It fixed on the helicopter for just five seconds, sending a total of 250 rounds.
The Sikorsky’s fuel tank was pierced and an instant later, the helicopter turned into a giant ball of fire, its rotors kept turning but, unable to maintain lift, the bird dropped into the river below.
The second helicopter banked hard, attempting to evade the attack its pilot knew was inevitable. R2D2 adjusted for the change in target’s location, and fired another five second burst.
Guinevere watched as the second helicopter fell from the sky.
She returned to the armored pilothouse.
Sam glanced at her. “I see that’s the end of that. How will that machine go against the jet skis?”
“Not so good. It was designed to take out large aircraft like bombers, not so useful against small surface-based targets.”
“That’s all right. They probably don’t know that, and if they do, you’re free to try and take them out anyway.”
Guinevere said, “Sounds good. How much farther are we from the Tahila?”
“I don’t know. We’ll reach the Cascade Locks soon. If the Tahila isn’t there, we’re going to have trouble waiting for the water locks to rise before we get killed.”
She took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay, we’ll just have to deal with it when we get there.”
Her eyes glanced at I-84 — the highway that ran alongside the Columbia River through the gorge — and she took a deep breath in. Her eyes narrowed.
Sam asked, “What is it?”
Guinevere swallowed hard. “There’s a black Range Rover speeding along I-84.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
Jason Faulkner drove hard along I-84.
The Range Rover hugged the blacktop as it followed the Columbia River Gorge, and wound its way westward through to the Cascade Range, which formed the boundary between the State of Washington to the north and Oregon to the south.
At the lowest elevations, there was a dense conifer forest of Douglas-fir, western red cedar, western hemlock, and grand fir, giving the mountainside an envelope of blue-green forestry. At the higher elevations along the mountain range, Silver fir, Sitka spruce, and Alaska-cedar dominated all but the highest peaks, which were snowcapped. Dense foliage of shrubs grew so exceptionally well that in many places the vegetation made the forest practically impenetrable.
Faulkner had lived in the region during the early projects at Camelot Weapons Industries. He knew the region well. Probably better than most locals. He thought about the region, about what he’d been trying to do, and how the human race has never known its true place in the world.
The gorge had supported human habitation for over 13,000 years. Evidence of the Folsom and Marmes people, who crossed the Bering land bridge from Asia, were found in archaeological digs. Excavations near Celilo Falls, a few miles east of The Dalles, showed that humans have occupied this salmon-fishing site for more than 10,000 years.
The gorge has provided a transportation corridor for thousands of years. Native Americans would travel through the Gorge to trade at Celilo Falls, both along the river and over Lolo Pass on the north side of Mount Hood. In 1805, the route was used by the Lewis and Clark Expedition to reach the Pacific. Early European and American settlers subsequently established steamboat lines and railroads through the gorge. Today, the BNSF Railway runs freights along the Washington side of the river, while its rival, the Union Pacific Railroad, runs freights along the Oregon shore.
The Columbia River Highway, built in the early 20th century, was the first major paved highway in the Pacific Northwest. Shipping was greatly simplified after Bonneville Dam and The Dalles Dam submerged the gorge's major rapids such as Celilo Falls, a major salmon fishing site for local Native Americans until the site's submergence in 1957. Native Indian petroglyphs were found in the Columbia River Gorge near The Dalles Dam.
Native Americans have lived in southeastern Oregon for at least 15,000 years, according to a 2012 find in the Paisley Caves. At that time, pluvial lakes filled many of the high desert basins. Little is known about the people who occupied the land at that time, except that they camped and hunted near the lakes. The earliest petroglyphs in southeastern Oregon may be as much as 15,000 years old, possibly much older.
In 1840, when the first white men came through southern Oregon, the Fort Bidwell Band and the Harney Valley Band of the Northern Paiute tribe lived in the southeastern part of Oregon around Greaser Canyon. However, given the age of the carvings, it is possible that the Northern Paiute people had nothing to do with their creation.
The meanings of the Greaser petroglyphs are not known. They may have been used in religious ceremonies or marked tribal ownership of territory. The designs may have been map directions or simply art created to tell a personal story.
No one knows.
Jason spotted the Cascade Locks up ahead.
The set of locks were built to improve navigation past the Cascades Rapids of the Columbia River. The U.S. federal government approved the plan for the locks in 1875, construction began in 1878, and the locks were completed on November 5, 1896. The locks were subsequently submerged in 1938, and replaced by Bonneville Lock and Dam.
He turned left onto the Bonneville Bridge. It was a steel truss cantilever bridge that spans the Columbia River between Cascade Locks, Oregon, and Washington state near North Bonneville approximately forty miles out of Portland.
Jason drove to the middle of the bridge and jammed on the brakes.
The Range Rover came to a complete stop. He pulled up the handbrake, and turned on the hazard lights.
Someone behind him honked.
It didn’t bother Jason. Let them complain. It wouldn’t make any difference. He wasn’t moving his damned car.
He withdrew an M16 rifle, loaded a custom-made armor piercing bullet, and waited for his target to arrive.
Chapter Fifty-Four
The US Navy jetboat raced along the Columbia River.
Sam watched the four jet skis swerve ahead of them and to their sides, as they became increasingly brazen in an attempt to keep ahead of the R2D2’s firing arc. The jet ski riders were carrying Uzi style submachineguns, and would intermittently fire a burst in their direction. Most times, the shots would fall short or wide, but occasionally they would rake the side of the jetboat’s hull.
Guinevere, out of Remington shotgun shells, now waited until the riders got particularly close before firing with her Walther P99. They were nearly out of shots and the riders knew it. One rider came in close, assuming she was completely out. Guinevere waited until the rider was right up alongside them, before shooting the man dead.
That gave the remaining three riders a little pause, but soon, they started to work together to get closer, with all three riders taking turns to fire short bursts toward the jetboat.
It was working.
The riders were getting close to boarding the jetboat.
Guinevere fired her last two remaining shots. To Sam, she shouted, “I’m out!”
“We’re nearly there,” Sam replied. “Just keep them off the boat!”
He turned the jetboat in a sharp arc, sending large bow waves in an outward motion. The riders shifted their direction, two rode the bow wave with the agility of professional riders, while the third one got knocked off into the water.
Sam straightened up and kept heading west at full speed.
He picked up his cell phone and called Tom. “Tom! Tell me you’re close!”
“Getting there. We’re just about to enter the Bonneville locks. Can you hang in that long?”
“We’ll do our best. We’re out of shots and we still have two mercenaries on jet skis trying to board our boat.”