“Testing guns,” Preston stated and fired a very short burst. The Mustang shuddered slightly and Preston told Carlos to keep his sights on the convoy and to expect a slight decrease in speed. They climbed higher and decided to go in at full throttle, 430 miles an hour, and gently dive in from about 2,500 feet to pepper every vehicle. They turned sharply westwards at 3,000 feet and the convoy came over a brow five or so miles in front of them.
It looked like the men in the convoy were not expecting an attack as they stayed in one long line, kept moving forward, and several vehicles had men sticking out of every orifice. Preston got ready, set his sights, and pushed the throttle forward as far as it would go. The engine began to scream as the Mustang went down in a shallow dive. “I’m a couple of hundred yards behind you,” stated Carlos. “Don’t put on the brakes for any reason. You turn out left and I’ll turn out right and then we can regroup for Round Two.”
The first vehicle, a truck much like Preston’s own Ford, quickly came into his sights and he waited until he thought that he had passed over at least 20 before pressing the firing button on his joystick. The first vehicle in his sights stopped immediately and literally blew up. He kept his eye through the gun sight and felt the blast from underneath. He managed to keep firing until the last vehicle and took his finger off the button as he turned left to get out of the area. He rose to 2,000 feet and turned.
“Are you ok Carlos?”
“I took a little damage but everything is holding together. It was that first blast of yours that got me.”
“I want to go straight back in from the west before they scatter,” continued Preston. “I don’t know what damage these rockets do, but let’s climb up to 5,000 and then swoop down to 2,000 and Carlos, no closer.”
“Roger,” replied Carlos, and they rose and turned towards the heavily smoking convoy, still in the middle of the road and both armed their rockets. They had two triggers for these and each trigger released two rockets at the same time.
“Carlos, we have two shots at this. I’m going to do the last half again and you fire at the forward half just before we go over.”
Preston went in first, lined his sights up on the third car from the rear and pressed the first trigger. Two rockets flew away from him and went into the rear of the fourth and fifth vehicles from the end of the convoy. It was a little off, he thought to himself as he pressed the second button and the second set went even further along the convoy and blew a truck up and onto the one in front of it. Even at 2,000 feet, the blasts were felt. He turned left as he had done the time before. “Are you okay, Carlos?”
“I’m fine, the second two rockets went off late and hit the second car instead of about five down.”
“Let’s get rid of what we have left and survey the scene. As you said, let’s go in together and you spray the closest hedges, or whatever is on the side of the highway, the nearest the highway our vehicles are on, and I will make sure as many trucks as possible don’t work.”
They started on the first non-burning vehicle this time. Preston nearly got to the end of the convoy before the chambers rattled empty and he knew their attack was over.
For the first time, they really looked at the damage from 5,000 feet. It was a mess down there. At least a dozen of the vehicles were burning brightly; another large explosion blew a couple of men into the air and bodies lay everywhere. It looked like the convoy had come to a halt.
“My oil pressure is a little low,” reported Carlos. “Let’s head home and as soon as we are in radio range we can get Sally and her military guys out here to set up a road block for the night.”
“Good idea,” replied Preston, and they climbed for height and headed straight home.
Thirty minutes later they scrambled Sally on the radio and told her about the incident on I-20 about ten miles before Heflin, Alabama, and told her to get her boys down to set up a road block at the Alabama-Georgia border. There were about 200 men in 50 vehicles, minus dead and wounded, and the convoy was about three miles from the Georgia border. She acknowledged and both Mustangs rose to 16,000 feet and saw other aircraft heading out 15 minutes before they arrived at the farm. Martie was getting her moment in the sun, and came over the radio to say that she was flying fighter escort for her friend Sally.
“Don’t get too close, Martie,” warned Preston. “They have shoulder rockets and you will not have much time before dusk. If you use your guns, don’t get closer than 1,000 feet. Sally, tell your passengers that we will be coming back just after dawn with back-up and we will be in radio contact before we arrive. The current situation report is that we used everything we had, about a dozen or more vehicles are on fire out of about 50. There are many dead and I’m hoping they can’t move forward. Aim for the smoke, it is easy to see. We messed them up pretty bad. Over.”
“As Martie says, you boys have all the fun. I’ll keep an eye on her and make sure she comes home. And leave the light on for us, we are going to need it,” replied Sally.
They got a landing report from Maggie and came in from the south and pulled up next to Lady Dandy on the apron. The President and First Family were stretching and waved as they arrived. The mechanics dashed out to inspect the aircraft and both pilots jumped down and shook hands with each other and then told the president about the attack. A few minutes later, Tech Sergeant Matheson came up and told Carlos that he had two small holes in one wing and a tiny piece of metal had done a little damage in the engine. They could have it repaired in about 24 hours.
Meanwhile Sally and Martie headed out at 5,000 feet—Sally with a full load of soldiers, and Martie with full tanks and a full load of weapons. It was only 50 minutes of flying before they saw the plumes of smoke rising ahead of them, and they decided to first take a look from a higher altitude and see what was moving. They climbed up to 7,000 feet and flew about a mile north of the highway. Sally had the co pilot take over the flying as she trained powerful binoculars onto the road below them.
“I see about 50 vehicles,” reported Sally. “There are a dozen or so who have left the road and are under trees about 100 yards to the southeast of the convoy. I think I counted 12 vehicles still burning, another three that are destroyed, and about 14 vehicles about a mile in front of the burning vehicles and slowly heading east. I’ve found what looks like about 800 yards of open road five miles ahead of them and I’m going east and will come in low for a couple of miles and get the ground troops in. Martie, stay up here and tell me if they are getting close to me.”
Sally switched to her internal intercom. Gentlemen, prepare for ground evacuation in five minutes. Over.” She then switched back to the radio. “Martie, I’m landing, turning around, lowering the ramp, and then I’m out of there!”
“Roger that,” replied Martie. “I think you have about ten minutes of daylight left, and I want to hit those vehicles on the move and then see if I can shoot a couple of these rocket things into the group under the trees. Then the boys can clean up for us, right boys?” There was an acknowledgement from the troop commander in the rear of the 130.
“And don’t be nice guys, boys,” added Sally. “They have probably killed a lot of innocent civilians getting those vehicles, and when you come upon bodies, check them for everything—we need their cell phones.”
“Roger,” answered the major in command.
She guided down on low power for several miles behind the landing area, her co-pilot taking fixes of landmarks so that he could tell her the distance from the landing point, and she turned in for final approach at 1,000 feet, then dropped down to 500 feet to stay higher than any electrical lines or cell phone towers.