“We have no idea where he came from,” the major on the other end of the line was telling him. “Some of our troops reported seeing the helicopter land over near the Viet Nam Memorial about thirty minutes ago and pick up the large Iwo Jima flag. The helicopter carried no marking, but they just assumed that it was one of ours …”
“One of ours!” General Budd shouted. “We haven’t had a helicopter in this army in over a year!”
The major at the other end was almost too frightened to reply.
“What should we do, General?” he finally raised the gumption to ask.
“What the hell do you think?” Budd roared back. “Shoot the damn thing down! Scramble jets if you have to!”
He hung up the phone and stared into the faces of the two Soviets. Neither could understand English—at least that’s what he had been told. But their interpreter, a Spetsnaz lieutenant, was all ready with a question.
“My officers want to know what the problem is …” he said. Having already eavesdropped on the conversation, the interpreter already had a pretty good idea what had happened.
“A slight security matter,” Budd lied, wondering at the same time how anyone within 200 miles of Washington could have gotten hold of a Blackhawk and had the out-and-out balls to steal the flag and brazenly fly it over the capital.
The interpreter translated the remark, along with what he had heard in the radio conversation.
The Soviet general rattled off a long spiel of Russian, which the interpreter translated for Budd: “The general wants to know if this ‘slight security matter’ will affect the timing of the Cleansing …”
Budd quickly shook his head. “No,” he said. “Not by more than a few minutes anyway …”
The two Soviet officers looked at him sternly after hearing the translation. Then they conversed between themselves, occasionally asking the translator a question. The conversation ended with the three Soviets giving out a loud, somewhat sinister laugh, before fixing their gaze on Budd.
That’s when they spotted the chopper …
It was flying back over the White House now, the gigantic flag fluttering behind it. A huge roar went up from the crowds in the immediate area, followed by several bursts of gunfire.
The Soviets in the back of the open staff car were astonished to see the helicopter, flying somewhat wildly, racing through the sky no more than 250 feet off the ground. At that moment a small SAM went up some blocks away, missing the chopper by a quarter of a mile. The helicopter had already taken evasive measures and now had disappeared from their view.
There was another long discussion among the Soviets, and this one didn’t end with a laugh.
“My general suggests that you proceed with the Cleansing as quickly as possible,” the translator told Budd. “He sees this helicopter as a bad omen for things to come.”
Budd was not a follower of astrology—although he had heard it had once been the rage in Washington. But it didn’t take a soothsayer to figure out what the bad omen the Soviets foresaw for him should the Cleansing not go off as planned.
The scene at Lafayette Park was getting ugly.
The revived citizens, their internal fires of pride and patriotism rekindled by the sight of the American flag flying by, now began to get restless. Two Circle guards, sensing the crowd’s sudden turn in mood, panicked. When a small group of citizens refused to obey the guard’s orders to sit down and stop cheering, the soldiers opened fire. They sprayed the rebellious knot of people with machine-gun bullets, killing at least a dozen of them and wounding many more.
Suddenly all the cheering did stop. A strange silence fell upon the crowd even as the echoing of the gunshots was fading away. Would the citizens obey now that they had seen twelve of their number brutally cut down? Or would they decide, en masse, what many Americans before them had decided: that death before dishonor is the code of all freedom-loving people everywhere. No matter who the oppressor may be—communist, fascist, bigot, those who would impose one religion on another or those who would disallow one from worshipping at all—there was a time to rise up, to draw the line and shout, “No more!”
The time of the turning had come.
Two men jumped the pair of Circle soldiers from behind and started pummeling them with their fists. More soldiers appeared and more shots were fired. More civilians died. But then more rose up and attacked those soldiers. And then there was more gunplay.
Sitting some distance away from all this, Shane, Yaz and the rest of the undercover Rangers were alarmed at the sudden turn of events.
“Jesus, these people will get themselves killed before the cavalry arrives,” Shane said in an urgent whisper.
“But what the hell can we do?” Yaz said. “They’re fighting for their lives. We can’t stand up and stop them …”
Shane lay face down and started unraveling his radio’s antenna. “This is going to spread,” he said to Yaz as more soldiers and more citizens entered the fray. “I’ve got to get word to Jones …”
Yaz stood up and watched the brawl which was now going full tilt about 25 feet away. It was now much too congested for the Circle troops to start shooting for fear of hitting each other, so the fracas had now evolved into a large fist fight, with only an occasional gun going off. Still, the experienced Circle troops were getting the better of the civilians.
Yaz felt helpless—as did all the Rangers. If they jumped in now, their superior combat skills would be a dead giveaway and their cover would be blown.
More Circle troops arrived and for the moment they were able to quell the uprising. Now, as the other Rangers formed a protective circle around Shane, the officer expertly sent a quick message to the UA base at Bolling.
He received an even briefer reply.
“They’re telling us to sit tight unless absolutely necessary,” he told Yaz and the others.
“Then what?” Yaz asked.
“Then, we do whatever is possible to help the civvies,” Shane said, adding ominously: “For as long as possible …”
A Circle command car arrived on the scene and now an officer was gathering together the civilian instigators. Then the officer waded through the on-looking civilians and started selecting people at random.
One old man, he being too frail to walk without aid, never mind punch a Circle goon, was dragged to a nearby tree and brutally shot in the head by the officer. Another elderly woman was pulled out of the crowd and she too was murdered, shot in the temple by the Circle officer.
“This is what will happen to all of you!” the officer shouted to the crowd.
With that, his soldiers herded the original instigators over to a park wall. Then, one by one, they were lined up against the concrete and shot.
With each pop! of the gun, Yaz, Shane and the others found their nerves causing them to jump up—quite involuntarily. They all were frustrated. They were trained soldiers. They could put an end to these brutal executions. True, it would be a temporary end and the retributions that followed would be even harsher. But it was hard to sit with that logic as one brave civilian after another was summarily shot in the head.
It was the fifth man who really got to them. Just a second before the gun was put to his temple, he cried out: “God bless America!” Then the trigger was pulled and he crumpled to the ground, a long stream of blood spurting from his head.
“That does it for me …” Shane said suddenly. He was instantly back on the radio, sending another urgent message to Bolling. He talked directly to Hunter, who had just returned from his wild chopper ride. The Wingman coolly listened to Shane’s predicament, got his exact location, then signed off by saying: “Help is on the way.”
Shane quickly told the others.
“This is the choice,” he whispered. “We step in now. Stop this bloodshed. But we all know they’ll eventually get us and we know what they’ll do to us.”
Another shot rang out, muffling the cries of another civilian victim.
“I’m in …” one of the Ra
ngers said.
“Me, too …” came two more replies. Then two more, and two more.
Soon, all of the Rangers were committed. Shane turned to Yaz. “You back out,” he told him. “This is our job, not yours. You’ll be more valuable here, when we’re … gone and when the reinforcements arrive.”
“No way,” Yaz said firmly. “I’m with you whether you like it or not.”
Shane smiled and clasped his hand. “Way to go, Navy,” he said.
Two more civilians were shot while they quickly devised a plan. Then they went into action …
The Circle officer had turned over the grisly duty of shooting the innocent people to his subordinates and now he was standing calmly by a tree as the tenth victim of the 45 condemned men was about to die.
Suddenly the officer felt an odd, cool feeling in his stomach. He looking down to see a small knife was sticking into his mid-section just above his belt buckle.
“What the fuck …” he muttered in astonishment. But that was all he could say. The knife was treated with an instant-acting poison. He felt a swell of fluid travel up his windpipe and into his mouth. He coughed out a spew of blood then keeled over and died.
Three more Circle onlookers quickly met the same fate, victims of dartguns carried as standard equipment by the Rangers. Seeing their comrades falling around them, the other Circle soldiers stopped the executions and looked around in panic, searching for an explanation.
Suddenly, one of the soldiers went wild and began spraying the crowd with gunfire. Shane was nearest to the man and he hit him hard with a running block. In an instant, the Rangers materialized out of the crowd and began disposing of the Circle soldiers in the immediate area, taking up their guns and shooting those that were too far away to be dispatched by a knife.
“Get down!” Shane was yelling at the civilians. “We’re friends! Get down!”
Many people scrambled for safety or just lay unmoving on the ground. Some cheered. Some were crying.
Within a half minute a full fledged firefight had erupted. All of the Rangers now had guns and they were firing at Circle soldiers hurrying to the scene. The American soldiers formed a loose circle of protective fire and shot at any black Circle uniform they saw. The Circle soldiers unleashed a fusillade of machinegun fire back at the ring of Americans, cutting down two or three with each volley.
Yaz was right in the thick of it, firing a captured M-16 with all the intensity of a man who knew he was soon to be killed.
This is it, he thought to himself. This is what it’s like to die for your country …
Suddenly, it was over. All the shooting stopped. It was as if the 22 surviving Rangers had all run out of ammunition at once.
The Circle soldiers, now some 200 strong, tightened the ring around the UA undercover men. The Circle officer now in charge walked up to Shane.
“You are spies!” he screamed at him.
Shane looked the man directly in the eye and said: “We are Americans.”
The officer turned red with anger. “Shoot them!” he commanded his troops. “Shoot all of them, then shoot everyone in this park. This will be a lesson to everyone else.”
Like the civilians before them, the 22 Rangers were herded over to the nearby wall. Yaz could see the splats of blood against the concrete from the first set of executions.
“You are all fools,” the officer said to them as they were prodded into a long grim line. “Your country is dead.”
What happened next went by so quickly, Yaz thought he was dreaming.
A man—ordinary-looking, in his early fifties—suddenly appeared next to the officer. And with one mighty swing, he caved in the Circle commander’s face with a baseball bat.
In a matter of seconds, the area was swarming with men—ordinary citizens—wielding baseball bats and slugging every Circle soldier in sight.
Yaz was astonished. He quickly turned back toward the fire piles and saw that there was a rush of people near the huge tower of baseball bats. Ordinary citizens were grabbing the sluggers and heading for the nearest Circle soldier.
“I can’t believe this …” Yaz said.
“I can …” Shane replied. “Now let’s help them … Rangers! Let’s go!”
The next thing Yaz knew he was running. Running through the crowd of citizens, hopping over the clumped battered and bleeding bodies of the Circle guards. It was a full scale riot in a matter of 30 seconds—as if all the pent-up frustrations of all the citizens had suddenly burst forth in a volcano of defiance.
Yaz picked up an AK-47 and drilled two Circle guards who were attempting to flee the park area. Then he was running again, heading for a M-60 tank nearby. Already it was swarming with civilians, some being shot off, but others managing to club and subdue the crew members.
“We’re soldiers!” Shane was yelling. “Let us take the tank …”
The civilians allowed Shane and three of the Rangers to get inside the tank. Yaz found himself on top, manning the M-60’s machine-gun.
“Jesus Christ!” he thought as he saw more civilians arming themselves with the bats—hundreds of them.
But even as he felt the jolts of pride run through him he saw not hundreds but thousands of Circle troops closing in on them from all directions.
Suddenly, Yaz knew how Custer must have felt …
Shane himself was working the tank’s big gun and his first shot hit an on-rushing Circle APC head-on. Gunfire crackled all around Yaz as he tried to pick out Circle targets—soldiers, officers, vehicles—and open up with the tank’s big 50-caliber MG.
But the more he fired, the more Circle soldiers seemed to appear. They were coming at them from all directions. Some stayed back and simply fired their weapons into the park, others were ordered to wade in and do battle with the raging bat-wielding civilians. They were out-numbered, outgunned and they knew it—but that didn’t stop them from fighting.
Just then, Yaz heard two sounds. One was a high-pitched scream, the other a dull, thunderous roar. He looked up and saw first one, then two, then a half dozen large airplanes flying overhead. White puffs were flying out of their rear ends.
“Good God,” he whispered. “Paratroopers …”
He reached down and literally dragged Shane up through the turret. Unable to speak in the excitement, he simply pointed up. Shane shaded his eyes, and then he too saw the descending chutists.
“Jesus, they’re dropping the PAAC Airborne right on top of all this!” he said, as both of them ducked a stream of bullets that went whizzing by. “This has got to be Hunter’s idea …”
His thought was confirmed when the high-pitched sound grew louder and louder.
“Look!” one of the other Rangers cried out over the cacophony of shouting and gunfire. He was pointing to the southeast. Yaz twirled around just in time to see the arrowhead shaped airplane screech overhead just behind him …
“It’s him!” Yaz heard himself yelling.
Shane slipped back down into the tank and prepared to fire the next shot.
“The party’s just beginning!” he yelled back up to Yaz.
CHAPTER 72
FEW PEOPLE HAD SEEN the massive G-5 streak high over the city just 30 minutes before. But in the hold of the big cargo plane turned gunship was Hunter’s Cranked Arrow F-16. No sooner had he landed from his helicopter flag display and talked to Shane about the deteriorating situation, than he was strapped into the already-armed up F-16XL and streaking off toward the growing battle over in DC.
But Hunter had arrived over a very confusing situation …
The civilian uprising was spreading out from Lafayette Park, past the White House grounds and into the Elipse. The flow of the crowds were punctuated by the flash of the Circle’s heavy weapons being used against the brave citizens. Everywhere he could see explosions going off. Fires, smoke, muzzle flashes …
Descending into the midst of this was the PAAC Airborne Battalion, many of them firing their weapons even before they hit the ground. The original
plans to march the paratroopers over to the scene had been quickly scrapped following the second call from Shane. Both Hunter and Jones knew the civilians would be massacred by the Circle troops if something was not done. The flames of the civilian uprising had been lit by Hunter’s fly-by with the flag. Now the men of the United American Army had to support the civilians no matter what the costs. So after a quick conference with Dozer and the other paratroop commanders, a vote was taken on whether to drop the chutists right into the fray.
It was unanimous …
Now Hunter was prowling the skies right above the ever-widening battle, looking for two things: first of all, targets of opportunity that he could blast away with the dozen Maverick laser-guided bombs under his cranked wings.
But secondly, he was on the look-out for the mysterious gold APC …
Dozer led the first contingent of paratroopers to land. He immediately set up a radio and command post right in the center of Lafayette Park.
“Hey Hawk, this looks like one big barroom brawl!” Dozer yelled up to him over the radio link. There were hundreds of small fights going on all around him. Civilians battering Circle soldiers with bats and fists, the soldiers firing back wildly at anything that moved.
“Well, I’m glad you’re in your element,” Hunter replied, flying directly over the park. “Let’s see if I can do some street-sweeping.”
That’s when he went to work.
The uprising had now spilled out onto the blocks adjacent to Lafayette Park. Alerted to the trouble, a large column of Circle armored vehicles was making its way down Pennsylvania Avenue toward the site of the fighting. If they were successful in reaching the park, the citizens’ uprising—and the paratroopers support for it—would be over before it started.
“Looks like someone wants to crash this party,” Dozer radioed Hunter as he spotted the advancing column through the smoke and gunpowder haze.
“I see them,” Hunter replied, flipping the F-16XL over and going into a vertical translation.
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