Chapter 24 #3
The body of the helicopter shuddered and twisted, held fast to the ground by the rotor blades until something snapped and the rotor and the body parted company, the blades finally slowing to a stop.
The black bulk of the helicopter slid across the gravel to the edge of the flat ground, metal squealing against the gravel.
By some odd chance, the helicopter ended up on top of the red smoke still billowing in the air, making it dance in strange patterns.
Hallie started forwards on instinct. She’d seen two people go down into the forest, and she was quite sure there would be a pilot and co-pilot. There might also be more people in the vehicle.
A hard hand on her arm stopped her, pulled her back. She turned, startled, to find Girard there, urging her back to the house.
More shots rang out and she didn’t need to be told twice.
She made it back to the doorway with Girard, ducking her head as bullets hit the stonework and doors again, sending more splinters of stone and wood into the air.
All the bullets seemed to be coming from outside, so she ducked into the house, moving sideways immediately so that her back was against the solid stone wall.
Wanting to be sure, she looked first into what she could see of the house, checking to make sure there were no more men approaching them from the kitchen or down the stairs.
The shadows in the entranceway stayed still, so she turned her attention back to the outside.
The thugs were too far away for the handgun.
She reached for one of the rifles she’d had earlier only to remember she’d left them inside.
“Here.” She didn’t know how she heard Girard’s voice over the creak and groan of the helicopter settling on the ground and the gunfire, but she looked over to find him holding a rifle out to her.
She took it, nodding her thanks, and set it against her shoulder, aiming outdoors to where Jonah’s men were now piling out of the forest, heading for the helicopter.
Girard had estimated the number at perhaps twenty, but it looked like there were many more.
The scene was lit by the faint light in the night sky, red smoke still swirling around the helicopter and the approaching men, a sharp metallic taste filling her mouth which she assumed was from the flare.
Hallie fired. The rifle thudded back into her shoulder, almost sending her off balance.
She knelt down, leant against the stone door surround for more support, and tried again.
Better. With a stable firing position, she sent single shots into the group of Jonah’s men, sending them scattering, aware of Girard doing the same on the other side of the doorway.
A pair of shadows appeared in front of the door and Hallie bit back a cry, somehow managing not to fire as her brain and eyes caught up with each other and she recognised the black combat gear of the tactical team.
“You started all the fun without us,” one of the men said, taking up a post behind Girard. Frollo. It could only be Frollo sounding so cheerful in the face of overwhelming odds.
The other man moved to take position standing behind Hallie, his automatic weapon trained on the outside. “Abbott. Report.” Hallie thought she knew the voice, but couldn’t put a name to it immediately.
“Commander Rojas,” Girard said, more than a bit of relief in his voice. “It’s good to see you. We have upwards of twenty hostiles on site here. They are affiliated with a man called Jonah who also uses the title governor. This is his house. He’s got an extensive armoury of hand-held weapons.”
“It wasn’t a hand-held weapon that brought the chopper down,” Commander Rojas said, sending a couple of shots out into the dark.
“There was a boat in the harbour with bigger weapons on it,” Hallie said, and felt everyone’s attention move to her for a moment.
“Miss Talbot,” Commander Rojas said. “More detail, please.”
“The boat was painted a grey-blue colour with no insignia anywhere I could see. There were two large weapons that looked like machine guns, one at either end of the boat, and something different on the roof of the cabin. I think Jonah is involved in smuggling.” Hallie’s words were punctuated with more gunfire.
Jonah and his men had found some hiding positions, she thought, and they were now in a stand-off.
“That’s helpful,” the Commander said. “Keep laying down suppressive fire,” he said.
For a moment, Hallie thought he was talking to her, but when both Girard and Frollo answered with clipped yes sirs Hallie realised his attention had moved away from her.
There was a soft click and she looked up to find that he was talking into a small black box on his shoulder strap.
A short-range radio. She’d seen police officers in low city using them from time to time.
“This is Rojas. New orders. Take out the bandits in the forest then move in to the building.”
Hallie wasn’t sure who he was speaking to, or what effect he hoped to gain.
She discovered she’d run out of ammunition in the rifle and set it to one side, drawing the handgun instead, then gasping in shock as the dark body of the helicopter moved.
Or, rather, people came out of the helicopter, through the remaining wisps of the red smoke.
A half dozen, all in the same black tactical clothing as the commander and Frollo.
The tac team moved, swarming into the forest in a co-ordinated sweep, firing as they went.
Frollo and Girard stopped firing without a direct order from the commander. Not wanting to hit any of their own people, Hallie realised. She forced herself upright, wincing as her feet encountered some of the shattered stone and chunks of wood.
“The pilot and co-pilot are non-responsive,” Commander Rojas said, voice tense. “As are the two that went down in the woods.”
“Go deal with the hostiles. We’ll see to the flight crew,” Girard said. It made sense, even though Hallie’s skin itched with the idea that someone else was going to fight the battle for her.
“Wait,” Hallie said, contradicting Girard, her eyes on the black-clad tactical team swarming into the forest. “Watch out for the traps.”
“Traps?” the commander asked.
“Yes. There are trip wires and some of those spring traps set up in the trees around the house,” Hallie said.
“I’m not sure what the proper name is, but, you know, the ones that snap closed when pressure is applied.
” She demonstrated with her hands and saw that everyone around her perfectly understood what she meant.
“Any ordnance?” the commander asked.
“Ah, explosives? I don’t know. I didn’t come across any,” Hallie answered, stomach lurching as she imagined what would have happened if she’d stepped on something that exploded.
“And the only electronics or powered stuff I’ve seen has been lights fixed on the buildings.
Makes sense, as there’s no electric grid here. ”
“Good to know,” the commander said, and muttered something else into his radio that had the black-clad team slowing down. He gave Hallie a terse nod and then headed off after his team, Frollo shadowing him.
With the commander and Frollo out of sight, Girard glanced at Hallie’s feet then out at the sweep of gravel between them and the helicopter. “Stay here. I’ll get the pilot and co-pilot.”
“Not on your own. Give me a minute,” Hallie said, looking around the interior of the house for something - anything - she could use to bind her feet.
The door opposite Jonah’s office was open and just inside the door she spotted a pair of soft-soled house shoes.
She slid them onto her feet, grimacing at the stale smell.
They were too large, but they were better than getting her feet cut by gravel. “Ready,” she told him.
Girard didn’t ask any questions, just led the way across the open space to the helicopter, rifle at his shoulder, ready to fire if he saw any of Jonah’s men.
The metal bulk of the helicopter seemed impossibly large when they reached it.
The front was dented, the windshield shattered.
Girard somehow climbed up the underside of the cockpit and wrestled the door open.
He reached down inside and braced himself, pulling something out.
No, someone. Hallie couldn’t tell who it was under the flight suit and helmet.
“Here, let me help,” Hallie called up. Girard looked down at her, face pale, and nodded.
He dragged the unconscious man out and turned him so that his legs dangled over the side of the beast. Hallie reached up and took hold of the man’s flight suit, bracing herself for his weight and lowering him to the ground as gently as she could.
She glanced up to see Girard helping the other man out of the cockpit.
This one was conscious and moving, at least. So Hallie took a breath then lifted the unconscious man over her shoulder, much as Findo Trask had lifted her not that long ago and, turning, staggered her way back to the house.
The too-large shoes on her feet flapped and threatened to trip her up, so as soon as she was off the gravel she kicked them off.
The stone at the front of the house was shockingly cold against her abused skin yet still easier to manage than the shoes and the weight across her shoulders.
As she reached the stone she became aware of Girard and the other rescued man on her other side.
Then a third man joined them and she paused to gape at the newcomer.
Peredur Roth. Dressed in his normal dull, hard wearing trousers, t-shirt and leather jacket.
He had an impressive bruise on one side of his face and a grim expression.
“I didn’t realise you were here, sir,” Girard said.
“Talk later. Let’s get inside for now,” the director said.
Hallie kept going, grateful that no one tried to take the unconscious man from her, letting her do the work. She didn’t want to appear weak.
She struggled up the shallow steps into the house and headed for the office and the sofa that was the nearest space she knew of to lay the man down.
The room was full of deep shadows, and a bitter wind was sliding into the room through the shattered window. It was almost as cold as being outside and she hesitated before laying the man down on the ancient sofa. It was still the safest and best option she knew of just now.
“See if you can find some light,” Girard suggested as he headed for the windows.
There were heavy curtains there which he pulled tight.
From the clouds of dust that rose from the fabric, Hallie guessed that the curtains might well be original to the house and that Jonah had never used them.
With the curtains closed, it was almost impossible to see, but Hallie spotted an oil lantern on top of a wooden crate at the end of the sofa.
She turned it on, the soft glow providing limited but welcome light.
There was another lantern on Jonah’s desk and she moved to turn that one on as well.
The warm glow of the lanterns was a sharp contrast to the glass that scattered the floor in front of the windows and the tension in the room.
“Thanks for the assist,” the man Girard had been helping said, pulling off his helmet. Elyan Gould. The captain. Which meant that the unconscious man was Mourant Hyde.
“I need a field medkit,” Girard said, moving across the room to the co-pilot. He looked across at the director. “Don’t suppose you brought any?”
The director didn’t answer with words, just shed the very large backpack he’d been carrying onto the wooden floor and unzipped it, pulling out a dark green pack with the familiar white cross on it.
“Your med skills are better than mine,” the director said, handing the kit to Girard. He looked across at the pilot. “You should sit down, Elyan. That was a hard hit.”
“Didn’t expect the rockets,” Elyan Gould answered. His voice might sound calm, but he was very far from calm, Hallie realised. He was whiter than she would have believed possible and his hands, when he ran them through his hair, were trembling.
“There’s a chair,” Peredur answered and pointed to the heavy chair behind the desk. There were glass shards on the floor around the chair, but the chair itself seemed to have escaped damage. With a grimace, the pilot moved across to it and sat down as if every part of him hurt.
Hallie turned back to Girard, watching as he ran his hands over the co-pilot’s body from the neck down.
Searching for obvious injuries. Seemingly satisfied, he gently and carefully removed the helmet.
Mourant’s cool, mid-brown skin had a pale over-tone that didn’t look healthy, his dark hair plastered to his head, eyes closed.
“Is he alive?” Elyan asked, voice rasping.
“Yes. For now. Looks like he took a bad hit to his head. The helmet probably saved his life,” Girard said. “I’ll give him some pain relief and anti-inflammatories, but we should see if we can get a proper medic to do an evaluation.”
“A couple of the tac team have advanced training,” the director said.
“We’ll call for more assistance if we need it.
” He cast a critical eye from Girard to Hallie and back.
“Looks like you’ve had a rough couple of days.
” He bent to his backpack again and pulled out something else, holding it out to Hallie. “These might help.”
Hallie took the offering, startled when her fingers closed around something soft and yielding. “Socks,” she said, a reverential note in her voice. “Oh, thank you.”
“Always carry a spare pair,” the director answered, a brief glint of humour in his eyes.
“I had to ditch the packs,” Girard said, a hint of defensiveness in his voice. His colour rose as he looked at Hallie. “Although I should have thought to offer you my socks before now. Sorry.”
“I didn’t think to ask,” Hallie told him, with a wry smile. She pulled on the socks the director had handed to her and almost cried as feeling started returning to her toes. With the greater part of her discomfort taken care of, she had time to notice a very important detail that had escaped her.
“Where’s Rhodda?”