“Once the command of the air is obtained by one of the contended armies, the war must become a conflict between a seeing host and one that is blind.”
-H. G. Wells
A familiar sound came to him from the west. A terrible screeching, followed by a loud thud and even louder thunderclap. He looked up in time to see the plume of smoke and heard the others grunts that were stationed in the landing area run to his side to get a better look for themselves.
It was no bomb blast, nor was it the familiar sound of a vehicle or building getting caught in an explosion. Far too large and messy for that. And the careering racket that preceded it spoke of lost control and imminent destruction. It was what the noise a chopper made right after they lost control and found themselves plummeting to the earth.
“Was that one of ours?” a man beside him asked to no one in particular.
“Couldn’t be one of the snakes, we sent them all running.”
Another streak sounded overhead. Graph and everyone around him looked up to see planes flying in a telltale formation. They passed just close enough that their configurations could be made out.
“Those are F-16s,” Graph said.
Next to the him, the same man answered dumfoundedly. “We didn’t bring any of those types of fighters with us.”
Graph sighed. “Which means the snakes are taking to the air again.”
Another explosion sounded not too far away. Again, it was accompanied by the screeching noise of rotors as they lost control and the chopper was sent smashing into the ground.
“Shit! Where are our birds?”
Graph didn’t bother to stick around and wait for more idle speculation. Coming about, he set his sites on the HQ building and took off at a running pace. Whatever was going on, he knew Montag would getting an earful about it. He also would be sure to let the Colonel know that reports would be filed once he made it back to the capitol. Perhaps a reminder that the Secretary General would be hearing about all he had failed to do would inspire him to do better.
As expected, things were pretty damn lively inside. Graph had a hard time just getting up the stairs, thanks to the crush of bodies filling the hallways and the command center. When he arrived in the heart of it, he could hear Montag off somewhere in the corner, barking at several people at once. Only slowly did he managed to make his way through to him, pushing and sliding as he could through countless junior officers.
“I don’t care what their fuel status is, you tell them to get airborne before those birds take my sky! Get on the horn to Angel Fire, I want a full report on their situation! Signal all our birds in the area, tell them to get in range of the bases air defenses, pronto! What the hell is happening with those mobile SAMs?! Why aren’t they up and running?”
He could hear a slew or responses, intercut by more reports from men holding radio receivers or mikes in their hand. Apparently, the enemy had taken to the skies again and was launching SRAM attacks on their SAMs around the edge of town. F-16s belonging to the 150th then began flying into the town and taking out their Apaches and troop carriers willy nilly.
Then came the report that caused everyone to cease talking at once.
“Sir! Third armor just spotted A-10s approaching the main highway. Requesting air cover immediately!”
Montag stamped his foot and swore very loudly. He took a deep sigh and began looking around the room. His eyes came to rest on Graph and he scowled. Perhaps now was not the best time to remind him of the eventual combat report Graph would be filing. Clearly, he had more pressing concerns at the moment…
“Alright! Order all ground forces to begin falling back to this position, by the numbers. Tell the CO at Angel Fire and Taos to get those birds in the air or I will have their heads. All forces on the base are to prepare for immediate attack, have Stingers and AAA prepared. MOVE!”
That sent everyone moving with a purpose. On by one, they all returned to their comms and began relaying the Colonel’s orders, barking at the recipients with equal force. It was a scene Graph had witnessed many times before. In the midst of a crisis, panic always flowed uphill and anger down. All at once they were calling in to report about their fucked situation, and in reply, each in turn was being told to un-fuck it.
Standing alone, Graph sensed the opportunity and moved to Montag’s side. Surprisingly, Montag didn’t appear overly unhappy to see him. Graph could only assume it was because he knew what to expect.
“Colonel, I imagine you and your prisoner will be wanting to clear the base now.”
“Is it that bad?” Graph asked.
“It very well could be. It seems the airbases we took at Taos and Angel Fire came under attack less than an hour ago. Our planes were busy refueling to strike deeper south, then suddenly we get reports that fuel tanks were being targeted by enemy units.”
“How’s that possible?” Graph asked with a frown. “Our intel indicated that their units were occupied in the south. How could they have redeployed so quickly.”
Montag looked momentarily bitter. His words were measured, but very cool.
“It’s simple, Colonel, our intel was off. Turns out the enemy had units scattered around the parks and some even inside them.”
He turned and snapped his fingers at one of the techs, motioned at him to come over with the stack of fax paper he was holding. Montag took it from him and placed it under the Colonel’s nose. A series of communiques ran all along the length of it, and Montag was sure to expand on it off for him.
“Angel Fire reported mortar rounds landing in their fuel tanks. We managed to take out the team firing them and send the rest running, but the damage was done. Most of the birds on station have barely enough gas to get airborne, let alone fly in and give us air cover.”
Graph looked at the communiques listed on the sheet, all rendered in standard Army shorthand. They told a pretty grim picture. He noted the curious and garbled report coming from the other airbase, the one located just outside the northern town.
“What about Taos? What happened there?”
“Damnedest thing,” Montag replied, snatching the paper back and smacking it with his right hand. “Some local band of misfits were driving through the area in their pick up trucks. My men cleared them to pass, said they were out hunting. Next thing they know, the SOBs starting sniping at them from off in the hills. Fuckers even ran a pickup loaded with dynamite and flares into the fuel depot from the other side. Haven’t seen this kind of shit since Kandahar, ‘cept it was a bunch of damn Indians and hillybillies doing it!”
“Indians and hillbillies?” Graph said, incredulous. “An airfield was crippled by a bunch of armed locals?”
Montag looked at him bitterly. “They were working with Thur, Colonel, I know it. He’s been preparing them to act as guerrilla forces to cover his ass in case something like this happened.” He paused for a second and crossed his arms, looking at Graph with a terribly questing expression. “I wonder why Intelligence failed to warn us about the likelihood of that.”
“You’re blaming us for this?”
“Had my men been apprised of the likelihood that there would be local militias, they wouldn’t have been so quick to let them through. You might say Intelligence fucked us as far as letting us know what the situation on the ground was.”
Graph was about to make a heated reply, but stopped himself and smiled instead. So Montag was busy preparing his own combat report was he? Already, he had come up with how he was going to pitch things to the SG, specifically who he was going to blame. Graph didn’t need to retort at all. He knew who Wallace would believe.
And of course, Montag’s ability to shift the blame for his failure depended entirely on him getting home in one piece. Naturally, Graph didn’t need to mention this either. The Colonel already knew.
“You are correct, Colonel,” he replied finally. “I do need to move my prisoner. And if the situation is in danger of deteriorating, I will need to do it now. I trust your men were at least able to refuel my transport?”
Montag looked the slightest bit deflated. Apparently, he was hoping for a more prolonged discussion on who fucked whom.
“It’s ready and loaded out on the field. You can leave at any time.”
“Good,” replied Graph, and the turned to leave.
“Wait!” said Montag. “What about Thur? Isn’t he supposed to be taken home to stand trial?”
Graph smiled and let out a small sigh. “Colonel, have you seen the General? He is in no shape to travel, and would probably die en route. And I can’t in good conscience deprive you of a doctor to accompany me, not with all the wounded you’re likely to have coming in soon.”
“So you’re just going to leave him here?”
Graph spread his hands wide. “He’s dead either way, Colonel. Why waste the resources just so he can die in one place instead of another?”
Montag looked ready to say something more, but simply nodded. Like a good soldier, he wasn’t prepared to argue a point too firmly. Especially where the life of an enemy was concerned.
“In the meantime, I suggest you move him inside. The enemy will be less likely to assault this building directly if they know you are holding him.”
Montag nodded again. “A wide precaution, sir.”
Graph smiled and snapped out a salute. Chances were, he and the Colonel would not be seeing each other again, and he would be remiss if he didn’t issue him that final courtesy. He was sure to leave him with some kind words as well.
“Best of luck, Colonel. I do hope we’ll be seeing each other again. I’m sure you will be rewarded for what you do here today.”
Montag smiled uneasily. “Make sure that wall has a spot for my name.”
Graph nodded. “There’s always room for more names, Colonel. Always.”
