8:30 P.M.
The rain hadn’t started yet. The moisture was straining the dark clouds, stuffing them full like infection clogging a wound. Bob Hauk wasn’t thinking about the rain anymore, though. He was thinking about war.
The helicopters stretched out before him on the wide landing field, props beating the air, whipping it to frenzy. Their sound was grating and malevolent.
There were twenty copters; they were all painted flat black. They were screaming and angry, straining at the leash, ripping at the air with their whirring blades. They were all going crazy with the smell of blood.
Hauk was out of the air control bunker and moving toward the copters. He yelled at the first black suit that he saw. “Backpack!” he called.
The man stopped walking, his face filled with confusion. “BACKPACK!” Hauk screamed, trying to get above the horrible whines that filled the air. He pointed to his back.
The man nodded in understanding, gave him the thumbs-up sign and hurried off. Hauk started for the choppers again. He was through with war; he really was. And this was too much like it.
Leningrad had iced it for him. He took an early retirement after that one and, somehow, when he packed and came home, he had forgotten to pack his medals. It made him think of Snake Plissken for just a second. He had almost gotten to meet the man who had kept the USPF on the run for nearly five years. Now he didn’t know if he’d ever get to. Once you were dumped in the city-that was it. You were gone.
Bob Hauk knew that for a fact.
The blackbelly with the backpack ran up to him. Hauk took the black canvas sack from him with a silent nod. The man smiled broadly, his eyes glazed with the excitement. Hauk tightened his lips and moved on.
He was into the field of copters, caught in their vortex. The air swirled angrily around him. He wanted to remove himself mentally from the whole business, but he couldn’t. He’d spent too many years in the military, too many years giving and receiving orders. He would do what was expected of him. Always what was expected of him.
Black figures were blurring past, troopers in full battle dress: backpacks with survival gear, helmets, rifles, infrared goggles. Their mouths were open full, screaming, but Hauk couldn’t hear them above the helicopter noise.
He slipped off his jacket and threw it to the ground, then looped his arms through the straps of the pack and snugged it up against his back.
He kept as much distance from the whole thing as he could, tried to stay right on the edge of it. But he was a soldier, a professional soldier, and the call of battle was like sex to him. He was getting sucked in.
He kept walking until he caught sight of the command copter. It bore, in shining gold, the seal of the USPF. He looked at the icon of the eagle in the seal’s center. Its eye was staring and angry; its talons were wrapped around a length of barbed wire. The word COMMISSIONER was stenciled neatly just below the shield.
Opening the copter door, he hoisted himself into the big machine. He had a hard time getting himself situated in the seat with the bulky pack on his back. He wouldn’t be wearing it except that a regulation had come down saying that all personnel who entered the prison most wear survival gear. It was his own regulation.
When he got squared away, he shut the door. It cut down the outside noise considerably. The radio speaker blared static in front of him. He pointed to it.
“Traffic control?” he asked loudly.
The man grunted, yelling. “Yeah. Rehme’s on it.”
A headset with attached mike was lying on the console. Hauk picked it up and put it on his head, juicing the transmit switch. “Rehme.. this is Hauk. You there? Over.”
Rehme’s voice came back firm and in control. “I’m here.”
“You got the location? Over.”
“Yeah… we’re talking about the south. Somewhere around the corner of Beaver and… uh… Nassau.”
Hauk didn’t know the city that well. “Listen, Control. Where the hell is…”
“You know where Battery Park is?”
“Sure.”
“Just get to Battery Park and look for the smoke.”
“Gotcha.” Hauk started to toggle off, then, “Is he… how’s the monitor?”
“Vital signs are still positive,” Rehme’s distorted voice said. “He’s still alive. Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
Hauk nodded once to the pilot and stuck his thumb in the air. The man lifted them off at once, pointing them to the north and east. The other copters went up too, buzzing, crying. Hauk felt as if he were in the middle of a flock of carrion birds.
Bob Hauk had come back from the war feeling old, used up. He came back to find that he had lost his family. His wife was just gone, no trace or even conjecture as to what could have happened. Of his two grown sons, Walt died in the L.A. fire bombing; Jerry was caught looting a supermarket in Chicago. They said he was crazy. They sent him to prison. In New York.
Hauk was all empty inside. He felt like a Halloween jack-o-lantern that had had the guts removed and a lit candle stuck inside to make it look like the thing was alive.
He came to the prison to find Jerry, but they wouldn’t let him inside. So he hired on as a trooper, but when they found out who he was, they offered him the job of Commissioner. Nobody else would touch the job with a hundred-foot bayonet.
Hauk didn’t want it either, but it was the only way he could think of to find his son. For several years he went into the city every chance he got, but it was a useless exercise. The only records kept were of the prisoners going in. Once inside the city, they were on their own-for life.
Within the anarchy of the city itself, it was worse than useless trying to find anything out-it was madness. Hauk had beaten his head against the wall of silence so many times that he felt as if he were permanently bruised.
Then one day, he just quit looking. He had drained out what little bit of life force that had been left within him, finally and irrevocably, until only the burnt-out shell remained. That had been a year ago, and he hadn’t been anywhere near the city since.
The pilot was pointing down at the shoreline. “There’s the Park,” he said loudly.
Hauk followed his finger down to the dark open ground without buildings. Somehow, it looked better at night. He couldn’t see the barren ground and skeletons of trees that had once been fertile and alive.
He switched on the transmitter. “This is Hauk, over the Battery.. we’re moving down.”
He had the pilot take him down low, down to the rooftops. Straight ahead he could see a large cloud of rising smoke, lit from beneath. The pressure and humidity were pushing against the smoke, forcing it back down upon itself. It seemed to just hang there, suspended in space and time.
Hauk was back on the mike, “Crash site ahead, Rehme.”
“Roger,” came the reply. “I have you on the board.”
“We’re going down.”
They brought the copters down right on the streets. Deadly streets. Visions of perdition. They were in a valley, canyons of stone towering all around them. The streets were dark and desolate, the garbage of internal decay strewn everywhere. The burned-out and silent hulks of dead cars lined the roadway. They slept on rusted axles, tires long gone as good burning fuel for fires. The street was filled with smoke rolling back upon itself, a surreal landscape in the lower levels of hell. A fire burned in the midst of the smoke. A bright, sputtering fire that ignited the smoke and lit the street to a flickering nightmare.
“Don’t shut down the engines,” Hauk told the pilot, and opened the door to the racket. The dark mouths of the other choppers had opened already, vomiting blackbellies with long, shiny rifles and glowing red goggles for eyes.
Their flashlights came on, stabbing the darkness with small, symmetrical lines of brightness. The smoke came down on the beams, giving solid substance to them. Smoke danced in the light, made a game of it all.
The blackbellies formed tight defensive lines and began to advance, flashlight beams dancing and jiggling with the smoke as they moved. Hauk narrowed his eyes to a squint, trying to see through the congestion.
They moved slowly, carefully. Hauk was worried about the men. They were pumped up, ready to kill. If it came to that, he would have a difficult time controlling them.
