Wings of Steele - Destination Unknown (Book 1) (7 page)

"Shut
up! Shut up! Shut up!" Paulo drew closer, his common sense, if
there was any to begin with, was gone. There were bits of foam at
the corners of his mouth and his eyes were wild with rage. He pulled
courage from the impending arrival of the police. The sirens were
close now, too close. Paulo waved the revolver inches from Jack's
face. "I should kill you myself..." he pulled the hammer
back with his thumb.

Brian
had never seen anyone move so fast in all his life. Jack's reaction
was a complete blur as the pilot's left hand, open, swept the gun
high and to the left where his hand closed around the cylinder to
prevent the gun's function. To his dismay, Paulo never got the
hammer all the way back. He struggled to pull the hammer or the
trigger, but Jack had total control. His right fist shot into
Paulo's solar plexus with the speed and intensity of a pile driver.
Paulo crumpled to his knees, instantly releasing his grip on the
gun, his hands clutching his chest. Close to unconsciousness and
gasping for air, Paulo's tortured face registered a look of complete
and total disbelief... then the lights went out, induced by a brutal
strike in the face with the handle of his own gun.

"Get
to the plane!
NOW
!"
Jack pulled his Kimber from his flight bag and slung the holster
over his shoulder, sliding extra loaded mags into his pockets. He
checked the one in the pistol and checked to be sure the chamber had
a round in it.

"What
are you gonna do?" asked Brian, grabbing his bag.

"Give
these clowns something to do, while you warm up the plane."

"We're
not leaving without you," cried Maria.

"I've
got no time to argue. Now get
going
!
Brian, you know what to do, she's gotta be ready to take off fast!
Here, take my bag..." Brian caught the nylon bag and took off
at a dead run with Maria in tow.

Jack
ran to the back of the hangar and looked out the rear door and down
the airport's dirt access road. What he saw was not reassuring.
Several police jeeps loaded with officers were racing up the road to
the old hangar. The dust rising from the road prevented Jack from
counting the vehicles. He checked over his shoulder to be sure Paulo
was still laying on the floor in a crumpled heap.

Brian
slid to a stop under the belly of the B25, almost losing his
footing. He threw the bags up into the hatch. Fritz peered down
through the opening to see who or what was coming up next. Brian
pulled the parking chocks from the landing gear and tossing them
clear into the grass, then hoisted himself up into the belly.

Standing
at the back door of the old hangar, Jack could easily see the B25.
When he glanced over his shoulder, it was just in time to see Brian
disappear into the fuselage. Knowing they were safe, Jack drew the
1911 from its holster, "Ok baby, I guess it's just you and me."
Trying to stay concealed, he peered out of the doorway - the lead
vehicle was so close he could see the faces of the policemen, their
uniform shirts were white. "Nice target," he said aloud to
himself.

Jack
needed to stall for time, no matter what it would take. The vehicles
did not look like police cars – more like whatever they had at
hand. Captured or arrested was not an option as he was certain these
were not real policemen... more likely drug cartel dressed as
police. Jack stepped from the doorway and leveled the .45 at the
first vehicle. The first two shots took the men dressed as police
totally by surprise. The hood of the lead vehicle blew open as the
bullets from the .45 ripped through the grill and destroyed the
radiator. The startled driver swerved and crashed the steaming jeep
into the mesh airport fence, the officers spilling out and
scrambling for cover behind the wrecked vehicle.

Jack
ducked back inside. Behind him, he heard the B25's port engine
sputter, then roar to life. He ventured a quick glance out of the
door. A second jeep roared past the first and turned between the
buildings to head for the Sweet Susie. He knew he couldn't allow
them to reach the plane. He jumped out of the doorway in a crouch,
having to expose himself to get a shot at the jeep as it rounded the
corner of the hangar. Slamming his shoulder into the building as he
scampered the few feet to the corner he snapped off two shots, the
muzzle flame reaching out briefly and the empty shell casings
pinging as they dropped to the gravel. The driver died instantly,
his head disappearing in a furious splash of red, covering the
passenger with bloody gobbets of flesh and bone. The jeep,
uncontrolled, careened into the east side of the old hangar,
smashing the vehicle and killing the other man, who, thrown from the
jeep, bounced off the side of the building like a rag doll. The
three men in the back seat survived only by bailing out before the
crash. Jack scrambled across the ground on hands and knees to reach
the safety of the doorway as the police returned fire from the cover
of the first jeep. Bullets spattered and ricocheted off the metal
building around him like angry bees. Once inside the doorway, he
took a quick account of his body, astounded that he had not been
hit. He took another quick peek. Two other jeeps had arrived and
slid up abreast with the first near the fence, creating an effective
staggered cover for the white-clad police. They fired a volley again
and he drew back inside as the bullets clattered like hail against
the metal building.

Steele
spun around as he heard the B25's starboard engine roar to life.
From their vantage point, the police had a field of fire that
extended to the plane... it was a no-man's-land run he was not
likely to survive without help. He was going to need a
distraction... Paulo stirred on the floor... Jack stared at him for
a moment, hmmm... it might work. Holstering the Kimber, Jack picked
up the man by the shirt, shaking him viciously and dragged him to
the doorway. "
Wakie
wakie
Paulo, time for some exercise."

Paulo
came around, vaguely aware of his surroundings. "You might be
of some use after all..." Jack snarled, holding him up. Jack
used Paulo's gun and fired through the doorway at the police until
it was empty, hitting one man. He pushed the gun in Paulo's hand and
shoved him out into the chaos.
"RUN...
RUN!"
Still holding the revolver in his hand, Paulo, confused, stumbled,
ran, then stumbled again, waving his arms to surrender. His body
twitched, jerked and spun uncontrollably, violently, as the angry
police gunned him down without hesitation.

Jack
had not stayed to watch the results but was reasonably sure of the
outcome. He was running for the open great-door at the opposite end
of the hangar, taking advantage of the confusion outside. He slid
the .45 out of its holster as he ran. The Sweet Susie was rolling
slowly... "What the hell is he doing?" Hissed Jack through
clenched teeth. He was facing the possibility that maybe things
looked even more impossible from Brian's vantage point. Jack was
almost to the door when two white shirted men, stepped around the
corner of the doorway and blocked his escape.

Surprised
by their presence, Jack tried to stop and lost his footing on the
smooth concrete floor. The officers fired as he slid to the floor,
their bullets passing over his head. Jack fired by instinct as he
fell. One officer dove head first for cover, the other crumpled in
a heap with a gaping hole in his chest, an obscene crimson stain
creeping across his white uniform shirt. Steele scrambled behind
assorted crates and barrels for cover as automatic gunfire splashed
about the inside of the hangar, from both sides. Police had stormed
the rear of the hangar. Things were looking grim and Jack decided if
he was going to die, he was going to take as many of them with him
as he could. He fired between the crates at the men in the rear of
the hangar, one man fell to the floor, bleeding profusely. The
familiar clack of the slide locking open on an empty mag sounded
loud even among the staccato of gunfire. The fire from automatic
weapons chewed at the crates around the pilot, showering him with
splinters of wood and lead.

Jack
was pressed against the wall of the hangar, fairly well protected by
the crates and barrels. He popped the empty mag from his pistol and
replaced it with another one, tucking the empty in his pocket. He
thumbed the slide release, dropping the slide. Time was running out,
they would overrun him soon. He peered between the crates towards
the front of the hangar and was surprised to see the B25 was still
there, sitting motionless on the runway, with the engines running.
He could no longer hear the engines over the gunfire. Jack pulled
back as gunfire ripped into the crate next to him. He fired blind
over the top of the crate in response. He found himself wishing
Brian would take off, not wanting to do all this for nothing, he
couldn't understand what...

The
cool, almost cold, moisture creeping across the concrete under his
left hand interrupted his train of thought. He smelled it. Paint
thinner..? He turned and read the label on the leaking fifty gallon
drum with the skull and crossbones on it: Methyl ethyl ketone.
Jesus,
MEK!
A paint thinner yes, but also one of the main ingredients in
refining cocaine. And beyond flammable,
explosive
was a much better description. The unmistakable thumping sound of
twin .50 caliber machine gun fire snapped his train of thought.
Jesus
Christ! That’s all I need!

.50
caliber rounds ripped through the hangar, punching holes through the
corrugated steel walls like paper. Jack curled himself in a ball on
the floor in an attempt to avoid the destruction tearing through the
building, praying none of the hot rounds would hit the drum behind
him. Laying on the floor, peeking between the shredded crates, he
discovered the source. The twin .50 cal. guns in the upper turret on
the Sweet Susie was giving the police a glimpse of Hell. The white
uniformed officers at the mouth of the hangar, lay sprawled on the
concrete in pools of blood, their bodies literally cut in half and
twisted in grotesque shapes. The wrecked jeep against the building
exploded, throwing sheets of corrugated metal into the building as a
large section of the wall disappeared. In fear of extermination, the
men dressed like police withdrew from the rear of the hangar,
dropping their weapons as they ran. They were greedy, yes. Corrupt,
yes. Stupid, not so much... They were simply outgunned. Used to
getting what they wanted through intimidation and terrorism, they
had no stomach or training for the fierce armed resistance they had
just experienced. The Police Lieutenant had lost about half his men,
some real cops and some loaned to him by the local cartel... he
would most likely lose his commission, but right now he was more
concerned about losing his life. So he ran with his men, what was
left of them, and they fled past their vehicles leaving them
abandoned. Unfortunately for the Lieutenant, his failure might mean
death anyway.

The
.50 cal. guns fell silent and Jack extracted himself from his cover,
his Kimber still clutched in his hand. He felt weak, shaken. Maria
dropped to the runway from the open belly hatch, followed by Fritz.
The duo ran toward the hangar, fearing the worst, unable to see Jack
in the shadows of the interior. Jack ran into the sunlight, his legs
feeling a little like lead. Maria covered her mouth to stifle a cry
of glee and Fritz bounded happily to his friend. The pilot dropped
to one knee as he shoved the .45 back into its holster. The Shepherd
jumped into Jack's outstretched arms almost knocking him to the
ground. Jack hugged the dog as he licked his face. Maria reached out
to him, crying. "Hurry, they'll come back!" The pilot
glanced over his shoulder at the carnage, as Maria helped him to his
feet. The exploding jeep had started a fire which was quickly
consuming the whole East side of the old hangar fed by the
containers and crates inside. The fire was so hot, the corrugated
steel on the outside of the building began melting.

The
leaking drum of Methyl ethyl ketone exploded in an eye-searing
fireball, tearing out almost the entire east wall, sending sheets of
flames into the air and flaming debris onto the next hangar. The
concussion sent Jack, Maria and Fritz sprawling onto the asphalt. An
oily black column of dense smoke billowed and rose from the open
mouth of the hangar while hot, angry orange flames leapt through the
roof. The three rose and Maria covered his face with kisses while
hustling to the plane. "Hurry sweetheart," she said,
urging him along.

Standing
below the fuselage, the prop wash felt refreshing. Maria boosted
Fritz through the hatch before climbing up herself. After one last
look around, Jack pulled his weary body up into the plane, helped by
the hands reaching down to help pull him up.

"Go!
Go! Go! Get us out of here!" Maria reached down and pulled the
hatch shut with a metallic clang and latched it tight.

"Ok,
I'll call for clearance and we're outta here!" replied the
copilot, releasing the brakes.