Priest explains, “Ok, we run across the roof to the easternmost point, where Shaw and myself will escort Doug to his chopper. We will pull security while he gets it running, while Doc and Allison stay up on the roof until we are ready to take off. Everyone clear?” They all nod. “Ok, let’s move!”
CHAPTER 11
The hum of the engine, along with the rocking motion of the rotors, lulled a few of the team to sleep. Webb was awake because he had too much responsibility on his hands, too much going on in his head. He conducted a quick scan around to see Dr. Costa dozing, along with Bolin, but Kennedy was awake. He gave Webb a nod.
Abarra was nodding off. “Thank God,” Webb thought. They hadn’t had time to process the loss of Myles, except Abarra. He was close to Myles and took him under his wing to educate and train him as best he could. Myles was making progress and was turning into a damn fine soldier. Abarra had taken Myles’s death hard and took responsibility for his death, even though it was not his to take.
It had been Webb who gave the order to perform surveillance, not Abarra. Webb felt guilty but didn’t feel the brunt of the blame as Abarra did. Myles had gotten himself killed. He was sloppy, although this is something Webb would never articulate out loud. He figured Doc was probably feeling some of that guilt, so there was enough to go around.
Gratefully, Abarra had calmed his mind enough to get some rest. Abarra was a powerful man, an excellent soldier, and an excellent friend. He was one who could be hard on you but always cared for his team and didn’t have a problem shedding a tear for a fallen brother.
Scanning the cabin, Webb noticed the crew chief cock his head and then lean in between the pilot and copilot. They were discussing something and then the crew chief sat back down. Webb tapped him on the arm, “Hey, what’s going on?”
“They have a detected an approaching aircraft which isn’t answering communications. Nothing to worry about, though.” Webb leaned back in this jump seat. As they flew farther, the crew chief cocked his head and looked like he was listening to something and Webb thought he heard him say, “copy.” The crew chief seemed to intensify his search out the gunner’s port.
After a few moments, the crew chief pointed and spoke into his helmet’s mouthpiece. Webb looked to where he was pointing and could faintly make out an aircraft approaching in the distance. Webb connected into the Blackhawk’s comm. “Do you think this is civilians trying to escape?”
“Most likely. We hope that is what it is, but they won’t answer our calls. We can’t go firing on civilian aircraft just because we aren’t sure who they are,” the copilot replied.
“Yeah, but we are not in normal circumstances here and there could be anything piloting that aircraft,” Webb continued to watch the aircraft approach. The copilot just seemed to wave him off.
The crew chief came over the comms again, “Sir, the aircraft seems to have an intercept path to us.”
“Yeah, it sure looks like it, the co-pilot responded
“Should I engage?”
“Negative, we need to verify before we shoot citizens out of the sky.”
“Copy that.” By this time, they could make out it was a single winged plane, most likely a crop duster. The plane was moving about sporadically, like the pilot was drunk. The crew chief was getting antsy. “Sir, that plane is making a B-Line for us, coming right at our three o’clock.”
“I see them, but we are still trying to hail them. Following protocol,” the copilot added. The crew chief looked at Webb over his shoulder and shook his head. Webb continues to watch the drama unfold. The pilot adjusted their course, but plane also adjusted its course as well to continue its perceived intercept of their Blackhawk.
Neville gave Webb a worried look, “Sir, I am getting really nervous about this.”
“Understood, Sargent.” Webb unplugged from the Blackhawk’s comms. He tapped the crew chief’s shoulder, “The pilot and copilot, what are their ranks?”
As if he knew where Webb was going, he smiled, “Both are Warrant Officers, Sir.”
“That’s what I thought. They know flying. I know combat. You take direction from me from this point on. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” the crew chief said as he saluted with an enormous grin on his face.
“Charge that weapon, Specialist, and fire on my command.” Webb instructed. The crew chief did so.
Webb plugged back into the Blackhawk’s comms. “Is that aircraft still making a B-Line for us?”
“Affirmative sir,” said the Specialist.
“We don’t know that for sure,” said the copilot with a condescending tone.
“What? We wait until they are on top of us before we prepare?”
“Captain Webb, we cannot blow civilians out of the sky because of paranoia.”
“Paranoia? You haven’t seen what the fuck is going on down there. It’s a mother fucking blood bath. Paranoia is one thing, but being stupid is another.”
“Sir, the aircraft is about 200 yards and closing. Straight for us, I might add,” the Specialist remarked.