Anatomy of a Rebellion

Chapter 49

Ellsworth

"HQ this is Wakeman. We've secured Ashland."

That was the first thing Riane ever heard over a radio. She had been fitted with a flight suit and a helmet, but that was it. Conroy provided no advice on how to handle being in a jet. He had asked if she ever flew before, and her answer was, "I've been in a helicopter and a private jet. Does that count?" He laughed and said nothing more. Two mechanics assisted her instead. As they helped her get strapped in, they promised her that it was an easy ride and she just had to relax. After all, she was riding with the Commander, not Rawlings or Wilson.

After she was strapped in, the mechanics left her to herself. She sat in the passenger seat and stared out the open canopy at Conroy as he chatted with someone. He seemed like an easygoing guy and fearless leader. Her eyesight traveled to Wilson's plane; the youngster was resting casually in his cockpit, awaiting final orders. She could not see Rawlings or his plane; however, she could hear his calm but stern voice over the radio going over the final checkups of his aircraft. It was almost robotic like. She realized that Conroy was the big brother, Wilson was the kid, and Rawlings was the boss.

Riane was checking the last few things on her camera when Conroy joined her. She paid him no mind as he strapped himself in and completed a few final checks. A man spoke through their communication line, "This is Doghouse: squadron prepare for OK in one minute."

"Wrong-Way to Doghouse, copy," Conroy answered. As he performed the last tasks, he started a conversation with Riane. "When you were gettin' fitted into that suit there, I noticed a Yankees logo on your wrist. Must be pretty dedicated to get a tattoo."

It was a random comment and an odd observation. She said, "I actually grew up a football fan. I'm from the south, so it's kind of the rule down there. It wasn't until I went to college that I got into baseball."

"Is that so?" Conroy called back. "I was born in the Bronx. Spent every summer in those right field bleachers. It's a shame I was in Asia when they won the World Series a few years ago."

Then the conversation ended. It was a bizarre to her. She wanted to inquire why he felt the need to tell her that; did he somehow think she was frightened and that such a frivolous conversation would calm her down? Maybe he was just a talkative guy, and since he found something they held in common, he wanted to discuss it. Unfortunately for Conroy, she just couldn't seem to keep the conversation going. The voice through her radio prevented her from even trying. It said, "Doghouse to squadron, you are clear for takeoff. You have authority to act autonomously. Godspeed."

"Wrong-Way to Doghouse, copy," Conroy responded. Then he turned to peer over his shoulder and said to Riane, "Hold on, girl." She braced herself immediately, but was disappointed when the vertical takeoff wasn't nowhere as harsh as she expected. Once they were actually in the air, however, Conroy wasted no time in punching the burners. The sudden g-force pushed Riane back and it felt as though her heart was forced into her throat. He heard her make a slight grunt at the sensation. Just to see if he could get her to squeal again, Conroy rocked his plane over in a barrel roll.

"Oh, Jesus," was her response.

He laughed and said, "You alright back there? Keep making those noises and my pants will get tight. You don't get motion sickness, do ya?"

"No," she answered. There was no wavering in her tone. She was going to survive whatever crazy stunts Conroy tried.

"Wrong-Way to Strawberry-Shortcake," Conroy's voice over the radio called. There no was response, but Riane thought she heard a faint grumble. "You out there, Shortcake?"

Wilson responded when he said, "I don't think he's going to respond to that call sign, Wrong-Way. Poor guy is embarrassed."

" – f**k Kat and give her one," a muttered sentence was half heard. It was from Rawlings.

"Hot mic, Kojak," Conroy said as he tried not to laugh. "You really shouldn't talk about f*****g other guys' wives over the waves, copy?"

"Kojak copies," Rawlings managed to answer in a relatively calm voice.

"Wait, are you guys talking about a s****l strawberry shortcake?" Riane asked. There was a long, awkward silence that followed.

"You know what that is?" Conroy asked. His surprise was evident in his tone. She confirmed that she did and then boldly asked why the nickname. Conroy's answer was simple, "His wife talks more than he would like." After that, it was time for business. Conroy's voice sounded serious to her for the first time when he said, "Kojak, copy?"

"Kojak copies."

"What is the force size on the ground?" Conroy asked.

"Five thousand pounders," Rawlings answered. "Chance of aerial combat."

"Not if we cut them while they're grounded," Conroy said. "They're just a bunch of bombers and few of the leftovers from Offutt's heyday. Scramble their radar just long enough for me to get in. Then follow me in, Kojak. I want a fifteen second delay between strikes. Copy?"

"Kojak, wilco."

"Caboose, copy?"

"Caboose copies," Wilson answered.

"Hit thirty seconds after Kojak. Copy?"

"Caboose, wilco!"

Then silence hit. It was strange to Riane how these three men appeared to suddenly shift their attitudes. The jokes and the lighthearted atmosphere were gone; in its place rested a thick air that seemed to find its way over the radio and lingered in the cockpit. Conroy himself was actually relaxed mentally. Physically he was a bit tense and he tried to loosen up by rolling his neck and shoulders. This action was seen by Riane and it startled her a tad. If Conroy had known she was getting fearful over his actions, he would have stopped. It wasn't as though he was hurt or scared, it was just old age catching up to him.

This moment of travel allowed Riane to gaze at the world from a new point of few. Traveling faster than sound at an altitude she had never dreamed of before, the world rushed by. Conroy didn't pull any weird maneuvers; he kept the plane steady so Riane treated it more like a car ride. It was the perfect chance for her to make sure her camera was ready to go. As she fiddled with it, she wondered what exactly it was she planned to catch on film. They were going to launch air-to-ground missiles and blow people up. An aerial shot wasn't exactly the best angle for something like that.

If Jordan had heard that thought, he probably would have slapped her. She could hear his lecturing voice clearly tell her that it wasn't about angles, it was about life. Many times she had seen his work and pointed out to him the obvious lack of camera knowledge. That would always be followed by her questioning how in the world he ever managed to win any awards. Then his obvious maturity and experience would shut her down. No matter what anyone told her, she could never accept the fact that the emotional and sensitive Jordan was in any way related to the cold and calculating William.

"Why am I thinking about him right now?" she mumbled to herself.

Everyone heard it. Conroy wanted to ask what it was about but kept to himself. Rawlings felt his mouth twist up although he had nothing to say. Wilson didn't allow the opportunity to go wasted. "If you need help forgetting a guy, just ask Johnnie for a little strawberry shortcake." Conroy's roaring laughter blocked any protest that Rawlings might have had. When Riane didn't have a single word to say, Wilson taunted, "Aw, what's the matter little lady? Embarrassed? Don't tell me you've got that image in your mind so you're all hot and bothered?"

The faint click of Rawlings's radio as he turned it off muffled Riane's small laugh. "Please don't make laugh, boy," she said with strong emphasis. She could hear Wilson grunt at the cheap insult. "I've got tenfold the experience you do."

"Alright!" Conroy joined in with a grin. "I like this lady! I want to take her home!"

"Cute conversation girls, but we need radio silence unless necessary," Doghouse interrupted. "If you're gonna waste airspace, you should at least try to make it entertaining. Copy?"

"I vote that the experienced lady tells us all about her adventures so I can jerkoff. Play radio s*x with me, lady!" Wilson said in the best needy tone he could.

"You guys remind me of a bunch of frat boys," Riane said.

She wasn't expecting a response, but she got one from the most unexpected source. Rawlings used a monotone voice when he said, "Did you 'experience' a lot of frat boys?" There was no answer from Riane. "Nothing to say? Good. Let's please silence radio chatter."

"Man, that's unlike Johnnie," Conroy mentioned. "He's probably nervous since you're a reporter."

Riane wanted to inquire more about why he would be nervous, but decided it could wait. It was nighttime out, and as they flew over the rural farmland on their way north, it almost appeared as though there was nothing below them. Ellsworth was not a stone's throw away from Union like Ashland and Offutt, so by the time Skipper's squad was in position the sun had set hours ago. This delayed the Sea Dogs immensely, since they waited for the "okay" from Skipper before they took off. Riane felt a little sorry for Skipper's men, since they now had to wait in enemy territory until the Sea Dogs showed up. If anyone of Skipper's men were seen, they would have to fight off the ten-thousand inhabitants of Ellsworth.

That was the first time the number hit her. Ten-thousand was a lot of people, significantly more than any other number associated with American deaths before. The war in Texas had created high casualties that had numbed Americans of figures, but never before had it reached five digits. When she put it into perspective, however, it didn't seem like that much. Ten-thousand was only one-fifth of the total capacity at Yankee Stadium; it was only one-eighth the capacity of Cowboys Stadium; it was one-tenth the capacity of some college football venues. When compared to the total population of the United States, it wasn't even a full percentage point.

"Wrong-Way to Groundhog, copy?"

"Groundhog copies," it was Boomerang.

"Situation on the ground?" Conroy asked.

"A-Okay, Wrong-Way. I've sent my points to you. Mobilization has begun from within the base in preparation for zero hour. What's your ETA?"

"Wrong-Way copies. ETA five."

"Groundhog copies."

Those five minutes went by quickly. Conroy instructed Riane that they were about to strike. He warned her that if Ellsworth had hacked communication lines or managed to spot an unknown jet in the sky, they could very easily be shot down. They were charging directly at the enemy with their fist already pulled back for a punch and had no time to block if the enemy decided to strike. Riane suddenly felt a bout of nervousness run through her body and she quaked with a small shiver. When Conroy let loose the first missile strike, she jumped and was held to her seat thanks only to the straps that kept her firm. By the time his missiles hit their target, he wasn't anywhere near the base anymore.

She felt the world spin upside down as Conroy pulled a quick maneuver to turn around. They jetted just west of the base and she was able to catch the awesome sight of another missile strike. The once darkened night seem to light up with the powerful explosions and flames that licked against the horizon. Fuel tanks on the ground were caught up in the heat and were destroyed with loud booms. Munitions hit by the fires followed the fuel tanks. It seemed as though the entire base would be engulfed in the destruction. A loud shout from Boomerang, "Nice show, boys, nice show!" was the only human noise heard.

As the Sea Dogs set their courses back toward Union, Skipper's men on the ground waited for the last of the unexpected explosions to do their damage. This was the first aerial strike Royal saw in person; when Ozark was under attack by the Sea Dogs, his eyes were trained elsewhere. It was a quite a show, comparable to the biggest firework shows displayed around the country on Independence Day. It disturbed his vision, though. His eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness only to have the glaring light from the fires shine upon the surrounding area. It didn't help that he and Boomerang were the two closest to the base when the strike occurred.

Skipper had Chiang Sun had agreed on a simple strategy used hundreds of times by a hundred different nations. First, they set a perimeter; then an aerial strike would render the base crippled and in chaos. Afterward, Skipper's squad would enclose and push back the survivors to a single point on base. Once the survivors were trapped, they would ambush and eliminate them. Royal was teamed up with Boomerang. As two nearest the base, they were the first to enter. Positioned in the north, they had to abandoned their radio equipment and scale a fence before they were actually inside Ellsworth. The duo was able to climb the fence and land safely despite the fact soldiers were frantically shooting at them.

With their feet planted on the ground, Boomerang and Royal defended their immediate position. It was setup so that Boomerang pushed forward and Royal provided covering fire. Royal counted the amount of men he shot by the second: one, two, three, four and five, six, seven… then he quit. It took them a long fifteen seconds before the bullets stopped coming their way. All that was left was to force themselves further inside and drive the enemy further back.

The ground rumbled and hot debris cascaded down on them when another tank of fuel erupted. Not a single muscle moved in response. Boomerang and Royal were locked in. It was almost impossible to hear over the sound of the fires and the shouts of hurried Ellsworth soldiers. Somehow, the faint gunfire of a shootout on the opposite side of the base managed to sneak its way past the commotion. Too much disarray around them proved costly; Royal was too focused on what was in front of him to notice the sniper that was above them. The sniper fired a single shot.

It struck Royal in the side of the helmet and he face planted into the concrete. A startled Boomerang barely had time to react. He wildly fired several bursts of gunfire up at the sniper. None of the bullets hit their mark, but it gave Boomerang time to properly aim and get a good shot off. As he saw the sniper keel over, he immediately turned his attention to Royal. The youngster was just lifting himself off the ground.

"Are you alright, bro?!" a frantic Boomerang asked.

After a grunt of pain, Royal answered, "I'm fine. Shit." Blood ran down his face due to his fall, and another stream stained the side of his head where he'd been shot. The helmet had saved his life, but the impact of the bullet still left some damage. Royal ripped the chinstrap off and tore his helmet away to reveal an inch long gash above his ear. His hearing was clouded by a ringing from inside his head. It was obvious he had been injured significantly, but he shook the fatigue away and said, "Let's go."

Royal took point and a shocked Boomerang had to hurry to keep up. Chiang Sun and Skipper had given the men fifteen minutes to subdue the enemies or another airstrike would be called in. Five of those minutes had already passed. Royal wasn't about to waste any more time. The duo was only responsible for clearing about another thirty yards of space before they could call their area clear. Unfortunately, Royal's vision was eventually affected by his injured head and he abruptly slowed way down. Their speed slowed to a crawl before they stopped completely.

"Seriously, man, are you alright?" Boomerang asked again. Royal didn't respond. Through his headset, Boomerang said, "We need a medic, my location!"

Whatever response that came was unheard by the two. A barrage of bullets from the enemy sent them both falling haphazardly to the ground. Royal was useless as far as vision was concerned, so Boomerang was forced to analyze the enemy by himself. They did an excellent job using the shadows caused by the fires to their advantage, so he had to shoot blindly into the darkness. The sight of movement caught his eyes; he heaved a grenade in that direction. When it went off, the flash illuminated the area a little bit better. Whoever was not killed by the explosion was hit by Boomerang's shots in the black that followed.

When the firefight ended, Boomerang became aware of a sharp pain in his stomach. He peered down to see a bullet wound. "Holy s**t," was his immediate reaction. In order to assess the damage he ripped off his vest and his uniform. He tried to wipe the blood away to see the size of the hole, but more poured out onto his skin. In an attempt to stop the bleeding, he shoved his thumb into wound.

As he returned to his feet, a medic from Chiang Sun's squad bolted around the corner. The medic asked, "Are you okay? Where are you hurt?"

Boomerang forgot about Royal for a moment and said, "I've been shot."

The medic did a quick glance over Boomerang's body and saw the thumb acting as plug. His reaction was to widen his eyes and open his mouth, but nothing came out right away. "You… you i***t! Don't take your thumb out!" he ordered.

"Aright," Boomerang nodded. Then he took his thumb out.

The medic screeched, "I said don't!" As he reached into his pack to pull out some gauze, his eyes caught the sight of Royal struggling to stand back up. The medic froze as he watched the sight and wondered if maybe Royal had been hit as well. Then the flames managed to light up Royal's face and the medic saw the once white skin of Royal turned completely dark by the mixture of dirt and blood that caked his face.

Before the medic would inquire on his condition, Royal said, "Please take care of him. I'll push forward."

He did just that. Without any backup and with a fuzzy head, Royal managed to ensure the buildings on the north side were cleared out and all enemy combatants were forced to retreat the hospital. Upon reaching the hospital doors, Royal met up with others from his squad. The sight of him stumbling about with his face, hair, and collar drenched in blood caused a brief moment of panic from his comrades. It didn't help that Boomerang was nowhere to be found. Skipper had nothing to say over the incident, but he did force Royal to retreat to the perimeter forces.

Away from the battle, Royal received medical attention. He spent the remainder of the fight in a Humvee, his head being stitched up carefully by a field medic. At 0116hours, just a tad over an hour into martial law, the American flag was lowered at Ellsworth. Chiang Sun announced, "Ellsworth is no longer under American authority."