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SHEPARD PEERED OUT the window of the cockpit of the Comanche RAH-70. He studied the two-story house. The pilot began to circle it. There was no clear place to land. The trees were too high and thick. There was a nice-sized front yard, but it was blocked by long branches from the nearest trees. The pilot turned to Shepard and said, “Nowhere to land, sir.”
Shepard stayed quiet.
The guys in the back of the helicopter stared forward. Their night-vision goggles were turned up, not on because of the coming daylight, and their gear was on. They were ready to deploy.
Shepard said, “Prepare to fire the gun. We’ll kill them in the house and take the whole thing down.”
One of his guys said, “What about the diamonds? And Jacobs?”
Shepard said, “That little bastard will be dead with the rest of them. We’ll hike back up and sift through the rubble ourselves for the diamonds.”
The other guy leaned forward in his seat. The harness on his seatbelt moved forward with him in a smooth arc. He asked, “What about the Indians?”
Shepard looked over to the pilot and asked, “How many rounds we got left for the Vulcan gun?”
The pilot smirked and said, “Plenty.”
Shepard said, “After we kill Jacobs, we’ll go back to the town and kill them while they sleep.” Shepard smiled at the thought of massacring Native Americans. Wouldn’t be the first time, he said to himself.
The pilot circled one last time and then yawed and prepared to fire the machine gun at the house.