The man set his wrench down. “Billy Ray Bryant, at your service,” he said, flashing a set of gleaming white teeth. He was a large man, over two hundred pounds, with forearms the size of some men’s legs. His tanned face was round and covered with a patchwork of curly facial hair.
“Why weren’t you at the rendezvous point in town?” John asked him, eager to get on with the mission, but just as eager to get a sense of the man who was about to fly them into danger. “Right now you’re the only pilot we have. Coming out here without an escort could have gotten you killed and jeopardized everything we’re about to do.”
Billy Ray pulled a hanky from his back pocket and wiped the grease from his hands. “You want my plane to run, don’t you?” he shot back. “I already need to put up with the fact that she’s been painted to look like the enemy. Besides, I been here since dawn making sure she won’t dump us the first chance she gets. These machines are like women, you gotta treat ’em nice or they’ll turn on you something fierce.”
John fought the urge to smile at the man’s eccentricity. “Will she fly or not?”
“Oh, she’ll fly,” Billy Ray said, slamming the engine compartment shut and motioning dramatically. “After you, gentlemen.”
•••
The Cessna pointed her nose into the wind as Billy Ray thrust the throttle forward. All four men were pushed back in their seats as the tiny plane lurched forward, its engines rumbling.
“We got a heavy load,” Billy Ray said. “But we should make it into the air just fine.”
Ahead of them was a stretch of runway which ended at a treeline.
“What do you mean ‘should?’” John said, concerned.
“Just hold on tight,” the pilot replied as the plane reached its full speed and he pulled back on the stick with both hands.
The small craft shook as the nose lifted off the ground and the runway slowly disappeared from view.
“Come on, baby,” Billy Ray pleaded. “Don’t treat me like this.” His arms shook as he yanked on the controls.
Slowly, the rest of the plane released its hold on the earth and they skimmed over the top of the trees with barely inches to spare.
In the back, Jerry looked positively terrified. His hands gripped the edges of the seat, and he wore the smile of a man on a violent rollercoaster. Next to him Reese was fast asleep.
Sweat trailed from Billy Ray’s brow. He let out a whoop. “I knew she wouldn’t let me down.”
The tops of trees flickered beneath them as they sped along only meters from the ground. Flying fast and low was intended to avoid any Chinese air batteries. Just like the one John spotted in a clearing up ahead. Communist troops were camped out in a field. As they flew over, a few raised their weapons, but didn’t fire.
A second later they passed out of sight.
“Looks like the paint job worked,” John said, glancing back.
Billy Ray nodded. “Heading there is one thing. Coming back might be something else entirely. It’s like that old saying goes. ‘Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.’”
“Our enemy isn’t nearly as dumb as we wish he were,” John said.
“You’re right about that, Colonel. Just look at the mess we’re in. Most of what used to be ours is now theirs and it seems like the little bit we have left keeps getting smaller.”
“They’re on a winning streak, no doubt, but it can’t go on forever. If we get this right, the shoe might soon be on the other foot.”
Billy Ray peered over at him, one eyebrow cocked. “You sure are optimistic. Most of the folks in town these last few days are pretty much doom and gloom. They say it’s just a matter of time before we’re all talking Mandarin.”
John stared out the window, watching the horizon as the Cessna pushed forward. “It’s difficult to blame them, I suppose. Many are still in shock.”
“Shocked that we been attacked?”
“More so that we might lose. Think about it. The last two major wars we fought were against enemies that couldn’t stand toe to toe with us on the battlefield. I suppose it was only a question of time before someone figured out a way to turn our greatest strength into our greatest weakness.”
“You mean our freedom?”
John laughed. “No, our technology. In the Odyssey, the only way Ulysses and his men could defeat the giant Cyclops was by gouging his eye out. We’ve been blinded, but now it’s our turn to return the favor.”
They crossed the New River and John knew they were only a few miles from their destination. He began rechecking his gear.
A sticker of the Alaskan state flag sat above the control panel facing Billy Ray and it caught John’s attention. “That where you’re from?”
“Alaska? Nah, just a place I worked for a while, running rich corporate types up to remote fishing lodges. Most of ’em didn’t have a clue what they were doing, much less how to survive if things ever took a turn for the worst. Felt more like a glorified chauffeur for a bunch of schoolkids most of the time. But let me tell you, pushing that deep into the brush can get your heart racing at times. Make one mistake out there and you just became someone’s dinner.”
“I see,” John said. “You one of those adrenaline junkies?”
Billy Ray let out a hearty laugh. “You might say that. But my addiction, if you can call it that, used to be a lot worse. Trust me when I tell you bush runs in Alaska ain’t nothing compared to flying drugs up from Columbia.”
John’s ears perked up.
“Yup, that’s usually the reaction I get from folks. You don’t need to do it more than a handful of times to know it just ain’t worth it, regardless of how much money those kingpins throw at you. So, yeah, I’ve done my fair share of evasive flying, if that’s what you were getting at.”
“I’m hoping there won’t be a need to test you on that,” John said, spotting a collection of buildings in the distance ranged along a runway.
“There she is,” Billy Ray said, pointing one of his meaty fingers toward Oak Ridge. He nudged the nose down a few degrees.
John reached back and shook Reese awake.
“We’re on in five.”
Chapter 4
The Y-12 National Security Complex was a sprawling set of structures located in a lush valley. As they lined up with the runway, John could see lots of activity on the ground. Men in fatigues loaded crates onto an old steam train while nearby other soldiers stood guard. While their plane was still a few hundred feet off the ground, anti-aircraft emplacements came into view. There were several of them, positioned in and around a number of buildings which had already been damaged during previous attacks.
General Dempsey had informed John that the 3rd Infantry Division was holding the approaches from the north and the west. But holding was a relative term. From up here, it didn’t appear the tiny figures scrambling below seemed all that intent on staying. On the contrary, they appeared to be withdrawing anything and everything they could lay their hands on. If John was right, then whatever was left behind would likely be destroyed in order to prevent it from falling into enemy hands.
The Cessna touched down with a thump and Jerry let out a yelp. The sound made Reese and the others laugh, especially Billy Ray, whose belly gyrated. Once on the ground, they didn’t need to taxi very far before a group of Humvees came into view, each with a gunner manning a .50 caliber machine gun.
The military vehicles skidded to a stop and soldiers poured out just as John and the others exited the plane.
An imposing black officer in blue and gray fatigues stepped forward. “Colonel Mack?”
“Yes,” John replied as the two men shared a salute. The name on his chest read Porter and the insignia next to that indicated he was a colonel. Beside him was a red-haired, clean-cut civilian in a white lab coat.
“This is Sean Murphy,” Colonel Porter said. “He’s with the Nuclear Emergency Support Team. We’ve set aside a decommissioned W-89 two-hundred-kiloton nuclear warhead for you at the Uranium Proce
ssing Facility.”
“We appreciate the help, Colonel,” John told him, noting the stern expression on the officer’s face. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full.”
“Well, to be frank, you couldn’t have picked a worse time. When word came down from General Dempsey what you folks were planning, I told him it was downright crazy.”
John smiled. “You wouldn’t be the first.”
“I may not, but let me be clear about something. When that train is fully loaded, me and my men are leaving this place and blowing it sky-high whether your mission is completed or not.”
“I understand,” John replied.
“I’m also leaving you with two of my men, Fuller and Lambert. This is a large complex. Anything you need, they’ll get it for you.”
John thanked him.
“Is there anything else you need before I go?” Colonel Porter asked.
Reese stepped forward. “How about a pack of Marlboro?”
Porter threw John a look. “How about some caviar and a box of Cubans?”
“Don’t worry, Colonel,” John said, elbowing Reese. “We’ll get out of your hair now.”
“Hey, he asked,” Reese said.
Porter disappeared into one of the Humvees and peeled away.
“Never mind that now,” John said as he turned to Jerry. “Take Fuller and Lambert to help you prep the balloons. I’m not sure how many you’ll need, but this warhead’s gonna weigh at least a couple hundred pounds.”
Next to him, Sean Murphy checked the clipboard he was holding. “Three hundred and twenty-four, to be exact.”
“I figure that’s three or four three-thousand-gram balloons,” Jerry said, starting to calm down now that he was back in his element. “Finding the balloons and helium shouldn’t be an issue. I’m just worried we might be short on time. If the Chinese start to―”
“You let the 3rd Infantry Division worry about the Chinese,” John cut him off. “You just get those balloons ready.”
The men all headed for the two Humvees after that: Jerry and the two soldiers in one, John, Reese and Sean Murphy in the other. Billy Ray came running up.
“What about me? What should I do?”
“You guard the plane,” John told him.
“But I don’t have a gun. I need some firepower, man.”
“With arms like that?” Reese said. “Heck, you don’t need a gun.”
The Humvees tore off after that, leaving Billy Ray looking down at his biceps, nodding with approval.
Chapter 5
The Uranium Processing Facility was a new-looking building and one Murphy told them had been part of the complex’s recent overhaul. He led them by flashlight to a concrete room with a high ceiling. Stacks all around them held missiles and bombs.
Reese whistled. “A direct hit on this place and they’ll be scraping up what’s left of you with a spatula.”
“If you’re lucky,” Murphy shot back. He pointed to a bomb rack where the W-89 was laid out. A small compartment stood open with wires hanging out. “I’ve already begun to prep the warhead, but I wasn’t sure how you wanted to set the timer.”
“We need as much altitude as possible,” John told him. “Jerry thinks he might be able to get it as high as thirty miles.”
Murphy scratched his chin. “Then a regular timer may be a problem. What if the ascent is quicker than we expect? Or worse, what if it’s slower? The warhead could detonate at the wrong altitude.”
“What about hooking it up to an altimeter?” Reese offered, not taking his own suggestion very seriously.
“That isn’t a horrible idea,” Murphy said. “We could set it to explode when it reaches the thirty-mile mark.”
“I’m sure Jerry should have something we can use,” John said. “We’ll also need to find some kind of cradle to rig the warhead to the balloon. Reese and I will go secure that altimeter while you find us that cradle. We’ll meet back here in fifteen minutes.”
John and Reese double-timed it from the processing facility to the Humvee outside. Thick cumulonimbus clouds were rolling in from the east. They were white and fluffy like the cumulus clouds most people were familiar with, except these ones reached up to five miles into the atmosphere.
Within minutes they caught up with Jerry and the two soldiers, wrestling large canisters of helium into the release zone. As the former Y-12 meteorologist had taken great pains to explain to them, it was imperative that the latex balloons themselves not be torn or otherwise compromised during this delicate procedure.
“We need one of your altimeters,” John said.
Jerry stood up straight, arching his back. Sweat ran down the sides of his face and his hair was matted to his head. “Altimeter? I don’t have one. Our instrumentation normally records atmospheric pressure, temperature, humidity and wind speed.”
Reese swore. “Maybe we just take our chances on the timer then.”
John shook his head. This was a textbook example of how any operation, no matter how well planned, could be stopped dead in its tracks by the tiniest obstacle. He’d been so worried about procuring the warhead and arriving in one piece he hadn’t considered how they would determine the optimal altitude for detonation. This was the reason redundancy was so ingrained in a soldier’s mind. But more than that, it was the importance of quick, creative thinking.
An image of Billy Ray’s round, bearded face rose up before John’s inner eye.
“We’ll use the one from the Cessna,” John shouted, clapping his hands together.
The others looked surprised.
“Will that work?” Reese asked.
“It’ll have to.”
Minutes later they found Billy Ray, sitting in the Skyhawk’s cockpit. Nearby, soldiers hustled as they continued to load crates with nuclear symbols onto the train.
“We need something from your plane,” John told him.
Billy Ray sat up quickly. “Excuse me?”
“I need your altimeter and fast. The entire mission depends on it.”
Billy Ray’s lips formed a perfect O for a moment. Before he could answer, a rumbling noise in the distance caught their attention. Then on the back of that came another sound as the air-raid sirens burst into life. Soldiers ran for cover. Those manning the anti-aircraft defenses cinched up their helmets.
Two Chinese Sukhoi Su-27 fighters streaked by, engaging afterburners as ground-to-air missiles lifted off after them. Quickly, they banked right and released flares to fool the oncoming missiles.
Reese rolled up his sleeves. “Looks like we just ran out of time.”
Chapter 6
They reached the Uranium Processing Facility as another bomb exploded somewhere nearby, shaking the ground.
“Old Billy Ray wasn’t too happy we gutted part of his control panel,” Reese said.
“Maybe not,” John told him. “But I just hope he takes my advice and finds some cover for that plane. That’s our ride home.”
Murphy was splicing wires when the two men arrived, altimeter in hand.
“Did you find that cradle?” John asked, in no mood to hear they had another problem.
“This was the best I could find,” Murphy replied, pointing to the screw pin shackle.
Another explosion rocked the building.
“Those bombs are getting closer,” John said, worried. He handed the altimeter to Murphy, who got to work connecting it and setting the detonator to go off at a hundred and sixty thousand feet.
Once that was done, the three men pushed the rack the warhead was resting on over to the Humvee and loaded it in using the winch.
“I won’t arm it until the last minute,” Murphy said. They’d be out in the open with a nuclear warhead while Chinese fighters were busy dropping bombs on their heads.
The pungent smell of cordite was thick in the air outside as they struggled to move the heavy warhead toward the Humvee’s rear door.
Nearby a pile of aircraft wreckage burned on the ground near the Y-12 salvage yard.
Reese smiled. “Lady Luck is smiling on us, I can feel it.”
“Don’t jinx it,” John shot back.
The three of them finished loading the warhead, hopped into the vehicle and headed for Jerry and his balloons.
They’d turned a corner onto the runway when three enormous translucent spheres came into view.
As they arrived, John could see that even Jerry looked hopeful. John sprang out. “Are we ready to launch?” he asked.
“Almost,” Jerry said, wiping sweat from his brow. “Only one more balloon to go.”
The soldiers with him also looked anxious. Just then the radio on Lambert’s belt went off.
“Private Lambert, this is Colonel Porter. I need you and Fuller back at headquarters right away.” The strain in Porter’s voice was obvious even to John, who’d only just met the man.
“Yes, sir,” Lambert replied. “On the double.”
“What’s going on?” John asked. “Is the train about to leave?”
“No clue, sir.”
John held out his hand. “Let me have your radio a moment.”
“Sir?”
“Your radio, give it to me.”
The soldier did as he was told.
“Colonel Porter, this is John…”
“Colonel Mack,” Porter shot back, “I suggest you and your friends finish what you came here to do because we’ve got a whole Chinese division heading your way.”
John’s pulse quickened. “The defensive perimeter’s been breached?”
“Breached? It’s been annihilated. We’re pushing out of here in ten minutes. I suggest you do the same.”
“What about our air cover?”
“I’ll hold on as long as I can, but I’m not interested in leaving any of my men behind.”
John tried not to let the others see the worry on his face.
Then came the thunder of more jets streaking in from the west and John’s concern wasn’t only for the mission. He was beginning to wonder if they’d make it out of here alive.
Last Stand: Turning the Tide (Book 4) Page 2