Page 35 of In The Trenches (Owens Protective Services)

The pilot turned around, shooting me a dirty look. “Then what the fuck are you doing up here?”

I raised my gun, pointing right at his head. “Keeping you from taking off. Get the fuck out of that seat.”

“What are you talking about? We’re clear for takeoff.”

I shook my head. “Not what my boss says. Now, if you’d kindly remove yourself from the pilot’s seat, we can figure out what the fuck is going on.”

He slowly raised his hands and nodded to the co-pilot. I backed up, keeping distance between us, but unfortunately, on a plane this size, there wasn’t much room to maneuver. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw another man approaching the stairs. I knew he wasn’t anyone on my team. They would have announced themselves. Quickly looking over, I knew I was fucked when the guy walking up the steps pulled out a knife.

Spinning, I knocked the knife out of his hand, then slammed his hand against the frame of the door. With a swift kick to the chest, I knocked him down the stairs and out of the plane. Unfortunately, the pilot took that opportunity to hit me hard on the back of the head, and everything went dark.

* * *

I wasn’tsure how long I was out, but the screaming in my ear let on that I was pretty much fucked and had screwed up the job. Squinting in the dark, I tried to see where we were, but it didn’t really matter. My stomach was pretty much announcing that we were in flight, and it wasn’t too happy with me about that.

Making as little noise as possible, I looked up at where my wrists were bound with duct tape to the base of the seat. Shifting slightly, I glanced into the cockpit, but the pilots were clearly distracted by whatever they were doing. I wiggled between the seats until my wrists were near hip level. With a deep breath, I yanked both wrists toward my chest, tearing the tape. I also hit myself in the face, but that was something I’d keep to myself when I landed this fucking plane.

I pressed my finger to my ear, shoving the comm back in. Reaching for the comm switch, I hoped it still worked. “Cash,” I whispered. “You copy?”

“Scottie, what the fuck are you doing up there, taking a nap?”

“You aren’t completely wrong on that,” I grumbled, keeping my voice low. “What the fuck is going on?”

“They attached something to the bottom of the plane, Scottie. Whatever their target is, you have to stop it.”

“So, save the world and die in the process. Cool.”

“It was in a small metal canister, attached to the luggage compartment. There’s no way for you to reach it.”

“How do they trigger it?”

“We don’t know!” he shouted, grunting something as he breathed heavily.

“What the fuck is going on down there?” I asked, glancing back up at the front.

“Fucking war,” he breathed. “You have to stop the plane!”

“Sure, no problem,” I grumbled, shifting to my knees. I glanced around the plane, trying to find my gun, but it wasn’t anywhere I could see. The pilot probably grabbed it, not that it would be a good idea to use anyway.

“Over there!” the co-pilot shouted, pointing out the right side of the plane. I sat up a little, looking out the window.

“Holy shit,” I whispered. Laying back down, I called for Cash again. “Cash, do you copy?”

“What the fuck is it? I’m kinda busy down here.”

“They’re going after an electrical substation. Do you copy that?”

“Fuck!” he grunted. “Do not let them fly over it.”

“Or into it,” I retorted. “I’ll just use my wits.”

“Why don’t you just shoot them? You’re a fucking pilot.”

“Right, and a gun in a plane, flying over a substation would be an excellent option. How about I just jump out of the plane and kill myself now?”

“Would you just fucking take care of it?”

“Alright, alright. Shit, don’t get your panties in a twist,” I hissed. Letting go of the push-to-talk, I prepared myself for the task ahead of me. “Don’t let that plane leave, Scottie. Use your gun, Scottie. Don’t eat those tacos, Scottie. Just fucking once, I’d like to do things my way.”

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