Уильям Дитц - Seek and Destroy

“Good,” Mac replied. “Tell him we’re on our way.”

The trip across the field took no more than three minutes. After the truck came to a stop, Mac had to wait for the ramp to go down. It bounced under her boots. Overman was waiting to receive her. He produced a grimace, which Mac knew to be his version of a smile. “Good morning, Major… Here’s your coffee.” Mac watched Overman pour the steaming-hot liquid into a mug. “The cream and sugar is already in there,” he added.

“I would promote you to colonel if I could,” Mac said as she took a sip. “So things went well?”

“We own this dump,” Overman replied confidently.

“How long can we hold it?”

“That depends on what the rebs throw at us,” Overman said cautiously. “But, assuming we have air cover, we could hold the field for twelve hours. Then we’ll run out of supplies.”

Mac noticed that Olinger was standing a couple of feet away, recording the conversation. What had Lassiter told her? It would take the zoomies fifteen minutes to arrive on scene. That was a long time. And what if the rebel air force was waiting to intercept them? Would the brass send more planes? Or write the Marauders off? “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Mac replied.

“Here comes Yankee Three,” Lyle said. And sure enough… Mac could hear the C-130’s engines. Flares had been placed along both sides of the strip, which meant that Three’s pilots had it easy compared to their counterparts in planes One and Two.

It took the better part of fifteen minutes for the C-130 to land, and disgorge the LUCKY LOUbefore taxiing off the runway. “Okay,” Mac said, as she met Overman’s gaze. “Hold the fort… Assuming things go well, we’ll return within two hours. But if the wheels come off, you are to pull out immediately. Do you read me?”

“Five by five.”

“Good. Mr. Olinger will remain here… Please support his efforts to the extent your duties allow. Let’s do this thing.”

After returning to the CALIFORNIA GIRL, Mac made her way through the cargo bay and up into the forward air-guard hatch. Then it was time to don her brain bucket, complete with night-vision gear, and a pair of gloves. It was damned cold in the desert at night, and the windchill would make it worse. Maps had been downloaded onto the Strykers’ nav systems, and the TCs had hard copies just in case. “This is Boomer Six,” Mac said into her mike. “Let’s haul ass.”

Mac had to hang on as Corky Kona put her boot down. Then they were off. Roughly fifty miles separated the tiny town of Pyote from Odessa. And Mac hoped to make the trip in forty minutes. She looked back, saw the LUCKY LOU’s lights, and turned forward again. The lights weren’t really necessary since both drivers had night-vision gear, but civilians would notice if they were off. Especially on the freeway.

Soldiers waved as the vics passed through the perimeter and onto the access road beyond. Kona turned left onto a paved road minutes later and followed that south toward the on-ramp to I-20 east. Once on the freeway, Mac saw that the land around them was mostly flat, and the road was mostly straight, both of which made it easy for the Strykers to hit their top speed of 60 mph.

There were other vehicles on the road, but not many, and none of the civilian drivers had reason to question the presence of military vehicles on I-20. Not with a war raging up north. It wasn’t long before the Strykers passed the towns of Thortonville and Monahans. Things were going well so far, or so it seemed to Mac, until she heard Overman’s voice on the radio. “Boomer Four to Six. Over.”

“This is Six. Go. Over.”

“According to Big Bird, two Confederate aircraft left Lackland Air Force Base and are headed this way. Over.”

Mac felt a sinking sensation. Big Bird was the airborne early-warning and control aircraft flying lazy eights to the north. Thanks to the kind of gear the plane carried, the crew could monitor activity taking place within a 120,000-square-mile radius. “ Why? We came in low… Too low to detect. Or that’s what they told us. Any theories? Over.”

“They think the rebs spotted us from orbit. Over.”

Mac knew that Confederate sympathizers had taken control of NASA’s Mission Control Center in Houston, and the 20th Space Control Squadron at Elgin Air Force Base, just prior to secession. So maybe they had the capacity to monitor air traffic from space. Or had developed it during the last few months. Shit, shit, shit. The worst part was that Mac couldn’t do anything about it except hurry and worry. “What’s their ETA? Over.”

“That depends… Transports would take an hour to get here, but fighters would arrive a lot faster. Over.”

Mac considered that. Should she request air support? No, it was too early. What if the rebs didn’t know about the landing? What if the airplanes in question were going somewhere else? The sudden arrival of some F-15s would tip them and draw an immediate response. “Okay, thanks. Dig in… And I mean deep! And tell the Zoomies that we may need them soon.”

“I’m on it,” Overman replied, which was a nice way of saying: “What the fuck do you think I’m doing?”

Mac laughed. “Sorry, Four… That was stupid. Keep me informed. Over.”

Mac heard two clicks by way of a reply. They were passing through Penwell by then, which meant Odessa was coming up. Even though a partial blackout was in effect, a scattering of lights could be seen on both sides of the freeway. And, as the CALIFORNIA GIRLslowed, Kona took an off-ramp. Mac glanced over her shoulder to make sure that the LUCKY LOUwas still there. It was.

Kona drove through Odessa’s streets at a sedate 35 mph in order to avoid attracting attention. Mac left the hatch for the cargo bay below. She could tell that the green beanies were amped and ready to go. Mac looked at Lyle. “I assume you heard what Overman told me.”

Lyle nodded. “Yeah… The rebs might be coming our way.”

“Exactly. So don’t linger in the hotel’s bar.”

It wasn’t the funniest joke the operators had ever heard but garnered a laugh nonetheless. Lyle grinned. “No worries, Major. We’ll be on our best behavior.”

Mac felt the Stryker make a turn and heard Kona’s voice. “We’re pulling in… Stand by.”

The CALIFORNIA GIRLcame to a halt, and cold air flooded into the compartment as the ramp fell. And there, a couple of hundred feet away, was the dimly lit Tarlo Hotel. Lyle waited for his team to exit before tossing Mac a salute. Then he was gone.

Mac left the Stryker in time to see the operators who’d been aboard the LUCKY LOUfall in behind the others as all of them ran toward the hotel. It was six stories tall, and Mac had an unobstructed view of the walkways that fronted the rooms. She wished she could accompany the team… But that wasn’t possible. All she could do was wait. Mac keyed her mike. “Boomer Six to Four… We’re in position. Over.”

“This is Four,” Overman replied. “Roger that. Six planes are coming our way now… And, according to Big Bird, two are transports. The rest are fighters. ETA thirty minutes. Over.”

Overman’s tone was calm and clinical. Like a doctor delivering a potentially fatal diagnosis. And there he was… Preparing to fight overwhelming odds all over again, wondering how many of his people, her people—would die this time. Could Overman keep it together? Mac prayed that he would. “Roger that, Four. Are the zoomies on the way? Over.”

“That’s affirmative. Over.”

“Good. I saw a flagpole there… Run an American flag up it, and hang on. This isn’t over until it’s over.”