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“Sight on that aircraft, Specialist, and wait for my signal. If that plane doesn’t change course, then we will remove it from the sky.”

“Captain, I don’t think this is wise…”

Webb cuts him off, “Last time I checked, I outrank everyone on this fucking aircraft, Goddamnit. With that being the case, I don’t give a shit what you think. You will take direction from me. Are there any questions?” They didn’t respond. “Out fucking standing! Specialist report.”

“150 yards and closing.”

“Any acknowledgment from them?”

“Negative,” the copilot responded.

“Ok, Specialist, send a couple warning shots across the bow. Let them know to back off and change course.” The Specialist raked a burst of rounds over the top of the aircraft, but the plane stayed on course. “Ok, this is getting too close for comfort and I am not willing to get Dr. Costa killed. Specialist, take it out.”

“Copy that.” The Specialist pulled the butterfly trigger and the six mini-gun barrels whirled. It started sending 5.56mm rounds toward the plane. The first group of rounds went too low and missed the target. “Sorry, Sir. I have never fired on an aircraft before, much less one while in the air myself.”

“Understood son, do your best. You have the most experience on that weapon.” Webb looked forward and could see the worry on Dr. Costa’s face and he gave her a confident nod. The Minigun spit out more rounds towards the plane and a few hit the left-wing. The plane shuddered a bit but regained control. “Specialist, take that fucking plane down now!” Webb barked.

“I’m trying, sir.”

Abarra slid the side door open and fired his M4 at the plane, “It’s getting friendly close!”

“Pilot, change course, but keep the mini-gun side toward the plane. It’s the only firepower we have.”

“Copy.” The pilot pulled the cyclic stick up, and the Blackhawk ascended two hundred feet. The plane tracked the movement and kept its collision course.

“Fuck gentlemen, let’s splash that bastard already!” Webb roared. The plane was approaching quickly. Seventy-five yards, fifty-yards. As the Minigun sprayed the plane across both wings, and a few rounds hit the propeller and engine. The plane faltered, but not enough to prevent a collision, so the pilots shifted the helicopter sideways, but it was too late.

“Shiiiit!” the Specialist yelled. He and Abarra continued to fire at the plane. The Minigun chattering and the barrels were getting red. Twenty-five yards and then boom! Rounds hit the engine, and the plane exploded.

All at once, multiple things happened. The explosion sent shrapnel into the side of the Blackhawk and through the open door, while everyone did their best to protect themselves. Kennedy and Bolin both covered Dr. Costa to protect her. Abarra tried to sliding the door shut, and Webb turned his back, hoping his plate carrier would take the damage. The explosion also sent a shock wave that ravaged the side of the Blackhawk and sent it rocking.

Alarms wailed from the cockpit, and the helicopter went into a spin. The pilots fought to gain control of the aircraft. The doctor was screaming; the team was yelling, and the pilots were cussing. As the helicopter continued to spin, the pilots struggled to fight the cyclic stick while it jumped around in their grip like a crazy rooster.

Webb grabbed the handhold straps to steady himself and saw Bolin slump over. He reached to right the man up and noticed the blood on his back. He looked harder and noticed Bolin had a piece of shrapnel sticking a few inches out of his back. Webb put his fingers on his neck and did not feel a pulse.

The alarms continue to beep incessantly, making it hard to hear anyone. Everyone was holding on for dear life while the pilots cursed the helicopter. The bird tipped to one side, and then the spin slowed. They were gradually losing altitude, but it seemed like the Blackhawk was straightening out.

Approximately 60 seconds later, they were at a hover, and the alarms had silenced. All onboard looked at each other with no one saying a word. Eyes were as big as manhole covers, and Abarra was whispering a prayer in Spanish. Webb snapped out of his stupor to assess the situation.

“Is everyone ok?” It was when Dr. Costa realized Bolin was dead. Kenne

dy did as well and stared at the floor as Dr. Costa cried.

Webb put a hand on Kennedy’s shoulder, “Sorry, Kennedy. He was an honorable man.”

“Yeah, he was. This job was all he knew, all he wanted. No wife, no kids, just this.”

“Sorry, man,” Abarra added.

“Thanks.”

The pilots took a breath and regained their composure, then continued their flight to Dearborn. Everyone was silent, mostly.

After a while, Webb spoke through the bird’s comms. “Any contact with CDC yet?”

The copilot shook his head, “Negative.”

“What about Command? Any of our friends answering there?”