Уильям Дитц - Seek and Destroy

Once a fiberglass case was exposed, all Victoria had to do was enter a three-digit code into the combination lock, insert a special key, and give it two complete turns. Then she had ten minutes to get clear. As for any civilians who happened to be present when the charge went off, well, they were soldiers of a sort. And would have to die for their country.

Everything went smoothly at first. But as the sun started to rise, and the streets emptied, the situation started to deteriorate. Victoria had just blown the second floodgate on her list when the Apache helicopter attacked her.

Rockets flashed over her head, and explosions blew chunks out of the street, as the chopper roared over. Victoria’s mind was racing as she turned to the right and raced away. What was going on? Were the Yankees firing on anything that moved? Or had a sharp-eyed drone operator spotted her and seen the pattern? Wherever the woman went, things exploded. Yes, it was always best to assume the worst.

No sooner had that thought occurred to her than the Apache appeared four or five blocks ahead. It was flying straight at her. Victoria saw a puff of smoke, and knew that the helicopter’s 30mm chain gun would eat her up if she stayed on the street. So she wrenched the handlebars to the left and entered an alley. Shit, shit, shit. There was no way in hell that she was going to escape, unless…

Victoria opened the throttle, weaved in and out of the mazelike streets, and took a right on Bonnabel Boulevard. She ran the bike north, straight toward Lake Pontchartrain, but had to slow for a last-minute curve. After that, it was full speed ahead out onto a narrow finger of land. Then she was airborne. But not for long. The bike fell like a rock. Cold water consumed Victoria as she felt the impact of a shock wave and heard the muffled thud of an exploding rocket. Then, weighed down by her clothing, she began to drown.

JUST NORTH OF VICKSBURG, MISSISSIPPI

Rather than wait for Flotilla 4 to reach Vicksburg and begin work on the fallen bridge there, the rebs sent an armada upstream to attack the Union vessels. And the wave of attackers consisted of what Mac feared most, which was helicopters. She was standing on Barge 2 as the first helicopter attacked Barge 1 and drew blood. Rockets struck OL’ SLAB SIDES, which was sitting on the deck of Barge 1. The Stryker was destroyed, and its two-person crew was killed as the Apache flashed overhead.

The helicopter was firing its chain gun by then, and as Mac turned to watch, hundreds of slugs struck the pusher boat. They couldn’t penetrate the bolt-on armor, however—thereby saving Foley’s mostly worthless life.

The sailors had brought the 20mm Vulcan mounted in the Mississippi ’s bow into action by that time. It could fire six thousand rounds a minute, and the swarm of slugs ate the first helicopter alive. Mac watched the Apache stagger, fall, and crash atop the Mississippi ’s superstructure. A fire broke out, crew people rushed to respond, and the ship’s horn produced what sounded like a moan of pain.

The second chopper was making its run by then. Rockets hit the spud barge’s crane, and it seemed to fall in slow motion. There was a loud crash as it hit the deck, and some of the wreckage fell into the river. That produced drag and caused the barge to swerve.

Mac was forced to turn away as half a dozen jet skis surged upriver, and the special operations boats went to meet them with guns blazing. A jet ski exploded, and someone shouted, “They’re carrying bombs!”

Mac yelled, “Kill them!” into her handheld radio, but not before one of the extremely agile watercraft slammed into SOC-R 1. Mac watched in horror as Lieutenant Lasser and her crew vanished inside the explosive waterspout that lifted the front half of the boat twenty feet up into the air.

The Strykers were firing by then, and Mac had the satisfaction of seeing explosion after explosion as the twin broadsides blew the suicide bombers to smithereens. It should have been enough. And Mac thought it would be enough until Quick spoke. “We have two, make that three , gunboats inbound at twelve o’clock.”

After acknowledging the transmission, Mac issued orders to the Stryker crews. “Open fire on the gunboats the moment they appear… Meanwhile, I want all of the truck commanders to get on machine guns. The remaining helicopter will be back… Let’s blow that son of a bitch out of the sky!”

Mac’s words proved to be prophetic, as the Apache made a gun run from the north. Bullets tore into the Mississippi ’s still-burning superstructure and killed some of the civilians who were fighting the fire. As the chopper swept over the already damaged spud barge, Mac was standing between the rows of Strykers, firing her pistol up at the Apache, when Atkins threw her down. Bullets clanged as they hit the spot where Mac had been standing.

“Sorry, ma’am,” Atkins said as she let go. “But shooting at an Apache with a nine is just plain stupid.”

Mac couldn’t help but laugh. There was a hysterical quality to it. “Yeah… That wasn’t my brightest moment. Thank you.”

By the time the women were back on their feet, the Strykers were firing on the gunboats. Mac got a look at them as she peered through the gap between two vics. The forty-five-foot response boats had been Coast Guard property originally. Now they had been pressed into service as gunboats. Each carried a minigun up front and twin LMGs in their cockpits. Bullets raked the barge as the rebs fired.

But the Strykers were nearly impervious to small-caliber stuff… And when they fired, a metal hailstorm hit the boats, tore them to shreds, and triggered a series of secondary explosions. That part of the battle ended before it truly began.

But, after turning around, the Apache was back! As Mac watched, a man with an AT4 rocket launcher made his way up to the front of the barge, where he flipped the remains of a cigar into the river. It was Sergeant Major Price who, true to his notion of how senior noncoms were supposed to behave, was about to go mano a mano with an enemy attack ship.

Mac saw a puff of smoke as the rocket left the tube. Then, in a beautiful piece of timing, the missile hit the helicopter head-on. The resulting explosion tore the Apache apart and threw chunks of metal every which way. One of them took the sergeant major’s head off. Mac heard herself utter an animal-like cry as the noncom fell. The best of the worst. That was Price… And Mac felt as if her heart would break.

She heard a roar and looked up in time to see an A-10 flash by. The plane was a welcome sight, but it was too late for Price and all the rest of them. Vicksburg had fallen to Union forces on July 4, 1863, during the first civil war. Independence Day… Now it was going to fall again.

ABOARD THE AIRCRAFT CARRIER GEORGE WASHINGTON , SOUTH OF NEW ORLEANS

The sky was almost the same color as the aircraft carrier’s haze-gray paint, and when the sea heaved, the ship did, too. Even after taking some seasick pills, Sloan was still looking for his sea legs as he followed Major McKinney through a hatch and down a corridor.

A dozen people stood as Sloan entered the wardroom, and he waved them back into their chairs prior to taking the one that was reserved for him. “So,” Sloan said, as his eyes roamed the faces around him. “Give it to me straight. How are we doing?”

He knew the answer of course… But the discussion had to start somewhere. All eyes went to Admiral Carrie Moss. Sloan saw that the mysterious smile was still in place. “Operation Swordfall is a success,” Moss said without hesitation. “We put our troops ashore, we pushed the enemy out of New Orleans, and we’re in control of the city’s infrastructure.”