by Paul Kirk
"Same here, Tina."
She touched her husband on the sleeve. "I'll have Russ bring in the food and drink for you and the men here."
"Thanks, honey."
Christina gave the commander a quick peck on the cheek and departed. Connor turned to the commander, his look turned quite serious. "Now then, commander, we have to get down to business. We can eat later, but now, there’s a lot to discuss.”
“Okay, Mac. Let’s talk.”
CHAPTER 10.8-GT's Fuel Stabilizer
“Three gates to the heliport are busted open.”
“I see that, major.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
They made another slow circle around the Masontown Heliport. Out several miles from the city proper, the heliport was nothing more than a large expanse of asphalt and concrete cut into a huge flat field that was fast returning to nature.
“Another spin, ma’am?” asked Shamus on the intercom.
“Yeah, Professor, and when you're done take us to that small asphalt pad out past the fence. That vantage keeps us with a clear 360. Major, you and three men need to check it out in there. We’ll wait for your signal.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Colonel Starkes glanced around the cabin and clicked her intercom link. “Anyone see any signs we should be worried about?” The channel came alive with observations, none suggesting greater caution. "It’s a go, major.”
“Set us down, Professor,” said the major.
“Roger that, sir.”
“Ma'am, we’ll assess the main hanger first, and investigate those three smaller outbuildings. Scott, GT provide cover in position off the bird. Daniels, Ren, Stimpy you’re with me.”
“Yes, sir,” said Daniels for all three.
Major O'Malley focused on young Lieutenant McDonald. “Tim, I want you to scope the horizon and keep a sharp eye out.”
“Yes, sir.”
The major turned a serious expression toward Nicole. “Nicole?”
“Yeah?”
“You stay sharp, too.”
“Yes...major.”
Major O’Malley regarded CJ, resting in her arms. “CJ can sleep this one out.” He winked toward Nicole and smiled at Amanda.
“I’ll tell ‘im when he wakes up, major.”
Nicole smiled at his obvious effort to include her. Beside her, Amanda softened her intensity for a second, staring at the sleeping CJ. Carefully, Shamus lowered the Superhawk onto the cracked asphalt pad. Nearby, what used to be a road led up to one of the only closed gates surrounding the complex. In many spots scattered around the heliport, the chest-high fence sections had collapsed.
“Tim?”
Near the back of the cabin, Tim McDonald stiffened slightly. He was, by far the youngest member of their unit, and still, after all this time, in awe that he’d been chosen for this mission. “Yes, ma’am!”
“I know you might be feeling a bit ignored lately.”
“No, ma’am!”
“Lemme finish.”
“Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am.”
“I kept you back from the hunt for Colonel MacMillen because you’re the best sniper we got.”
Into the intercom, Scott coughed, GT following suit. The coughing continued as each stared at the young man, grinning.
“Ma’am?” asked Tim. With all the time spent with GT and Scott, it was clear Tim held both in high regard and, in no way, wanted to tick them off. They had shared some of their exploits with him during their down time at the Hall of Fame. If half was to be believed, he knew he was in the presence of well-seasoned experts in long-distance killing.
Colonel Starkes hid a smile. “I see, well, since we have an audience, let me clarify—Tim McDonald, you’re the best sniper that I’ve seen with my own eyes.” She smiled at Scott and GT who quietly nodded, before they unplugged from the comm and efficiently gathered up their equipment for guard duty. They exited the helicopter.
“Thank you, ma’am,” said Tim McDonald.
“I want you to stay at Nicole’s side and keep track of the area behind us. Take out anyone coming near, no matter what. I don't care who they are and I can't afford to be civil at the moment. And, I don't want to assume any hostiles are only inside the fence.”
“Understood, ma'am. Yes, ma'am.”
“Good.”
Tim shifted toward the center of the cabin, equipping his weapon. He moved with elegant grace in the tight compartment, keeping the long barrel away from those he was there to protect. The steely expression settling into his gray eyes suggested he would relish the chance to defend the helicopter and the people within. The firm set to his jaw erased most of the youthful appearance; and he used his scope to caress the treeline view 200 yards across a field of ground-hugging weeds.
“Amanda?”
“Ma’am?”
“I want you covering mid-range at our backs. You say you can shoot so I'm assigning that duty to you. I don’t want anything popping up outta the grass. I trust you'll meet this need.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Think we’ll find gas or anything, Hannah?” asked Nicole.
“I dunno, Nicole. Let’s hope.”
“Our last stop was pretty lucky.”
“Oh, it certainly was that.” At the mention of the Superhawk repair in Coatesville, Colonel Starkes reached into her bag with some excitement. She extracted a can of Vienna sausage and reverently held it up for quick inspection. Catching the two women watching, she smiled.
“You want one, Nicole?”
“Yuck.”
“Your loss.”
“I’ll take one,” said Amanda.
“You like ‘em?”
“No. Not at all—but Mac and my granddaddy both say to never to turn down edible food in a safe environment.”
“I see.”
“Besides, I need to keeping building up my strength.”
Colonel Starkes nodded and smiled. “I will say your recovery has been quite impressive.”
“Thank you, colonel.”
“Seeing you, gaining strength like you have, I know there’s something to be said for motivation healing the body and mind.”
“I’m motivated, ma’am. For sure. Let me have first shot at Phoenix and I’ll be all cured.”
“I’ll bet,” said Colonel Starkes. She laughed gently.
Waiting for the major’s go signal for the remainder of the team to exit the bird took some time. The heliport grounds were not very big, but big enough for nearly fifteen minutes to pass before they were given clearance. At the green light, Shamus powered up, lifting the helicopter and tracking to the spot near three large, metal containers that were pointed out by the major. Settling the skids, Shamus gently touched onto the concrete, as if laying down a baby to sleep. Directly in front of the cockpit, the faded word, Fuel was stenciled on the orange metal tank thirty feet away. Ren and Stimpy were dragging a black hose of some sort out of a large, adjacent shed. Major O’Malley and Lieutenant Daniels each carried a small bottle toward the helicopter now resting twenty yards away. Seeing their approach, Shamus powered down. He exited the helicopter and walked up to the two men.
“Whatta ya think?” asked Shamus as he neared.
“Took a sample from each of the two tanks. Couldn’t read the color-coding of either fuel tank, they’re so bleached out from the sun. So, you tell me, Professor. Smells like kerosene to me, so that’s good, I think.”
“Mine smells the same, but its got little flecks of black crap in it,” said Daniels.
Shamus raised his voice toward the helicopter to be heard.
“GT, your expertise is required.”
GT looked toward the colonel. “Ma’am?”
“You’re relieved. I’ll take over your position for now.”
“Yes, ma’am.” GT hopped into the bird, entering the rearmost section and unlocked a compartment. He pulled out a heavy container with the words: Poison. Fuel Boost/Stabilizer and carried the suitcase size box to the edge of the cab
in door. Shamus walked to the cabin door and the major and lieutenant followed. Shamus touched the aluminum case, sliding his hand across.
“His little bag a tricks,” said Shamus. He gestured toward GT as if in the presence of a master magician.
Ignoring Shamus, GT opened the case, appreciating the neat rows of egg-sized and powdery tablets. Green, red, and purple tablets were held tightly tucked in foam. There were several empty spaces of each color and only ten each remained. Pleased with his creations, he pulled out two test tubes from the side compartment, bringing both tubes and a green egg over to the major, and lieutenant. Taking his knife, he sliced off a few small slivers, slipping each into a test tube. He motioned for the major to hand him his small bottle of potential fuel. Before moving any further, GT held the liquid toward the sunlight, gently swishing the container. Holding it to his nose, he sniffed deeply, going so far as to dip his finger, tasting the fuel. Ritual complete, he poured a portion of the fuel atop the green sliver. He made a few small clicks with his tongue.
“I dunno yet. We got some degraded fuel here, Shamus.”
“How bad?”
“Hey, I noticed something,” said Major O’Malley, interrupting.
All turned to hear what he had to say.
“You’re callin’ him Shamus now and not Professor?”
“We’re on the ground, major,” said GT, distracted.
“I see. So it’s a flying tag.”
“I don’t want to give him a big head,” said GT. He smiled at the major and returned to his fuel evaluation.
“Screw you, GT,” said Shamus.
“Okay, anyway, what we got?” asked the major.
“Well, I can say we got some original JP-8-100+ based on color and other characteristics.”
“I’ve meant to ask about that on this little trip of ours," said the major, "How can you tell so quick about the gas?”
Shamus laughed at the question, before waving at GT. “The stage is set, GT. Give the major a short lesson.”
“I can do that for sure. You see, major, JP-8 was developed in 1996 or so as a conversion fuel to replace JP-4.”
“Okay…”
“At the time, JP8-100+ was the next step in safely boosting octane rating. You know, the part that burns. Overall, and perhaps more important, JP8’s less volatile and less explosive in a crash. Good thing on occasion, isn't it, Shamus?”
“I asked for a fuel lesson, not a history lesson,” said Shamus, growling the words through clenched teeth.
A wary looked was exchanged between the two. GT pressed on.
“Well, anyway, what they found is they could also stabilize JP8 better with certain additives like fuel-injector cleaners, corrosion inhibitors, anti-static, anti-oxidant, and metal chelating chemical compounds. Oh, and anti-icing was another additive, but that’s not much of a concern now.”
“I see. Well, no, I don't.”
“Based on the color, smell of the anti-corrosive and the distinctive tangy taste of the anti-static compound, you can separate out the fuel types once you do it a few hundred times.”
“Wow. Okay.”
“What I’ve addressed with my special mix of boosting stabilizer is the thermal stability and octane rating of the fuel. Those are two critical factors that degrade quality so quick due to water and sun and why you sometimes end up with varnish and gummy gas or kerosene.”
“How long it take you to make what’s in that box?”
“Nearly three years and over 1500 hours of experimenting.”
“GT’s got his Ph.D. in chem,” interjected Shamus.
“Yeah, I remember that.”
“Yeah, so, major," said Shamus, "let’s hope this works one last time for our little jaunt out into the countryside of the good old U.S. of A. That way, we don't have to blame GT when we have to walk home if it doesn't work.”
"Might be safer with you driving, anyway," suggested GT. There was an experienced edge to his voice. The two friends squared off and stared at each other. Neither was pleased with the current path of the discussion.
"What's going on, you two?" snapped the major. Each man flicked eyes to the major, and returned to staring.
"You started it, GT."
"And I'll finish it."
"Like hell you would."
"At ease! Both of you. You're acting like assholes!" Both men turned to the major. "Might we move on?"
"Sorry," said GT.
"Yeah, my fault," said Shamus.
"No, it was mine, sorry dude."
"Alright."
Lieutenant Daniels cleared his throat next to them and handed off his container to GT. He had not seen this level of intensity and passion from GT and Shamus and had always considered them more or less civilians along for the ride, despite what he had heard. Their easygoing behavior up until this point had made that impression stick. However, the quick change in both men made him reevaluate their lethality.
GT performed the same ritual with the bottle of fuel handed to him by Daniels and slipped the liquid carefully into the second test tube. All four men examined the test tubes, waiting for something to happen.
"What's it do?" asked Daniels.
"Give it time," said GT.
At first, the fuel did nothing. Then, slowly the green sliver dissolved.
“A good sign. Took less than sixty seconds," said GT. "Hmm, not a lot of water condensation; hasn’t thickened up like some of the shit gas we’ve found. Still has some inherent octane values.”
“Better than our last refuel batch?”
“Probably. We’ll see.”
“In the meantime, I’ll let the colonel know.”
Major O'Malley left the men and approached the colonel. "Ma'am?"
“What we got?”
“We got some JP8-100+ that GT’s hoping will work. Not much else in supplies.”
“Fuel gonna work?”
“Probably. GT's still evaluating.”
“’Kay.”
“There’s sixteen dead in a backroom, some kinda hand-to-hand massacre.”
“Recent?”
“No—a few years ago, best guess.”
“Weapons?”
“Nope.”
“Anything?”
“A few good maps. Place is cleaned out pretty good. Whoever was here last, I’d say a few months ago, used the outbuilding over there. Probably four or five people based on the waste, sleeping arrangements and fire spot. Had a bit of a party. Some bottles of beer—Momma's Ale.”
“How much fuel might we have for the bird?”
“If it’s good, enough for us to refuel, though that’s about it. Wouldn’t come back for what’s left.”
“Let’s hope. I want to return and scout Route 51 to find our guys.”
“Yes, ma’am. Me, too.”
“Of course.” Colonel Starkes smiled, motioning the major to lean toward her for a more confidential discussion.
“Now go pay some attention to that woman of yours. She’s had a real tough day today. She's seen enough killing.”
“Understood.”
“I’ll be out here covering GT’s watch.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” The major left and could be seen huddling in the ‘copter with Nicole. GT and Shamus strolled toward the colonel, each smiling.
“I take it you’re bringing good news?”
“Octane can be brought up to about ninety-three, maybe ninety-five...not perfect, mind you, but it beats walkin’,” said GT.
“It’ll do, ma’am. Might have a few sputters and smoke, but it should work until the next overhaul,” said Shamus.
GT was especially proud. He had attained an eighty-seven percent success rate using his fuel booster tablets over the course of their mission. Truth be told, he was running twenty-seven percent above the expected failure rate in acquiring suitable fuel for the Superhawk.
“Excellent, GT. You’ve exceeded expectations.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I aim to please.”
“We�
��ll have to watch for signs of gumming up the works if we load it before it's optimized,” suggested Shamus.
“Yeah, we’ll need to wait at least an hour on this batch to let my concoction take hold completely,” said GT.
“Good job, guys.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“I’ll grab the solar pump in prep,” said GT.
“Have Ren and Stimpy help out in the hook up, GT.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
CHAPTER 10.9-Kaiden is Kept Alive
“How many we lose, Kaiden?” asked Phoenix. He was surprisingly calm. The eight hours of sleep he had at the McDonald's had served him well.
“Thirty men, sir.”
“How many are seriously wounded?”
“Three, sir. They can be moved with care.”
“Horses?”
“Thirty-six dead.”
Kaiden clicked off the numbers with dread. Each statement was a testament to his failure as a commander. Distracted for a second, he brushed the sweat from his forehead and, out of nervous habit, stroked his thick blonde Mohawk before dropping his hand to his side. He knew he did not have long to live.
“I'll tell you, Kaiden, those Hellfires can kick some ass."
"Yes, sir."
Kaiden risked a glance at Phoenix's face. He was confused by the absence of Phoenix's characteristic fury when things did not go well.
"Well, that's one less left that the Bitch has to do any damage.”
Kaiden was not sure how to respond to this sudden calm acceptance of his failure. “Yes, sir. She sent it smack dab into the advance team.”
“That’s what I heard, Kaiden. Your rider told us a few miles back.”
“Yes, sir.”
“How long you been stopped here waiting?”
Kaiden checked his watch, a beautiful, solar-powered Longine-Whittenauer given to him upon promotion to Brigade Commander. It was the most enviable piece of equipment in all the army based on the rank and privilege it bestowed. The men all spoke of the benefits of owning such a watch, especially the unlimited access to whiskey and the beautiful women in the Pound. Supposedly, there were only ten of them known to exist. Rumor said Phoenix had four more watches to dish out and then there were no more. One of the remaining four watches was supposed to go to Luke Killington after this expedition, though that appeared in doubt at the rate things were going. “We've been here regrouping for three hours and forty-two minutes, sir.”