Hybrid (43 page)

“Major!” a voice shouted excitedly, “we have an unknown bogey entering our mission space, the signature is that of an Apache gunship. Our sensors are picking up active radar, sir, that bird is sweeping the area.”

Ross let out a litany of swears as he ran to the radar screen. The blip was heading directly toward the mountaintop. “Warn that bird off, Eyes One and Two, close and intercept,” he ordered. “What the fuck else can go wrong today?”

* * * *

The Apache gunship activated its twin turbines and began a power ascent up Hopedale Mountain. The ship was following its preset coordinates. The pilot quickly noted that two other helicopters had left their positions and were attempting to intercept. The Apache pilot disengaged the autopilot and banked the craft savagely, pulling nearly two Gs as he quickly turned the ship toward the first oncoming Bell Striker.

His radio blared with the calls from both approaching helicopters. The pilot flipped a red toggle on his weapons panel, and heard the whine of a sequential autoloader feeding the ships main cannon. He painted the Striker with a laser sight, and the ship's onboard computer placed a targeting diamond superimposed on the cockpit glass around the closing Bell helicopter.

“Goodbye,” the pilot whispered as his finger gently depressed the cannon trigger.

The Apache shuddered as hundreds of depleted uranium rounds and phosphorous tracers erupted from the six spinning cannon muzzles. The super hard rounds tore through the Striker's aluminum skin like a scalding knife through warm butter. One burst found the Striker's main fuel line, engulfing the ship in a ball of fire. The Striker fell to earth like a blazing comet then exploded upon impact with the ground.

The pilot noted that the second Striker had pulled away, and was now fleeing at 150 miles per hour in the opposite direction. The Apache pilot switched from guns to rockets and activated the ship's boosters. The attack copter accelerated rapidly, boring down on the unarmed Striker like a bloodhound chasing a rabbit. The Apache was closing, traveling at almost 300 miles per hour. The pilot bathed the hapless helicopter with active radar. The attack computer chirped, confirming a target lock.

“Splash two,” the Apache pilot whispered as he freed two rockets from one of the ship's weapon pylons. He watched with satisfaction as the rockets streamed toward their target and impacted, blowing the Striker into hundreds of fragments of scrap metal. The Apache banked 180 degrees and resumed its preprogrammed course.

The Apache quickly closed on its preprogrammed coordinates. The pilot toggled his controls to the Typhoon missile console. The attack computer fed the missiles the proper instructions, and each missile gave an electronic hum to assure the pilot that everything was green for launch. The pilot looked at his flight computer and was now within striking distance. He tapped the brilliant orange button on his control yoke and sent the first Typhoon missile speeding along its way.

* * * *

Erik and the children heard the sounds of gunfire and several explosions. Erik knew that there was some arial combat occurring in the skies overhead. He leapt up into the nearest tree and climbed to the top. He had an unobstructed view of the Hopedale skyline from this altitude and his current vantage point atop the tree canopy. He watched with revulsion as the Apache gunship literally blew another helicopter from the sky. He watched as the attack helicopter banked leisurely and began to head up the mountainside toward them.

This can't be good! Damn you, Richard, I know you're behind this, all of this. If we get out of this alive, so help me.
Erik leapt from the treetop and landed gently in the leaf-covered ground. He quickly ran toward the children.

He had found a container of water and some boxes of granola bars abandoned in the campsite, and the children were eating and drinking hungrily. He had managed to get some fresh water into Lisa Reynolds, but the girl was unresponsive, probably in shock from her ordeal.

Erik deliberately kept a respectful distance from the children. They were still somewhat afraid of him. They wouldn't come right out and say it, but he could read their feelings and emotions. At least his daughter accepted him, and that was one thing he had to be thankful for. He bent over and gently scooped up the Reynolds girl; he had wrapped her in a blanket Brianna had scavenged from one of the tents.

The sound of the helicopter began to grow louder. Erik heard it long before the children did. His Esper senses warned him of the oncoming threat. He didn't have to see the approaching ship to know that they were all in danger. He shouted a telepathic warning to the children even as he ran toward them. Somehow, through all the noise, he heard it, the sound of a missile being fired. A missile was being fired at them. Erik drew his staff and summoned the image of a massive shield. The staff flattened out into a thin disk four feet in diameter.

Get down
, he broadcast telepathically to all of them.

Each child obeyed, and Erik quickly placed the makeshift shield over himself and the huddled children.
Cover your ears
, he ordered as the telltale whine of the missile grew louder.

The Typhoon missile streaked over their heads and headed directly for the mouth of the tunnel. The impact and detonation shook the entire mountainside. Erik pressed himself down further into the children as a massive plume of expanding fire and debris spread out from the point of impact. It took nearly all of Erik's strength to keep the force of the concussion from squishing him and the children into the ground. Erik heard the shield murmur and whine almost as in protest to the force it was made to withstand.

He heard the roar of the gunship as it passed overhead. He lifted the shield and quickly checked the children. They were all huddled together in a tight mass. He scooped up Lisa Reynolds and guided the other children out of the now ruined campsite. Again, he heard the thrum of a missile being fired, again he covered the children and himself with the shield. The missile impacted closer this time. It was targeted for the campsite itself. The concussion plowed into Erik's protective shield, this time overwhelming him with its irresistible force. Erik groaned in agony as he forced his enhanced body to endure the force of the lethal explosion. The shield seemed to protest as it deflected the hailstorm of fire and debris caused by the missile's impact. Both Erik and the children were carried back several meters by the force of the impact, but the shield still held and nobody was hurt.

The Apache simply hovered over the area, as if surveying the results of its handy work. Erik stood, still holding his shield low to protect the children. The campsite was nothing but a vast crater of fire and burning embers. He guessed that the tunnel had been completely destroyed, forever concealing the bodies that were left there. The helicopter fired several rockets into the now devastated campsite in some odd attempt to wreak even more carnage. Then it veered off toward the tunnel location. Erik counted twelve separate salvos fired and twelve successive impacts from the smaller, yet still lethal, rockets.

Everyone was quiet as they watched the huge gunship slowly bank around back toward the campsite. They were completely exposed. The ship paused roughly 100 yards from them. Erik could sense the astonishment as the pilot spotted them.
Children, into the forest quickly. Drag Lisa, but get out of here now.
Erik and the helicopter pilot continued to stare at each other across the vacant, smoldering dust bowl that used to be the Pendelcorp mining campsite.

The children dragged Lisa Reynolds behind them, each passing second allowing them to get deeper into the forest cover. Erik suddenly sensed danger, his enhanced vision focused on the massive chain gun suspended on the nose of the ship. He knew that the gun was now pointing at him. He slowly backed away, hoping he too could make it into the cover before the pilot overcame his surprise of finding people up here.

Erik deliberately kept his body between the children and the helicopter; he prayed that they had found a hiding place behind some dense tree growth. His enhanced body reacted before he even was aware: his shield lifted and his body assumed a defensive stance. The helicopter opened fire on him and he felt the impact as the heavy rounds tore into his shield. The hailstorm of bullets lasted for nearly ten full seconds. His shield deflected every round and burning tracer that the ship threw at him. He could see the look of total shock and disbelief on the pilot's face.

He heard a high pitch whine in one of the Apaches rocket pods, and quickly continued a cautious withdrawal. He heard the light thud as two rockets leapt from its pylon and sped toward him. The rockets detonated against the shield, sending Erik hurtling backwards, landing in a motionless heap on the forest floor. The children shrieked in fear and ran, terrified, deeper into the woods.

The helicopter, its munitions nearly all spent, rose into the sky and departed, leaving the children alone in the middle of thousands of acres of woodlands.

* * * *

Pilot Phil Rappola banked his Apache helicopter ninety degrees, and eased the control yoke back. The ship responded by gracefully lifting itself above the tree line.

He glanced back at the fallen man with wonder. “Where in the hell did you come from?” he muttered to himself.

He had never experienced anything like what had just occurred in the past few minutes. A man with silver body armor and a silver shield, Phil assumed that it was some sort of military prototype battle suit. He had to admit that it was impressive looking. The alloy in the silver disc had to be some unique titanium Kevlar composite to withstand the full onslaught of an M61A Vulcan Cannon. Even his high-yield, armor-piercing rocket was unable to pierce the odd metallic barrier. Phil decided that he would make some inquiries with his Black Market contacts and see if they had any such knowledge of such unusual equipment.

He circled back over the body at an altitude of several hundred feet and spotted the children making their way back into the blasted clearing toward the fallen man. He knew that he was under orders to eliminate everything up here, but even Phil Rappola had some lines he wouldn't cross, and butchering children was beyond even his mercenary ethics.

He radioed an all clear to his employer, utilizing the appropriate frequency, and then activated the ship's dual turbines and left the region as fast as his helicopter could take him. He maxed the rpm's on the craft's two engines, reaching a top speed of over 350 miles per hour.

He knew that the Army wouldn't have had sufficient time to call in any further air support, and that they would not risk the third Bell Striker that was now hovering at a station-keeping position at the base of the incline. He left the area unchallenged, hoping and praying that he would not encounter an F-16 Fighting Falcon or an F-15 Eagle.

He knew his Apache was a formidable weapon against ground-based personnel and vehicles, as well as other choppers, but it was no match for the superior power and speed of a modern fighter plane. Rappola also knew that there were fighter squadrons based nearby that could reach him before he could make good on his planned escape route. As fast as his ship was, it seemed to be moving too slow for his comfort at this point.

He had been flying for several minutes, growing more at ease with each passing mile, when the guidance computer on the ship went black. He struggled with the controls, and to his horror discovered that he was no longer in control of the aircraft. The ship gradually changed its heading, as if acting on its own accord, and began to head out toward the Atlantic. Rappola tried a sequential restart of the navcomm computer, but received no response. He tried to reboot the flight control center, but failed in that task as well. The ship was flying itself, and he was now a prisoner. Rappola cursed and swore savagely as he tried desperately to regain control of the ship.

He knew his only alternative was to eject from the ship. He looked into the evacuation cabinet of the helicopter, but found it had been stripped of all rescue and emergency equipment.

“Damn it!” he screamed, pounding on the control board in frustration.

He knew what was going to happen to him. He'd been set up; there would be no payoff, no big score. His reward for cleaning up Pendelcorp's mess was a one-way ticket to eternity at the bottom of the ocean. Rappola became irrational, and angry. It was perhaps his savage anger that caused him to draw his pistol and discharge several rounds into the helicopter's computer systems.

To his misfortune, his third shot shorted out the timing mechanism that would send a burst of electricity to the concealed charges placed on the gunship's fuel tanks. A spark of current was freed and traveled through the wires. The ensuing explosion rained down fiery bits of helicopter through the residential suburbs outside Boston. Rappola's anger had only brought his eventual death that much sooner.

* * * *

Brianna had not moved from her father's side for five minutes. She had opened one of his eyelids, only to see that his eyes were now a dark inky blue, not the luminous fiery aqua blue she had seen earlier lighting up the darkness in the cave.

“Daddy,” she whispered as she held his cold metallic hand. “Please don't die, don't leave us alone out here; those things will surely find us again.”

She felt a slight movement in the hand she was holding. The dark cold blue eyes slowly began to flutter, and as they blinked, they began to glow with aqua luminescence.

* * * *

Slowly, the Hybrid, Erik Knight, recovered from the colossal blows that felled him. He groaned, his alien vocal chords making strange inhuman sounds as he sat up. He looked up at his daughter, and she offered him her hand, doing what she could to assist him as he slowly stood.

Erik had been in several full contact fights, fights for his life, and taken hundreds of blows and impacts to his body, but all of that paled in comparison to absorbing the impact of the two rockets that hit him. He glanced down at his right arm, the shield still in place, molded to his forearm. He knew if he were human, his body would now be scattered across the ground, charbroiled in little pieces.