“They did not put it that way.”
“You’re right, Kitty,” Joe said, sounding as if he was in a wind tunnel which, under the circumstances, he was. “That’s not how we said it.”
“We said we wanted to live up to your example,” Randy shared from his own wind tunnel. Had to figure that I sounded this way, too.
“Awesome. That’s two of you and me, sort of, for eleven choppers. What’s the rest of the team planning to do?”
“Kicking butt and taking names,” Tim said. “You and the Turleens seem to have reached an understanding.”
“Hilarious. Is anyone planning to get me or anything or do you all want me to try to take on another Apache by myself?”
“Yes to getting you, no to your acting like Walker, Texas Ranger,” Reader said. “However, we have to neutralize the threat first, because I can guarantee that our enemies will be shooting at you if we try to grab you right now.”
“They’re shooting at me and the Turleens, and now you guys, regardless.”
“Not for long,” Joe said.
“Seriously have no idea how you think you’re going to drop from a jet onto a helicopter without being shredded by the blades.”
No sooner were the words out of my mouth than I saw several Turleens fly up under the jets with Joe and Randy underneath.
“We’re not doing it the stupid way,” Randy said, as his net released and he dropped onto a Turleen. “I told you—we want to live up to your example.”
Joe followed suit, and both of them were riding the Turleens like I’d ridden Lily—as if the Turleen was a sport bike.
Had no idea if the Turleens could hear us, had telepathy, or had been observing us long enough to know that the jets and the people in them were on our side, but they were functioning as if all three were the case. The Turleens with Joe and Randy on them zipped off for the nearest helicopters.
The guys didn’t take as long as I had to get off their respective Turleens. Of course, they had android-enhanced limbs now. Meaning they could hold onto the choppers much more tightly than I could.
Joe and Randy were moving pretty much at hyperspeed as they quickly reached the cockpits, broke through the glass, tossed the gunners out, broke through the next part of the cockpit, threw the pilots out, then took control of their two choppers.
Normally it wasn’t safe or comfortable to fly without the protection of the glass and metal that made up a cockpit. Joe and Randy apparently were ignoring the discomfort or their android enhancements meant they weren’t affected. They took on two other choppers.
Meanwhile, the five jets were focusing firepower on five of the Apaches and the Apaches were returning fire. The Turleens around those choppers broke off fast and clustered around the two remaining unengaged choppers.
The set of Turleens surrounding the chopper that had the highest altitude started swirling around it. It looked kind of pretty, like a weird, gigantic brass merry-go-round or flying wind chime, but it was effective. There were enough of them that the pilot probably couldn’t see and they were able to cause the chopper to start swirling as well. Didn’t take too long before its nose was pointing down. The Turleens disengaged and zoomed to safety just before the chopper crashed into the desert.
The other set of Turleens had focused on the last chopper, which was flying low, clearly set on bombing the hell out of the Base. They were doing the same maneuver as the others but weren’t really slowing it. Either the pilot was better than the other, more determined, suicidal, or hoping to score a lot of points by taking out extra aliens, because he was just barreling through them.
The positive of this was that he had to bank and come around again, so they bought our side some time. But the Turleens he whizzed through spun what looked like out of control. They all recovered, but they disengaged and came over to me and my Dirigible Entourage.
The roof was still holding up, as far as I could tell. However, I had no idea how much more it could take. Maybe it could withstand a nuke. And maybe one more hit was going to cause it to tumble down. I wasn’t willing to find out. Rescue be damned—it was indeed time to be, if not Walker, Texas Ranger, then at least Lone Wolf McQuade.
“I need to get into that cockpit!” Had no idea if the Turleens could hear me or not, but all of a sudden they spread out, but in a straight-ish line. And that line was heading for the chopper.
Decided that they were right—the fastest path was to use them as stepping-stones. Didn’t think about it—now wasn’t the time to contemplate anything other than getting to the last chopper before it was able to destroy anything.
“Kitty, do not engage!” Reader shouted. “We’ll handle—”
My call disconnected and Sweet’s “Fox on the Run” came on. “I’m flattered and I copy that, My King of the Elves.”
Time to use the skills and hope that Algar’s faith and Christopher’s training was going to be enough. One of the things Christopher had worked on with me for years now was to make me not think about anything “new.” I didn’t think about breathing; I shouldn’t think about using hyperspeed. When I was enraged, this happened naturally. When I wasn’t—and Rage had taken a breather and was watching the show, munching on popcorn at the moment—it was a lot harder.
There was no time to get angry. There was only the now, and the race that had to be won. Pulled up into what, a day ago, I’d have called a turtle position, and took off.
Happily, didn’t fall flat on my face or even slip, despite the smoothness of the Turleens’ shells. Did have to hurdle to get to each Turleen, but this was absolutely in my wheelhouse. I was a hurdler with a perfect four-step, meaning I could lead with either leg. Never before had this been a more important ability than right now, because the Turleens were spread out about one leap each.
Hyperspeed didn’t mean you took less steps—it meant you took them faster than the human eye could see, but you still had to take them. Meaning I had to hurdle the entire way. Not a problem, really. I’d trained under the most sadistic track coaches any high school or college had ever seen. This was an actual exercise I’d had to master in freshman year of high school—every step was a hurdle. I’d been good at it then, and I was better at it now.
The chopper was heading right for us and began firing—bullets as opposed to missiles. Presumed the pilot wanted to save the bombs for the main target.
I was going so fast now that I could see the bullets coming. It was very much like being in a Matrix movie only I wasn’t in a cool leather trench coat.
Had to leap to my right to avoid a bullet. There were no Turleens to my right.
CHAPTER 28