Nonetheless, Blaine and Johnny’s assault would have been finished hundreds of rounds before if not for the Kevlar. McCracken felt a fourth bullet and then a fifth smack his bodysuit, yet with the extra balance weight supplied by the minigun, he barely gave any ground. Three of the Apaches, meanwhile, had launched an all-out attack on the large concentration of guardsmen further down the boulevard. The result, just as he had hoped, was to splinter Hassani’s marauding troops and catch those who remained in a crossfire between the attack ships on one side and the Vulcans and the lingering Apache on the other.
The miniguns continued to spit their metallic fire. The ceaseless intensity of the battle was the only thing that saved McCracken from being sickened by the incredible bloodshed before him. He had seen battle a hundred times before, but never anything like this. The bodies were two, even three deep in spots, and the smell of blood and death raked his mind. The stifling heat inside his body armor proved a worthy distraction, seeming to grow hotter with each bullet the Kevlar stopped.
He no longer felt the Vulcan as it pulsed in his hand, the heat generated by its rotating cylinder blowing back into his face. The reduced pounding to his back told him well over half his ammo was exhausted, more than five-hundred rounds, and who knew how many kills to count for that. He continued to fire for a time after there was no real target left, the barricade behind him secured again by the surviving troops. At last Wareagle came to his side and pried his finger away from the trigger. The multi-barreled cylinder spun to a halt. All of the Apaches but the one hovering above them had roared to their assigned runs throughout the city. Johnny rotated his eyes and the Vulcan with deadly awareness, as Blaine turned and followed the boy whose life he had just saved through one of the many breaks in the barricade’s structure. The boy made straight for Evira who was lying wounded on the street.
Her eyes were open but dim.
“Better late than never,” she managed when her eyes found McCracken.
“You blackmailed the right guy.”
She coughed painfully and writhed back toward unconsciousness. Blaine looked to Wareagle, who by then was kneeling by her side.
“Indian?”
“Deep wounds, Blainey, but no vital organs touched. She’ll live if medical attention is prompt.”
“What are you doing here?” Evira asked, as if suddenly realizing his presence.
“I came to rescue a damsel in distress, of course.”
“There’s … more.”
“Okay, I’ve got an appointment beyond the barricades at the royal palace,” Blaine relented. “Which I happen to be late for.”
“Hassani?”
“Long story. The Indian’s calling our taxi down to get you the hell out of here.” He glanced at the boy. “I assume the pup here goes along for the ride.”
Evira nodded and found strength to reach up and grasp Blaine at the elbow. Her stare was intense through all her pain, as she fought to remain conscious.
“Why did you come?” she demanded.
“You up to hearing it now?”
Another nod. “Tell me.”
Blaine obliged and Evira felt the shock of his revelation numb her along with the pain as the Apache lowered overhead with a stretcher dangling from its underside.
“What can you tell me about the rest of the city?” Blaine asked the Apache pilot while the gunner who doubled as a paramedic tended to Evira.
“Thanks to the Apaches, most of it’s a fucking fire zone,” he reported. “We’ve cut the soldiers off from their strongholds and splintered them. As planned. The people are everywhere. Looks like the revolution’s working.”
“And the palace?”
“The Revolutionary Guard has pulled back to make a last stand there. Best estimates say they can hold it for an hour, ninety minutes at the outside.” The pilot paused. “Gonna be tough for the two of you to get inside.”
“You just get us there and we’ll worry about the rest.”
Chapter 31
Johnny and Blaine moved to the back of the Apache where they stripped off the stifling body armor that had saved their lives. McCracken resisted the temptation to count the impressions made by what surely would have been mortal wounds and simply discarded the suit atop the Vulcan miniguns in the corner. What he was just starting to consider was the fact that he and Wareagle had gone the limit with equipment that had been meant to get them into the palace. Without the Vulcans and Kevlar body armor, gaining access was going to be difficult indeed.
“There’s a tunnel,” a drugged Evira rasped after overhearing discussion of their dilemma.
“What tunnel?” Blaine asked as he moved back toward her.
But her eyes closed and unconsciousness claimed her before she could answer.
“Well, I guess that pretty much determines we take a more direct route, Indian. ’Less, of course, your spirits or somebody else can fill us in on this tunnel.”
“How about me?” the boy Kourosh said from the corner.
With the Apache pilot acting on Kourosh’s instructions, Blaine quickly transferred some of the supplies from his canvas duffel into a shoulder bag. Gazing out, McCracken could see the work accomplished by the rest of the Apaches. They had divided the city into grids and had proceeded to strafe the major pockets of guard positions. Most were roaming at present, flying low to the street to rely more on their chain guns and Folding-Fin Aerial Rockets. The Hellfire missiles were used only sporadically now that the guardsmen had dispersed into smaller groups and seemed most concerned with finding cover rather than retaliating. Besides the regiment standing steadfastly round the royal palace, no stronghold remained. The people were winning.
Blaine’s Apache streaked through the smoke-choked sky. At last the palace came into view and he found himself blessing his luck that the masses surging into the area had not yet overrun it, for this would have rendered the rest of his plan impossible. The pilot’s estimates were probably off, though. It was doubtful the palace guard would be able to hold their lines for the hour he had estimated.
The Apache hovered over the side street Kourosh had indicated and once again the drop lines were lowered. McCracken almost had to have the copilot restrain the boy to keep him from following, making him think of Matthew. Evira had started to mention something about his whereabouts but Blaine had cut her off. He didn’t want to hear a thing about Matthew until his mission was completed. If he survived the raid on the palace, his reward would be the boy’s location. If he didn’t, Johnny Wareagle would take over.
“Meet us on the roof in forty minutes,” was Blaine’s final instruction to the pilot.
“I’ll be there.”
McCracken and Wareagle had both opted for Uzis this time, weapons they hoped they wouldn’t need, thanks to their covert entry into the palace. The street they dropped into was strangely deserted, a kind of temporary oasis in the desert of battle they were a part of. It was a small street with enough buildings to hide their drop from all who might have been following the Apache’s path. McCracken made sure his shoulder sack and its contents were securely in place and then rushed toward the tunnel entrance’s position as Kourosh had described it.
The wails and screams of the approaching masses were growing louder by the second and he had begun to fear they might storm the street before the two of them could climb down. But they located the entrance easily and Johnny lifted the grating up and placed it back into position as soon as they were both safely inside. The Indian joined Blaine at the foot of the ladder and together they started down the tunnel, flashlights illuminating their way toward the royal palace and General Amir Hassani.