The Doc Justice Files - Thunder From a Clear Sky part 3
by Direwolf

Chapter 3- Race Against Time

Lieutenant Jackson was bored. But then, that was sort of the point of guard duty. If it was exciting, then something was wrong. So for now, he dealt with the boredom by walking back and forth between the ten grounded aircraft of the Silver Eagles and seeing just how many draws it took to smoke a cigarette all the way down to the end.

It wasn't like anything was going to happen, not out here tonight. There had been a brief flurry of activity nearly half an hour ago. The Captain had sent a runner over to let him know that a couple of civilians had been found in the town, apparently having arrived between when the strike team left and when the Silver Eagles arrived. A bad bit of luck, but nothing they couldn't handle. The captain indicated that they were sticking to the plan. And right now, that meant Jackson was walking an easy patrol route among the ten Shrikes. Not exactly what he had joined the Imperium for, but it sure beat standing in line at a soup kitchen.

Jackson paused at his own plane and admired its sleek design. Though modeled after a fighter plane from the Great War, he knew just how much more advanced the design was. The wing-mounted guns alone were a major leap forward. Now, you didn't have to worry that something might go wrong with the timing chain and you'd end up shooting off your own prop. He'd known men who died that way in the war.

He had never really considered who they would be fighting. That was the job of the senior officers. Jackson didn't see himself as an idealist, just a man doing a job. And if that job meant shooting someone else out of the sky, well, that was what they paid him to do.

He patted the sleek fuselage of the aircraft. He liked the fact that the swept back wings had been painted to look like the outspread wings of a hunting bird. It was a nice, menacing look rather like the distinctive three winged look of the Folk-wulfs he'd dueled over Europe.

Jackson turned as a gust of wind propelled the dry tumbleweeds over the impromptu airstrip. The moonlight showed an empty landscape, just what the Lieutenant expected to see. He continued his route among the planes. As he passed the Captain's personal aircraft, a shadow detached itself from a low gully and flowed across the ground at his back.

Lieutenant Jackson of the Jovium Imperium First Fighter Squadron, the Silver Eagles never saw the blow that stretched him out senseless on the sandy ground.

As a child, Justin had crossed Africa with his beloved uncle. They had spent months traveling with a band of Masai who nearly adopted Justin as one of their own. They taught the eager boy everything they knew, including their ancient hunting skills. Such as how to sneak up on prey across land most would considerer devoid of any sort of cover. A moonlit night on terrain such as this was easy in comparison. There were enough shadowed depressions and slight rises to give Justin all the concealment he needed. It had just been a matter of moving when the man wasn't looking. He made that easy by keeping to a steady patrol route.

Justin knelt down to make sure the man was out. The swelling on the base of his skull where Justin had hit him with a softball-sized rock indicated he'd be out for some time. The deep droning roar from the west was growing ever stronger. Justin didn't have a lot of time. But there was one thing he might need. He stripped off the man's tunic and put it on as best he could. It wouldn't close across his chest, but there wasn't anything he could do about that. Hopefully, in the darkness it might give him a few moments of confusion. Then he quickly examined the planes and confirmed his suspicion, they were single seaters. That meant a change of plan. Justin drew his knife and set to work, moving rapidly from plane to plane, leaving only two untouched. Once he was finished, he melted back into the night.

"Still just the one," Lucas said, drawing back from the crack in the warped boards of the railroad supply shed. "If I bust down the door quick, we should be able to get hold of him before his buddies by the train can act."

Go-on was prowling the storage shed like a caged cat, pacing the floor and examining the shelves. A dusty kerosene lantern cast a warm yellow glow, illuminating the single room. "We may well have to. I'm bloody well not going to trust the mercy of the good captain's senior officers. I suspect that the order to kill us will arrive once the bloody droning is overhead. But I'm sure Justin's up to something out there."

"That was quick thinking on your part," Lucas admitted, "just goes to show an empty head like yours can get a good idea by accident every now and then."

The resumption of the years old verbal sparing was cut off by the sound of a loud thud from just beyond the door.

"Why do I feel like we're being rescued?" Go-on asked sardonically.

A moment later, the formerly barred door swung open. Justin, wearing one of the blue-gray uniform jackets, stepped in. He tossed another of the jackets to Go-on.

"Pull this on and stand by the door," he instructed. "That way if anyone looks, they'll still see the guard."

Go-on balked. "That color, with these striped trousers. Surely you jest?"

One look from Justin was all it took. Go-on donned the jacket and went out the door, leaving it open just a crack behind him so he could hear. "So, what is your brilliant plan?" he whispered inside.

Justin chuckled dryly while he quickly sorted through the supplies on the shelves, selecting a few things that might come in handy to slip into his pockets. "It's not brilliant, but it's the best I've been able to come up with."

He paused by the paint locker, his eyes narrowed with concentration. He grabbed two canisters of dry pigment; the first powdered aluminum, and the second, iron oxide, and slipped them in to a canvas rucksack. "They have ten single seat aircraft out there. I disabled all but two."

"Damn," Lucas swore. "I knew I should have talked Alex into showing me how to handle one of those crates."

"No time for a quick lesson, my friend," Justin added. "But it makes it easy as to how we'll split up. Go-on and I will take the two planes and try to stop this Olympus, whatever it is. When we take off, it should provide a very good diversion for you, Lucas. You need to be in the car and get to the authorities as quickly as you can, in case Go-on and I don't make it. Neither of us can drive as well as you, and you'll need all your skills to navigate these dirt roads at night."

"While I admire your pluck," Go-on offered from his door side post, "why not just blow the planes up or some such, then make a run for it in the car?"

"I thought about that, but I just can't let them get away with this," Justin explained. "If we lose them tonight, we may lose them for good. Until they strike again at the time of their choosing. I don't know who these characters are, but they killed a town full of people for the cargo on a single train. What will they do next? How many will die? I intend to see them face justice, one way or another!"

Justin stopped at the door, ready to press on.

"I don't blame you if you want to go with Lucas. His job is far saner and more likely to produce a real result. But I'm going to see this Olympus and maybe put a stop to things tonight."

Lucas smiled grimly. "You'll give ‘em hell, boss. I know you will. I just wish I was going with you."

Go-on sighed melodramatically. "Oh, go on! You know if I don't go along, you'll never let me live it down and Alex will read me the riot act. Besides, I have to file a complaint with those fellows for making me wear this horrific shade of blue!"

"Right, then let's get moving," Justin snapped, "Lucas, you know where the car is. Be careful getting to it. Go-on and I will give you ten minutes, and then make a very obvious break for the planes. The idea is to get them all to follow us so they'll be too far away to follow you. Don't start driving until you hear us get the planes in the air or until it's obvious we have failed."

Lucas nodded. "Never figured you two would die quietly. Keep track of his nibs, sir, or you'll answer to his sister."

Before Go-on could come back with a witty rejoinder, Lucas faded into the darkness. Justin had no doubt that Lucas was up to the job. While driving about, Lucas had told him about his childhood growing up in Louisiana. They had been poor, so the swamps, creeks and bayous were a source of food and adventure for Lucas and his brother Laurence. Lucas had a quite a lot of experience hunting at night.

They gave him ten minutes as promised.

"Let's go," Justin said.

Go-on was still outside, masquerading as the insensible guard. The two friends broke into a run for the aircraft. It didn't take long for them to be spotted.

There was a distant shout followed very quickly by a low cough that made Justin think of a hunting lion. Something whined past them in the dark.

"I say, old boy," Go-on exclaimed, keeping his breath despite their pace. "I think we have their attention. And unless I miss my guess, they're shooting at us."

"Must be some kind of silenced rifles," Justin answered. "That would explain how they were able to sweep through the town so efficiently. No one recognized the rifle fire."

"Well, so long as their shooting doesn't improve, I won't complain. This sort of feels like a fox hunt and we're the foxes."

"Don't those seldom end well for the fox?"

More muffled shots sounded but the bullets that all missed, though some came uncomfortably close. Hitting two targets running across broken ground in the moonlight at a quarter mile was not an easy task.

Justin glanced back. There were a swarm of flashlight beams lancing at them out of the darkness in line with the train platform. He couldn't count them, not without running the risk of tripping, but it sure looked like all the crooks were after them. That should give Lucas a clean getaway.

The two of them ran with a measured stride developed from long experience. They didn't try sprinting since that would have winded them far too quickly. Even the occasional bullets whipping past didn't faze them. They had been through more than a few scrapes side by side, but Justin couldn't help but wonder what waited for them on Olympus. The droning was still growing louder. Whatever was up there was very big.

When they reached the planes, Justin waved Go-on to the first and sprinted to the second. He'd confirmed that they were equipped with electric starters so they didn't have to deal with cranking the props. And since the planes had been in the air less than an hour ago, the big radial engines coughed to life on the first try. Justin gestured with his hand. Go-on nodded, shouted something that was lost in the thunder of his craft's engine then gave a quick thumbs up. The plane rolled forward. In a matter of moments, it was gathering speed as it hurtled west, towards the pillaged town, bouncing over the desert floor. After one long bounce, the plane stayed up. It dipped lower for a moment, then straightened and started to climb in a banking turn. Justin released the braking lever and began working the rudder. His plane turned to face west and he eased in the throttle. He rolled forward.

The flashlights were stabbing at him and there were bright yellow flashes that Justin knew were more shots. They were getting close. Justin gritted his teeth and opened up the throttle. The propeller was a blur as the radial engine bellowed with power, exhaust fumes whipping back over Justin.

The plane lurched forward as the prop bit into the dry air. Justin knew there wasn't time for a gentle take off. If he wasn't in the air in a few moments then the men of the Imperium would be too close. Already, a few ragged holes had appeared in the plane's wings as some of the shots found their marks. If one of them found the fuel tanks, Justin realized he would be in very big trouble. Aviation gas was a hellishly explosive mix.

He shoved the dire thoughts out of his mind as he pointed the noise of the plane west. He could feel the wings gaining lift as he accelerated. This was a wonder of aeronautical engineering. But that only helped so much. The physics didn't change. The plane would not fly without enough speed. He could only gain speed through acceleration, and that consumed distance.

A shot punched through the glass windscreen and missed Justin's face by inches. He was out of time. With a desperate yank, he pulled back on the control stick.

Sanderson was sure that he could hear the sound of his career with the Imperium crashing around him. The plan was definitely starting to unravel and he knew that as the ranking officer on the ground, the blame was going to fall on him. And more than just his career was at risk. The Imperium didn't let anyone who might pose a risk to their organization just walk away. One of the men in Sanderson's command had been taken away from training one day, never to be seen again. His commander told him that the missing man had been a plant from the federal government, most likely from the recently founded FBI.

That meant he had to do whatever he could to salvage as much as possible from the operation. And as he ran across the desert, Captain Sanderson was trying to figure out how to do just that.

The first plane made it into the air. Sanderson swore explosively and lengthened his pace. "Keep firing, bring that second one down!"

His men complied, keeping up a steady fire on the second plane as it taxied towards them. Sanderson knew the planes, what the Shrike could and couldn't do. There just wasn't time for a full take off before he and his men were in position to pour in some accurate ground fire, surely enough to bring it down. Yes, he'd have to explain the loss of an aircraft, but better one accounted for than two missing.

The plane surged at them, growing larger with each passing moment. The silver moonlight brought out the details of the wings, the stubby barrels of the machine guns. Sanderson suddenly realized that if the man in the cockpit tried, he could spray them all with machine gun fire. But it seemed he was more intent on making it into the air.

"Your mistake," the Captain snarled as he drew his side arm and fired, "and it will be your last!"

Around him, the silenced rifles made chuffing barks as some of the men dropped to one knee to fire. He was sure the plane was being hit, but the Shrikes were durable. For once, Sanderson regretted the precision engineering that went into them. Still, the runway was too short and they had gotten there in time. The fugitive was trapped.

But it seemed he didn't realize it.

With a tortured scream, the engine over revved for an instant as the plane suddenly nosed up. Momentarily stunned by the view of the underbelly, Sanderson neglected to fire. He was sure the plane was going to stall and smash back into the ground. Instead, the engine roared and the plane sagged, wobbled, then skimmed along only a few feet above the ground. Somehow, the pilot had worked a miracle. The ground flair had given him enough updraft to get the wheels off the ground. And with the wheels free, there was no friction to slow the plane down. The noise came up as the plane clawed for altitude, skimming over the heads of the men by only a dozen yards.

The wash of the massive engine knocked men over. A few fired but Sanderson knew it was too late. Both planes were up and heading west.

Then he heard the sound of a car engine from the town and he understood. There was a third fugitive who was making a break for freedom.

Rather than give into anger, Sanderson examined the situation. The two planes heading west should come into range of the Olympus very soon and he had no doubt that would stop them. The car was another matter and actually posed the greater, long-term threat to the Imperium's plans. Maybe he could deal with that and salvage something out of this debacle.

"Get to the planes and see if they are working!" He shouted.

His men ran to comply. The smell told them what had happened. The sharp, heady reek of aviation gas overlay the smell of dry sagebrush. The fuel lines had been cut and the radios shattered. Sanderson swore as he paced.

"Captain! Over here!"

He ran over to where one of his men was shining a light into the engine of Andrews' plane.

"See, sir? The line's been cut, just not all the way through. Must not have been able to see what he was doing."

"I'm not complaining," Sanderson snapped as he pulled a roll of electrical tape from a pocket of his uniform. He was one of those pilots who liked tinkering with engines. The other man held the light steady while Sanderson taped the line back together. It would hold for a while.

"Keep working on the other planes and see if you can get a radio working," Sanderson ordered as he climbed into the cockpit of the one working plane. "If you manage to get one operational, contact the Olympus to inform them what's happening and get instructions. Otherwise wait here. I'm going after that car!"

Sanderson pressed the automatic starter. The engine stuttered, coughing as air bled through the damaged fuel line. Then it caught with a deep, satisfying roar.

"Semper Imperium!" Sanderson shouted, thrusting his right fist out in front of his face in the Imperium salute. He couldn't hear his men answer as they saluted, but he was sure they did. He pulled the flying goggles down from his cap, setting them over his eyes and began to taxi out of the parking formation. He didn't take time for a full preflight check. The engine revved up as he gathered speed over the ground. In a matter of moments, he felt that heart-stopping instant when the plane broke free of the grip of gravity. He climbed and waggled his wings once to tell the men everything was ok then turned to head south. He saw the running lights of a single car already well clear of the town. It was traveling quickly, but not quickly enough.

Sanderson banked the plane and brought it into line with the fleeing car. With his thumb, he flipped open the cover of the firing stud on the control stick and reached over to throw a switch on his instrument panel. The six thirty caliber machine guns were ready to fire. The captain suddenly realized that he was about to be the first of the Imperium air wing to go into combat.

"Then let's make this one for the history books, just like Lexington," Sanderson hissed as he swooped lower. He could taste the dust kicked up by the racing auto as his gun sights tracked on the car.

To be continued...