Redback (21 page)

'Here, let me help,' Jesse-Jay offered. He squatted down behind the Commander of the Carthage
Thunder Militia, raised the semi-auto M9 to the back of his comrade's skull and pulled the
trigger.

Micah O'Brien had no idea it was a single 9 mm bullet that blew his brains out through his eye
sockets. He certainly didn't feel anything and, what with their distance from the camp and the noisy
illegal fireworks, no-one else would've heard the shot either. His body fell heavily forward
crushing the dummy Spitfire.

Having carried out his personal assignment from the Colonel, Jesse-Jay Baggett turned his
attention back to the functional warbirds. He had a mission to finish.

Robert Gray Army Airfield, Fort Hood
Tuesday: 7 pm

Specialist Mickey 'Blades' Garber, 21st Cavalry ground crewman, was standing at the
head of Longhorn Strip contemplating the crapola those stupid re-enacters were going to be in when
the MPs found them. Hell, even when the army wanted to light up its own pyrotechnics the red tape
that bound the paperwork was mind-boggling. So for these civvy-motherfuckers to think they could
just do it at any time was just plain brainless - especially today after that bomb going off in
Dallas.

Despite the spectacle exploding so colourfully overhead to the east, when First Lieutenant Angie
'Hawk' Tovey joined him on the tarmac, the two soldiers stood in silent admiration of a different
kind of firepower. Their charges, killing time on the ground before them, were primed for the next
day's CALFEX, like three hungry black panthers.

Fort Hood's 21st Cav Brigade was the US Army's Executive Agent for fielding, equipping, training
and certifying all AH-64A/D Attack Helicopter Battalions. A world apart in background, professional
expertise and rank, the ground-based Garber and airborne Tovey nonetheless relied on each other for
survival. Specialists like Blades kept the Apaches humming and deadly so that pilots like Tovey
could take the hunter-killers into battle.

Wednesday's combined arms live-fire exercise was part of the regular sustainment training
required by all Apache battalions to ensure combat readiness. Not that readiness training was such a
necessity in the middle of a war. Most of the aviation units had been on active battle rotation
somewhere in The Sandpit pretty much full time since 9/11.

Even the lieutenant, one of the cavalry's five women aviators rated in the AH-64A/D, was herself
just back from Afghanistan. Longbow-rated, and temporarily assigned to Fort Hood, she was leading
tomorrow's run as chief combat trainer.

In fact, Blades had almost finished the avionics check of Tovey's Apache when the illegal
fireworks show had started. The base sirens had gone off, and what looked like half the 1st Cav and
4th Infantry had come out to help locate the culprits, so he'd decided to take a break. As usual
Blades only wandered far enough to enjoy his favourite view, although at this time of night the
three hulking black Apaches were withdrawing into the darkness. They even absorbed the glow cast
from the hangar lights.

Talk about shock and awesome - these primo tank-killers put fire in the pants of Specialist
Garber. He had no idea what affect they had on the lieutenant, her not having any stand-up gear as
such; but just looking at these babies made him hard.

The helos spearheaded the airborne division of the Army's digitised battlefield forces. The
Apache AH-64D and the radar enhanced Longbow were, fundamentally, highly evolved versions of the
Apache AH-64A. The rugged combat proven airframe of the baseline Apache hadn't needed much
improving. Its bad-arse muscle power already had unprecedented damage tolerance and a host of
survivability features.

The twin-engine, four-bladed attack helos had a combat mission speed of 167 mph, a range of 1024
miles and were specifically designed as highly stable, aerial weapons delivery platforms. The
Apaches carried Stingers, Hellfires, Sidewinders and other folding-fin rockets as well as the 1200
rounds of ammo for the 30 mm automatic Chain Cannon under the fuselage.

The tandem seating arrangement, with the pilot above and behind the co-pilot/gunner, afforded
unobstructed views through the acrylic blast-shield of the cockpit canopy. Although Blades often
wondered why the Helmet and Display Sighting System, that both pilots wore, didn't confuse the hell
out of that same view. The mono eyepiece of the integrated HADDS displayed data from different
sources: the Target Acquisition Designation Sight, the Night Vision Sensor and the Forward Looking
Infra-Red. As the FLIR alone provided three fields of view, direct into the right eye, Blades had
decided that info-overload explained why most pilots were crazy.

With enhanced survivability, including Kevlar and boron armour shielding - which could absorb
hits from shrapnel, spall, and even 23 mm rounds - the AH-64Ds had the same firepower as all
Apaches, and then some. The highly integrated digital weapons suite; onboard systems linked by
software; enhanced navigation; and a modem datalink for sharing threat and target info with other
helos in the unit, made it answerable to nothing - except the Apache 'Ds' that also carried the
complete Longbow weapons systems. Like Hawk Tovey's machine.

'Ain't they pretty,' Tovey said.

'Aha,' Blades agreed, knowing she wasn't admiring the fireworks any more than he was.

Flanked by two regular AH-64Ds,Tovey's Apache Longbow - with its 16 vicious Longbow Hellfire
missiles - was the brawn and brains of the modern Apache Squadron.

Aesthetically, the only noticeable difference between the regular Ds and the Longbows was the
latter's Fire Control Radar rotodome. Blades reckoned the mast-mounted dome, for the FCR assembly,
looked like the topknot on Will Robinson's robot and spoilt the sleek lines of the otherwise mean
and perfect Apache.

There was however, no doubting that the Longbow enhanced the attack helo's status as the supreme
tank killer and battlefield disrupter. Only the dome, above the rotors, needed to be exposed in
order for the Apache to detect, track, ID and prioritise surface targets. The fire-and-forget
Hellfire's could then be launched from a concealed position to take out multiple targets, while the
pilot moved out of range, and all before the enemy even knew they were there.

Its superior fire control, and the hunter-killer nature of the Longbow weapons system, gave the
machine unparalleled independent lethality. But as an attack scout, its digital comm system also
enabled it to hand-off targets to the other Apaches in the pack, making them all covert killing
machines.

'Think I'll call it a night.' Tovey shoved her hands in her pockets.

Blades rolled his shoulders. 'See you on deck in the a-m then, Lieutenant.'

Tovey half-turned to walk away then heard something and stopped dead. 'What's that noise?'

Blades didn't even bother to hide the, 'what the hell do you think it is' expression on his face
as he raised his hands to the incandescent rainbow still filling the eastern airspace.

'Not that noise, Blades,' Tovey said impatiently. 'It's a way lower buzzing noise.
It's…'

The rest of her sentence was walloped by a deafening explosion on the far eastern side of the
hangars. Smoke, flames and a mangled jeep soared up towards the now-insignificant pyro display way
overhead.

A second later, 750 yards away down the airstrip, the entire wall of the furthest building blew
out across the Longhorn tarmac.

'Fuckin crap,' Blades swore. 'The goddamn building blew up. What are those idiots doing?'

'No idea. But, that is
still
not the noise I'm talking about,' Tovey insisted.

Blades squinted, as he tried to make out what she could hear; until something else caught their
attention.

Three westward-heading streaks of red light, which barely skimmed the hangar roof, sped
long-and-low across the airstrip and pinged into the concrete.

'Tracer rounds,' Blades shouted, breaking free of the pilot's grip. He started running for the
Apaches which, right now, were nothing but lame ducks squatting in the totally wide open.

'Blades don't,' Tovey yelled, until she realised the cockpit of her helo was still open and took
off after him. She didn't get very far.

A limo-sized crater burst open, like a hellhole in the tarmac, as some kind of bunker-busting
rocket hit the ground about 150 feet beyond the helicopters. A shower of concrete debris rained
down.

By the time Tovey got back to her feet there was so much cement dust and smoke in the air that
she couldn't even see the Apaches. Worse than that, she couldn't see Blades Garber.

Swearing at any and every old god that was listening, Hawk Tovey stumbled forward searching for
the Specialist. She'd survived Afghanistan for Christ's sake, why the hell was she dodging rockets
in Dallas?

'What kind of goddamn frigging nonsense crap is this, you bastards?' she yelled.

'A SMAW.' It was Garber's voice, coming out of the smoky dark. 'It was a shoulder-launched
rocket, ma'am.'

Tovey turned to her left and fell to the ground beside Blades. Filthy grey-white from head to the
arse he was sitting on, the man looked like a ghost. But he was alive and appeared to be in one
piece - unless his knees, drawn up to his chest, were holding his guts in. If it'd been appropriate
she'd have hugged him. Damn it, she thought, and kissed the top of his head. 'You hurt,
soldier?'

'No ma'am, just winded; you?'

'I'm fine,' Tovey said. 'Thought for a second you were in that hole out there.'

'Thought for a second I was that hole.' Blades cleared his throat, spat and excused his manners.
'What's goin on ma'am? Are we're under attack?'

'I don't know, but I doubt those Civil War fools are playing with modern assault weapons.'

The explosions, including the fireworks, had stopped but the night air was now screaming with
every type of alarm and siren that Fort Hood possessed.

As the crap in the air began to settle the two soldiers saw with relief that, although surrounded
by great chunks of displaced tarmac, the three Apaches seemed to be totally unharmed.

'Now that's what I call a miracle,' Blades said.

'Well don't ask me who performed it. I've been cursing God, Allah, Thor and Darth Vader. And I
can
still
hear that weird whiny noise.'

'I can't hear nothing but you and the sirens,' Blades began. 'Oh,
that
,' he added as a
buzzing approached them from behind.

Before they had a chance to turn, however, the thing
- correction 'things' - flew right over their heads. If they'd been standing with their hands in the
air, they would have been knocked down again.

'Jesus H. Christ. No fucking way!' Blades said. 'Spitfires.'

'Model planes,' Tovey stated in disbelief, 'big model planes.'

'Six-foot wingspans I reckon,' Blades said, checking behind for any other incoming aircraft
before struggling to his feet. He grunted in pain.

'What the hell are they doing now?' Tovey, already standing, was staring open-mouthed at the
Spitfires. They had flown over her helo and straight on for 20 yards, before banking west and
turning to fly back. 'Oh no.'

'Oh no, yes.' Blades took off for the Apaches again, but he was limping this time so it was easy
for the Lieutenant to stop him.

'Stay here, soldier. Don't move; stand down,' she ordered. 'Sit down even.'

'But I really need to secure your cockpit ma'am. I don't know what the hell those things are
doing here, or who is flying them, but - oh fuck it, it's too late. Look, they're actually circling
your helo.'

'Shit.'

'Yeah, because they could only do
that
if they have on-board cameras.' Knowing the
lieutenant would've knocked him to the ground if he tried to run again, he bent down instead, picked
up a chunk of debris and threw it at the model planes. He missed.

'What's more they ain't here with those idiot re-enacters' pretty sky-rockets. I reckon they
belong to whoever's throwing the concrete-busting and hangar-wrecking rockets at us.'

Both Spitfires suddenly headed north again before repeating the previous manoeuvre; although this
time, on the way back, they parted company. One returned to circle widely around the Apache Longbow.
The other, decreasing its altitude as it flew, headed for the helicopter nearest the hangar.

'That one's going to land,' Tovey said.

'Oh no it's not. It's going to crash land. Run, that way.' Blades hoicked his thumb back over his
shoulder.

Blades Garber and Hawk Tovey backed away from their prized machines as fast as they could.
Scattered debris made their retreat difficult, but they were mostly hindered by the fact that
neither of them could take their eyes off what they knew was about to happen.

At precisely the same moment, one Spitfire flew into the rear-underside of the regular AH-64D and
the other dived straight into the open cockpit of the Apache Longbow.

In that moment only Lieutenant Tovey's gods saw what happened inside her helo; but the two
cavalry soldiers witnessed the explosion as the other helicopter's fuel tanks erupted in a wall of
flame.

The last thing they both thought, in their own way, as the dual blasts flung them back across the
tarmac and into unconsciousness, was 'shit, those planes must have been loaded up with something
really mean'.

Melbourne, Australia
Thursday 4 pm

Jana Rossi picked up her eco-friendly shopping bag. It bulged at odd angles,
knocking against her legs. Squashed at the bottom was her overnight gear and on top were the
groceries she had hurriedly bought on the way home. She stepped out of the lift onto the eleventh
floor. It was hard to believe she was home, that she was even alive. It had been two days since her
rescue from Laui Island, and all of eight days after she was supposed to have walked this hallway to
her apartment. It was just as well she didn't have a cat anymore or its weight would have been as
reduced as her luggage. She'd left Melbourne with a large suitcase, a cabin bag, a satchel full of
conference paperwork and a laptop. All she was returning with were emergency supplies of under-wear
that she'd bought at the hotel in Wellington.