Pulling the charging handles back, I slapped them forward, grabbed on and pulled the trigger again. I was targeting the Hind I’d missed and went through half the belt before letting off and swinging the muzzle to the one remaining helo. Its rotor was now spinning, though much slower.
Before I fired on it, I spared a glance at the farthest. The rotor had reached full speed and it lifted off the tarmac. But it never gained more than five feet of elevation. The last, sustained burst I fired caught it, one round penetrating the windscreen before detonating. It slammed back onto the tarmac as all the doors were blown outward by the force of the explosion.
I was lined up on the final Hind when Long changed directions directly for it. Trigger already being pulled as I was thrown to the side, all of my rounds went wide as the weapon chewed through the remainder of the belt.
“Ammo!” I screamed.
It took a few seconds to reload and charge, and in that time the Hind lifted off the ground. Pulling the trigger and holding it down, I tried to track the aircraft as it gained altitude and turned away from the incoming fire. The weapon thumped through the belt and ran dry, but I didn’t bother yelling for more ammo. There was no point.
“Get us behind the hangar!”
I shouted at Long, banging on the roof of the Hummer with my hand. All of my rounds had missed and any second the Hind was going to be turning and looking to avenge the death of the others.
The Humvee’s tires screamed in protest as Long held us in a tight turn. Straightening out, he barreled for the gap between two large hangars. I shouted for ammo, taking the end of a belt from Rachel’s hand. Head turned, I watched the Hind while I reloaded by feel.
The pilot had banked sharply as soon as he’d gotten the big helicopter airborne, dropping the nose to put on as much speed as possible. Heading directly away from the flight line, I lost sight of the aircraft behind another massive hangar. A moment later, my mouth fell open in surprise when there was a rending crash from the direction it had gone. Several seconds passed, then there was the crump of an explosion and another fireball lit the night. What the hell?
“Hold on! Stop,” I shouted to Long and braced myself as he hit the brakes.
We came to a halt and both Long and Johnson jumped out of the vehicle to stare in the direction of the newest explosion. After a minute, they looked up at me.
“Someone else around? Shot him down?” Long asked.
“Maybe,” I answered after a pause. “Let’s go see. Whatever happened, it just saved our asses.”
“Copy that, sir,” Long said, getting back behind the wheel.
He spun us around and headed across the flight line, avoiding the furiously burning Hinds I’d destroyed. A large hangar on the far side of the runway was starkly outlined by a fierce, orange glow. As Long drove, I swiveled the weapon around, making sure there weren’t any threats about to attack while we were distracted.
Steering wide, we finally got a view of the crashed Russian helicopter. It was in several pieces, amidst a pile of rubble, and was burning furiously. In his haste to escape, the pilot had flown into the dark control tower. Maybe he only clipped it with the rotor, or perhaps he’d flown directly into it. Didn’t matter. The result was the same, and I breathed a sigh of relief, happy to have something go in my favor for a change.
Long brought us to a stop a safe distance from the flames. We sat there for a long moment, staring at the downed helicopter.
“About time we got some luck,” Rachel said, squeezing into the gunner’s position with me.
“Personally, I think we’ve been pretty damn lucky. We’re still alive and fighting. Just because things haven’t been easy doesn’t mean we aren’t very fortunate.”
My mind shifted to Katie as I said this, a feeling of dread descending on me. Rachel must have recognized this. She kissed me on the cheek, then dropped back down inside the Hummer.
“Alright. Enough gawking. Find a fuel truck,” I shouted to Long.
As the Hummer began rolling, I swiveled through another circle. Far down the runway, a medium sized group of infected was approaching. I focused on them for a moment, glad to see nothing other than males.
Long drove slowly, pausing to check several ground support vehicles. None of them were fuelers. We found an old Ford truck with a built in set of stairs that could pull up to the door of a large plane. An emergency response unit consisting of three trucks outfitted to battle a fire and provide first aid. Also a machine shop on wheels for making quick repairs on the flight line. But no tankers.
“Maybe a dumb question,” Rachel shouted. “But wouldn’t they keep a truck full of fuel far away from where planes are landing and taking off? What if there was a crash and it hit a truck loaded with jet fuel?”
Long braked to a stop as she was speaking. Rachel had a very good point.
“Let’s check behind the hangars,” I yelled.
Five minutes later we found what we were looking for. Well removed from the runway was a fenced area with six large trucks parked inside. Numerous signs attached to the fence prohibited smoking, open flames and the use of any electronic devices. A tangle of thick pipes stuck out of the ground. This was where the trucks would fill up from underground storage tanks.
“Make sure it’s JP-8,” I said as the two Rangers got out of the Hummer.
It took Johnson less than ten seconds to open the heavy padlock that secured the gate. I remained in the Humvee, keeping an eye on the area as he and Long moved inside the fence and began clearing the area before trying to start one of the trucks. Rachel climbed behind the Hummer’s wheel, ready to get us rolling if a threat appeared.
The fuel yard was large and it took the two Rangers most of five minutes to make sure there weren’t any infected, or Russians, waiting in ambush. When they were satisfied, Long gave me a wave and began checking over one of the fuelers. All of the trucks were identical, and relatively simple. A single cab, high off the ground, with a large, cylindrical tank behind. A big, generator powered pump and several lengths of coiled hoses were at the very back.
Long messed with the controls at the pump and I could see lights come on, illuminating several gauges. After closely looking at several of them, he turned and flashed me a thumbs up. Running to the cab, he pulled the door open and climbed in.
Swiveling, I checked the area again. I was completing a circle when a shout from Rachel pulled my attention around. Emerging from between two hangars, a group of females was charging at us. They were still a couple of hundred yards away, but coming fast.
Bringing the muzzle on target, I aimed at a point slightly in front of the group and held the trigger down long enough to send four rounds downrange. A couple of seconds later, the grenades detonated on the tarmac amongst the females. Bodies were shredded and dismembered, then tossed through the air. When the dust was cleared by the night breeze, I could see none of them were left alive.
There was the whine of a starter, then a diesel engine clattered to life. Long had the truck started. Gears protested, then the heavy tanker slowly rolled through the gate and came to a stop next to us. Long was behind the wheel, Johnson in the passenger seat with his rifle sticking out the window.
“We’ll lead,” I shouted to him, receiving an acknowledging wave.
Rachel didn’t need to be told we were ready to move. Putting the Hummer in gear, she got us rolling.
It took several attempts, and U-turns, but we finally found one of the gates that controlled access to the base. If it had just been the Hummer, I’d have told her to head across a field and directly for the fence, and I’d blow a hole with a grenade, but the tanker needed to stay on pavement. It was way too heavy to risk bogging down.
The gate was secured as we rolled up and at the last instant I stopped myself from just blasting through. Jagged metal could damage one of the fuel truck’s tires and then we’d have a problem. Turning around, I pointed at Johnson in the cab behind us, then hooked my thumb over my shoulder. He got the message and hopped out, running past us to open the lock.
Looking beyond the tanker, I saw another group of females in hot pursuit. They weren’t close, so for the moment I resisted the urge to open fire on them. The ammo might be needed later, and if Johnson got the gate open in the next minute, we’d be able to just drive off the base without having to engage.
A scream caused me to whip my head around in time to see Johnson backpedaling from the gate. While he’d been working on the lock, several females had arrived on the other side, thrusting their arms through the chain link in an attempt to grab him. Cursing, I turned back to our rear and used three rounds to take out the pursuing females.
When I was satisfied they were down, I made another scan of the area then turned to check on Johnson. He was standing near the front of the Hummer, rifle aimed at the gate. The volume of infected pressing against it had grown dramatically in the time it had taken to shoot up the infected to our rear. What had only been a few females was now a mixed group of at least forty, banging on the wire.
“Can you get to the lock?” I shouted to Johnson.
He moved to the side of the Hummer so we could speak without having to yell.
“No. They chained the gate and put a padlock on the outside. Guessing someone escaped and locked it on their way out. Can’t get to it without reaching through, and one of those bitches already took a chunk.”
He held up his left hand, a nasty gash visible on the back, blood dripping from his fingers.
“How bad you hurt?” I asked, turning to scan around us for infected.
“I’ll live,” he said, tearing a strip of fabric off the bottom of his shirt and using it to wrap his hand.
“OK,” I said, taking another look at the gate. “Get back in the truck and button up. I’m going to clear the way. Tell Long to back up. We’re too close to the gate for these grenades. And stay tight on our ass when we start moving.”
“Copy that,” he said, running back to the tanker.
I bent down into the Hummer to talk to Rachel. Letting her know what was going on, I grabbed a fresh ammo belt and moved back behind the gun. Replacing the partially used belt with a fresh one, I looked behind as the tanker reversed away from us. A moment later, Rachel followed, both vehicles moving backwards until we were a hundred yards from the exit.
A quick scan to make sure the area around us was clear, then I focused on the gate. Aiming at the point where it was chained, I pulled and held the trigger. The Mark 19 began thumping and I walked the barrel left to right, across the entire span.
The first grenade arrived before I stopped firing, ripping the edge free from the heavy steel post to which it was secured. Metal framing, chain link and infected bodies were shredded by the high explosive rounds. Smoke and dust quickly obscured my view and I held my breath, waiting to see the final results of the twenty rounds I’d used.
Slowly, the breeze cleared the air. Fragments of the gate and body parts were all that remained. The large guard house next to the exit was heavily damaged, leaning drunkenly to the side away from the area where the detonations had occurred. I wasn’t happy to see the quantity of debris scattered across the asphalt, but there hadn’t been much choice.
Banging on the roof, I signaled Rachel to go. We were instantly in motion. Soon, there was the sound of everything from fragments of metal to human bodies being crushed under the Humvee’s large tires. Behind, the tanker’s engine roared as Long followed in our wake.
I scanned with the gun as we passed through the gap in the perimeter fence, flinching at every sharp sound made when we rolled over something. Each time, I expected to hear a pop from a tire being damaged. But we made it through the worst without any mishap.
Rachel turned right onto a frontage road for the freeway, slowly accelerating. Several males were battered aside by the Hummer’s heavy front grill guard as she headed up an entrance ramp. Long stayed close and soon we were driving north at a steady twenty miles an hour.
35
The drive to the airport was uneventful. Well, maybe not by pre-attack standards, but the population of infected was sparse and we made good time. I stayed in the gunner’s position, maintaining a constant scan of both the road ahead as well as the sky. Not that I was expecting more trouble from the Russians, but one of those pilots might have had time to broadcast an emergency message. Was I being paranoid? Probably.
Rachel took the off-ramp marked for Omaha’s airport and we slowly approached the terminal. Quickly, we began encountering more infected. Only males, initially, who turned when they heard the sound of our engines. Soon, females were charging us out of the dark.
As more of them kept appearing, I decided to retreat to the safety of the Hummer’s interior. Closing and securing the hatch in the roof, I dropped into the seat behind Rachel and leaned forward for a better view through the windshield.
“Where’d they all come from?” She asked, swerving to avoid a large concentration of males.
I looked out the back window to see Long blast through the group. The much heavier truck smashed the bodies aside like they were made of nothing more than straw.
“Probably attracted when we landed,” I said, turning back to watch the road ahead. “Took them a while to get here.”
Rachel didn’t say anything else. She was focused on her driving, concentrating on keeping us moving forward without causing too much damage to the vehicle. Turning right onto a maintenance road, she slowed when she saw a small gate blocking access to the runway system.
“Ram it,” I said, after a second to look over the barrier.
She pressed on the throttle and the Hummer surged forward. The gate was six feet tall, at the most, and clearly not reinforced. I was surprised that in the post 9/11 world, Homeland Security hadn’t required the airport to install something that was capable of stopping a vehicle. But, I wasn’t going to complain.