Whiskey Delta – Chapter 46

“All that we fear we hold close to ourselves to survive. So if you’re drowning and you see a corpse floating by, hang on to it because it will rescue you. “

-Tom Hardy

The plume was the largest single object visible through their window now. The pilot banked sharply right, putting them into the second leg of their maneuver. Soon enough, they would be lined up with the runway, pushing through the smoke and flame to land just a few dozen meters from their evacuees.

For a few minutes, they got a distant view of the runway through their right window that wasn’t obscured by the fire. And they saw the muzzle flashes and airbursts that were going up.

“They’re already contested,” the Colonel said. “Heavily too.”

From his seat, the pilot shook his head, the stearing wand shaking in his hand. His body appeared to be doing a little shaking itself, and not because of the mounting turbulence.

“We might not make it in time…”

“We’ll make it,” the Colonel said.

“As far as maneuvers go, this is the trickiest of them, ma’am. They’ll have less than a minute to get on, and that’s hard enough without all those things charging at them.”

“It’s been done before. Crews were under fire when they did it too,” she said plainly.

“The plain or the squad?”

The Colonel shook her head. “Both. And that pilot had far fewer complaints.”

The navigator looked from the window. “Were you in the bird or on the ground in that story, ma’am?”

She smiled. No answer. Better to let them figure it out.

They completed their right turn and began to level out. The smoke was directly in their path, and a field growing with bodies and spewing sporadic muzzle fire. They began to descend. Little by little, the landscape began to disappeared beneath their front window. First, the suburdan developments, then the highway, and soon it would be the hangar bays themselves.

“Guide her in, boys. I’m going back to see them in!”

“Good luck.”

She opened the cabin door and slipped through. She grabbed her Tavor weapon from the rack and chambered a round. More than a greeting, they might need some covering fire. No Whiskeys on board her bird. No living ones at least…

*                          *                         *

Another dropped. Then another. Then several more in quick succession. But there were no shortage of replacements coming, and they were getting closer.

Several thuds sounded from behind them. The Claymores going off between the hangars. Saunders looked to their rear and saw several shadows drop in the tight alleyways. She spun the other way and saw what worried her most, the sight of them being outflanked. A large cluster was making their way through the parkade and coming up behind them. The noise was the draw, but by now, they could smell the flesh and were picking up speed.

“Mill, east side! Cover our flank!”

Mill looked to their left and removed his SAW from the hood. Bracing it against his hip, he began to spray burst after burst in their direction, hitting several at a time. Not all dropped however, as the bullets had a way of missing their skulls on the first try. But they all dropped eventually, the bullets tearing into their limbs and bodies and making it impossible for them to keep moving.

The distant whine of the Hercules four turboprops became a constant presence now. She looked to the flaming plume at their back and saw the span of its wings stretching out to either side of it. They were growing wider with every passing second, but still seemed to be taking forever.

Saunders feet were beginning to itch, the instinct to get moving threatening to overpower her. It was like waiting for the gun at a starting line, too soon and they would be screwed. Too late, and the same end result would occur. Couldn’t move until their bird took to the sky behind them. And then they had to be moving fast.

“Whitman! Get ready!” she yelled. From the cabin, Whitman ceased firing and put the gun beside him. The engine was already running, no telling if it would start up if they shut it down again. She was old vehicle, even if she had got them this far.

Next to their driver, Cobb and Dezba sat in the front seats, laying on each other as they slept this one out. Braun lay semi-conscious at her feet, Wilcox’s body sitting next to him. And with Sanchez and Beaumont packed in next to the bed door, that left just standing room for the rest of them. Making their way out without being thrown clear was going to prove tricky.

Saunders slapped in her last cartridge and took her last five shots. She lined them up as best she could, which was easy at their closing range. Heads came off, as well as some arms. She stowed her rifle, drew the LT”s SCAR, and called to the others.

“Kobayashi! Mill! Load up!” He fired off the last of his grenades and ran for the back of the truck. Mill sprayed down the closest of the flankers and drew back. Whitman reved the engine a few times while the others kept firing at any Whiskeys that got too close. They had effectively created a bubble around them, but it wouldn’t last forever. She looked back up at the sky and saw the winds descending upon them.

She looked down to Beaumont and Sanchez. “You ready?”

“Yes, ma’am,” yelled Sanchez. She nodded to both of them and looked up in hurry. Movement was coming from the darkened alleyways again. More Whiskeys were pushing through, the Claymores having not deterred them from advancing through the narrow spaces between hangars. She extended a hand to Sanchez and Beaumont, who looked ready to start firing.

“Shit. Hold your fire! Mill,” she pointed to their rear. Mill unloaded on the last of the ones advancing from the east and adjusted his direction. He blew the back out of two more that made it beyond the hangars and popped his ammo drum.

“Empty!”

“Alright, men. You’re up! Keep them off our rear.”

She turned to their front and targeted the closest of their Whiskeys. She passed Mill Dezba’s SCAR and made room for him to move in next to her. In the back, Sanchez and Beaumont let loose with some three round bursts. Her feet were now in agony, they needed to move now or she feared she might tear off on her own. Or worse, order Whitman to do it for them.

“C’mon, c’mon…” she found herself muttering. From her side, Mill popped off a grenade and then back to popping single rounds. The bubble was beginning to close, contracting and threatening to implode. She could feel a growing panic, and it was beginning to make her spend more ammo. Some of her targets didn’t even appear to be slowing down anymore.

Mill seemed to notice too, or else he was feeling it on his own. While replacing his magazine, he yelled to the sky. “Now would be a good time, Colonel!”

The whine began a roar. Kobayashi yelled at the top of his lungs to be heard over it.

“They’ve arrived!”

Saunders looked up just in time to see the plane break through the cloud of smoke. Its cargo bay door was open and threw up sparks as soon as the plane hit the ground. An entire wave of Whiskeys evaporated in the wake of the air current it kicked up.

Saunders slapped the roof over and over again. “Go! Go! Go! Go! Go!”

Whitman gunned the gas and steered them onto the tarmac. Saunders didn’t stop and she could hear her own hand slamming the roof long after the engine noise died down.

They began to close slowly, Whiskeys flying by on either side of the runway. Body parts began to fly as the turboprops sliced through them. She swore inwardly as she realized this was not how the plan was supposed to go. She just prayed none of them would prove to be the Whiskey that broke any of the Herc’s precious props. That might complicate their escape a little.

From the back, she saw the Colonel standing there, a weapon in her hands. It seemed unnecessary at the moment, but she kept sending flames from the muzzle. They were getting closer, but they were also running out of runway. She slapped the roof again.

“Faster, Whitman!”

“It’s an old truck!” he yelled back, but still pushed the gas pedal as far as it would go. The engine began to scream and the transmission struggled to keep up. The revs Whitman was putting on her were something she wasn’t designed to take. And yet, they were closing the gap. The ramp seemed within reaching distance now.

And then, it bumped. A pile of bodies sprang up from under it and sent it hard against the tarmac again, sparks going everywhere. Whitman swirled to miss the pile-up and nearly put them in the ditch. Saunders and Mill nearly feel out sideways as well. When she looked up, they were aimed at the cargo bay at an angle. Whitman pulled them back left, sending them into another swerve.

She slapped the roof. “Straighten us out, dammit!”

Whitman raised his finger to her and cranked the wheel again. They swerved left and right a few more times before he had them all lined up. Saunders lapped the roof one last time.

“GOOOOO!”

He gunned the gas and put their vehicle over the cargo bay door. The vehicle lurched and fired into the back, the wheels burst as they cut over the edged metal. And when they hit the bay, they did so running! Whitman slammed on the gas and everyone who was still conscious enough screamed.

They came to a stop finally when they hit the far wall. Saunders and Mill were thrown into the cabin and the others thrown over the edge. Every pane of glass in the truck was broken too. And she wasn’t sure, but she thought she tasted blood…