Cincinnati Run

Chapter Five

“They’ve got us hemmed in,” Hickok said.

Blade braked the SEAL, peering intently at the oncoming chopper, striving to identify the model. His knowledge of aircraft was relatively limited, and he resolved to brush up on the various types of helicopters by studying the appropriate books in the Family library at the first opportunity.

“The copter behind us is closing in,” Geronimo disclosed.

A quick check of the side mirror confirmed the helicopters were working in tandem.

“The old squeeze play,” Hickok remarked.

Blade reached toward the silver toggles, then hesitated.

“What are you waitin’ for?” Hickok demanded. “Sic the Stinger on one of them.”

“We don’t know if they’re hostile,” Blade said.

“Better safe than sorry,” the gunman noted.

The chopper to the east was swooping at the SEAL, its rotor blades shimmering in the sunlight.

“We’re sittin’ ducks if we stay put,” Hickok cautioned.

Blade wrenched the steering wheel to the left and pressed on the accelerator, intending to drive the transport into the shelter of the woods.

Even as he did, there was a puff of smoke and a brief burst of flame shot from under the helicopter in front of the SEAL.

“They’ve fired a rocket!” Geronimo exclaimed.

Forty feet from the SEAL a section of Highway 24 exploded, showering dirt, dust, and chunks of asphalt in all directions. The transport swayed but stayed on course, bouncing as it left the roadway and sped toward the nearest trees.

Blade pressed the toggle labeled with an S. He knew a panel in the roof above him was opening, and he felt the SEAL lurch as the heat-seeking, surface-to-air missile was launched.

“I can see it!” Hickok cried, his face pressed to the windshield.

Blade glanced to the right, and he was able to glimpse the glistening Stinger as the missile arced toward the helicopter to the east. The next moment he was forced to devote his full attention to driving. The SEAL

entered the forest, narrowly missing a towering oak tree. He skillfully manipulated the steering wheel, threading a path among the tree trunks, the transport flattening the underbrush in its path.

“One down!” Hickok exclaimed.

A resounding blast flared in the eastern sky, and a cloud of smoke and fire engulfed the second helicopter.

Blade slammed on the brakes and craned his neck. He could see the crumpled chopper, a gaping, ragged hole in its side, plummeting earthward, its rotor blades twisted, spewing black smoke. The helicopter crashed into the trees less than 300 yards off, and a column of fire and smoke erupted toward the heavens.

“The other one has stopped,” Geronimo said.

Blade turned and gazed to the west. The first chopper was hovering 500 yards from the transport. Would the pilot decide to attack? The SEAL possessed the capability to fire just one Stinger at a time. A spare was stored in the rear section, but to mount the missile entailed climbing onto the roof using a ladder affixed to the back of the vehicle. Anyone trying to do so would be easy prey for the chopper.

“Here it comes,” Geronimo declared.

“Out of the SEAL,” Blade ordered, and threw open his door. He dropped to the ground with the Commando in his right hand, then slammed the door shut.

Hickok and Geronimo jumped down on the passenger side, then came around the front.

“What’s your plan, pard?” the gunman asked.

Blade was watching the helicopter, which was flying slowly in their general direction. The pilot was keeping the aircraft 50 feet above the treetops, swerving from side to side, evidently searching for the SEAL. The canopy of branches and leaves screened the forest floor from aerial observation.

“Do we take it down?” Hickok queried hopefully.

“We do,” Blade confirmed. “Take cover. Wait until I give the word.”

The Warriors fanned out, taking up positions behind nearby trees.

Blade crouched in the shelter of a Norway maple and pressed the Commando to his right shoulder. He could hear the whump-whump-whump of the craft’s rotors as the helicopter drew to within 40 yards of his position. A cool breeze stirred his dark hair. He stared through the branches and spotted a bright red marking on the right side of the chopper.

A solitary star above a crossed hammer and sickle.

Definitely Russian.

Blade sighted the Commando on the forward fuselage, his finger on the trigger. He wanted the helicopter as close as possible before he fired. As he waited, scarcely breathing in anticipation, a disturbing thought sprang into his mind: The Soviet pilots must have contacted their superiors. Odds were, one or both of the pilots had radioed the nearest Red air base to report the presence of the green van. The Russians undoubtedly knew about the SEAL. Would a sharp officer recognize the Family’s unique vehicle from the description given by the pilots? If so, the Reds might put their border units on alert and advise their patrols to be on the lookout for the SEAL.

The helicopter was now 30 yards from the Warriors, its elongated body fully visible. A sliding door was open, exposing a wide bay on the side.

Framed in the doorway was a machine gunner.

Blade waited. He saw the machine gunner surveying the woods below.

That’s it.

Just a little bit closer.

The rotors were creating a loud clamor, and the wind generated by the rotating blades was bending the tops of the trees.

A little closer.

Blade saw the machine gunner’s head snap to the right.

The Russian had spotted the SEAL!

“Now!” Blade bellowed, and fired, the Commando thundering and bucking.

Geronimo and Hickok cut loose.

The cockpit windows dissolved into shattered shards, and a second later the helicopter banked to the south. Undaunted, the machine gunner sent a burst into the trees in the vicinity of the SEAL.

Blade aimed at the soldier and squeezed the trigger.

A dozen rounds struck the Russian in the chest, and he was hurled backwards into the helicopter.

Hickok suddenly stepped into the open, into a small clearing, the AR-15

elevated, going for the chopper’s tail rotor. He fired four times.

The Soviet helicopter was speeding southward, and the craft abruptly started weaving, its tail out of control.

“Piece of cake!” Hickok declared, elated.

Blade walked to the gunman’s side. “Nice shooting.”

“What else?”

A thin plume of white smoke paced the helicopter’s passage through the blue sky. The tail section seemed to stabilize slightly, and the chopper pursued a steadier course.

“Crash, blast you!” Hickok said.

The Russian craft continued on a beeline toward the Soviet territory. In less than a minute the helicopter was lost to the view of the Warriors.

“Darn,” Hickok muttered.

Geronimo joined them. “They’ll be expecting us in Cincinnati,” he mentioned.

“Maybe not,” Blade disagreed. “They know we’re here, but they don’t know where we’re headed. For all they know, our destination is somewhere in the Outlands.”

“Who cares if they know or not?” Hickok asked. “We have a job to do, and we always get the job done.”

“We keep going then?” Geronimo inquired.

Blade nodded.

Geronimo’s mouth curved downward, but he held his tongue.

“Let’s go,” Blade said.

They returned to the SEAL.

“Now where were we?” Hickok queried as they climbed inside.

“We were discussing my resignation from the Warriors,” Geronimo reminded him.

“Let’s drop the subject for now,” Blade suggested. He placed his Commando on the console, then started the SEAL.

“Is there something else you’d rather discuss?” Geronimo questioned.

“We need to talk about Cincinnati,” Blade said, pulling out.

“What about it?” came from Hickok.

“The Russians have the city under their control. You and I have been in Soviet-occupied territory before, so we have some idea of what to expect.

There will be troops everywhere. We can’t simply barge into the city and expect to accomplish our mission. We’ve got to use our heads,” Blade stated.

“That leaves Hickok out,” Geronimo quipped.

“We can hide the SEAL a few miles from the city and proceed on foot,” Blade said. “But if we try to enter during daylight, we’re bound to arouse suspicion, dressed as we are.”

“Speak for yourself,” Hickok commented. “My duds are the height of fashion.”

Blade concentrated on avoiding a tree as he headed for Highway 24.

“We could try to enter the city at night, when we’d be less likely to stand out, but we’d still have a problem.”

“Our weapons,” Geronimo said.

“You’ve got it. Only Russian soldiers are permitted to carry weapons,” Blade noted. “They would pounce on any armed civilians.” He paused. “I’m not about to go in there unarmed.”

“Then what do we do?” Hickok asked.

“We find a Soviet squad and persuade them to lend us their uniforms,” Blade stated.

Hickok chuckled.

“With Russian uniforms on, we should be able to walk around unchallenged,” Blade said.

“You hope,” Geronimo remarked.

“Don’t worry, pard,” Hickok declared. “We’ll be in and out before the Commies know what hit them.”