KNIGHT'S REPORTS: 3 Book Set by Gordon Kessler

Author:Gordon Kessler
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Thrillers, Retail, Suspense, Fiction
Published: 2012-09-28T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Preparing for Battle

8:30 PM MST, Nearing Slaughterhouse Yards

The noise inside the tunnel was incredible, the JetRanger’s main rotor hanging onto the tank car behind us, bent and broken, sparking, screeching and grating against the concrete-lined passageway.

When we came out of the tunnel and into the full moon lit evening, the wintery white world glowed around us. I soon realized why the noise in the tunnel seemed so loud, and why it became so cold and windy very quickly — both sides of the helo’s front Plexiglas windshield, the center bar and the nose cowling were completely gone. The tunnel’s roof must have been mere inches from our faces when it sheared them off.

Specks was near fluorescent white, but I’m sure no more than me. He still gripped the dash while whispering a mantra of, “Oh damn, oh damn, oh damn!”

“You okay, Specks?” I asked.

He slowly turned to me. Suddenly, he yelled, “Shit, piss, tits! What do you think? Hell, no, I ain’t freakin’ okay! I just nearly got my damn head tore off and my ass smashed and rolled into sausage! Am I okay? Je-ez-hus, H, Kay-ri-est! You and your daddy are tryin’ to flippin’ kill me!” He turned the back of his head to me and folded his arms tightly across his chest. “I’d rather ride a porcupine naked down a bumpy road to Hell than spend another minute with either one of you crazy bastards!”

A quarter mile in front of us, the head end of the train began to round a slow curve, and the lights of Slaughterhouse Yards glowed in the distance in the snow-brightened evening.

“Don’t quit yet,” I told him. “The fun is just beginning.”

I’d nearly forgotten about my shoulder wound until I unbuckled my safety harness and pushed out of my seat. Searing pain shot through my arm and back as I climbed from the helicopter and onto the steel deck of the flatcar. I held my arm and stepped closer to the boxcar in front of us, which shielded us some from the wind and the below zero wind chill. Specks stayed in the beat-up chopper.

The freight cars rocked harmonically, down the rail, and the continuous clickety-clack, had a calming, sort of therapeutic effect on me that helped soothe my shattered nerves and allow for more rational and analytical thought.

By the time we went over a steel railroad bridge, Specks appeared to have cooled down some, and he said, “That’s Kill Creek Bridge. We’ll be stopping in the yards in about eight minutes.”

* * *

I readied myself for the battle that was sure to come, checking the contents of the backpack and ruck sack that Rillie had prepared for me. While hoping to find live ammo and weapons with firing pins in place, I smelled fuel of some kind and glanced at the freight cars behind us as they followed along the slow curve.

The helicopter’s main rotor had torn loose walkways, handholds and other safety appliances on the tank car behind us and much of the tubular hand railing dragged along beside it in the gravel and snow.

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