His men would push the Order operatives back to the south, once clear of the village, his nightfalcons would take them out with Hellfire missiles.

  They would not be able to escape him this time.

  * * *

  Thick, dark clouds glowered overhead.

  Corporal Brian Jenkins peered through the sheeting rain, looking for the hostiles he was supposed to push south. To his right, a wall of flames consumed a gasoline station. A heads-up-display filled his tactical helmet visor, overlaying everything he saw with metadata provided by the Shadowstone Panopticon. It was too much to take in at the same time, the flames, the storm, and all the high-tech crap clouding his vision.

  He lifted his visor.

  “There’s no one here,” he muttered.

  Four men emerged from the gloom, running across the street toward the gas station. Each one carried something in their arms. Weapons, bombs, he didn’t know, but they weren’t Shadowstone. He lifted his H&K 416 assault rifle, letting rip with a long burst. The bullets flashed through the men, cutting them down. The nearest one fell forward, the object he was carrying rolling across the ground.

  It was a red fire extinguisher, wet and gleaming in the firelight.

  “Stupid bastards.”

  They were locals.

  He signaled his men with a raised fist to advance. He walked past the fallen men, dark pools spreading from their bodies. Shaking his head, his mouth set in a grim slash, he thought, This is going to get ugly.

  * * *

  The command screens reflected the carnage on the ground.

  Major Quiver glared at his displays. He didn’t need collateral damage. The Phase IV stimulants made his men faster, but they could lead to careless risk-taking. The four bodies cooling in the rain were a testament to that.

  A green light flashed in the corner of his set of screens. A call from Director Heathmont was coming in.

  He answered, “Sir?”

  “What the hell is happening?” Heathmont asked. “Have you killed them yet?”

  “No, Sir. We have three hostiles in Ogton.”

  “They must’ve split their forces. It will be their undoing.”

  “Sir, I’ve sent in my men. I’ll flush them into the open and destroy them.”

  “No,” Heathmont snapped. “Don’t risk your men. Pull them back now.”

  “Sir?”

  “Take out the town, it’s the only way to be sure. It’s sitting over a major gas line. We’ll explain everything away with a gas explosion. Erase everyone, there can be no survivors.”

  Major Quiver took a deep breath, and replied, “Yes, Sir.”

  “Make sure it’s done. No survivors.”

  Without blinking, Major Quiver affirmed, “Roger, Sir.”

  The line went dead.

  Major Quiver didn’t hesitate, issuing orders over his tactical comms link to his squad commanders to pull back beyond the edge of town. He followed with orders to his pilots to fire at will at the three hostiles in the center of the village.

  The helicopters started to pivot as one, bringing their main weapons to bear on the three operatives highlighted on his screens.

  “This will be over soon,” Major Quiver whispered to himself.

  * * *

  The nightfalcons turned.

  “Move!” Peter shouted.

  Peter, Anton, and Li blurred away from the center of the village. Hellfire missiles streaked through the rain toward where they’d been standing. The blasts ripped away the dusky gloom beneath the storm clouds. Buildings evaporated, windows shattered, dust, smoke, and flame bursting upward in a hellish tower over the hamlet.

  The edge of the blast wave hit them like a giant’s fist, hurling them along the street. Anton scrambled off the slick cobblestones. Li bounced to her feet a couple of yards in front of him, shaking her left hand. Peter rolled to his feet and shook himself.

  “They’re destroying the village,” Li shouted, glancing down at her bloody hand.

  The nightfalcons roared overhead, circling for their next attack.

  “We have to stop them,” Anton declared. He twisted around and pointed at the tallest structure in the town. “The water tower.”

  Peter and Li looked at Anton, nonplussed for half a second. Anton threw his FN P90 submachine gun to Peter, and said, “I won’t be needing this.”

  Peter grinned, hefting an FN P90 with each hand and shouted, “Yes! Go! I’ll keep ‘em occupied down here.” He blurred back through the smoke and falling debris, firing short bursts of 9mm rounds from his submachine guns at the circling helicopters.

  Anton ramped hard, blurring away to the base of the water tower, loosening the climbing rope he’d picked up in Goathland. He leaped ten feet up to a steel stairway, snaking up and around to the top of the tower. Li followed a step behind him. Blurring up nearly fifty yards of rusting steel stairs, they burst out onto the brick and cement platform at the top of the tower.

  One of the nightfalcons was approaching at about forty miles per hour. Its port side gunner firing his Mk-19 grenade launcher down at the village. He was chasing Peter with his weapon, patterns of two and four grenades exploding along the main street. The helicopter was going to pass the water tower in seconds. It was flying about thirty yards higher and another twenty yards away from the top of the tower.

  Anton unbound his climbing rope, swinging its hook in a circle. He figured he had one chance, their presence on top of the tower would surely be noticed by Shadowstone. He dropped into silence and time slowed down. The steady beat of the nightfalcon’s rotors separated out into individual thumps, reverberating through the air. The gunner’s helmet was lit by the fires below, a faint reflection of Anton and Li appearing on his visor. In the distance, the lightning seemed to crackle forever as it reached hungry fingers down to the Yorkshire Moors.

  The Mk-19 fell silent. The gunner’s stare fixing on Anton.

  Anton released the hook, throwing it with all his might. It flew like an arrow into the nightfalcon’s main cabin, missing the gunner by a couple of feet.

  The gunner swung the Mk-19 up toward the top of the water tower.

  Anton whipped the rope, the tri-bladed hook swinging back through the cabin, embedding itself in the gunner’s back. He arched backward, his arms swinging wide. The barrel of the Mk-19 dropped as he lurched forward against his restraints.

  “Now!” Anton shouted, wrapping the rope tight around his wrist. Li leaped onto his back, her arms wrapping around his neck and her thighs locking around his hips. The rope snapped taut, Anton moved with it, blurring forward, and leaping into the darkness beneath the nightfalcon. The rope snapped tight again, Li and Anton swinging underneath the helicopter. His hands blurred, ascending the rope, shortening their loop as they came up the other side of the helicopter.

  They landed in the main cabin. The Mk-19 gunner writhed within his harness, trying to extract the hook from his shoulder. The trooper manning the starboard side minigun reached for his 9mm sidearm.

  Li’s foot lashed out, taking the nearest trooper beneath his helmet. He slammed backward within his safety harness, then fell forward, dangling in his restraints with his head at an unnatural angle.

  Anton drew the Blue Dragon in a horizontal slash, beheading the hooked trooper struggling in his harness. The man’s helmeted head fell forward, disappearing into the gloom, his blood painting the ceiling in a dark crimson streak.

  Shadows stretching from the cockpit fell across the floor. A hidden submachine gun erupted, 9mm bullets wildly spraying the back of the cabin. Anton and Li sprang forward, taking up positions to the left and right of the entrance to the cockpit.

  The co-pilot darted forward, attempting to rush through into the cabin while shooting to his left. He came to a sudden halt, held upright by the Blue and Green Dragon swords piercing his torso from both sides. The blades swished out, a look of helpless despair flitted momentarily over his face before he slid bonelessly to the floor.

  Anton didn’t wait for the co-pilot to land, leaping high over his dying body, and blurring forward into the cockpit. The pilot’s left arm swung left, a 9mm automatic in his grip. The gun barked, the bullet going beneath Anton as he flew off the opposite wall. The Blue Dragon arced downward, entering the pilot’s chest just above the collarbone and diving deep down through his body. He coughed once, blood splattering the console.

  Anton drew the Blue Dragon clear of the pilot’s body. He leaned forward, snapped the pilot’s harness clips, dragging him clear of the cockpit and dropping him next to the co-pilot on the floor of the nightfalcon’s main cabin.

  He glanced at Li, and then at the 7.62mm minigun. “Can you fire one of those?”

  Li ripped the body of the trooper from the harness next to the gun and cast it aside. She arched an eyebrow, glancing at the cockpit. “Can you fly one of these?”

  Anton grinned, dashing back into the cockpit, leaping into the pilot’s seat. His hands flew over the controls with practiced ease, all the long hours spent in training simulations with Peter back at the safe house in Maine were now paying off.

  The nightfalcon had been circling on automatic pilot for the last dozen seconds, and it looked like no one had noticed Anton and Li’s capture of the craft. Digital displays showed his weapons inventory. Four of the Hellfire missiles were already expended, leaving four left. The tri-barreled .50 caliber machine guns under the nose hadn’t been fired. The prize was the eight Stinger II air-to-air missiles sitting on hard mounts to the left and right of the cockpit.

  He flicked off the identify friend or foe system. Reset the combat system for sole pilot control and armed all weapons. A heads-up display painted the windscreen in front of him. It wasn’t as advanced as the system deployed in the Commander tank, but it was good enough for what he needed tonight. A color-coded ninety-degree arc centered on the mid-line of the nightfalcon was painted by the HUD - the off-boresight field of fire for the Stinger II missiles. Any target within a ninety-degree arc directly in front of the gunship could be reliably targeted with the Stinger missiles.

  Anton broke left out of the circle formation, flying hard toward the next two nightfalcon’s in front of him. Their port side gunners were equipped with Mk-19 grenade launchers, their attention fixed on pummeling the village below.

  The sustained use of massive numbers of 40mm high explosive grenades was ripping the village apart. The HUD display showed dozens of warm bodies sprawled in the street. It was a massacre. Anton swallowed hard, pushing the throttle forward. The nightfalcon surged, he targeted the two helicopters flying from right to left before him. They were about three hundred yards away, and he was closing rapidly. He selected the Stingers, firing two at each craft. The missiles launched from the hard points on either side of his cockpit, jagging hard to the left and right, matching up on their designated targets. They speared away, crossing the distance to the nightfalcons in less than a second.

  The targeted nightfalcon’s defensive systems recognized the threats immediately. Bright flares automatically ejecting to the left and right of each helicopter. Chaff bloomed and glittered above the village fires. Two of the missiles were defeated by the defenses, flying past their targets, and streaming harmlessly off into the stormy darkness.

  The other two rammed into their marks, detonating with thunderous explosions, the helicopters transforming into furious balls of light and flame. Anton pulled back on the controls, his nightfalcon flying above the falling debris.

  He banked his helicopter hard to the left, curving around in a tight circle. It was time to hunt the last surviving nightfalcon.

  * * *

  Major Quiver’s pilot shouted through the tactical comms link, “Falcon dash Seven’s gone rogue!”

  Quiver leaped from his command chair, rushing forward to the cockpit. The rogue nightfalcon fired two pairs of Stinger missiles. They speared into two of his remaining birds, the gunships exploding in great balls of fire, filling the left half of the nightfalcon’s canopy with light, stark against the storm clouds covering the sky. The rogue gunship roared above the flaming wreckage as it fell toward the ground, banking hard to the left.

  “Take evasive actions. Bring our weapons to bear and take them down!” Quiver shouted.

  The rogue gunship wheeled about, in seconds it would be heading straight toward them.

  Quiver’s pilot slammed the throttles to maximum power, the engines roaring like colossal demons. The nightfalcon veered upward, banking in toward the rogue bird. Whoever reached a firing solution first would have the advantage.

  The rogue gunship straightened up, accelerating to pass his gunship on the right. Both pilots fired simultaneously, a pair of Stinger missiles leaping away from each nightfalcon toward the other. Missile warners rang shrill alarms. Dazzling flares shot out to the left and right. Clouds of silvery chaff bloomed, swirling in the backwash from the rotors.

  Quiver’s Helicopter jigged hard left, running through the chaff of the other bird.

  Minigun fire rippled through the chaos, his two gunners screamed in the main cabin. He twisted back, searching for his men. They’d disappeared, carried away by the depleted uranium rounds, their empty harnesses dripping blood. A line of golden fire ripped through the rear section of the helicopter. His nightfalcon shuddered, rising higher under full power. The opposing minigun fell silent, no longer able to bear on his bird.

  Engines roaring, Quiver’s nightfalcon wheeled hard through the air. The other gunship was also banking hard, the pair of nightfalcons describing a long figure eight over the burning village.

  They were going to make another pass at each other. The rogue gunship only had two Stinger missiles left, his bird had six. Quiver shouted to his pilot, “Fire all the missiles.”

  “Roger, Sir.”

  This attack would overwhelm his opponent’s defenses.

  It was an all or nothing play.

  One he had to win.

  * * *

  A hellish version of the fourth of July was erupting over the village.

  “Anton,” Li shouted. “They’ll fire more missiles, open the angle so I can use the minigun.”

  “On it,” Anton shouted back.

  The nightfalcon was pushed to it limits, the frame of the craft shuddering as it veered left, positioning the opposing bird on the right forward flank.

  Li swung the starboard mounted minigun as far forward as she could. She ramped to her maximum extent. Her mind stilled, a supreme calm descending through her, met by surging power from within her depths. Time slowed down. The rotor blades above her entered a lazy rhythm. Individual raindrops resolved as they fell past the open doorway next to the main cabin. The opposing nightfalcon loomed in her vision. The pylons jutting left and right from the cockpit hosted hard points holding four Hellfire and six Stinger missiles.

  Anton fired his last two missiles, the Stingers streaking away into clouds of gleaming chaff and spinning flares.

  All the opposing Stinger missiles fired at once, spearing toward her like hot silvery talons. Defensive flares sailed lazily to her right, their actinic glare reflecting off the noses of the incoming missiles. She depressed the minigun’s trigger. Time dragged as the minigun’s electric motor hesitated before spinning the barrels. Flame gouted from the mouth of her weapon, bright tracers lancing in a hotline toward the nearest Stinger. The depleted uranium rounds connected with the missile, smashing it in a bright ball of flame.

  Li’s eyes narrowed, her face a mask of intensity as she swung her minigun to the right. The missiles were closing fast, accelerating to more than twice the speed of sound. The tracers followed her gaze to the second Stinger, her fire consuming it halfway along its path. There were four missiles left. She reached deeper into the silence, the individual barrels of the minigun snapping past in front of her, long tongues of flame flickering after each shot. Spent shell casings floated to her left like gravity-defying confetti, every fifth round a bright tracer lancing away, the ripping whirr of the gun lost in a wave of rolling thunder.

  The third missile evaporated in a bright puff of brilliantly burning debris at sixty yards.

  Li’s heart paused, waiting for the next beat.

  She moved the gun slightly to the right, machine-like in her precision, the fourth missile splitting into a cloud of flaming fragments at forty yards. The fifth missile streaked in, piercing the defensive flares and chaff clouds, before detonating at fifteen yards, a mist of razor-sharp fragments carried forward by momentum reaching out at her with a thousand glittering fingers.

  The last missile had been accelerating the longest, hitting its top speed as it reached the cabin doorway eight feet to Li’s right.

  She blurred left, away from the minigun, pushing herself hard up against the cabin bulkhead. Her arms flew up to shield her face, the lip of the doorway providing extra protection.

  The last missile shot through the open cabin without connecting with anything. The debris of the fifth missile close behind it, ripping away equipment and scouring the back half of the main cabin.

  Her heart beat again.

  She dropped out of the ramp, the opposing nightfalcon disappearing past her behind the shield of its failed missile attack, flares, and chaff. It was already past the field of fire of her minigun.

  The captured nightfalcon started banking hard to the left. Anton was going to make another run at the other helicopter.

  All the air to air missiles were gone. The only weapons left that could be used for air to air combat were the .50 caliber machine guns in fixed mounts under the nose.

  To use them in a face to face pass against another nightfalcon would be mutual suicide.

  * * *

  The two nightfalcons lined up on each other at two hundred yards.

  In the HUD display, the topography of the burning village was drawn in ghostly shapes. One building stood out dead ahead - the water tower.

 

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