“Preston, this is Martie. Do you copy me? Over.”
“Martie, it’s Preston,” he replied.
“Preston, I went as far as Charleston. I’m currently at 15,000 feet and have turned northwest, following 77 north and about to fly over Columbia, South Carolina. I have seen several vehicles going in different directions, but nobody within ten miles of each other. I plan to fly over Charlotte and then turn northeast over Mount Pleasant and follow US 64 home.”
“Roger that, Martie,” replied Preston. “Carlos has just come in and said that we should take the Mustangs for a ride around the block. He said that he’s sick of radio work and needs some fresh air. His buddy can look after things while he is away.”
“Preston, that’s not fair!” retorted Martie with everybody listening in. “You send me out in a 210 to do your dirty work and then the boys go out and play with their toys!”
“You tell him, girl!” crowed Maggie through her radio.
“Well, if you see those bad boys,” added Mike on his radio, “Stop their forward movement and blow their transportation to bits. Then we can all have a good night’s sleep while they are fixing their engines and flat tires!”
“See?” replied Preston. “Martie, there is method to my madness. I promise you will be flying with us tomorrow, okay?”
“Bloody load of old codswallop, or whatever those weird English say! I’m going to complain to the Equal Rights Commission!”
“There isn’t one left, love,” added Barbara. “It’s now us against them again. Us against the men, I mean. From now on and in our next civilization, I’ll be the one carrying the wooden club and you’d better be listening, Buck!” she added.
Preston mentioned to Carlos that they should take off before Martie got back, and Carlos readily agreed, prompting a grim look from Sally in sympathy for her friend.
An hour later, and after the final reports from all three pilots, Preston and Carlos both took off in formation ten minutes after Lady Dandy headed north. Their tanks, guns, and rockets were full, and heavily loaded they headed west to meet up with Martie who was currently over Siler City 30 miles west of the farm. She was flying high at 12,000 feet and they rose to meet her five minutes later and got into formation on each side of her.
“Want two good-looking men to escort you home, darling?” joked Preston, and got one finger pointing upwards from the right window of her 210 in response.
“Go out and play, little boys,” she said, trying to be cross. “And you’d better get take-out on the way home, because after a hard day at the office, I’m cooking corned beef and hash. The First Family said that they were looking forward to some good home cooking and we are all going to eat corned beef just to piss you off, General Preston,” and with that she pushed the joystick down and pushed the 210 in a dive for home, leaving the two Mustangs flying by themselves.
“Come on, Carlos. Let’s go get the bounty on some bad guys,” and Preston turned his aircraft to the right and headed in formation west towards Charlotte at 5,000 feet with Carlos just behind him.
They flew over Charlotte 15 minutes later at 320 miles an hour. That was as far as Martie had come, and Preston decided to check out several of the roads leading in from the west. They stayed above I-85 and cruised down to Atlanta, arriving over Atlanta 40 minutes later. They had only seen one old truck and the highway looked pretty empty of dead cars.
“If they are staying out of the weather and coming from the west, I reckon they would use I-20, wouldn’t they?” suggested Carlos. “How’s your fuel, Preston?”
“Three quarters full, and I agree,” replied Preston. “Let’s continue along I-20 to Birmingham, and then turn north up 59 to Chattanooga. If we haven’t seen anybody by then, we can turn for home. If they are further out, they won’t get to us until morning. I suggest we climb up to 15,000 so we can see more. The weather is so clear out there.”
At 15,000 feet, they were just under the requirements for oxygen masks, and from that altitude they could see for 30-40 miles in either direction.
“There looks like a long convoy of moving vehicles coming towards us, about 12 miles west of us on the highway,” stated Carlos a few minutes later. “On my map, they are passing a highway exit to a town called Helfin or Heflin, a mile to the north of the highway. Do you see them?”
“Roger, I have visual. Do you think they can hear us at this altitude?” asked Preston.
“If they were not driving in vehicles, I would think so, but stuck in cold weather, and in moving trucks and cars with the windows tight, I don’t think so.”
“Okay,” replied Preston. “It looks like they are doing about 40 miles an hour and there is an area of open highway about three or four miles in front of them. I want to go down low and buzz the convoy right over the top of them. You stay off to the side, Carlos, and tell me if they shoot at me with anything. If they do, we then come in from the east, in front of them, and hit them hard.”
“Roger that. I’ll be your wingman, Mr. Vader,” replied Carlos and they went down fast, the convoy still several miles in front of them. Carlos peeled off to the right side and Preston screamed down and flew over the top of the vehicles at 100 feet and 400 miles an hour with Carlos a quarter of a mile out.
“I see them trying to get out of the car roofs and windows,” stated Carlos. “One guy has a shoulder rocket-launcher and is trying to fire at you. A couple of others are standing up through the sunroofs and trying to fire at us with carbines. I don’t think they are friendly and they definitely are firing first.”
They carried on a couple of miles past the convoy and then they turned left and returned east several miles south of the highway at 500 feet. There was no way that the convoy could see them.
“I think we should fly a pass with machine guns all the way down the convoy and then turn back and use the Sidewinders,” Preston called to Carlos. “The convoy is about half a mile long. I’ll take the second half at 500 feet and you come in and gun the first half at about 700 feet. Just look out for any explosions. With the Sidewinders, we should be at least above 1,000 feet altitude or more, as those babies pack a punch. Then we come in again with the guns until they are empty, use up our rockets, and survey the damage. What do you think Carlos?”
“I think that by the third run the riders will be in the nearest ditch and the vehicles empty. I should probably fire down the ditch instead of the vehicles,” Carlos suggested. Preston agreed as he flipped off the safety on his never-used .50-caliber machine guns, which packed a total of 1,250 rounds per aircraft, and would give them about six seconds of firing, Preston estimated. It would take about three seconds to strafe half of the 50 vehicles below them.