Backlash: Prequel to The Wildblood Series (5 page)

“Clear.”  Taylor knew when challenging Mac would cost him his career in Security.

Shan tried to see what was happening.  The blackness overhead was loud, disorienting.  It slowly took a form as it moved, passing overhead and moving south.  It changed, it turned gray.  It became solid and real, an hour earlier.  She sat down in the dirt, covering her ears until the noise faded away.  When she looked around, Wade was crouched next to her.

“Did you see it?” he asked quietly, but not so quietly the others couldn't hear him.

“Yeah,” she frowned, too stunned to even swear.  “What do we do now?”

“What did you see?” Taylor interrupted, impatient.

Wade stood up, still sorting it all out as well.  He looked at Shan and she nodded in a silent agreement.  “One, or was there two?”

Mac offered her a hand up and she took it, dusting her backside off while she thought about it.  “Two,” she finally answered.  “There are two of them.  We need to get to The Vista and get in the armory, now.”

“For what?” Mac spoke up.

“RPGs,” Shan answered. “We need RPGs.”

“Why?” Taylor repeated.

Wade answered.  “They have helicopters.  Two of them.  The military sort, with big guns.”

No one had a smart-ass response. 

“We need to get all qualified officers armed now,” Ballentyne decided.  “What do we say about the helicopters, how we found them?”

“We say we spotted them heading south while were we here clearing the area after the attack.  Quick and simple.”  Wade didn't care what sort of discussions might happen later.  Right now, he had bigger problems than rumors; two very big and likely very armed problems.  “Get on the video at the main library,” he told Shannon.  “I want an ID on what they are and what they're capable of.”

“They were heading south,” she confirmed for everyone’s peace of mind. 

“Mac, go with her.  It's late enough you'll be there overnight.  Stay at Station Two unless you hear otherwise.  I'll let you know when to come out tomorrow.”

By 'hear', you mean . . .” Taylor started the question.

“I'll use Dispatch,” Wade said.

“You don't trust me now?” Shan asked, half serious.

“Don't pretend you can't make mistakes,” Taylor said.

“Not even for a moment.”

“Fucking helicopters?” Mac asked, voicing what they were all wondering.  “After a decade and a half, there are helicopters?  How in the hell did that happen?”

“Does it matter?” Ballentyne put to them all. 

“Yes,” Mac said.  “It damned sure does.”  They all knew he was thinking about the bomb on Missouri Breaks and the military bases dotted across the west.

“We need to go,” Shan told him.  “Now.  You drive.”

That threw him off almost as much as the revelation about helicopters.

Sept 26, mid-morning, The Vista

“Hey,” Mac put a hand on her shoulder, getting her attention.  He'd left her at the library just long enough to change into civilian clothes and get a different car.  They'd spent the night at their respective parents, having no other choice.  Station Two was crammed with bivouacking Security personal.

Shan had been leaning back in the chair, trying to watch old DVD recordings of military maneuvers, looking for a match of what they'd seen.  She'd know it when she ran across it, but it hadn't taken long for her to lose concentration.  Wade was on-edge, doing no-telling-what down at Dillon and they were stuck in The Vista.  When Wade was tense, it bled over to her and a slightly lesser degree, Mac.

“What now?” she asked, fatigued from staring at the screen.

“Did you find it?”

She ran the video backwards.  “There is this,” she stopped the picture.  “Sikorsky UH-60 helicopters, commonly called Black Hawks.  They can carry up to fourteen people each.  The armaments were anything from machine guns to missiles.  Fairly complicated piece of machinery.  Some Nomad didn't jump in the thing and figure out how to fly it in a week.”

Mac nodded, reading the same statistics she was.  “A range of 370 miles.”

“So they could be anywhere, out in the badlands, in The Park, anywhere.”

“Anywhere,” he agreed.

“What are we doing now?”

“We're running that bit of information to Cmdr. Perro before we go to the station and get orders.”

“Sit on our . . . backsides,” she complained, jumping up and swiveling her head to stretch the sore muscles she'd acquired over the past few days.  “If I have to stay here all day, I'll . . .  go crazy.”

Mac chuckled at that.

“Laugh now; I'm taking you with me.”

“I'll save you the trip,” Perro said, having come in through the main entrance and followed their voices.  “Or at least, the one to see me.  Crazy you have to deal with on your own.”

Shan rubbed her eyes, mildly embarrassed.  “Figure of speech, Commander.”

“Ah,” he debated.  “I was your age once, Officer Allen.  Granted, the world was different then, but people weren't and young people haven't changed so much as you might think.  I understand your impatience, but it's for the safety of everyone in The Vista.”

Both grinned sheepishly, knowing they'd been lectured.

“Is this what you spotted?” Perro asked, indicating the monitor.

“It is,” Shan confirmed, back to being serious.  “There were two.”

He contemplated for a few moments.  “I expect you to keep this information strictly in Security.”

“Yes, sir,” they both answered.

“A panic is the last thing we need,” he went on.  “Our people, the civilians we're sworn to protect, are here in The Vista because they're survivors, fighters, smart and resourceful.  And a few that are very lucky.  Unless it becomes an imminent threat, there's no reason to disrupt lives.  The Blackout has already gone a long way in doing that.”

Mac understood.  “We've been passing out RPGs this morning to all qualified officers.”  About half of Security was qualified.

“You're not qualified,” Perro said to Shannon.

“No, I'm not even certain I've graduated from training.”

“Cmdr. Duncan cleared you five days ago.  Congratulations.  Are you scheduled to go back to Depot South today?  I'd like to pass on some information to Capt. Wade without the privacy, or lack of privacy on the air.”

“I don't believe we are,” Mac said.  “Even if there's a code call, we're a secondary team today.”

“You can always order us to go,” Shan offered hopefully.

Perro chuckled.  “It's not urgent, Officer Allen, it can wait.  Go about your business.  Command plans to meet with all of Team Three, when the opportunity arises.”

Twenty minutes after Perro had gone his way, the code call happened.  “You've got to be fucking joking with me,” Mac threw up his hands, exasperated.

“I doubt it,” Shan said, quickly gathering her belongings.  She recalled Duncan's words of warning and did some swearing herself. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Get that car into cover, Taylor,” Wade warned on the handset.  Nothing was going through Dispatch now.  Only the Code Seven had been announced.  The helicopter had circled wide, disappearing behind a stand of trees to the southeast.  He could still hear it.  With some planning, they had four points east of the depot set up with officers and artillery.  If they could draw it back, they could take it down.  If the second one showed, and Wade hoped it did, they could take them both and run the teams in a sweep south to clear out any stragglers.  The entire incident could be finished in two days.

“It's coming back,” Lambert warned, manning the southernmost point.  Ballentyne was west, Saenz north and Wade east, with another half-dozen officers hidden along the main road.  It had rained overnight and there was a sheen across the landscape; not quite ice or snow but a slushy mix.  Two cars had minor damage from collisions early on in the day.

“Everyone get set up.  We only get one chance at surprise,” Wade reminded them.

“Overhead,” Lambert said.

“If you're clear, take the shot,” Wade said.  “Even if you're not.”

“Got it,” Lambert said, rushed.

“All of you,” Wade said.  “This needs to end now.”  Then he carefully loaded a warhead into the tube, locking it in to place before stepping away from the SUV.

“Got it,” Ballentyne said, quiet and calm per usual.

“I can only hear it,” Saenz chimed in.

“Shut up and aim,” Wade said, concentrating on the sound.  In seconds, it emerged over the tree line, heading more northerly than west.  It was low, faster than he expected and headed right for Ballentyne.  “Mick, heads up,” he warned.

The Black Hawk strafed Ballentyne's position; the machine gun sputtered and either jammed or ran out of ammo.  Pulling up, it headed east again to make another run at him, gaining altitude.

“I'm clear, keeping in the tree line,” Ballentyne announced after several long seconds.

“When it comes around, it will drop to follow the highway,” Lambert said.  “I've got the shot.”

It took the helicopter five full minutes to lazily circle around.  They all held their collective breath, thinking it might break off and continue east.  Past their outer perimeter, out in to the badlands and no one in Security would follow them, not even Wade.

“Heading west,” Wade noted.  He hoped the next thing he heard was an RPG launch or Lambert announcing his intent to fire.  Blood pounded in his ears and a line of sweat traced across his forehead despite the cold.  There was only so long he could hold the intense concentration to see the target when it was out of sight.

“Fire, fire, fire,” Lambert yelled, and a moment later did exactly that.  The RPG spiraled towards its target and the helicopter swung around ninety degrees in an attempt to evade. 

Just as it emerged over the trees south of Wade, the missile hit.  The explosion sent debris in all directions, some of the pieces large enough to be dangerous.  Lambert was the only one close enough to worry about.

“Check in, Lambert,” Wade called, worried about how close it had been.  Nearly overhead, from the look of it to him.  “You still with us, Denny?”

“Hell yeah!” Lambert shouted.  “Part of that shit landed on my car.”  He was panting like he was winded, adrenalin getting the best of him.

“Stick with Security protocol until we can clear the incident scene and be reasonably certain the second helicopter isn't close,” Wade went right back to being in charge.  “There are Nomads on the ground too.  Let's not forget that.  Point officers meet at Lambert's position, the rest of you stay put.  If you see anything, anything unusual, shout it out.”

“I need a ride,” Ballentyne said.

“Saenz, get Mick and come on over.”

“I can't even fucking brag to my girlfriend,” Lambert grabbed Wade, slapping him on the back the moment he got out of his car.

“You know it,” Wade said, breaking out of the stone face he'd been wearing for days.  “Nice shot, by the way.”

“Lucky shot,” Lambert confessed.  “When we practice, there are no flying targets.”

“We'll have to talk to Command about that,” Wade said.  “Later, when we're locked down for the winter.  When we have the other helicopter on the ground permanently.”

“We should go look for survivors.”

“You just want to go get a closer look at what's left of it.”

“Don't you?” Lambert challenged.

“Yes,” Wade nodded.  He retrieved an Uzi from his car.  “Let's go have a look.”

“Hell yes.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Shan chugged a shot of whiskey, stuff older than she was.  She stifled a cough, eyes watering.  “That's smooth,” she rasped.

Mac preferred Scotch and matched her shot.  He didn't cough.  They were quietly celebrating the news a team rotating in from Depot South had brought.  “One down,” he was more excited about it than he should be, considering they missed the entire event.  “I'd like to go see it.”

“You've seen helicopters before,” Shan pointed out, glancing around to make certain there were no civilians in earshot.  Being in a blackout, the club only had a handful of people, mostly Security going off-duty.  “There were a bunch over in Missoula and most of them were military.”

“Yeah, but we knocked this one down.”  He wished he'd been there, but it was over and they knew they could do it now.

“Want to know who did it?” she smiled slyly, teasing.

He regarded her for a moment, trying to decide if she was joking or not. 

Shannon tapped her forehead, then waved at the bartender for another round.

“How?” he wondered.  “You haven't been asleep.”

“I don't always have to be.  It was just a sensation.  There was a massive run of adrenalin and poof, I knew who fired first.”  Explaining her abilities to him was simple because he had a shadow of them himself.  To the others, they were just words.

“One shot?”

She nodded, still smirking.

“And it wasn't Wade.”

“It was not,” she confirmed.  “Denny did it.”

“Huh,” Mac offered.  “My next guess would've been Mick.”

The bartender brought their drinks, two of the same.  “You have ten minutes before they call the curfew.  I live upstairs, and unless you want to be sleeping in a booth, you should get moving.”  He turned around to announce it to the handful of people still milling around.  “Curfew call in ten minutes.  Drink up now.”

“Drink up now,” Mac repeated, doing just that.  “Noon shift tomorrow, primary team.”

“I knew that.”  She drank her whiskey, didn't cough and jumped up.  “I'm out, I'll see you first thing.”  In the morning, she meant, knowing full-well he'd be in Dispatch the moment the curfew was lifted.  Sooner, if anything happened.  “Unless you want to stay over.”

“Are your parents home?”

“They are.”

He considered it; it wouldn't be the first time.  When he stayed, it was in her room.  Wade had as well and everyone understood it was a strictly platonic circumstance.  She found it rather ironic Deirdre was far more concerned with Wade's reputation than the fairly blatant attraction between her and Mac.  She'd let it lie.

“I'll pass tonight.  I've got a stack of books I want to go over.”

“What sort of books?”

“The sort that might help us with that current Security concern.”   When he read something, he remembered it.

“Ah,” she understood.  “Get some sleep, Alex.  I'm not going to listen to you growling at me all afternoon because you stayed up all night.”

“I will,” he promised. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sept 27, 6pm, The Vista

“Central Dispatch, all local primary teams.  Will someone please go out to the barricade on Frontage Road and pick up Officer Juno?  His wife is in labor and wants him there an hour ago.”

“I suppose our little side trek could have been worse,” Mac made small talk.  Escorting a caravan out to the Ranchlands broke up the monotony of their afternoon, for most of an hour.

“Seriously,” Shan rolled her eyes.  “Please, please, let us get rotated back to Depot South tomorrow.”  They'd already driven the route through town, around the city limits and along the access road three times.

“Better than a good chance.  Wade wants us out there and Command wants Wade happy.  Therefore, we get rotated where he wants and usually when he wants.  Right now, things are off-track with this damned blackout.  In a month . . .” he shrugged.  “Back to the same old, same old.”

“I get a lot of reading done in Dispatch over the winter,” she mused.

“Don't we all?” he asked and they both laughed.

“Central Dispatch, all teams, all Stations.  Half an hour warning to curfew.”

Then the car died.  They were clipping down the access road at fifty.  The car slowed, not even sputtering.  “Fantastic,” Shan's voice ran full of sarcasm with a single word.  She pulled to the side of the road and stopped.  The car merely clicked when she tried to start it.

“Pop the hood,” Mac said, climbing out.  She did, following him.  They stared at all the parts, wondering which was broke.  “I don't suppose you've taken any classes in mechanics.”

“Exactly the same number as you.”

“One.”  The single class all Security officers got in the basics of car maintenance.  He checked the battery cables first.  “Try it now.”

Sitting back down, she turned the key and the car clicked.  “It's not getting any power.  The dashboard lights aren't even coming on.”

“Alternator,” he thought out loud.  “Turn on your headlights and try to start the car.”  He paced a few feet out in front to watch.  The lights dimmed as she tried it again.  “That's my best guess.”  He came around and sat back in the passenger's seat.

“Call it in,” she said.  “We're miles out and have minutes of daylight.”

“Car Eleven, Central Dispatch.”  During the blackout, they use car numbers rather than team designations, just in case any unfriendly ears could hear them.

“Central Dispatch, Car Eleven, go ahead.”

“Code Fifteen, six miles north,” Mac answered.

“Negative on the Code Fifteen,” Dispatch came back.  “No tow available.”