Karla sat in the left seat, Winny Swink caressing the cyclic in the right as she piloted the Bell OH58 south above Maryland’s Eastern Shore. In the back, Savage and Ryan were discussing their meeting with Harvey Rogers and the implications behind the black box.
“It’s not just the computational power that increases by orders of magnitude,” Rogers had told them, “it’s the versatility and speed. And that’s just on a 2D board. Put it in a three-dimensional lattice like this looks to be? On an evolutionary scale, it turns our finest supercomputers into the equivalent of a simple protozoa. Like, not even to the cockroach stage yet, get it?”
Karla turned to Winny, asking, “What do you think?”
Swink shot her a worried look and lifted a thin red eyebrow. Through the headset she said, “I think if that thing were used as a cyber-weapon, we’d all be screwed. It’s hard to get your head around the notion of the whole world just coming to a stop. Crap, Chief! Everything we do depends on computers. Even if you just took down the banks. Overwhelmed or wiped their computer records clean? The whole fucking economy would just stop cold. No one would know who paid what, owed what, or billed what. And then if you shut down the power, water, and transportation? Even gas pumps run on computers these days.”
Karla nodded, staring down at the different-colored roofs surrounded by green and the roads that ran like arteries through the trees. Colorful dots of automobiles proceeded antlike on the gray road grids. Inland, power corridors cut straight lines through the Maryland verdure. Along the shores, docks were built out over the water. On the bay, boats splashed at the front of white V-shaped wakes. All those people, just living their lives, and not a clue that their world could come undone at any moment.
“For me, the computer thing just made it all click into place,” Swink said, dark sunglasses hiding her eyes as she stared ahead, her right hand on the Kiowa’s cyclic. “Made me think of my two boys up in Boston. What would happen to them if everything went to shit?”
Karla shot her a sidelong glance. “Didn’t know you had two boys.”
“One’s four, the other’s just turned six.” She gave Karla a fleeting smile. “At the time being married made me look more solid to NASA. Hadn’t planned on the first one, let alone the second.”
“You never struck me as the motherly type.”
“Got that right. During the divorce, his lawyer pretty much established, and I quote: ‘An alley cat would have made a better mother.’”
“Ouch.”
“He’s remarried. Lives in Boston. She’s a ditzy blonde accountant in her late twenties, all soft and cuddly with big bouncy boobs.” Swink’s expression twisted in distaste as she gritted out, “She wears . . . pink! Around my boys! Even has pink fucking bedroom slippers.”
“Don’t like pink, huh?”
“I’ve always hated pink. General’s wife came to a party all dressed in pink. Thought she’d lord it over me because I was a lowly major.” Winny raised her fingers where they gripped the cyclic. “Hey, I know the rules. But the condescending bitch was just too much to bear. Hell, all she’d done in life was bake cookies and seduce a general into slipping a ring on her finger. Wanted to know if I had trouble maintaining my ‘femininity’ in the cockpit.”
She paused. “Might have managed to cope if she hadn’t been dripping in pink. Even her eyeliner, for God’s sake!”
Karla couldn’t stifle a grin as she glanced out at Maryland.
“You ever wear pink?” Swink asked hostilely.
“Not since I was five,” Karla answered.
“I may come to like you after all, Chief.”
“Don’t push your luck, Major.”
A hollow pock! sounded. Like a hailstone on a sidewalk. Though Karla knew it from bitter experience, it took an instant for her brain to register.
Impossible!
Another hollow pock sounded.
Karla wheeled in her seat, looking back. Savage—combat vet that he was—had gone rigid, bending to look out the side window.
“Swink! We’re taking fire!”
Winny was already slinging them sideways with the cyclic and punching the anti-torque pedals. G pressed Karla down in the seat. She got a glimpse of a red-and-white airplane as it roared past and banked away.
Savage demanded through the headsets. “Was that what I thought it was?”
“Think so, Major,” Ryan’s voice carried a strain. “I’m pressing my finger against a bullet hole in the panel beside my head.”
Karla was craning her neck, straining against the seat belts as she searched the sky. “You know that sound as well as I do, Major.”
“Who? Why?” Savage demanded.
“Skipper?” Karla called as Winny pitched them into a left bank, the rotors clawing for a different pitch.
“What?” Ryan sounded like a man trying to keep from throwing up.
“Get me that black bag from under the seat.”
“Hold on!” Winny ordered, and moving the cyclic to the right, she worked the pedals, slewing them sideways. “Where’s the son of a bitch gone to?”
Karla searched the sky around them. “There!” She pointed where the red-and-white Beech was banking toward them. Sunlight flashed on the wings; the airplane looked incredibly bright against the blue haze over the Eastern Shore.
Karla shot a worried glance at Swink as she lined out the helicopter. The nose dropped as she pushed the cyclic forward and gave the collective a tug.
“What are you doing?” Savage demanded.
“It’s a Beech Bonanza, Major,” Swink told him. “He’s got us by about fifty knots on the top end. Since we can’t outrun him, our only chance is to outfly the son of a bitch.”
“I’m just a dumb soldier, Major. How’s he shooting at us?”
Karla was glaring at the Beech, watching it bank away again as Winny jacked them left and spoiled the airplane’s approach.
“See how he’s maneuvering?” Swink explained. “Whoever’s in there shooting has to come up alongside. He’s shooting out a window. That thing’s not a fighter aircraft, Major.”
“Should we call for help?” Ryan asked.
“And announce ourselves to the world?” Karla asked. “You heard the general. We’re a covert op, Skipper. I say we do it the SEAL way and solve our own problems.” She glanced at Winny as the woman banked them to the right. “Do we have a chance?”
“Fucking A, Chief. Who do you think is flying this bird? By now he’s figured out he wasn’t close enough when he shot at us the first time. Miscalculated the deflection and windage. He’s got to get close. Suck in right next to us so he can take me out. Or put a round into the engine or controls.”
Karla whirled in her seat, watching as the Beech banked in an attempt to slip behind them. “Skipper! Now! Get me that bag! Winny, keep us level for a bit.”
“He’ll close.”
“Yeah, and unless you want to wear pink for rest of your short life, you’ll let Skipper get me that bag and get back to his seat.”
Swink’s face puckered. “Five seconds, Skipper. Then you better be back in that seat, growing claws out of your ass.”
Ryan unbuckled, grabbed the black nylon bag from where it had been stowed, and tossed it to Karla before throwing himself back into his seat. Even as he slipped the buckle closed, Swink pulled back on the cyclic, the nose rising as the Kiowa slowed.
Pitched forward by g-force, Karla opened the bag; Winny shot a sidelong glance at the contents. Even as she did, she played the cyclic to the left, feet working the pedals.
As they curled around, the Beech thundered past, already in a steep turn to compensate. Karla could see the open window on the airplane’s right side. The thin black rod was indeed a rifle barrel.
“How do you want to play this, Major?” Karla asked as she slammed a magazine into the HK subgun and slapped the bolt down with her left hand. “The shooter’s got a high-power hunting rifle . . . probably scoped. We’ve got a punky little subgun with lots of low-power nine-millimeter pistol bullets in it. My maximum effective range against an airplane is less than a hundred yards.”
“That close, huh?” Winny pushed the cyclic forward as she played with the collective. The Bell dropped its nose, accelerating as Winny narrowed her green eyes to slits, lips working soundlessly.
Karla noted the woman’s concentration, then turned to search for the attacker. Where in the hell had . . . ?
Winny slipped the cyclic left while throttling down. She punched the pedals, and the big Bell rolled on its side, the Beech powering past and banking.
“Take that, asshole,” Swink said with a whisper.
Karla fixed on the Beech as it banked to the east and circled. “Cut that a little close, didn’t you?”
“Before you can make a plan, you gotta know how the other guy thinks.” Swink’s eyes flicked to the instruments as she headed out toward the middle of the bay. They’d lost altitude, the patterns of waves on the green water easily visible below them. “Okay, where’s he at?”
“There.”
Swink followed her finger, nodding as the Beech curved toward them. “That’s it. Now you just follow along, bucko me boy. Dance with me.”
Winny played the cyclic, throttle, and collective as her feet pumped the pedals. Like a ballerina, the Bell twisted and curled. As the chopper turned, Karla watched two guys in a bass boat below flatten themselves.
“Open that passenger window,” Winny ordered.
Karla unlatched the window dropping it down. Wind blast tore past the cockpit.
Even so, she heard the hollow clack as a bullet slammed through the helicopter’s skin.
“That’s your last freebie,” Swink growled, and pushed the cyclic forward as she throttled up. Even as she did, the Beech blasted past in a tight turn to make another pass.
“Where’s my sunlight?” Winny was muttering to herself. “Yep. Right there.” She was staring down through the nose glass to where the Bell’s shadow raced across the surface of the bay.
Karla had lost sight of the Beech as it hooked behind them.
“Chief?” Swink fixed her eyes on the shadow below. “You’re only going to have one chance. So get it the fuck right. You’ve got to pepper the front of that son of a bitch. Empty the whole magazine, and if you can swap quick enough, empty a second.”
“You want to line this out for me?” Karla asked.
“Just spray that fucker when I give you the chance.”
“Roger that.” Karla flipped the fire control to auto. She, too, was watching the shadow, startled to see the Beech’s as it slipped in behind them, closing.
“How close you going to let them come?” Karla asked.
“No one sticks his tongue out for a lick if he’s not close enough to taste the honey.” Swink’s eyes slitted in concentration. Over the wind blast, Karla could have sworn she heard the faint report of a rifle.
“Now, Chief!” Swink shouted.
Karla’s stomach dropped sickeningly as the Bell twisted sideways and rose like it had been goosed from below. G-force tried to toss her across the cabin. The horizon pitched violently. The black HK might have suddenly become lead as she fought to keep her grip on the gun.
As the world spun, the Beech rotated into Karla’s view. It came head-on, propeller shining in a silvered disk. White paint on the cowling contrasted with the dark plexiglass windscreen. Within seconds, it would smash right through her window.
Karla thrust the muzzle of the HK out into the downwash. Every muscle straining, she found the front sight, settled it on the Beech’s spinner, and triggered the gun.
The HK vibrated, rising, obscuring her view of all but the airplane’s wings. As the gun abruptly stopped, the airplane’s wings were dropping. Even as she clawed for a second magazine, the Beech thundered beneath them. The Bell’s airframe jolted as if it had been slapped by God.
Scrambling to keep hold of the gun, Karla almost tumbled out of her seat.
“Yahoo!” Winny shrieked, straightening their flight.
Heart hammering in her throat, Karla gasped for breath—fear like lightning in her body. Winny dropped the Bell’s nose just in time for Karla’s fragmenting gaze to locate the Beech. Ahead and below, the airplane hit the bay at a glancing angle. White spray blasted out; the wings snapped off. Two bodies seemed to squirt through the shattered windscreen. As the broken airplane flipped up, the tail section flew off in a lazy cartwheel. Then the engine splashed down yet again, and bent propellers slashed white lines in the waves.
“Son of a bitch!” Savage cried from the back. “I thought we were dead.”
“We’re not out of the woods yet, folks,” Winny told them, her eyes on the gauges. “Feel that new vibration? Rotors are out of balance. Probably a bullet hole.”
“One little hole makes that much difference?” Ryan asked.
“Depends on how much structural integrity is left in the blade, Skipper. And that last big bang? That was the Beech’s stabilizer whacking a landing skid. Chief, you want to check that out for me?”
Karla dared the downwash before withdrawing her head and buttoning up her window. “Bent up like tinfoil, Major.”
Swink’s thin lips had curled into a wry smile. “And—to cap it all off—we just won an aerial dogfight in some of the most closely monitored airspace in the world. Civilian and military air traffic controllers are chattering like chimps at a banana festival.”
“So what’s the plan?” Major Savage asked.
“We go under the 50-301 bridge, cut west up the Severn River, and scoot overland dodging trees and power lines to the airport.” She glanced down at the water barely twenty feet below. “Then we hope I can set this bird down on a broken skid without grounding a rotor blade. Assuming we all survive that, we hotfoot over to the Gulfstream, and pray they give us clearance for takeoff before they figure out it was us who splashed that Beech.”
“And if they don’t?” Karla asked.
“Take a guess, Chief.”