Page 42 of Following Their Heart

“Come on, Rev!” I shout into the chaos of squawking and chopper noise. “Help me out, here!” But I’m not on the radio, so I know he can’t hear me. Hopefully he can see me, though, and can tell I’m trying to get a grenade into the chopper.

I’m chasing the chopper, looking for a clear shot, but the birds are swarming me like a bunch of pissed off wasps. I can hardly see where I’m going, let alone line up a shot.

The chopper’s close. I can hear it! It’s hovering maybe forty feet above my head and getting closer.

“Come on! Give me an opening!” I unholster my revolver with my left hand, while keeping the launcher on my right shoulder, and I start firing at birds, trying to make a hole through the cloud.

It’s no use. The birds are swarming thicker and thicker. They’re coming at me from every direction. They’re striking my hands and making gashes in the exposed skin there.

Then something knocks me to the ground, and I’m lying there under a mass of flapping, sharp-tipped bodies, and I’m pinned. Something is pinning me to the ground, like a net or something. I can’t see! I can’t move! And I don’t hear my guys fighting back.

Why don’t I hear Scrap launching SAMs? Where’s the fire from the other tank? Why do I hear only periodic shots from Brawn and Shep’s stations? Where’s the other goddamned chopper?

The sound of the chopper above me gets louder and louder still. Then there’s a whoosh of wind that shifts the pile of writhing birds on top of me. The chopper touches down right beside me.

I thrash and punch and kick, but I might as well be a fish flopping against a net. I’m trapped like a frigging rat.

I’ve still got my revolver in my left hand. I position it in front of me, forcing birds out of the way as I do. I hear footsteps coming toward me. I aim toward them. I fire.

My piece jams.

I try to cock it again, but it’s jammed good. Dropping it, I yank my Damascus from its holster at my side. I use the hunting knife to slice at birds and net and whatever else is holding me down, but it’s going too slow.

The net closes tighter around me, and the tension makes me drop my knife. It slips through the net and is gone. Then I’m being dragged toward the chopper.

This is not good. Not good at all.

Chapter 17

Rev

Helpless. I am utterly helpless.

The first tank’s gun wouldn’t fire, so I jumped ship. I climbed out and hauled ass to the other tank, ducking beneath the waves of birds swooping overhead. I made it unscathed and dropped inside. A twist of the latch sealed me in, safe and sound, and that was the last thing that went right for me.

There’s emergency lighting in this tight space. Sitting in the dark, I can see the controls, see the ignition button, see the scope screen lit up with- - - SYSTEM MALFUNCTION - - -,and I can’t do shit about any of it.

Forget firing the gun, I can’t even get the computer online to arm the thing. Forget using the scope to aim at shit. I can’t even use it to see outside this hunk of useless metal. To top it all off, my radio won’t receive incoming signals. I have no idea if anyone can hear me when I use it, because I ain’t getting no responses.

In the first tank, at least my radio and the scope worked. I could communicate, spotty as it was, and I could see what the hell was going on beneath the sea of fowl. I need to get back to that first tank, but I can’t. The latch above my head won’t budge. Not even a millimeter.

I’m a sardine in a can. I’m blind. I’m deaf. And I’m stuck.

I change my grip on the wheel-latch and put my shoulder into it, giving that sucker my all. The only thing that gives is my damn shoulder.

I reel back. Stabbing pain shoots from my shoulder down my spine. I’ve pulled something.

With my good side, I wind up and punch the goddamn latch. “Mother fuckingfuck!Let me outta here!”

The last thing I saw as I ran to the new tank was Jud putting himself in harm’s way. That fool left the safety of the reinforced lodge and strode on out with a grenade launcher on his shoulder. And when he fired at the low-flying chopper, he nailed the shot like nobody’s business. The projectile flew straight in through the open side door.

I dove inside tank two, expecting the grenade to bring the chopper down, or at the very least take out most of the guys inside. But it did fuck-all. I waited and waited with the latch cracked open, and I waited some more. There was no boom. No nothing!

The grenade must have been a dud.

So, I sealed myself in, determined to use the tank gun to pierce that motherfucker. No such luck.

My tank’s not doing what it’s supposed to do. My radio’s not doing what it’s supposed to. That grenade didn’t do what it was supposed to do.

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