The day after: An apocalyptic morning (157 page)

              The attack by air had come as a complete and total surprise, even though everyone had SEEN the fucking thing diving down at them from the first moment. They had thought that the aircraft that had been tormenting them for so long had suffered an engine failure, so rapidly had it come down out of the sky. There had been cheers of joy from Lima and his men as they had waited for the smash and the eruption of flame. And then suddenly it had pulled out of the fall and disappeared behind the hill. And then, while they'd still been trying to figure out the meaning of that, it was strafing them. No one had even managed to get a shot off at the cursed thing.

              "Engine noise," one of the men suddenly yelled now. "Coming from that way!" He pointed off to the southwest, the direction the thing had disappeared in after the attack.

              Lima listened, looking in that direction, and after a moment heard the whine of the helicopter's turbine engine. It was a high-pitched sound, audible only because the machine was cranked up to top speed. It was swelling rapidly, growing louder by the second.

              "Get down," Lima yelled out, waving everyone back into the mud that they had just crawled out of. His men, those still alive, didn't have to be told twice. They threw themselves down and then quickly spread out, keeping distance between themselves and their companions so as not to become an easy target.

              "Here it comes!" someone said as the sound grew louder. "One o'clock low!"

              "Shoot it," Lima commanded, raising his M-16. "When it comes at us, everyone shoot at the motherfucker! Bring him down!"

              "There they are," Skip said as they passed over the last rise. "Eleven o'clock. Lay it to 'em, Jase!"

              "On target," Jack said, squeezing the trigger and releasing his clip of ammunition. Once again he raked his fire over as many as the prone figures as he could in the two seconds that they were in his sights. He thought that he might have hit one or two.

              This run however, something new was added. Their targets were shooting back at them. As Skip flashed by them at 96 knots and three hundred feet above the ground, the flashes of weapons could clearly be seen. A second later there was a loud bang from underneath the helicopter and Sherrie screamed.

              "What is it?" Skip said, banking severely to the right to clear the target area. "Are we hit?"

              "A bullet just came up through the floor!" Sherrie told him.

              "Are you hit?" he asked.

              "No," she said. "I just..."

              "Is anything in the chopper hit?" he interrupted.

              "Uh... no, I think it ended up in the rope coil."

              "Good," he said, banking back to the left. "Then don't worry about it."

              Skip kept them low to the ground and their speed high as he raced back around the hill towards the other side of the hill. Green trees and large patches of brown flashed by beneath them in a blur of motion. A moment later, they shot right over the top of Christine and Rhonda once again, catching just the quickest glimpse of them.

              "Goddammit," Skip said, pulling around in a tight turn to the right. "They're still not clear."

              "Will one more pass do it?" Jack asked, pulling his expended magazine clear. "I only got one more clip in here."

              "I guess it's going to have to," Skip said. "Get it ready."

              He finished his bank and then lined up for another run, navigating by landmarks only. He passed over the top of Christine again, silently telling her to hurry up. And then he was following the edge of the hill between the two groups, hoping that this run would be enough.

              The pursuers were a little faster with their guns this time. When they came around and lined up on them this time, the weapons were already flashing. As Jack opened up on them with the M-16, a burst of fire from one of their weapons found its mark. There was a bang from just below Skip's feet and a small spray of blood splashed in his face. Pain, severe and sharp, was suddenly shooting up his left leg, seeming to be centered in his knee.

              "Skip!" Jack yelled in horror, his hands coming off of the gun. "Jesus Christ! You're hit!"

              Skip continued his pass, not looking down to see how bad it was, not wanting to know until he got the helicopter clear of the target area. He pulled up a little, bringing their altitude up a hundred feet, and slacked off some of the speed. The pain in his leg continued to worsen, spreading up and down his entire body, throbbing with the beat of his heart. It felt like someone had installed a vice on his knee and was clamping it ruthlessly down, turn by turn.

              Finally, unable to delay it any longer, he looked down, seeing nothing but bad news. His left leg was a mess. It appeared that a bullet had entered just below his kneecap, moving at an upward angle. It had exited just above his kneecap, blasting a hole the size of a silver dollar in his lower thigh. Muscle and fat tissue along with bone fragments, a piece of tendon, and a considerable amount of blood were all protruding from the exit wound.

              "This is bad," Skip said, trying to move the leg a little. The moment his thigh shifted on the seat a large glut of blood gurgled out of the wound and the pain intensified to a level that actually made him sweat. "Owwww, Goddamn that hurts!" he yelled, his face grimacing.

              "Skip?" Jack asked, his face worried. "Can you move your leg?"

              "Not really," he said through gritted teeth.

              "How are you going to land then?" Jack asked. "You can't maneuver at slow speed if your feet can't work the pedals."

              "Let's worry about that," Skip answered, "after Christine is safe. Hang on, we're going back around." He banked to the right, adding a little more speed, trying to keep his worthless lower leg from flopping around. Blood continued to pour from it, soaking into the seat and pattering to the floor.

              "What are we going back around for?" Jack asked. "We're out of ammo!"

              "But they don't know that, do they?" Skip returned. "Just seeing us come at them will keep them in the mud for another minute or so. Hopefully that'll be enough. Now hang on."

              He dove back down, heading for the front side of the hill once again. This time he did not go directly at the attacking men, choosing instead to cross at high speed to the right of them. The mere passage of the helicopter in their vicinity would probably be enough to keep them down and off of Christine's tail and since Jack did not have to actually aim and shoot at them, there was no point in getting close enough to be shot at effectively.

              This worked just as he had hoped. They were close enough to see the men still in the same place they'd been during the first pass, close enough to see the flashes of six weapons shooting at them, but far enough away so that there were no more pops of bullets hitting the aircraft.

              " Christine," Skip said into the microphone as he banked off to the right, "are you still down there? What's your status?"

              "We're still moving," her weary, out of breath voice answered a moment later. "We're just passing the front of the hill now."

              "I see her!" Jack yelled, pointing out the window. "She's at our two o'clock."

              Skip looked and was able to see the tiny figures staggering onward. They were indeed past the front of the hill now, moving through a shallow gully between it and the next one. Though it was still technically possible for the men on the other side of the hill to catch up to them, it was unlikely unless they went into an all-out sprint. As long as Christine kept moving for another few minutes, she would more than likely be safe.

              "It looks like you're safe, babe," Skip told her, breathing a sigh of relief. "Keep moving at the pace you are for now, but I think we kept them at bay long enough."

              "Thanks Skip," she breathed back. "And how are you? Is anyone in there hit?"

              "I got a little... uh... scratch to my leg. I'll be all right though. Everyone else is fine too."

              "How little of a scratch?" she demanded. "Is it from a bullet?"

              "It's from a bullet," he said. "A little one. I'll live. Now get your ass over to your trench and be sure to hold these fucks off. I don't think they'll attack again, they don't have enough people left, but you never know. They've been pretty fucking stupid so far."

              "I copy," she said. "Is Paul on the way up to get Rhonda?"

              "I don't know," Skip said. "Paul, are you out there?"

              "I'm here," Paul said immediately, as if he had been awaiting a chance to break into the conversation. "I understand you're wounded, Skip. How bad is it?"

              "My left knee's been shot," he said. "I'm still bleeding but I think I'll be okay once I get back on the ground."

              "Will you be able to fly?" Paul wanted to know. "I've got three people that need immediate evac to El Dorado Hills. I don't know how bad Rhonda is, but it sounds like she might be a fourth."

              Skip frowned a little and tried moving his leg once again. The pain was even worse this time. Now it felt as if the operator of the vice was not only tightening it shut but also burning the skin with a blowtorch at the same time. My God, he thought helplessly, will I even be able to land?

              "Skip?" Paul asked. "Did you copy my question?"

              "I copy," Skip told him. "Don't worry. One way or another, I'll get those people to El Dorado Hills. I'm gonna take one more look at the battle area and then I'm gonna come in for a landing. Get the wounded over to the LZ as quick as you can."

              "As soon as I get Rhonda, I'll be on my way."

              "Then we should get there about the same time, shouldn't we? Skip out."

              With that he began to climb again, quickly bringing them back up to 6000 feet. He did not slow down and go into a hover, not just yet, since doing so would have required that he use the anti-torque pedals much more actively. Instead, he put the aircraft into a broad circle, circling widely around the town, the freeway, the canyon, and the no-man's land of the battlefield. He kept their speed at about 70 knots.

              "Jack," he said, gritting his teeth through the pain, "keep an eye on the gauges, particularly the fuel, engine heat, and oil pressure. I don't know for sure that one of those bullets didn't hit a fuel line or the tank or go into the engine compartment."

              "Right," Jack said, leaning forward and scanning the instrument panel. "Are you gonna be able to..."

              "I'm going to have to," he said. "Don't worry."

              Jack nodded, not saying anything further but obviously worrying.

              "Sherrie," Skip said next. "Are you still back there?"

              "Right here, Skip," she said.

              "Get the first aid kit out of the compartment back there, will you? And see if you can edge up here between us and get a bandage on my leg. I need to get the bleeding stopped."

              "Right away," she said, reaching behind her and digging out the large white box with the red cross on it.

              While she was assembling the bandaging materials, Skip took a look down at the battlefield, trying to get a sense of how things were going. In all of the excitement of getting Christine and Rhonda free and of getting shot, he had almost forgotten the big picture. Looking now he could see that things were fairly static down there. The shift of forces had been completed and the trenches that were the next line of defense were manned and ready. If the militia decided to push south again they would find yet another wall of guns to fight through. The militia themselves were still gathered in three separate places - a group apiece in each of the trench complexes they had just taken (or been given) and a smaller group at the original line. Skip could see that a few of the men from the original line were separating out and walking forward to join the others. It must be, he figured, the commander moving forward to examine the territory that had been captured. To the west, where the strafing runs had just taken place, the group that had been in pursuit of Christine was now making its way back, having given up the chase. There were only five of them out of the original ten - the rest were corpses lying in the mud at the scene of the attack.

              Skip tried to get a loose count of the surviving militia members that were facing them but the pain kept getting in the way. He had to settle for a broad estimation. It was quite apparent that there were now less than seventy of them however, possibly a lot less. He reported this to Mick and Paula, fighting to keep his voice calm and level.

              "We copy, Skip," Mick said. "How are you doing up there? Are you just gonna keep circling?"

              "I'll come down in a minute," he said. "I just wanted to take a look at the area first and make sure there's no surprises waiting for us."

              "Skip," Paula cut in, "how bad are you? You can land that thing, can't you?"