As the Hind came opposite the interlocking bunkers, all three of which had stopped firing, it pivoted left then one hundred and eighty degrees to the right, flying flat sideways in what looked like an out of control spin, past the second bunker and on to the third. But even though it looked out of control, as each bunker came into its fire cone the rockets and gatling rounds would flash out. It didn’t do the maneuver just once but continued through spin after spin, a flaming top in mid-air. The helo looked like a dragon spinning on its axis and flaming in every direction at its enemies. It looked terrifying and glorious, war in all its horror and beauty. And it looked as if it was going to slam into a mountainside at any moment. The pilot had to be puking her guts out and blacking out from G forces.
Once it was past the now smoking bunkers, though, it straightened out perfectly, went to full power, banked up and over in what was nearly a loop-de-loop and came back.
There wasn’t any fucking around, now. The bird came in from the rear and top, filling the air with rockets and machine-gun bullets. And whereas before it had been spinning in only two dimensions it now was rotating in mid-air, something he hadn’t realized helicopters could do. And still hammering rounds into the bunkers.
It reached the front of the pass again in what looked one hell of a lot like a flip, which just had to be impossible and hovered as the music screamed through the wind and the driving rain. Just… hovered as if waiting for something, as whoever the group doing the music was went through one long ass guitar solo and the Hind balanced against the gale, lights still on, in full view of the smoking and shattered bunkers.
Finally, it got what it had been waiting for as sporadic fire started to pop up through the rain. But the bird waited, hung in the air, still, until it was clear at least two of the machineguns had, somehow, survived the attack. But the survivors had had to claw them out of the rubble of the bunkers to engage their tormentor. They were out in the open now.
Suddenly the Hind pivoted in mid-air and swept back around over Serris’ position. It circled up and up into the storm, engine red-lined and rotors screaming until even with the lights on it disappeared into the storm. But the screaming guitar was still booming over the gale.
Then, as the singing started again, it lined up and dropped. Slowly at first then faster and faster it swept down like a bird of prey, like the dragon painted on its smoking brow. It came down like thunder out of the storm, right on top of the machine-gun positions, the only thing still firing the laser-like gatling guns, clawing across both of the guns, tearing the crews apart, ripping into the guns themselves, slaughtering everything and everyone in the area.
The Hind pulled out in a hover, inches off the ground, and spun in place, fast as the music crescendoed, laying down a flat fire, scouring the ground of not only the survivor gun crews but every stick every rock, smashing apart the very mountainsides in a tide-wave of fury and vengeance until all four of its guns were expended.
Then it stopped.
The music stopped, the lights turned off, the mountains and the rain muted the whop of the blades as the bird clawed its way back into the storm and disappeared. In moments the only sign it had been there were three smoking holes in the mountainside and the shredded remnants of bodies.
“Holy fuck,” Serris repeated. “Remind me never to get that lady pissed at me.”
Kacey was trying very hard to not throw up. After seeing Gretchen there wasn’t much left anyway.
She didn’t remember much about the last few minutes. The last thing she really clearly remembered was turning on the music. And she sort of vaguely recalled crossing the Ranger position, way too close to the top of the trees.
She’d apparently expended all her bullets and rockets, used up a fuck load of gas and really stressed the engines; there were warning signs all over her dash. And she sort of recalled something that seemed a hell of a lot like a crash, the world spinning and flame and smoke all around her. But she was still flying.
There was, however, one hell of a lot of lead in her armored windscreen. Quite a bit of it had gotten through, too. D’Allaird was going to be pissed.
She really wished she could remember where she’d picked up all that lead.
“Tiger Base, this is Dragon,” she said wearily, watching her fuel state and caution lights carefully and flying well away from the ridges. “Return to base for bullets and gas. Tell the Chief I think this bird is going to require an overhaul as well.”
“Roger, Dragon One.” The commo person was one of the Keldara girls by the accent. “Info request from Ranger One: What was the Band? Meaning of code unknown.”
“Uh… ” Kacey frowned. “DragonForce, over.”
“Roger, Dragon One. Rangers report target destroyed. Precise words: Fucking vaporized. Tiger Two states: Well done, over.”
“Well ain’t that some shit,” Kacey muttered trying not to grin. The hell if she was going to let anyone know it was a fluke. “Understood. ETA two zero mikes. Dragon One out.”
Now if the poor bird would just keep flying.
“Good girl,” she murmurred. “Good dragon. Carry me home.”
“We’re getting ready to load the bird,” Chief D’Allaird. “In the Corpse we’d want to take it down for a full rebuild. And you don’t have a crewchief.”
“Yeah,” Tammie said, looking around at the crowd of Keldara. There wasn’t, currently, anything much to do. But it seemed like the whole tribe was gathered at the heliport. At least those that were still here, the women, the oldsters and the kids. Hell, most of the younger women seemed to be gone. Maybe they had been told to stay in the houses or something. “I guess I could ask for volunteers. Fuck of a thing to ask when you’ve just brought back a dead daughter: Who wants to be next?”
She walked over to the group and looked around.
“Uh, does anyone speak English?” she asked.
“I do,” one of the older men said. “I am Father Makanee. You need help.”
“I hate to ask,” Tammie said, stepping closer and dropping her voice, “but… I need another crewchief. To replace… Gretchen. All they need to do is kick out the ammo. Oh, and a couple of other things with the casualties.”
“Pick,” Father Makanee said, standing up straight. “I will go if you wish. But it should be one of the young ones, yes?” he added with a resigned sigh. “Someone, at least, with better eyesight than I still have. I can barely see you in truth.”
“I don’t know,” Tammie said. “I guess. But, I mean, after Gretchen… ”
“You think we fear?” Father Makanee said, his voice lowering and a slight smile playing on his lips. “That the Keldara are afraid of death? Afraid of sacrifice? Very well, I will ask.”
He turned from her and backed up so that he faced the whole crowd then said something in a loud voice. He was apparently explaining the situation. He paused and said spat out another sentence.
Apparently that was the call for volunteers. Every single hand went up. From kids that could barely walk to one old guy wearing a tiger skin that looked to be about a hundred.
“What the fuck have I gotten myself into?” Tammie asked, quietly. “Are these people insane?”
Apparently she’d spoken loudly enough for Father Makanee to hear. His eyes might not be the greatest but his hearing was apparently fine. He turned around and smiled.
“Yes, Captain Wilson, we are insane,” the old man said. “We are the Tigers of the Mountains and we have the insanity of the warrior. Don’t you?”