Slaughterhouse

NINE.

Major Fleischer watched the small engagement on the ground. He was trying to coordinate an appropriate angle of attack to bring the fight to the enemy when his pilot spoke over the intercom.

“Hey, Major, we’ve got National Guard aircraft coming in.”

Fleischer looked out the canopy and saw four dots in the distance that were slowly tracking toward them. Farther downrange, another four aircraft flew in a trail formation, but their path would take them well past the column’s rear. The Longbow radar system tracked them as well, and the software that drove the system classified the aircraft as UH-1s. That would be the Guard combat support unit that had been stationed at Logan, along with the rest of the Guard assets.

Fleischer knew from the National Guard liaison officer attached to Hanscom that Logan had been in danger of being overrun by the Klowns; hell, the battalion’s Ravens had overflown the airport just yesterday, and it was surrounded by a veritable army of lunatics. If Logan had indeed fallen, then the majority of the Guard forces there had to be written off.

With that in mind, Fleischer thought that the Huey flight’s sudden emergence from the chaos was concerning.

“What was their designation?” he asked. “Bosox, right?”

“Bosox, yeah. But if Logan’s gone tits up, I figure they’re Nosox now,” Smitty said.

“Let’s hope that’s not what’s happened.” Fleischer switched one of the radios over to the channels the battalion shared with the Guard. “Bosox, this is Tomcat Six. Over.” Nothing. “Bosox, this is Tomcat Six. You’re flying into our area of operations. You need to identify your intentions. Over.”

“Gonna get us some chickenhawks,” came the response. The speaker was doing his best to imitate Foghorn Leghorn, all while chortling.

Fleischer’s blood ran cold. “Bosox, this is Tomcat Six. Say again. Over.”

“Gonna get us some BAH-GAAAWK chickenhawks, and you can call me Colonel Sanders!” the laughing voice jeered over the radio. “I like, I say, I like mine EXTRA-CRISPY!”

The Longbow system calculated that the four Hueys were coming in at a full sprint, making a hundred thirty miles per hour, which would be their maximum speed given the heat and humidity of the day. The Apaches could cruise at a hundred sixty-five miles an hour and sprint at around one eighty-five, so avoiding the Vietnam-era aircraft wouldn’t be a problem. But fighting them off would be. While the Apaches carried a powerful suite of munitions, they were all for use against ground-based targets. The Army had toyed with outfitting Apaches for aerial engagements and had even certified the AIM-92 Air-to-Air Stinger system for their use, but those systems had never been fielded to the attack battalion. The most Fleischer’s people could do was shoot the middle finger at the Klowns in the Hueys.

“Tomcats, this is Six. Red air. I say again, red air. Wingmen, form up on your leads. Stand by for further orders. Break. Wizard, Wizard, this is Tomcat. Over.”

“Tomcat, this is Wizard Six. Go ahead. Over.” Lee sounded all business, even though he must’ve been handling the ambush that was still playing out below.

Fleischer took a second to return to that situation, and he saw a major traffic pile-up was in progress. At least two military vehicles were on fire. Holy fuck.

“Wizard, Tomcat Six. Listen, this is going to hurt, but the Klowns are coming in Guard Hueys. I don’t know what their armament is, but they are airmobile and”—he consulted the Longbow radar data—“less than sixty seconds out. Over.”

“Ah… Tomcat, this is Wizard Six. Understand National Guard forces are coming for us in helicopters. Is that good copy? Over.”

“Wizard, Tomcat. You have that right. Red air is inbound. Over.”

“Roger, Tomcat. Go ahead and take them out. Over.”

“Wizard, this is Tomcat. Sorry to break it to you, but we have no air-to-air capability. Over.”

Lee’s businesslike tone suddenly changed. “Tomcat, this is Wizard. Are you telling me you cannot protect the column from red air? Over.”

“Wizard, Tomcat Six. That is exactly what I’m telling you. Ground-based fires are the only option. Recommend you start slamming them with everything you have. We’ll do what we can, but don’t expect more than for us to cheer you on. Over.”

“Tomcat, Wizard. Not good enough, Fleischer. Get in the fucking fight. Over.”

“Lase them,” Smitty said.

“What?”

“Lase them! Our designators aren’t eye-safe. We might be able to blind them!” the pilot said. “Shit, the Hellfires fly at eight hundred knots, we can probably splash them with those, too!”

Fleischer thought about it for a second. The Hellfire missile had been used in at least one aerial engagement, by the Israelis against a Cessna 152. Of course, they’d only succeeded in killing a wayward student pilot, but the precedent had been set.

“Wizard, Tomcat. We have some tricks up our sleeve, but the timing is tight. Expect some bad guys to get past us. Over.”

“Do what you can do, Tomcat. We’re on it down here. Over.”

“Smitty, bring us around,” Fleischer said.

No sooner had he issued the command than the Apache dramatically slowed while doing a hard pedal turn to the left, essentially pirouetting in the sky until its nose was pointed right at the approaching Hueys. The Apache had six Hellfires left.

More than enough, Fleischer thought. He ordered another Apache unit farther downrange to orient toward the oncoming Hueys as well. They would take the aircraft on the left side of the formation, while Fleischer took the ones on the right. There was no chance of hitting all of them, since they would have to lase the incoming helicopters and shoot at them the old fashioned way. The Longbow system didn’t have air-to-air software mods, so it was either do it old school or call class dismissed.

Fleischer reached for the ram horn grips on either side of the targeting display. He thumbed on the laser rangefinder/designator and slewed the TADS toward the first target, the lead Huey heading toward the column. Using the Heads-Out Display mounted between the two multifunction displays on the console before him, he flicked on the laser. Light invisible to the human eye lanced out and struck the approaching Huey, and the TADS read the laser’s reflected light. Transferring that data back to the Apache’s fire control computer, the system was able to separate the target from its background, and feed that data to the main system bus.

At the same time, the Apache’s air data sensors—wand-like devices mounted on either side of the helicopter’s fuselage—took into account the current wind conditions. Those were added into the firing solution as well, and another piece was dropped into the tactical puzzle. That enabled the Apache to know what its target was, where it was in the overall picture, how fast it was traveling, and what likely conditions a Hellfire missile would have to fly through in order to reach the designated target.

As all of that was going on behind the scenes, Fleischer concentrated on keeping the laser focused on the rapidly approaching Huey. The Apache had been designed to destroy tanks and other land-based vehicles. Keeping the Huey in the sights was no easy task, though Smitty helped by easing the Apache into a slight drift to the right, keeping the two aircraft pretty much lined up nose to nose. Despite the complex dance between humans and electronics, Fleischer was ready to fire inside of two seconds. The UH-1 didn’t take any evasive action at all, which was unsurprising. Not only did the Klowns have a general disregard for personal safety, the National Guard aircraft was likely not equipped with laser warning receivers.

“Ready to shoot,” he said.

“Good to shoot,” Smitty said. “Hurry. He’s going to get too close—”

Fleischer launched the Hellfire, and it raced off the rail on the right side with a sharp hiss. “Shot!”

Fleischer kept the targeting laser focused on the approaching Huey, painting it with light that the semi-autonomous seeker in the Hellfire’s nose would home in on. As the aircraft drew nearer, he could make out more of the target’s details. It was armed only with door gunners, and the two pilots were staring through the big Plexiglas canopy and grinning like buffoons. The chopper’s big rotors ravaged the sky, and its blunt nose held a slightly low position as the Huey approached at full speed. The pilots were definitely keeping the turboshaft engine pegged in the red zone. Frying the expensive T53 power plant was of no concern, so long as they could close with their target and do whatever they were planning to do.

The Hellfire slammed right through the UH-1’s rotor disk and pierced its fuselage. The Klowns’ mission ended when the UH-1 disintegrated. Fleischer had wondered if the UH-1 had enough structural density to cause the weapon’s detonator to trigger. He would not have been surprised if the missile had simply traveled right through the Huey without exploding, but apparently, it hit something substantial enough to activate the explosives. The aircraft disappeared into an expanding ball of flame that belched out a cloud of whirling shrapnel. The remains of the tattered, fiery carcass corkscrewed to the right and descended rapidly, crashing into the parking lot of a building that sat just short of a small river.

Jesus, I actually scored an air-to-air kill. Fleischer grunted, and went to work trying to target the next Huey.

Smitty’s response was less contained. “Holy shit, that was awesome!” he crowed.

Presuming the second Apache had splashed another Huey, Smitty roared again, but Fleischer knew it was too late. The Huey was already too close for a Hellfire shot, and there was no way they could hit another aircraft with rockets. He briefly considered opening up with the thirty-millimeter cannon, but the M230 chain gun was just too imprecise for that kind of engagement. All he would do was spray high-explosive armor-piercing rounds across the landscape and possibly kill or maim helpless civilians.

The Apache suddenly wrenched to the left, and its twin engines roared as Smitty applied full power. Fleischer lost all hope of maintaining a target lock as the Apache leaped into a full-on climb, its rotors pounding as they coned upward, scraping as much lift as possible from the hot, heavy air surrounding the gunship.

Before Fleischer could ask what was going on, he had his answer. Several rounds struck the Apache’s belly, one of which traveled right through the aircraft’s outer skin and pancaked against the bottom of his armored seat with a loud thwack! that made him jump against his harness. Clearly, one of the Huey’s door gunners wasn’t interested in becoming Fleischer’s second air-to-air kill. Fleischer consulted the millimeter wave radar display and confirmed that two of the Hueys had indeed slipped past by flying beneath the climbing Apache.

“Wizard, this is Tomcat Six. You have two Hueys inside the wire!”