Blackjack Wayward (The Blackjack Series) (45 page)

And there Zundergrub stood, dwarfed by the dozens of colonels and generals from Gen. Maxwell’s command staff, but with a grin so wide and complete that it was apparent he was already celebrating, if only inwardly. If our country fell, if the President died and Gen. Maxwell could take the White House, he would have the military strength to finalize the coup de tat by the nature of positional mandate, that is, owning the capital. He could sue for peace from the rest of the U.S. armed forces, and Zundergrub could turn any opposing forces to allies by virtue of his powers.

But I didn’t think that would placate Zundergrub.

If the coup was successful, Russia and China might misbehave a little, the world markets might partially collapse, but the new sense of stability would bring calm to the planet, and a hope that things would even out, even return to normal. The President wouldn’t be missed for long, nor would her successor take long to come on the stage and help calm down world concerns, and that was in opposition to Zundergrub’s ultimate goal.

No, this was only the first step. Zundergrub would either keep rolling the army, perhaps up the coast toward New York City, and mobilize American assets abroad. Keep the civil war mobile and bloody. Maybe the bastard wasn’t all that squeamish about using submarine-based nukes. The loss of a little plant and animal life might be an acceptable cost for eradicating all humans on the planet.

He had to be stopped, and we were the last few heroes who could make a difference.

Superdynamic brought me out of my thoughts by putting the ship on autopilot and walking back to the main deck.

“ETA three minutes,” he said, adding, “Moe,” and the big man took off his headsets and stood. The rest of the team also came to their feet, and as best they could, began to take each other’s hands to form a haphazard ring around the consoles, until I was the only man out. Focus reached out with her hand and nodded when I hesitated. I took her hand and Ruby’s, and Moe began.

“Almighty and most merciful Father, we humbly beseech you, of your great capacity for mercy and love, and thank you that we are together with our friends and loved ones in this moment of great difficulty. We ask you to guide us and watch over us, and should any of our company fall in the battle that is to come, we beg for your loving kindness, and pray that we may have been your tools of righteousness in this great conflict of good and evil. We ask you in Jesus’ name. Amen.”

Before we broke the circle, I saw Focus staring at me with her hand clenched tight. They had patched her up, and if she was bothered or in pain, I couldn’t tell. Once we were done, she nodded to me and turned back.

“One second,” Superdynamic said, before everyone could return to their seats. “I have something to ask you, Blackjack.”

He stepped into the middle and walked right up to me.

“I need to know something,” he continued. “I’ve seen you in action a couple of times, and I know you can handle yourself. But I want to know if you’re going to work with us, or just run off and hotdog it.”

“What?”

Superdynamic smiled. “I’m not trying to power-trip here, or show off for the team, you understand? I need to know if you’re with us,” he said motioning to the team. They were all looking at me.

“Yeah,” I said, crossing my arms. “Of course.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah!”

“Ok, because working as a team means we work together, we help each other, and most importantly, we follow orders.”

I noticed how defensive I looked and let myself relax, dropping my arms to the side.

“I’m cool with that, man. I’ll follow your lead.”

He stared at me for a long time, his eyes concealed beneath the silver and white helmet so that only a slight blue glow was visible where his eyes were.

“All right,” he turned back to the team. “And that goes for all of us. Other than Blackjack, Mirage and me, you guys haven’t seen anything like what we’re about to encounter. Intel reports at least three hundred enemy supers are in the area, including Lord Mighty. We need to make our way as fast as possible to the White House. That’s priority number one. But we also need to safeguard any injured civilian we might encounter, that’s one-point-five. If any one of us goes down, so bad that Mirage can’t stabilize you, we’ll have to leave you behind. That’s just the way it is. Better you know it from right now.”

He paused and looked at his team.

“I trained you. I know what you guys are capable of. If we stay together, if we fight as one, singling out targets and assisting on them, we’ll be fine, no matter what the odds are.”

Superdynamic took a moment to make some minor adjustments to our course from his suit controls, and the ship slowed and began to drop out of the sky.

“How hot are we coming in?” I asked.

“We’re landing at an Army staging point, then taking a chopper in.”

That made no sense – it would take too long. “Why not just fly this sucker into town?”

“We’ll get made in a second,” he said.

“ETA one minute,” Ruby called out.

Superdynamic saw that his response wasn’t good enough for me. “I’m not going to fly this bird in there just to get destroyed, Blackjack. I don’t waste resources, human or otherwise. An Army chopper will be more efficient, and less likely to get spotted.”

“And less expensive,” I said.

He nodded. “I’m factoring in all variables. They’ll be used to seeing helicopters in the area; we’ll be able to slip in easier. We just need to get to their outer perimeter, and I’m not risking this bird for that.”

I chuckled, laughing at how squeamish he was about his plane. Then again, if I had designed and built it by hand, I might be protective, too.

“I was just curious,” I said, letting him off the hook.

“Okay, Moe and Blackjack will lead the way with Templar and Focus on our flanks. Inside Ruby, Mirage, and me, and Ricochet cover our tails. We move fast, and if we have to fight, we make it a rolling fight toward our objective. No hotdog crap, no heroics. We fight together. Understood?”

We all replied in the affirmative.

“Prepare for landing,” Superdynamic said as he returned to the pilot’s seat. He disengaged autopilot and took control of the stick, but not before looking back at me and flashing me a little nod of approval.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

On final approach, Superdynamic patched in to the attacking forces and moments later a pair of F-18/E’s flew out of the dense cloud cover and flanked us. An unseasonable summer storm was moving through the region, making the last few miles a bumpy ride. Once we arrived at the staging point, the two escorts sped off. Superdynamic slowed his ship, switching to V/STOL mode, and dropped out of the sky, coming below the clouds. Rain pelted the cockpit, streaming backward as we soared through the heavy conditions.

Superdynamic circled as we descended to a staging area for the forces trying to make their way into Washington, D.C. The Cicada hovered over an open field, littered with two dozen Black Hawk attack helicopters in various stages of refitting. Those ready for combat duty had lines of soldiers standing beside them as they waited their turns to board. Others were taking off and landing, and a few more were on combat patrol around the landing zone.

Around us a squall raged, whipping heavy winds and pelting rain at a makeshift city of command tents. Each soldier wore a poncho that fluttered in the heavy winds, and everything ran on ground more akin to a quagmire.

“Here we go,” Superdynamic said, bringing the plane down with help from a landing signal officer braving the foul weather to guide us. He was so skilled at the stick that we barely felt the touchdown. I only knew we had come to a full stop when I saw the others throwing off their seatbelts and heading for the midship ramp.

Wind tore at us as we debarked, making Superdynamic’s landing all the more impressive. Fat raindrops beat down with bruising intensity, drenching us instantly and thumping on the vinyl ponchos of the men that ran up to meet us. Among them was an officer, evident from the silver eagle insignia on his helm.

“Colonel Martinez,” he said, flanked by his junior aides.

He looked Hispanic through and through, with dark olive skin, jet black hair, and the unmistakable forehead and nose typical of Central American Aztec or Mayan descent. Ironically, he spoke with the strong twang of a lifelong Texas native.

Superdynamic shook his hand and followed as he led us toward the tent city.

“Thank you, Colonel,” Superdynamic said, flaring his LED screens to stop the rain from hitting his high-tech suit; the laser lights of his ablative shield danced around his body, like branches reaching out to the sky, each one forming to disperse a single droplet as dozens of others did the same. It was disconcerting to watch, but he was unaffected, and because of it, he was also the only one of us that was bone dry.

“We’ll be flying you closer on one of our Black Hawks,” the Colonel said. “We’ll get you across the Potomac to our forward command, but that’s as far as we can go. A bunch of capes are bringing down all our ordinance before we can even bring it to bear, we can’t cross the river with any aircraft.”

“What about reinforcements?” Moe asked.

“We’ve got almost a half million Army and National Guard units headed this way from as far as Alaska,” the Colonel beamed, enjoying talk of numbers. “Hell, I just got off the phone with Vice Admiral O’Keane from way out at Joint Base Pearl Harbor-Hickam, who told me he’s sending everything he’s got to help. Give me forty-eight hours and I’ll have thirty divisions to cross the Potomac, and that’s just Army and National Guard.”

His confidence faded. “Problem is time. I don’t have to tell you they’re holding out by the skin on their teeth,” he said, meaning the defenders at the White House.

Colonel Martinez led us to the largest of a cluster of camo-green canvas tents. Their fabric swayed with the heavy winds and were slick with rain, but they still provided cover to the command staff. A field of tractor-sized generators powered the command center; their loud noise and billowing black smoke made me smile, reminding me of my old genie that had a hundred times the output and was only the size of your average desktop computer.

A soldier held the tent open for the Colonel and his retinue, receiving a salute from each of the officers entering. I got a funny look, as if he recognized me and wondered what I was doing with the heroes.

Inside, several low-hanging fluorescents cast a dim, impersonal light and barely provided adequate illumination to the score of soldiers working on laptops set up on folding tables around the perimeter of the tent. The middle was dominated by a trio of portable tables set side by side, on which they had taped a massive map of the capital and its environs. Atop the paper map laid a Plexiglas coverlet where officers scrawled the changes in troop formations.

I took a moment to study the map, and though I didn’t understand what unit mark meant what, it was clear that Martinez and his boys were outnumbered. General Maxwell had formed a tight perimeter around the capital, and nothing was getting in.

Except us.

“Lt. Pajit, any word?” the colonel asked of one of the group that sat beside a massive communications center.

“The general reports progress, but he’s making a request that the 11th move forward.”

Martinez took off his helm and handed it to an aide, walking over to the map.

“Have Major Lowell bring them up,” he said, pointing to a great thrusting arrow that was moving across the Potomac from Virginia using the Arlington Memorial Bridge. The river cut a wide swath from northwest to southeast splitting the district from Virginia. Three bridges spanned its murky waters in the area General Hinds had chosen to attack, which was frankly the closest approach to the White House from outside the city. According to the map, though, enemies controlled Roosevelt Island, just north of Arlington Memorial Bridge, and were blocking a friendly column on the Interstate 66 Bridge that crossed the island. South of the Arlington Memorial, on the other side of the Pentagon, enemies had also halted a flanking maneuver to Gen. Hinds’ right, blocking the bridge over Interstate 365, including the HOV span and the CSX train tracks over the Potomac.

Martinez scratched his thick black hair, releasing a sigh of frustration, as if the situation hadn’t improved since he ran out to meet us.

“The SITREP is as follows,” he began for our benefit. “General Hinds has made it across the river with friendly forces, but rearward elements of his column are getting hell from a group of mecha that are operating from the southern point of Roosevelt Island, here.” He pointed at a trio of mecha-like drawings in grease pencil.

“We can take those out,” Templar said, earning a reproving look from Superdynamic.

“That would help,” Martinez chuckled. “But ahead of the General are massed elements including a half-dozen mech, and we’re not making much progress past the Lincoln Memorial. South and north, the flanking elements are totally stalled, and we’ve just had word that General Webb, on the 66, has had to retreat and regroup from heavy fire from all over Roosevelt Island. In the south, Colonel Wargacki still can’t get a single unit across the 395 due to heavy artillery enfilade from Potomac Park and the golf course.”

“How long ago did the offensive set out?” I asked

Martinez looked down at the map, as if ignoring the question, but a strange silence spread throughout the tent.

“We took the Pentagon last night,” he said, his eyes devoid of focus. “The General set out this morning at 0800 and encountered resistance as of 0845.”

“That’s almost twelve hours,” Moe said.

The colonel nodded.

“What about the White House?” Superdynamic asked.

“We last heard from them was at 1500 hours,” the colonel replied. “That’s six hours ago, to any of you civilians. They’re not responding, so I’m afraid their comm station might’ve been knocked out.”

“The first priority is the President,” Superdynamic said.

Martinez nodded. “Agreed. Flying you in is a hell of a risk, but I found a pilot crazy enough to do it.”

“We’ll do the piloting, Colonel,” Superdynamic said. “We don’t want to risk any of your men.”

The Colonel looked at Superdynamic for almost ten seconds before answering, “I appreciate that. In any case, I don’t think you’ll be able to get across the river. Take it or leave it, but I recommend circling the zone and coming in from the north while General Hinds has their attention to the southwest. I like this spot here, but that’s just my recommendation.”

We gathered in to look at his suggestion, which was a wide grassy point north of the city labeled National Zoological Park. The area was somewhat light with enemy units, but that assumed the intelligence was accurate.

“I’d head northeast around Tyson’s Corner, then head east to Chevy Chase, and make your turn to the south there. It should be far enough away from their AA, which is massed south in our faces. Once you land, you can come down Connecticut Avenue until you face their perimeter, which begins in earnest, here, around Dupont Circle.”

He looked up at Superdynamic.

“I’m giving you an MH-60 Stealth Black Hawk, like the ones we got Osama with. It’s the only stealth unit I have. It should help with conventional forces. As far as enemy supers go, you’re on your own.”

An aide got the Colonel’s attention and they discussed a paper for a moment, giving me a chance to stroll over to Superdynamic.

“The army guys are keeping us out, while the supers besiege the White House for the President,” I said.

He nodded. “What I just don’t get is how Zundergrub is doing it, how he’s controlling so many American soldiers.” I was about to respond, but he knew where I was going. “I know some would follow Maxwell blindly, but so many thousands?”

I could only theorize. “He had control of a mob of little black implings,” I said. “He was able to retask them to do different things, maybe even use them as an extension of his mind control powers.”

Superdynamic was looking past me, at the map showing the desperate situation around the capital.

“That’s one thing we have going for us, then,” he said. “If we can stop Zundergrub, the army will be the least of our problems.”

“Yeah, but for now they’ll be waiting for us, all of them.”

I couldn’t see his eyes under his faceless helm, but I knew he was staring at me, hoping that I had an alternative.

“How fast is your suit?” I asked.

“I thought about that,” he said. “Except that anyone you or I were to carry would be exposed to high speeds, lack of oxygen, extreme pressures. Templar can teleport, but short distances.”

“Teleport?”

Superdynamic nodded.

I motioned Templar over. He and Ruby joined us in our little mini-huddle.

“How far can you teleport?” I asked.

He made sure to get a nod of approval from Superdynamic before answering.

“Maybe six hundred meters. If I push it.”

“Can you carry someone?”

Again, he looked over at his boss who motioned him to respond.

“Yes, but the distance would be shorter.”

“Two, maybe three hundred meters?”

Templar shrugged, tousling his long blond hair out of his face.

“That’s how we do it then,” I said.

Superdynamic watched me.

“We crash the White House and draw everyone’s attention to us. Then the kid gets the President out.”

Ruby smiled. “And in the meantime, we’re the bait for a bloody villain frenzy.”

“That’s right,” I went on, looking at her pretty eyes. She was scared, and with good reason – we would be outnumbered and outgunned. “All the heat’s going to be on us. But you just have to worry about the rank and file. When the big guy shows, he’s all mine.”

“Everything all right?” Moe asked Colonel Martinez, who had apparently received some bad news from the aide.

Martinez leaned over the map, his face formed into a scowl. “The General’s vehicle has been hit. He’s injured but he’s refusing to come out.”

Superdynamic moved closer to the table.

“Get us in there, Colonel, and we’ll do our best to end this.”

The Army officer looked over the map as one of his aides drew two more mecha on the southern point of Roosevelt Island and erased an icon that was supposed to be a friendly tank.

“Let’s get you to the party.”

“Thank you, Colonel,” Superdynamic said, following Martinez and his aides out of the tent and heading toward a Black Hawk helicopter that had been set aside on its own, about a hundred yards from the rest of the forces. It was unlike any helicopter I had ever seen, as if a B-2 stealth bomber had mated with a Huey. Instead of the distinctive rounded surfaces of the standard UH-60, this chopper sported angled plates on all the surfaces that looked as odd as the weirdly armored Indian Rhino. The tiles were designed to deflect or absorb radar transmissions, rendering the aircraft as invisible to radar as its stealth fighter cousins.

As we approached a Black Hawk, Colonel Martinez was forced to shout over the engine’s heavy whine and the massive whipping of winds surrounding the helicopter.

“Injured or not, General Hinds will be making a hard push. Hell, he’s just liable to get pissed and try to win the whole thing by himself,” Martinez said with a half-smile. “The good part for you is that he’ll be drawing all the attention to himself and away from you guys. That’ll give you a chance to get in undetected.”

“We’ll do our best,” Superdynamic said, as we all ducked our heads, Moe and me in particular, to avoid the spinning rotors. We started jumping in, helped up by the door gunner.