Crisis in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  Ben jerked back the loading lever of the 50 Cal and opened fire, raking shells along the side of the Apache. Smoke poured from its turbine engine, and it burst into flames, exploding in a giant fireball that almost engulfed the Huey.

  Jersey, Beth, Anna, and Chuck Harris opened fire with their automatic rifles, strafing the ground and knocking the men running about to the ground as they passed low overhead.

  As they flew over the second Apache, still on the ground, Jerry took hand grenades in each hand, pulled the pins with his teeth, and tossed them out the door of the Huey.

  Coop pulled the chopper up in a steep climb to avoid the control tower, and the Apache on the ground dissolved in twin explosions as the grenades went off simultaneously, leaving a pile of twisted, smoking wreckage and over ten bodies on the tarmac.

  “That takes care of the pursuit,” Ben yelled into his mic, “now let’s take out as many bombers as we can.”

  Coop turned the Huey almost on its side in a steep bank and flew in a sharp curve toward the end of the runway, toward a group of larger hangars. There weren’t any ground personnel there. The big bombers were not designed as attack planes, and the area was almost deserted.

  Since the hangar doors were shut, he hovered less than ten feet off the ground. Jersey and Anna both pulled pins from grenades and pitched them toward the hangar doors.

  As the doors exploded inward, he held the Huey steady and Ben poured a stream of 50 Cal bullets into the hangars, stitching holes in several of the big planes as they sat defenseless in the buildings.

  One of the planes caught fire, sending dark clouds of oily smoke billowing out the doorway, obscuring their vision of the inside.

  “Pull back!” Ben yelled, “and make a low pass over the other hangars.”

  As Coop yanked back on the stick, Ben hollered at Jersey, “Throw your grenades at the roofs of the other two hangars. Maybe we can collapse them onto the planes.”

  Jersey, Beth, and Anna, along with Chuck and Jerry, all pulled their remaining hand grenades from their pouches and got ready to throw.

  “We’ve only got time for one pass,” Coop said over the inter-ship radio, pointing down the runway toward a convoy of Jeeps and armored personnel carriers speeding toward them, machine-guns attached to the vehicles.

  He tilted the Huey on its nose and passed as close to the roofs as he dared, the landing wheels clearing the hangar roofs by mere feet.

  While the others tossed grenades out the door, Ben raked machine-gun fire along the roofs, hoping some of the bullets would penetrate to the planes inside.

  The Huey cleared the hangars just as the grenades began to explode, blowing huge holes in the roofs and bringing one hangar down in a pile of rubble.

  Coop pulled the nose up and tried to gain altitude as fast as he could, loud shrieks coming from the rear of the Huey as bullets tore into the helicopter from the vehicles chasing them.

  The chopper’s turbine coughed twice, causing the machine to stutter and yaw. Then the engines caught and pulled the helicopter away into the night belching smoke.

  “I don’t know how long I can keep her in the air,” Coop yelled over the rough sound of the turbines. “Better find a hole to crawl into, and fast!”

  Ben looked at Jerry. “Where’s the closest group of Freedom Fighters?”

  Jerry thought for a moment, then turned toward Coop. “Fly due east. We’ve got a cell about fifty miles from here, in a state park just over the border.”

  “And get that transponder off as soon as you can,” Ben added. “They can use it to follow us.”

  Coop let go of the stick with his right hand, drew a .45 automatic out of his belt, and fired it into a console next to the pilot’s seat. A burst of sparks was followed by a rush of smoke. Without turning his head, he holstered his automatic and kept both hands on the stick, fighting to keep the chopper in the air as it bucked and heaved like a bronco in a Wild West show.

  Dawn was lightning the sky over the eastern horizon as they passed over a large lake. Flames and smoke were pouring out of the Huey, and it was becoming difficult to breathe in the passenger compartment.

  “Can you make the far shore?” Ben yelled.

  “No, I’m gonna have to auto-rotate down into the lake, but I’ll get us as close as I can. Then we’re gonna have to swim,” Coop answered, the muscles of his arms bulging as he fought the chopper’s stick.

  “Strip off any heavy gear,” Ben said, unstrapping himself from the machine-gun harness. “This baby’s gonna sink like a rock when we hit the water. Get out the door fast!”

  Coop made it to within fifty yards of the bank before the turbines gave a last gasp and quit. The Huey shuddered and shook and began to revolve in a tight circle as it dropped like a stone.

  Just before impact, Coop popped his seatbelt and dived out of his seat, rolling sideways and scrambling toward the rear compartment.

  By some miracle, the entire team made it to the shore. Jerry tore open his wounds, and his shoulder was bleeding again. Anna ripped a sleeve off her BDUs and used it as a tourniquet to slow the blood to a trickle.

  As they lay on the sandy beach, gasping and heaving up water, a series of shots rang out and six men approached out of thick woods near the shore.

  “Hands up!” one of the men shouted. “Don’t make any sudden moves.”

  “Is Cal Woods with you?” Jerry shouted, holding up his one good arm.

  One of the men shone a flashlight on Jerry’s face. “Jerry, is that you?” he asked, astonishment in his voice.

  “Yeah, Cal. These are all friends. Tell your men to go easy on those triggers.”

  “What the hell are you doin’ flyin’ a US helicopter?” the man asked, glancing toward the Huey’s wreckage, which could still be seen poking out of the water.

  “It’s a long story, Cal, but we’d better hightail it for a safe place. They’re right on our tails, and this area’s gonna get hotter’n a two-peckered billy goat in a little while.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  Even within the confines of her underground bunker living quarters, the sound of explosions and machine-gun fire roused Claire Osterman out of a sound slumber.

  She moaned when she moved to get out of bed. Her thighs and private parts ached in a most delicious manner after a night of rutting with Herb Knoff. She glanced next to her in the bed, where he snored, lying on his back with his mouth open and a trail of drool coursing down his chin.

  She shook her head. He was an animal, all right, too rough, but a magnificent lay nevertheless. Just the medicine she needed to take her mind off the troubles she had to deal with on a daily basis in plotting the nation’s course through this travesty of a war.

  As she sat on the side of the bed, trying to come fully awake, another explosion sounded, rocking the walls of the bunker and causing some sheetrock dust to fall from the ceiling, hanging in the air like a light snowfall.

  “Damn!” she exclaimed to herself. “What the hell is going on out there?” Those incompetent soldiers Maxwell had assigned to protect the compound and adjacent airfield had better not have let more of Raines’s bombers get through their air defenses, or somebody was going to have their balls cut off.

  She looked over at Knoff. The prick was still sleeping soundly. He should have been awake to protect her if they were, in fact, under attack.

  Claire leaned over and punched him in the side, enjoying the look of fear on his face as he came instantly awake. “Get your ass up, Herbert. I hear gunshots and explosions outside. Pick up the phone and find out what the hell is happening, now!”

  Knoff rolled catlike out of bed, his hand automatically reaching for the .45 automatic on the bedside table, his eyes now alert for danger.

  God, she thought, but he looks magnificent, standing there naked, his muscles bunched and ready for action. She let her gaze drift downward to his crotch. He had an erection. I do like a man who’s always ready, she thought, watching him as he turned and picked up the phone and dialed secur
ity.

  “Knoff here. What’s goin’ on out there?” He listened, his head cocked to the side, his eyes sweeping the sleeping quarters for danger even as he talked. “Uh-huh,” he said, a frown on his face. “OK, I’ll let the president know.”

  He hung up, laid his gun down, and began to pull on his pants, struggling for a moment to get his zipper fastened over his bulging crotch.

  “Well, are you going to tell me what’s happening?” Claire said petulantly.

  “One of our helicopters has attacked the base. It’s strafing the hangars containing the bombers.”

  “What?” Claire screamed, standing up, forgetting for the moment she was still naked.

  He nodded. “It didn’t answer when asked for the password, and by the time air defense tried to scramble their Apaches, it was on us.”

  “Why the hell would one of our own helicopters attack us?”

  He gave her a scornful look, forgetting his place for a moment. “Evidently, it’s been commandeered by hostile forces, Madam President.”

  “Shit!” she said. She walked to her closet and began to pull on clothes, mumbling to herself as she dressed. “I’ll have someone killed for this! How could those incompetent bastards let this happen?”

  Knoff shrugged as he pulled on the remainder of his battle fatigues, stuffing his pistol in its holster on his belt.

  Claire stormed through the door into her office and sat behind her desk. She picked up the phone and dialed the operator.

  “Get me General Maxwell, and do it now!” she barked.

  After listening for a few seconds, she practically screamed into the phone, “I don’t care if the son of a bitch is busy. Tell him to get his butt on the phone right away.”

  Her knuckles grew white, and she gripped the phone as if it were trying to jump out of her hand. “All right, but have him contact me the moment the attack is over.”

  She turned furious eyes on Knoff, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “They say he’s busy directing the counterattack on the helicopter. Too bad the bastard didn’t do his job and prevent the attack before it started.”

  Standing up, she paced the room for a few moments, then headed back into her private quarters. “I’m going to take a shower. Call me the minute Max is on the phone,” she said over her shoulder to Knoff.

  “And get some coffee made. It looks as if it’s gonna be a long night.”

  Claire was finished with her shower and had time to put makeup on and fix her hair before General Maxwell reported to her, in person.

  He stood before her desk, his face flushed and sweating. “You wanted to see me, Madam President?”

  Claire drummed her fingers on the desk, her lips in a tight line, her eyes flashing dangerously. “Yes, General. I’d like a report of what happened tonight, and how a hostile helicopter was allowed to attack our base.”

  “Someone attacked one of our bases in southern New York, stole one of our Huey’s, and flew it here. Their aim was to destroy or incapacitate the bombers we were preparing to use to drop the BW on SUSA tomorrow.”

  “And did they succeed?”

  Maxwell shrugged, his face flaming red again. “I . . . I don’t know the extent of the damage yet.”

  “That’s not acceptable, General. Just tell me, will the attack be able to be carried out as planned tomorrow?”

  “Uh . . . at this time, I doubt it, Madam President. From what I could see just now, it looks like we’re gonna have to make some repairs to the bomber fleet before there will be enough planes for an attack on SUSA.”

  “And the BW bombs? At least tell me they’re safe.”

  “Oh, yes. The bombs and their payload are stored underground in a secure bunker. They were not harmed.”

  She slammed her hand down on the desk. “At least, some marginal good news.”

  Standing up, she walked to the corner and poured herself a cup of coffee, not bothering to offer the general any. “Now, would you please explain how a helicopter flew several hundred miles through our territory, through our best defenses, and managed to attack me in my own backyard?”

  “From what I can piece together from scattered Intel reports, the pilot flew the entire way less than a hundred feet off the ground. It was an incredible feat.” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t have believed someone could do that in unfamiliar territory in the dead of night—”

  “What about our SAM batteries?”

  “They were fooled by the transponder on the Huey. It gave an identification signal showing it to be friendly. By the time the pilot failed to respond to their requests for password verification, the chopper was past them.”

  Claire nodded. “General, I want the commanders of every SAM battery shot. Is that understood?”

  Maxwell opened his mouth to argue, but seeing the look in her eye, evidently thought better of it. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll see to it first thing in the morning.”

  “And I want it done publicly, in front of the other troops. Perhaps it will be a lesson to them of what happens when soldiers neglect their duty.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Now, I need three things from you, Max. I want a full damage report on my desk before dawn. I want to know exactly how long repairs will take, and when I can expect our attack to be carried out. And I want your assurances that this can never happen again. Is that perfectly clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll get right on it.”

  “Good. You’re dismissed, General. And if that report isn’t on my desk by 0630, I’ll personally bust you all the way back to private, and you’ll spend the rest of the war on latrine duty.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Now, get out of here and get to work.”

  Without another word, the general did an abrupt about-face and stalked from the room, his ears the color of fresh blood.

  Claire glanced at the clock on the wall. It was four in the morning.

  She drained the last of her coffee and put the cup down. “Herbert, I’m too wired to go back to sleep. Lock the door and come back to bed. Perhaps you can think of something to do to pass the time until dawn.”

  “Eagle Two, this is Eagle One, come in,” Ben said into the long range transmitter.

  “Eagle Two, go ahead Eagle One,” Mike Post answered.

  “I think I’ve managed to delay the BW drop the USA had planned. How is the manufacture of the vaccine coming?”

  “Very well, Ben. We’ve finally got the formula correct, and are in the process now of amassing enough for the complete inoculation of our forces and citizens.”

  “Good. I think my work here in the north is done. I’ve gotten the Freedom Fighters started, and they’re recruiting volunteers to help them.”

  “Do you want an extraction?”

  “Yeah. Send one of the Gulfstream II jets, and I’ll bring my team home.”

  “Roger that, Eagle One. We’ll be glad to have you back.”

  “Oh, and Mike—”

  “Yes?”

  “Send as much of the vaccine as you can spare. I’d like the Freedom Fighters to be inoculated. I have a feeling the plague Ostermans planning on dropping is going to spread like wildfire, and I want our friends up here to be protected.”

  “Good idea, Ben. It’ll also help them recruit new members with the vaccine as an added incentive.”

  “Ten four, Mike. Eagle One out.”

  Ben handed the mic to Corrie and turned to his Freedom Fighter friends. “You heard?”

  Chuck Harris nodded. “Yes, and I want to thank you for what you’ve done, Ben. Especially for providing the vaccine to us. As a medical man, by default, I can’t tell you how I was dreading the spread of bubonic plague after Osterman unleashes her bombs.”

  “I know, Chuck. I’m afraid the prospect of losing the war has unhinged Claire Osterman. Even though she thinks she has an effective vaccine, she must be aware that her course of action will mean the death of thousands of her own people.”

  “I agree, Ben. The
only reason I can think of that she’d try such a thing is to attempt to hold onto power any way she can.”

  Ben began to roll himself a cigarette. “What is it they say, Chuck? Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  At 0630, Claire Osterman’s bedside phone rang. She reached over and picked it up. “Osterman here.”

  “Madam President,” her secretary said, “General Maxwell is here to see you, as ordered.”

  Claire glanced at a sweaty Herb Knoff lying next to her, trying to catch his breath after hours of furious love-making. She smoothed her rumpled hair back, as if her secretary could see her over the phone.

  “Have the general wait. I’ll be there shortly,” she said curtly. “He may have some coffee while he waits.”

  She eased out of bed, wincing at the pain between her thighs as she made her way to her shower.

  Half an hour later, scrubbed and freshly made up, Claire sauntered into her office. Maxwell was waiting for her, pacing the office and sipping from a mug of steaming coffee.

  “Fix me a cup, will you, Max?” she said, her mood considerably calmer than it had been two and a half hours ago.

  He handed her a cup and sat before her desk.

  “Have you a report ready for me?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. We suffered major damage to five of our bombers, and minor damage to another fifteen.”

  “Spare me the details. When will they be repaired and ready for our mission against SUSA?”

  He pursed his lips, thinking. After a moment he said, “I feel we should have an adequate number ready within nine days.”

  “Nine days?” she yelled.

  “Yes, ma’am. If we go any sooner with less aircraft, the chances of enough getting through SUSA’s air defenses to do the job will be slim.”

  Claire’s eyes burned into his. “And have the assholes who let the helicopter get to us been suitably punished?”

  Max dropped his eyes, as if ashamed of his answer. “Yes, ma’am. All of the SAM battery commanders have been executed, as you ordered, and new men are in their places.”