John O'Brien - Return

“Move! Now!” Lynn calls out. “I’ll cover.”

The soldiers quickly rise and rush the very short distance to the door, throwing it open and yelling “friendlies” as they do. Lynn reaches down and taps the one kneeling beside her on the shoulder, signaling for him to exit as well. The night runners come out of the same door and her vision picks up more coming from doors further down the hallway. This is going to get ugly quick , she thinks squeezing the trigger lightly and feeling the confident buck against her shoulder. The familiar smell of gunpowder fills her nose but goes unnoticed in the quickly building, furious battle. One more night runner is flung backwards and to the side as her rounds hit the mark, the ones behind slow to side-step around it. She begins side-stepping toward the fire door being held open by one of the soldiers guarding it. Fire, step, fire. Each of her bursts sending a night runner to the floor. Blood splashes against the walls and tile, creating psychedelic spray patterns, quickly making the footing treacherous in the hallway beyond. A couple night runners slip in the forming pools, causing them to lose their balance, but barely noticed as they catch their footing and charge on.

The flash of rounds being fired and the tinkling of empty shells on the ground add to the general uproar and violence. Strobes begin to emit from the open stairwell door, evidence that someone is firing back from within into the growing horde. Shrieks, howls of pain, gunfire, a growing haze of smoke, and alternating flashes of strobe light fill the hallway to excess. That, combined with the now frantic radio calls coming through her ear piece, forces Lynn to concentrate on getting them out of here and getting them out now.

“I’ve got movement on the fourth floor,” Drescoll’s voice comes through.

“They’re trying to get through the door on the third,” Jordan calls out. “Don’t know if I can hold this shut much longer.”

“Sounds and movement by the second floor doors,” another voice calls out over the radio.

This whole place has come alive , Lynn thinks. We’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest . She makes the door with a multitude of night runners lying dead on the hallway floor but more are coming. Many more. She did not think it could get any louder but the shrieks fill even more of the hallway as a horde of them charges her way. To the point where she thinks her head will come apart from the noise.

“Close the door!” She yells above the din to the soldier that was holding it open for her and firing one-handed down the hallway.

The door swings ever slowly closed, the pneumatic swing arm above slowing the process. Lynn fires two more bursts into the hallway, hearing the rounds strike without seeing where or what. How could I miss though? She thinks. They practically fill the hallway . She yells for the teammate to head down as she covers the now shut door. The soldier on the other side of the landing holds the other door closed with all of his might.

“Go, I’ve got it covered,” she yells to him.

He releases his grip and turns for the stairs behind her. The door immediately swings open and she sends rounds into the opening, her rifle barking and echoing loudly in the enclosed space. The door opposite swings back closed. Lynn realizes there is gunfire further down the stairs from the other landings.

“They’re trying to come in,” Jordan’s voice yells in the radio. “Better hurry if you’re going to make it.”

“Hold tight, we’re on the way down. Drescoll, you good?” Lynn asks in the radio and starts down the stairs covering the doors on the landing above.

“They’re trying to get through but we’re holding ‘em for now,” he responds.

The sound of footsteps coming from above Lynn rises momentarily above the sound of gunfire and the struggle within the confined space. She looks upward to the stairs and landings above, seeing movement rapidly descending her way. Looking down, lights flash off of the walls from the battles on the landings below. If we’re not careful and quick, we’ll be trapped in the stairwell between floors , she thinks side-stepping down the stairs, keeping the night runners momentarily at bay as they try to come in through the doors on the fifth floor.

Descending down for the seeming hundredth landing, with Robert flying us on a competent final, voices suddenly interrupt our thoughts and instruction, coming through on the our helmets from our secondary radio.

“Sergeant Drescoll, this is Jordan on the third floor. I have sound and movement coming from the other side of my door,” a whispering voice calls out.

The threshold of the runway begins to fill our screen as Robert adjusts the throttles to keep our airspeed up. He is doing a great job of monitoring his airspeed on short final now. The tendency is to begin to concentrate primarily on the runway as it begins to draw near. Especially if you are feeling a little behind the aircraft and intent on getting it down. My attention is focused primarily on his flying, guiding and giving instruction where need, but a part of my mind is directed to listening to the radios for any further information that might come over them. The radios of the teams are affected by distance and line of sight. Not that they have to be in a line of sight to work, but the line of sight affects the distance they can carry and receive.

He manages to set it in without my wondering if my spine will be permanently affected and I nod my approval.

“Nice job,” I say as he applies the throttles for a touch and go.

Airborne once again, he calls for the gear and shortly thereafter, the flaps. I move the appropriate handles and levers at his call, careful of the airspeeds so we don’t overspeed any of the structural limitations. The aircraft cleans up nicely and he levels off at pattern altitude, ready to turn his crosswind leg.

“They’re onto us,” I hear Lynn say over the radio. “Hold the doors! We’re on our way out.”

“I have the aircraft,” I say over the intercom taking control and switching the radio to the secondary.

“Red Team, this is Jack, over,” I say pressing the transmit button.

“This is Gonzalez,” I hear in return.

“Get yourself, along with Alpha and Bravo Teams, ready to board once we taxi in.”

“Copy that, sir,” Gonzalez says replying. “What about the civilians?”

“Bring ‘em,” I answer.

Bringing the aircraft around, I set up for a combat assault landing, basically the quickest way to get this lumbering beast to the ground. It is an overhead turning maneuver designed to roll out on a very short final, landing quickly. My plan is to load up the rest of our teams and find a field or road near the CDC campus to deploy and aid Lynn rapidly if needed. The chatter on the radio sounds like the proverbial shit has hit the fan.

I land without the sweet kiss of the tires rolling on the pavement but deposit the aircraft on the runway with authority sending a jolt through our seats. Slowing the aircraft down quickly with a firm application of brakes and reverse thrust, I take the center taxiway back to the ramp where I see the other teams lined up and waiting.

“Drop the ramp down to its level position,” I tell Robert as I set the aircraft up for takeoff configuration. The ramp has various settings for a variety of applications.

We taxi in and I then have Robert drop the ramp door down all of the way leaving the engines running. I can feel the aircraft shift as the teams clamber aboard. Gonzalez hops up the stairs to inform us that all are onboard and I brief her quickly on the radio chatter I had been hearing as Robert raises the ramp to its closed position. Quickly taxing to the closest runway, I move the throttles up and we are airborne in a rush, cleaning up the gear and flaps, and turning toward the CDC campus only a short distance away.