Joe said, “Okay, so all we need now is a plan.”
Benny cleared his throat. “Actually,” he said, “I think I have one. But I’m pretty sure no one’s going to like it.”
He told them.
As usual . . . no one liked it.
But they did it anyway.
88
NIX PUSHED BENNY’S CHAIR, LILAH pushed Chong’s, and Monica McReady pushed Joe’s. The elevator was turned off because of the limited power available from the backup generator, but Reid temporarily shut down the lighting and air-conditioning long enough to use the lift. Joe had a pistol on his lap—completely against doctor’s orders. Reid had a .45 in her hands. Benny sat with his kami katana resting between his knees, and Chong had the bow that had been used to fire the arrow into him. Riot had kept it, and it was among Chong’s possessions in the infirmary. The arrows in the quiver had all been steam sterilized, though. Benny approved of the choice of weapons. In the Scouts and in gym class, Chong had always excelled in archery.
Once they were back at ground level, they moved through a few dogleg turns until they rolled out into the hangar. The state of the vast room gave everyone pause, even Nix and Lilah, who’d helped cause this. There were bodies everywhere, and splashes of blood and black muck on virtually every surface.
Benny reached up and took Nix’s hand and gave it a squeeze.
Words really couldn’t cover this sort of thing. However, as Joe had said, they’d stood on too many battlefields by now to need words. Sometimes all that really matters is the knowledge that someone else understands.
She bent and kissed his fingers and then the top of his head.
They made their way to the helicopter. It wasn’t easy. Bodies and parts of bodies had to be dragged out of the way to make room for the chairs.
No one said anything until they were at the door of the Black Hawk. Colonel Reid grasped the handle and rolled the door back while Lilah covered her with a pistol. Just in case there were any surprises in there.
There weren’t.
It was a small, meager slice of relief that they all dined on.
Then Joe had to talk Reid, Lilah, and Nix through the process of reloading the thirty-millimeter chain guns that were mounted below the Black Hawk’s stubby wings. Reid, despite being an officer, was really a bureaucrat. She’d never done this kind of work. Joe knew every bit of it, and he talked them through it. He didn’t bother getting them to replace the missiles he’d fired.
He said, “This bird is configured to carry sixteen of them on those ESSS wings. I used six, so we have ten left. If ten Hellfires won’t git ’er done, then we’re using them the wrong way.”
The one real problem was gas.
“We have enough fuel for thirty minutes of flight time,” he said. “And that will be cutting it awful damn close. These things won’t fly on good wishes or prayers.”
Refueling was out of the question. The fuel truck had been blown to scrap metal during the raid.
“We have to try,” said Benny.
Joe nodded. “Yes, we do.”
The toughest part was getting Joe Ledger out of the wheelchair, into the cockpit, and buckled into the pilot’s chair without bursting any of the stitches, outside or in. Benny and Chong sat next to each other and watched, wincing and tensing with each painful, careful, dreadful step. By the time he was settled in, everyone looked ten years older. Benny and Chong had also added several new words and phrases to their vocabulary of astounding vulgarities.
“Wow,” said Chong after one of Joe’s outbursts. He nodded appreciatively. “Livestock, too.”
“I like the one with the iguanas and the jalapeño peppers. That’s wrong on so many levels.”
“So true.”
They cut looks at each other and grinned.
“Really missed you, man,” said Benny.
“I really missed me too,” said Chong.
Dr. McReady checked Benny’s bandage, frowned, and handed him a small bundle with extra dressings, antiseptic, and a bottle of blue pills.