CHAPTER 27
ONE OF MY BETTER QUALITIES, at least in my opinion, was that I could both think very fast and not think at all and merely react. While the latter doesn’t sound like the greatest skill, in hand-to-hand situations, she who reacts fastest has the most likely chance of surviving.
So, didn’t think about it. Just slammed my head into the gunner’s head. As hard as I could. At hyperspeed.
This slammed his head back against the cockpit. My head hurt, but not as badly as his, because he was knocked out. Got lucky because his hand went limp and I had the time to grab his gun and move it away from my body, using my left hand, too. Hyperspeed again. Took a moment to wonder, as I always did, why the Flash wasn’t a bigger, more popular hero. Truly, superspeed had it all goin’ on.
There wasn’t a lot of room in here. Shockingly, the Apache’s cockpit wasn’t designed to host a kegger. Had a momentary moral quandary of what to do with the unconscious dude. I could toss him or sit on him, but until I got him out of here, I couldn’t do much else.
Looked up to see the pilot gaping at me. Made the “put the chopper down” sign, which was me pointing down emphatically. The pilot responded by flipping me off. Clearly that was this team’s go-to move. And so much for that quandary. I had a gun in each hand, and the gun I’d taken from the unconscious guy had a full clip in it.
Braced myself by putting one foot onto the unconscious guy’s chest and my butt against his instrument panel. Hoped this didn’t mean that I launched rockets but decided I’d deal with that later. Then I started shooting at the glass that divided the cockpit.
Took a few more bullets than the front window had, but the glass shattered. Dropped my Glock into my purse, picked up the unconscious guy with my free hand, and tossed him at the broken window. Hard.
Which turned out to be the right choice for two reasons. One because his body knocked the glass out and onto the pilot, and two because the pilot also had a gun he was firing at me. Only the bullets went into his gunner.
The now presumably dead body hit him. The pilot lost control, which wasn’t all that surprising, really, because he had a ton of broken glass and a dead body on him. The chopper started to spiral, nose heading toward the ground.
Decided that jumping and taking my chances with the ground was in my best interest. Didn’t even need the song change to Van Halen’s “Jump” to tell me that, but it was always nice to get confirmation. Dropped the empty gun and dived over the side.
To land stomach first on a Turleen.
Wasn’t sure who this was and didn’t care. Just grabbed on as best I could as my new ride zoomed away from the crashing chopper.
The chopper hit and exploded, with dangerous debris flying everywhere. Whoever I was riding on flipped and spun to avoid it. And I wasn’t able to hold on.
Landed on another Turleen, who flew me farther away. This one had to avoid both debris and bullets and—at this point, surprising no one—I fell off again.
Hit another Turleen and started to slide almost immediately. But this one was joined by a buddy, who was able to sort of shove me back up. Managed to get a hold and straddle my current ride while the other stayed with us. They were side-by-side, and while I wasn’t able to lie across both of them, having the one on my right was sort of comforting.
Three more arrived, so we were in a formation with me and the one Turleen in the middle and the other four covering me slipping off to either side or front to back. Had no hopes that this formation would last the moment one of the gunners in the remaining choppers decided to shoot at us, but for right now, I’d take it.
Unfortunately, the crashing of one chopper appeared to remind the others of what they were here to do. The shooting increased, and several loosed missiles hit what I was pretty sure was the top of Caliente Base. It was hard to be certain from my current vantage point, which was pretty high up.
My music changed to “Here Come Cowboys” by the Psychedelic Furs. Took a look—sure enough, there were five jets on the horizon. “I think the cavalry’s coming,” I shouted to the Turleens around me. Had no idea if they heard me or knew what I meant.
Recognized the flying signatures—Matt Hughes, Chip Walker, Jerry, Reader, and Tim. Wondered where the hell Joe and Randy were while at the same time I sort of pitied the pilots in the choppers—no matter how good they were, they were no match for Reader and Tim, let alone any one of the flyboys.
My phone rang, interrupting the Psych Furs. Hadn’t gone hands-free, but my earbuds allowed me to answer calls, so I risked it and let go with one hand so I could answer the phone. “FLOTUS Airlines, how may we help you?”
“Commander, it’s always so fun to join you in your work.”
“Jerry! So good to hear your voice. The metallic dirigible-looking things are the good guys.”
“Yes, James and Tim explained that.”
“Where are Joe and Randy?”
“With Matt and Chip. They’re going to be following your lead and destroying the enemy from within.”
As he said this, saw that the planes I knew were piloted by Hughes and Walker had something extra underneath—Joe and Randy were in what looked like giant hammocks holding them to the bottom of the planes.
“What the literal hell, Jerry?”
“Kitty, we liked what you were doing,” Hughes said.
“Are we on a group call?”
“We are,” Walker replied. “James felt you’d enjoy the nostalgia. And our Six Million Dollar Men said they didn’t want to be shown up by a girl.”
“They did not put it that way.”
“You’re right, Kitty,” Joe said, sounding as if he was in a wind tunnel which, under the circumstances, he was. “That’s not how we said it.”
“We said we wanted to live up to your example,” Randy shared from his own wind tunnel. Had to figure that I sounded this way, too.
“Awesome. That’s two of you and me, sort of, for eleven choppers. What’s the rest of the team planning to do?”
“Kicking butt and taking names,” Tim said. “You and the Turleens seem to have reached an understanding.”
“Hilarious. Is anyone planning to get me or anything or do you all want me to try to take on another Apache by myself?”
“Yes to getting you, no to your acting like Walker, Texas Ranger,” Reader said. “However, we have to neutralize the threat first, because I can guarantee that our enemies will be shooting at you if we try to grab you right now.”
“They’re shooting at me and the Turleens, and now you guys, regardless.”
“Not for long,” Joe said.
“Seriously have no idea how you think you’re going to drop from a jet onto a helicopter without being shredded by the blades.”
No sooner were the words out of my mouth than I saw several Turleens fly up under the jets with Joe and Randy underneath.
“We’re not doing it the stupid way,” Randy said, as his net released and he dropped onto a Turleen. “I told you—we want to live up to your example.”
Joe followed suit, and both of them were riding the Turleens like I’d ridden Lily—as if the Turleen was a sport bike.
Had no idea if the Turleens could hear us, had telepathy, or had been observing us long enough to know that the jets and the people in them were on our side, but they were functioning as if all three were the case. The Turleens with Joe and Randy on them zipped off for the nearest helicopters.
The guys didn’t take as long as I had to get off their respective Turleens. Of course, they had android-enhanced limbs now. Meaning they could hold onto the choppers much more tightly than I could.
Joe and Randy were moving pretty much at hyperspeed as they quickly reached the cockpits, broke through the glass, tossed the gunners out, broke through the next part of the cockpit, threw the pilots out, then took control of their two choppers.
Normally it wasn’t safe or comfortable to fly without the protection of the glass and metal that made up a cockpit. Joe and Randy apparently were ignoring the discomfort or their android enhancements meant they weren’t affected. They took on two other choppers.
Meanwhile, the five jets were focusing firepower on five of the Apaches and the Apaches were returning fire. The Turleens around those choppers broke off fast and clustered around the two remaining unengaged choppers.
The set of Turleens surrounding the chopper that had the highest altitude started swirling around it. It looked kind of pretty, like a weird, gigantic brass merry-go-round or flying wind chime, but it was effective. There were enough of them that the pilot probably couldn’t see and they were able to cause the chopper to start swirling as well. Didn’t take too long before its nose was pointing down. The Turleens disengaged and zoomed to safety just before the chopper crashed into the desert.
The other set of Turleens had focused on the last chopper, which was flying low, clearly set on bombing the hell out of the Base. They were doing the same maneuver as the others but weren’t really slowing it. Either the pilot was better than the other, more determined, suicidal, or hoping to score a lot of points by taking out extra aliens, because he was just barreling through them.
The positive of this was that he had to bank and come around again, so they bought our side some time. But the Turleens he whizzed through spun what looked like out of control. They all recovered, but they disengaged and came over to me and my Dirigible Entourage.
The roof was still holding up, as far as I could tell. However, I had no idea how much more it could take. Maybe it could withstand a nuke. And maybe one more hit was going to cause it to tumble down. I wasn’t willing to find out. Rescue be damned—it was indeed time to be, if not Walker, Texas Ranger, then at least Lone Wolf McQuade.
“I need to get into that cockpit!” Had no idea if the Turleens could hear me or not, but all of a sudden they spread out, but in a straight-ish line. And that line was heading for the chopper.
Decided that they were right—the fastest path was to use them as stepping-stones. Didn’t think about it—now wasn’t the time to contemplate anything other than getting to the last chopper before it was able to destroy anything.
“Kitty, do not engage!” Reader shouted. “We’ll handle—”
My call disconnected and Sweet’s “Fox on the Run” came on. “I’m flattered and I copy that, My King of the Elves.”
Time to use the skills and hope that Algar’s faith and Christopher’s training was going to be enough. One of the things Christopher had worked on with me for years now was to make me not think about anything “new.” I didn’t think about breathing; I shouldn’t think about using hyperspeed. When I was enraged, this happened naturally. When I wasn’t—and Rage had taken a breather and was watching the show, munching on popcorn at the moment—it was a lot harder.
There was no time to get angry. There was only the now, and the race that had to be won. Pulled up into what, a day ago, I’d have called a turtle position, and took off.
Happily, didn’t fall flat on my face or even slip, despite the smoothness of the Turleens’ shells. Did have to hurdle to get to each Turleen, but this was absolutely in my wheelhouse. I was a hurdler with a perfect four-step, meaning I could lead with either leg. Never before had this been a more important ability than right now, because the Turleens were spread out about one leap each.
Hyperspeed didn’t mean you took less steps—it meant you took them faster than the human eye could see, but you still had to take them. Meaning I had to hurdle the entire way. Not a problem, really. I’d trained under the most sadistic track coaches any high school or college had ever seen. This was an actual exercise I’d had to master in freshman year of high school—every step was a hurdle. I’d been good at it then, and I was better at it now.
The chopper was heading right for us and began firing—bullets as opposed to missiles. Presumed the pilot wanted to save the bombs for the main target.
I was going so fast now that I could see the bullets coming. It was very much like being in a Matrix movie only I wasn’t in a cool leather trench coat.
Had to leap to my right to avoid a bullet. There were no Turleens to my right.