Ashes - Warriors From The Ashes Part 28

"That is excellent news, Ben," Guerra said. "Perhaps Tam-pico can be saved after all."

Lieutenant Tommy Bartholomew took off in his Aardvark from an improvised airstrip that'd been bulldozed in the desert by the big Catapillar Cat-9's the night before. He'd barely had time after his night landing to get six hours' sleep and eat a quick breakfast before Ike McGowen had told him of Ben's request for a little hara.s.sment of Loco's troops at Ciudad de Valles.The General Dynamics F-l 11 Aardvark was the first supersonic fighter-bomber with the ability to make low-level precision bombing attacks by day or night, in any kind of weather. Known as the Aardvark because of its droop-nose silhouette, the swept-wing F-l 11 entered service over Vietnam in 1968. In 1986, F-lll's based in England struck at Colonel Qaddafi's 259.

Libya, and in 1991 the F-lll was one of the anti-Saddam Hussein coalition's most important aircraft. Now, almost fifty years since its first combat flight, the F-lll was still a mighty killing machine, and Bartholomew loved it as most men loved their wives.

Carrying almost eleven tons of bombs, it took almost three thousand feet to get airborne, but once in the air, the fighter flew at almost eight hundred knots southward toward Loco's troop concentrations in the City of the Valleys.

a.s.sured by McGowen that there were few if any civilians in the occupied city, Tommy dove out of the sun at just under the speed of sound, his electronic sights picking out targets of tanks, ammo dumps, fuel storage tanks, and troop bivouac areas.

On his first sweep, catching Loco's men completely unaware, he dropped his bombs so low that he flew through the dark red mushroom clouds of debris and flames that rose upon exploding. Sweeping up in a wide turn, he glanced over his shoulder and saw several helicopters and two smaller jet fighters angling on the runway south of the city to get in position to take off.

Banking so steeply his cheeks bulged and flattened against the G-forces, he whipped around and made another run, this time the craters of his bombs marching inexorably toward the hapless planes still warming up for takeoff. Two of the helicopters managed to get off the ground before Tommy's bombs totally destroyed the runway, three hangars, and most of the control tower of the airport.

His left wing shuddered under the impact of the Kiowa's 20mm Minigun as he swept past the first helicopter. Ignoring the damage and the red warning lights that lit up his instrument panel like a Christmas tree, Tommy keyed the second Kiowa into his fire-control computer and pressed the b.u.t.ton on his wing guns.

Every fifth bullet was a tracer, and the red dots of death screamed toward the helicopter, finally mating with it in a 260.

fiery explosion that rocked the F-lll as it flew by. Tommy watched the wreckage land in a field of scattering troops, incinerating at least a couple of dozen screaming men.

The control stick shook and shuddered in his hands, and he could see pieces of his left wing peeling off where the 20mm sh.e.l.ls had st.i.tched a pattern across.

He made one more pa.s.s at high alt.i.tude to stay out of range of the remaining Kiowa, and dumped the rest of his bombs indiscriminately overthe city, watching most of them disappear under clouds of smoke and dust and flames.

Reluctantly, he pointed the nose of his beloved F-lll north toward Tampico and keyed the mike on his radio.

"Mayday, Mayday," he said calmly, dialing in the frequency of the Navy base at Tampico that he'd been given in his pre-flight briefing that morning.

"This is Big Bird One-One-One to base at Tampico. I have a Mayday."

"Come in, Big Bird, this is Tampico Navy base," a Spanish-accented voice said in fairly good English.

"I've taken a hit on my left wing and the stabilizer is out. I need clearance for a straight-in approach on Runway B-12," Tommy said, glancing at the map strapped to his right thigh.

"Come ahead, Big Bird. We'll have fire trucks and foaming equipment standing by for your landing."

"Roger, Tampico. Get the beer ready. I've got a mouthful of dust to cut."

"Roger that, Big Bird. Good luck, amigo," the voice said, signing off.

Minutes later, his wings wiggling and shaking more than Elvis's hips ever had, Tommy lowered the nose of the F-lll toward the base at Tampico and lowered his flaps, hoping they would help calm the jittering of his wings on final approach.

His speed slowed, making control of the aircraft more difficult, and sweat began to pour from his forehead and face as he gripped the control stick with both hands, using his feet 261.

on the pedals to try to keep the plane in the air for another quarter mile.

"It's gonna be close, old girl. Hang in there for me another couple'a seconds," he whispered through a dry mouth to his plane.

The F-lll hit the ground, bounced once, skidded slightly to the right, then began to slow to manageable speed in the center of the runway.

Tommy leaned his head back, breathed a quick prayer of thanks, and let the air he'd been holding out of his lungs.

262.

Lieutenant Commander Johnny Held and Lieutenant Josh Fuentes were in the lead Apache flying out of Georgi Strigi-nov's 505 Bat, while Lieutenant Commander Jerry Stringer and Lieutenant Wally Fuller were flying backup in the second Apache.

Their orders were simple: Find the mercenaries operating under the command of Field Marshal Bruno Bottger and destroy as many men and as much equipment as they could. If they managed to down a few helicopters, all the better.Their last intel was that the meres were attacking the village of Valapraiso ninety miles to the south of Durango, where General Ben Raines and his team were meeting with the head of the Mexican Armed Forces, General Jose Guerra.

As they flew along the tributaries of the Grande de Santiago, the large river on the West Coast that sent its smaller branches up near Valapraiso, they could see smoke and flashes of light as the meres systematically destroyed the meager defenses of the small town.

"Whirlybird One to Whirlybird Two," Held said to Stringer over the s.h.i.+p-to-s.h.i.+p radio. "Looks like the bad guys are having some fun down there, pickin' on the smaller boys."

"Yeah," Stringer answered. "Let's go kick some sand in their faces and teach them some manners, American style."

"Roger that," Held said. "Drop your socks and grab your c.o.c.ks, boys, we're goin' downtown!"

The two Apaches separated slightly, put their noses down 263.

for increased speed, and rushed toward the conflagration below. Held could see a couple of small black dots flitting around the outskirts of the town, and knew them to be either Kiowas or Defenders. It was too far to tell which they might be, but it really didn't matter too much, for the Apache outcla.s.sed both of them in combat by a large margin.

Deciding to save his 2.75-inch rockets for the big boys, the Chinooks he knew must be in the area, Held fingered the trigger on his 30mm Chain Gun. The Chain Gun was a h.e.l.lish instrument that could fire 30mm slugs so fast it sounded like a steady whine instead of the usual chatter of a machine-gun.

One of the enemy helicopters, a Kiowa, must have seen them coming, for it turned its back and headed off in full retreat.

"Smart boy," Held said to his copilot, Josh Fuentes, who was busy checking the area for other targets or risks.

The second helicopter, a McDonnell Douglas OH-6 Defender, made the mistake of turning to face the Apache and letting go with a stream of 20mm sh.e.l.ls from its Minigun while the Apache was still far out of range.

"That boy's got more b.a.l.l.s than brains," Josh said. "The Defender may be good against tanks and ground installations, but it's not worth spit as an attack chopper."

"He's gonna find that out in about twenty seconds," Held said as he locked his target acquisition computer sights on the smaller helicopter and pulled the trigger on the Chain Gun.

The Defender seemed to just disintegrate under the onslaught of the first burst of 30mm sh.e.l.ls, breaking into pieces too small to see, then exploding in a fireball of av-gas and ammunition.

Without slowing his descent, Held asked, "Next target?"Josh keyed his computer and said, "Half-track personnel carrier at three o'clock low, off to the right. It's already keyed into right-pod rocket launcher."

"Roger," Held said, and fingered the trigger to the right-hand-side rocket launcher.

264.

A 2.75-inch rocket shot from under the right turbine engine, and curved in a gentle arc downward toward a large truck with tank threads on its rear part, full of soldiers. As the rocket flared on its way down, Held could see a couple of men try to jump out of the vehicle. They were in midair when the rocket buried its nose in the engine compartment of the truck and exploded, sending crumpled, blackened metal and bits and pieces of soldiers' bodies flying through the air.

"Incoming!" Josh hollered as his computer picked up the trail of a handheld GTA SAM missile that'd been fired at them by one of the soldiers.

Without thinking, acting on reflex since he had only seconds to react, Held pulled up on the collective, jerked the throttle stick to the side, and pumped his feet on the pedals, sending the Apache in a sideways, leaning dive toward the ground. The SAM pa.s.sed by less than thirty feet from the right turbine, too close to turn toward the heat.

In one continuous move, Held bent the Apache's nose back around and arrowed toward the ground, his finger holding the trigger of the Chain Gun down, strafing the thousands of troops scattering like stampeded cattle before him.

A 30mm bullet makes quite a mess of human flesh, and the soldiers below were smashed and torn asunder by the fusillade of bullets that rained down on them like hail from h.e.l.l, killing hundreds of men in the first pa.s.s.

A few soldiers tried to fire their machine-guns at the Apache, but it was like trying to hit a hawk with a slingshot, and none of the bullets made contact as Held pulled up out of his dive and prepared for another pa.s.s.

"Target?" he asked in a calm voice, as if this were just another day at the office.

"There's a pair of Chinooks over to the left," Josh said calmly. "Looks like they're trying to warm up their engines for a fast getaway."

"Dial 'em in and let's get the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds," Held said.

265.

Josh's fingers flew over the keyboard to his target acquisition computer, and seconds later he said, "Done."

Held lined up the nose of the Apache, and pulled back on the collective to cause it to hover momentarily. Just as he tapped the fire b.u.t.ton on the rocket launcher, one of the Chi-nooks lifted off, the heavy helicopter trying to get airborne and escape its fate.

The first rocket hit the Chinook on the ground, exploding it in a giant fireball, the metal of its fuselage collapsing around the troops thathad been trying to clamber on board and killing all in a split second.

The second Chinook was about thirty feet off the ground and just beginning its turn when the 2.75-inch rocket entered its turbine exhaust port, blowing the engine off the machine.

The Chinook spun wildly, out of control, and smashed to the ground, first flattening out like a giant pancake. Then it too exploded, sending flames and smoke a hundred feet into the air.

Stringer and Fuller were equally busy. Stringer had elected to focus his attack on the troops on the outskirts of the town. He aimed the nose of his Apache at several HumVees and smaller jeeps that were using their pole-mounted fifty-caliber machine guns to rake the buildings of Valapraiso with murderous fire.

When their gunners saw the Apache coming at them out of the sun, they swiveled their guns upward and continued to fire, trying desperately to down the approaching aircraft.

It was no use. The Chain Gun mounted under the Apache's nose exploded into action, sending thousands of rounds of 30mm sh.e.l.ls at the vehicles.

Two HumVees disintegrated under the impact, exploding and killing all the men within a hundred yards of their location as molten, twisted metal acted like shrapnel from a dozen hand grenades and scythed through them like a cultivator through a field of wheat, mowing them down and killing them instantly.

One of the jeeps took off in a screeching turn, trying to 266.

escape the fire, but the tracers of the Chain Gun followed it, st.i.tching a path up the road until they intersected with the jeep and blew it twenty feet into the air, its rubber tires on fire and sending out thick, black clouds of smoke.

By now, the mercenaries were in full retreat, running in packs and individually as fast as they could away from the town. Some even dove into the rivers that ran near the city limits and tried to hide in the slowly moving waters.

With most of the heavy equipment either abandoned or destroyed, the two Apaches flitted back and forth, firing their Chain Guns at the running men, killing hundreds as they tried to make their escape.

Soon, most of the larger groups of men were either dead or had dispersed, dropping their weapons and hightailisg it toward the spa.r.s.e jungles in the distance, trying to get under cover and away from the Angels of Death flying overhead.

"Whirlybird Two, come in," Held said, pulling his Apache away from the fleeing soldiers and back toward town.

"Whirlybird Two here," Stringer replied. "What do you think, Johnny? We done enough damage for the time being?"

"Roger that, Jerry. You stand guard up here for a while in case that Kiowa decides to come back and fight. I'm gonna land and see if thereare any defenders left in the town to fight."

"That Kiowa won't come back, Johnny, not unless he's got s.h.i.+t for brains, but I'll keep an eye out just in case."

Johnny Held landed his Apache, leaving Josh at the controls in case he needed to take off in a hurry, while he walked toward the destroyed buildings of Valapraiso.

Within ten minutes, bedraggled Mexican soldiers and townspeople began to come out of bas.e.m.e.nts and the rubble of collapsed buildings from all across the town.

Held stood with his hands on his hips until a contingent of soldiers, led by a man with sergeant's stripes on his uniform, walked up to him.

267.

The sergeant saluted smartly, even though blood from two wounds on his left arm was dripping onto the ground.

"Sergeant Raul Dominguez, sir," he said.

"You the commanding officer here, Raul?" Johnny said, sticking out his hand to shake.

"Yes, sir, I am now. Both our lieutenants were killed in the attack."

Johnny looked around. Dominguez had perhaps sixty or seventy men left who looked like they were well enough to fight.

"Why don't you get your men to round up the weapons and ammunition, and a couple of those jeeps over there with the fifty-calibers on 'em?" he asked. "My partner and I will stay aloft and cover you until you're back in the town and get your defenses set back up."

"Yes, sir," Dominguez said. Then he turned and barked orders in rapid Spanish to his men, who scattered and began to pick up machine guns, grenades, and ammunition boxes that were lying among the dead and wounded mercenaries.

Dominguez glanced around. "What shall I do with the wounded enemies, sir?" he asked.

"You got enough men to play nursemaid to a bunch of mercenaries that were doin' their best to kill you an hour ago?" Held asked.

"Uh, now that you mention it, sir, I don't."

"Then leave 'em," Held said. "Buzzards gotta eat too."

Dominguez grinned, and Held knew that was the answer he'd wanted, and probably what he would have done no matter what Held had advised. The Mexican Army was not known for its humanitarian instincts in the best of times.

"Yes, sir."

"We'll hang around until we see your men are all safely back in town.

Then we gotta split. Gettin' kinda low on go-juice," Held said."You think they'll be back, sir?" Dominguez asked, glancing in the direction the soldiers had taken when they ran off.

268.

Held shook his head. "Not today, but they'll get reinforcements and probably hit you again tomorrow or the next day."

"Can we expect more help from you americanos?" Dom-inguez asked.

Held shrugged. "Yeah, our battalion should be well within distance to help out by tomorrow, but you fellows look like you were doin' all right on your own. Now that you got plenty of ammo and time to dig in, I don't think you're gonna have any problems."

Dominguez saluted again, then turned to make sure his men were thorough in picking through the weapons and ammunition scattered around the battlefield.

269.

It was almost full dark by the time the Kiowa helicopter that had fled the battle at Valapraiso landed outside the Presidential Palace at Mexico City.

The pilot and copilot were brought to the conference room on the third floor, where Bruno Bottger and Perro Loco and their entourages were having a strategy meeting.