natural disaster. And yet the Mormon Temple looks to be intact, though he’d need a closer inspection to see if a few stray bullets might have struck it.
Hunter keys his frequency to Briggs’s. “Time for your boys to mop up. I don’t think they’re going to have much of a fight on their hands.”
“I read you. We’re on our way.”
Hunter does a final circle and then heads for the airport. This last phase of the operation he wants to oversee personally.
***
He leaves the X-29 at the airport in favor of one of Utopia’s black SUVs. He has to resist the urge to drive like a maniac into the city. Briggs and his men need time to make sure all resistance is quelled and they won’t want a pilot sticking his nose in their business. Besides, it’s not like she’s going anywhere.
So he forces himself to drive at near the old speed limits. He can’t help thinking of finally getting to wake her like her Prince Charming. He still isn’t sure exactly how to unthaw Misuko, but he can find a way. Having gone this far, he’s not going to let that one technical issue stop him.
By the time he arrives at Temple Square, a creepy hush has fallen over the area. The car door actually echoes when he slams it shut. The crunch of his boots over broken tree limbs and glass sounds louder than a gunshot to his ears.
Colonel Briggs is at the door to the LDS office building, talking quietly with a couple of his officers. He turns to hold out a hand to stop Hunter from going inside. “We’re going down to the basement now,” he says. “You’ll have to wait for the all-clear.”
“That’s fine,” Hunter says. He looks around at the ruins of the square. “Any problems?”
“There wasn’t hardly anything over six inches tall left after that…beast went over.” Briggs shakes his head. “I’ve seen gunships before, AC-130s in Afghanistan. This was a thousand times worse than that.”
“I guess we both owe Carl Sherwood a drink when this is done.”
Hunter can’t help fidgeting in the doorway. Usually he doesn’t mind bantering with an officer like Briggs, but right now he just wants to go downstairs and find Misuko’s cryogenic chamber to see her face again. It will be awkward to settle things with Casey, but after two years in frozen slumber, Misuko is going to need him. She’s going to need someone to lean on for support—
“Sir, we got the all-clear,” a messenger reports. “And they say they’ve got a prisoner.”
“Good. Maybe it’s the guy who knows how to turn those things off,” Hunter says.
Despite his anxiousness to get down there, he has to let Briggs lead the way downstairs. Hunter follows behind the soldiers, their bodies blocking their view. He’s not surprised to hear them gasp when they step through the doors, remembering his own reaction the first time he was down here. Three hundred cryogenic chambers are a sight to see—
Hunter brushes past the soldiers and barely holds down a scream. They’re gone. All the cryogenic chambers are gone. The room is completely empty except for the soldiers—and Major Friese.
Before the soldiers can react, Hunter lunges forward to seize Major Friese by the front of his Nazi rip-off uniform. “Where is she? What did you do with her?”
Friese grins at him. “Ah, my dear Major, your friend is gone. They’re all gone.”
“Where?” Hunter growls. He grabs Friese’s uniform tighter, but holds back from shaking the life from the man as he very much wants to at the moment.
“I have no idea. Only Reverend Shelley knows.”
“Where is he? In the temple? The capitol—”
Friese starts to laugh. “No. I have no idea where he went. He left me here to oversee the defenses, to buy time as he made his escape. That, you fool, was the whole point of our resistance. We kept you busy long enough to sneak our prizes from here. And now the reverend will be able to rebuild Utopia. Only this time he won’t fail.”
Friese’s laugh becomes a madman’s cackle. Hunter punches him in the face, bloodying his nose and knocking out a couple of teeth. Friese just spits out the teeth and a wad of blood. Then he goes on laughing, mocking Hunter the way the universe itself seems to be by bringing Misuko so close only to yank her out of his life again.
Hunter lets out a scream of frustration and then hurls Friese into a wall. As Friese continues his madman’s laugh, Hunter stomps away. He hops into the SUV to roar away from the square, back to the airport to find her—and the son of a bitch who took her.
Epilogue
He flies for days in every direction, periodically stopping to refuel. He never catches sight of any trucks, planes, or trains that could be used to transport the cryogenic chambers. The trail has gone cold;
she’s lost again.
After a week he returns to Utopia—now Salt Lake City again. While it might bring up some bad memories for the women and children rescued from here, the city is safer than just about anywhere else short of Facility X or Cheyenne Mountain. At least in the city they’ll have some fresh air and sunlight. Utopia’s walls weren’t really breached in the fighting and with how thorough Shelley’s people were about hunting zeebs, there shouldn’t be a zombie problem unless someone else drops some from the sky.
Once he has landed and taxied to a hangar, Hunter trudges to the control tower. It doesn’t take long for someone to patch him through to Mile High and Alice. “I’m sorry about what happened,” she says. “I’ve got my ear to the ground. I’ll let you know if anything comes up. Something requiring that much transport capacity can’t be too easy to hide.”
“That’s what I thought, but I bored holes in the sky for a fucking week without finding anything,” Hunter grumbles. He runs a hand over the thick stubble he’ll have to shave at some point. “Wherever he went, he was ready.”
“They’ll turn up again. They have to. It’s still a small world.”
“Thanks. For everything.”
“No problem. Now that Utopia is gone, maybe you can come back for a visit. Unless someone else puts a price on your head.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Hunter says.
He had hoped Alice might have heard something by now, but Shelley has covered his tracks pretty thoroughly. As Hunter said, Shelley must have had a contingency already in place. Once he lost most of his air force, he probably started to get the wheels in motion, leaving his troops to create a distraction that would give him time to get away. These troops were probably the most loyal, fanatical enough to believe they were giving their lives for the glorious cause.
Hunter shakes his head and then stares at a map of the former United States. There are only so many places left that Shelley can go. And no matter how long it takes, Hunter is going to find it. Then he’s going to make Shelley pay.
Army of the Damned (Sky Ghost #1) Page 31