Dale Brown - Edge of Battle

“Jason, we’re picking up air targets—slow-moving, probably helicopters,” Ariadna said. “Closest one is about six miles out.”

“Where from?”

“All sides—six from north of the border, two from the south,” the civilian Army engineer said.

This was quickly getting way out of hand, Jason thought, trying to choke down a growing bolus of panic rising in his chest. “Any air traffic control codes?”

“Stand by…” It was the longest wait Jason could recall in a long time. “Negative, Jason, negative on the air traffic codes,” Ari finally reported breathlessly. “I’ll try to coordinate their tracks with the Domestic Air Interdiction Coordination Center at March Air Force Base to find out where they’re from.” There was another interminable wait; then: “Jason, the DAICC duty officer just blew me off. He said, and I quote, ‘Tell Richter that his friends at the Border Patrol said unable at this time: don’t call us, we’ll call you.’”

“Jerks,” Jason said. “Put in a call to Los Angeles Center and Riverside Approach, request some kind of track correlation and point of origin, and tell them it’s urgent. And keep on broadcasting warning messages to stay at least five miles away from the base or they could be attacked without warning. If we can’t fight ’em, our only chance is to bullshit them. And radio Cannon and tell them to bring some weapon packs out here.”

“You got it, J.”

This was definitely starting to get tense. “Rampart One, TALON One, did you copy about our visitors?”

“Affirm,” Gray responded. “I’m briefing my security platoon now. Stand by.” A few moments later: “TALON One, my guys are recommending we take any infantry units that move in on us; have your CIDs take the armored personnel carriers, if they move in.”

“And the helicopters?”

“All we’ve got are small arms, sir,” Gray reminded him. “If they try a gunship air-to-ground attack, we’ll just have to hunker down, stay out of sight, and wait for the infantry to try to engage us. We’re relying on your robots to put the fear of God into them.”

“That’s exactly what we intend to do,” Jason said. “Break. CID Two, start heading back to Rampart One. Defend yourself using any means necessary.”

“CID Two copies,” Dodd responded.

“Break. Ari?”

“Still on hold with Los Angeles ARTCC,” Ariadna said. “The nearest helicopter is three miles out.”

“They’re ignoring the TFR,” Jason said. The TFR, or temporary flight restriction, was a cylinder of restricted airspace established around the base and the Condor airships to prevent aircraft from overflying them. The Condor airship had a civil aircraft transponder that broadcast identification signals to other aircraft to try to prevent a mid-air collision, since it was almost impossible for the unmanned Condors to maneuver out of another plane’s way. “Rampart One, they’re inside the TFR. Weapons tight until you see a gun, then repel all invaders.”

“Rampart One copies. All Rampart units, this is Rampart One, weapons tight, repeat, weapons tight. Sound off immediately if you see weapons or encounter hostile action. All squads acknowledge.”

“Inside two miles, J, bearing two-five-five,” Ari radioed.

Jason scanned the sky and saw a helicopter in the distance. “Got a visual,” he radioed on the command network. “Doesn’t look military—looks like a civilian aircraft, a Bell JetRanger or similar. Paint looks civilian.”

“Second aircraft bearing one-nine-five, two miles.”

“No contact,” he said. He swung around and focused on the first helicopter again. This was going to be a tough decision. If he guessed wrong, and the helicopter was hostile, it would open fire any second—but if it was not hostile, he’d have his men open fire on an unarmed aircraft. There really wasn’t any other choice—he just hoped to God he’d make the right one. “All Rampart units…dammit, weapons tight, repeat, weapons tight. It’s a civilian helicopter. Looks like it’s turning away.”

“Third aircraft bearing three-one-zero, two miles.”

“I got a visual on number three,” Gray radioed seconds later. “The sucker’s coming right for us.” Jason could now hear the third helicopter, and sweat broke out on his upper lip. “It’s moving in…it’s…shit, it’s a media helicopter . It says TV-12 on the underside. It looks like it has a zoom camera on the belly…I can see a TV logo on the side…I recognize that chopper. It’s a TV station chopper from San Bernardino.”

At that moment, Ariadna radioed: “J, just got the word from L.A. Center. They’re media helicopters—three from Los Angeles, two from San Diego, one from San Bernardino. The two on the Mexico side are also media, both from Tijuana.” It felt as if it was the first time in several minutes that Jason was able to take a normal breath. “L.A. Center asked one of them if they were aware of the TFRs in the area that they were headed directly for, and the pilots said no. L.A. Center told them to turn back, but…”

“But no TFR is going to get in the way of a good story,” Jason said. “Swell.”

“This is turning into a heck of a cluster-f—Well, you get the idea, J.” But Jason wasn’t in a joking mood. If he was a leader in the Consortium, this is precisely how he would organize a sneak attack: get a swarm of media aircraft overhead to confuse the scene, then strike. The three armored personnel carriers less than two miles away were still major threats—if they attacked, there was very little Richter’s forces could do about it. CID Two might be able to get back to base in time to help, but if he didn’t, or if he was ambushed by another strike team, the losses could be horrendous…

…and if the attackers had nuclear, biological, or chemical weapons, all of which the Consortium had used in the past, the fight would be over in moments.

No! Jason screamed at himself. It wasn’t the Consortium! It was just a bunch of reporters, out to cover a story that obviously the San Diego U.S. Attorney’s office had just planted. Overreacting now could kill Operation Rampart before it got started.

“All units, this is TALON One, stand down, repeat, stand down, ” Jason radioed on the command network. “I believe the aircraft and vehicles are here to document this task force looking belligerent and dangerous—let’s not give them a headline. All Rampart units, acknowledge.”

“Rampart One acknowledges,” Gray radioed, then relayed the orders through his squads and got acknowledgments from all of them, keeping them on high alert but having them shoulder and holster their weapons.

“CID Two, I copy all,” Dodd responded. “Resuming my patrol. Negative contacts.”

“Rampart One, I want N-numbers and descriptions of every aircraft that comes within the TFR,” Jason said. “Those aircraft and their pilots’ asses are mine .”

“With pleasure, sir,” Gray responded.

It was almost comical to watch. The first helicopter seemingly “tiptoed” toward the base, turning suddenly as if suddenly realizing it was in restricted airspace; then a second helicopter would move in a few hundred yards closer, then turn away; then a third would come in closer still. Soon the helicopters were hovering almost right overhead, less than five hundred feet above them—one helicopter dipped to less than a hundred feet to get pictures of excited migrant children waving in the exercise yard, women with babies running for cover from the swirling dust the helicopters kicked up, and men coming out of the latrines, tying ropes around their waists to keep their pants up.

“TALON One, you’re on the tube,” Ari radioed a few moments later. “Better go take a look.”