John O'Brien - Conspiracy

“Okay, we’ve seen enough. Get ready to start delivering your magic,” I announce.

“We’re past ready,” he replies.

“We’re going to concentrate with the ones around base. Make sure to stay away from the aircraft parked on the ramp. We need to also avoid getting close to the armories, the maintenance sheds, the helicopters, the hospital, and I’d like to avoid the housing if possible. You never know if we may use those down the road.”

“You’ve pretty much just eliminated any place that we can hit,” he responds.

I hear Bri chuckle on the intercom.

Fuck, he’s right , I think, looking down into the blackness below where unseen night runners run through streets separating abandoned buildings. My enhanced vision doesn’t allow me to see that far into the night.

“Okay, we’ll concentrate on a built up area outside of the burnt out sections. Give me a heading to the most significant sightings,” I say.

“Stand by one,” he replies. “Okay, head toward downtown. A heading of three-one-zero degrees ought to do it.”

The hotels and office buildings of downtown Tacoma slide into view on the monitor and we set up our usual orbit pattern. We’ll hit the outskirts of the downtown proper as the taller buildings will restrict our view and, subsequently, our shots. Thermal imaging picks up the white figures of several packs as they move through the streets. The night runners pause to look up as we pass.

Robert’s voice comes through the intercom as he marks targets and runs through last minute safety checks to bring the guns to a final readiness.

“You are weapons free,” I call once I hear him complete his checks.

“Copy that. Opening fire.”

“Make sure you are recording,” I state.

“We are.”

I look down to the monitor and see that he has targeted one of the medium-sized packs loping down a wide avenue. Flashes appear outside as the 40mm cannon opens up, spewing rounds out into the dark, lighting the outboard engine nacelles and propellers for split seconds at a time. Looking down to the monitor, I see the first shell hit at the edge of the group. The figures are lost momentarily as the screen flashes with the heat of the impact. A figure of white is launched to the side and crashes forcefully into a parked vehicle. Just as the screen begins to clear, another flash of light signifies another 40mm shell exploding as it hits in the midst of the group.

The screen clears and I count seven white figures scattered in various positions on the roadway below. None are moving. Robert calls out the next target and engages. I notice that these don’t immediately vanish into the buildings as did the others that we encountered closer to our compound.

After hitting several groups in the area, the figures in white below finally do disappear into buildings. We mark these before moving on to other groups in the open. In another area, the night runners vanish almost immediately after we hit a single group. I’ve come to realize that I’ll never get a grip on night runner thinking. They behave differently wherever we go, whether in the air or on the ground. Again, we mark the buildings and start engaging those with the 105mm howitzer.

Looking down into the dark landscape below, large orange mixed with yellow flashes flare briefly, like matches being struck at a distance in an unlit room. The explosion, from the 105mm as it impacts one of the buildings that a group of night runners ran into, bursts skyward and then vanishes. There’s not a night runner to be seen on thermals, but Robert has marked a few of the buildings and we hit a few of these before moving to another area. We are beginning to run low on 40 and 105mm ammo as we hunt the night runners through the blackened neighborhoods.

It’s a good feeling to be exacting some measure against the night runners. It’s doesn’t take away from our recent tragedies, but it still feels good to be doing something other than sitting by the side waiting to be hit.

In another orbit, Robert tracks a large pack in an industrial area. The pack is the largest we’ve seen tonight. At best count, there appears to be over a hundred moving behind a single figure in front. I hear Robert target the pack and set up the 105mm for an initial attack. He will follow up with the 40mm and Gatling gun for any that remain.

Concentrating on the size of the pack and its leader, I don’t focus much on the area they are running through. I’m guessing Robert didn’t either. Suddenly, that lack of vigilance jumps into my vision like turning the page of a pop-up book. I hear the order to fire before I can utter a word.

The screen goes completely white. I look outside to see a white-hot explosion rocketing upward and out, lighting the terrain for miles around. Secondary explosions rock the ground below and combine with the initial blast. White and blue flame shoots outward, obliterating everything in its path. White hot fire and flame boil upward with immense speed, hurtling skyward. The mushroom cloud, filling now with yellows and oranges, reaches our altitude and soars past. I grip the wheel in anticipation and instinctually start turning the aircraft away from the fireball. I know what’s coming next.

“Hang on!” I shout into the intercom.

It’s all I can get out before the aircraft is hit by the initial concussion of the tremendous explosion. It feels like we’ve been swatted by a gigantic hand and flung to the side. The Spooky is lifted and thrown, the nose turning at least thirty degrees to the side. The left wing rises, threatening to roll us, and the nose points skyward. It’s all I can do to hang on to the wheel as it tries to force its way from my grip.

Unsecured objects crash to the floor in the cockpit and cargo compartment. I am thrown to the side and only held in my seat by the harness. Almost subconsciously, I hear strangled screams and shouts through the intercom. I push the controls forward and to the left, mashing the left rudder down, but the actions have little effect with the pressures being exerted on the aircraft. The Spooky now has the flight characteristics of a thrown brick.

“Pull number one to idle and push four to mil,” I shout to Craig, trying to right the aircraft.

I would position the throttles, but it’s all I can do to keep control of the wheel. The control surfaces are exerting pressure in the exact opposite direction that I’m trying the hold them. Craig positions the throttles and I feel a decrease of the pressure being exerted against the control wheel as we continue to be buffeted by the force of the explosion.

And then, just as suddenly as it hit, the buffeting ceases. The nose and wings begin to respond to my control inputs, and we achieve level flight six thousand feet above where we started and on top of a layer of clouds. Moonlight shines brightly, casting its silvery glow upon the undercast. A blanket of whites and grays float gently below us, the calmness they portray is in direct contrast to what we just went through. The top of Mount Rainier pierces the clouds, the moonlight reflecting brightly off the snowfields.

To the side, the fireball still rises, but has slowed significantly. The heat from it has vaporized the clouds, creating a hole of clear air around it. The fact that we are still flying is a testament to the strength of the 130. We’ll definitely have to have it checked over by the mechanic we picked up before taking it out again. If we’ve sustained any structural damage, we may have to fly down and pick up another one. At the very least, it will delay our flight by a day in order to get it looked over. It’s not that we are going to fly it south with us, but I’ll need to know whether we need to pick up another one. I do a quick scan of the instruments to verify that we are indeed flying and the engines are still operating.