Brown, Dale - Independent 04 by Storming Heaven (v1.1) Read Free Book Online Page B

suspects, but the shooting was over long before
the TV camera crews arrived. Because of this fundamental difference in tactical
style, the two organizations sometimes moved without coordinating with the
other.
                 “Jesus,
Fortuna’s gonna play Rambo again,” Lassen said on the helicopter’s intercom so the
pilots and the rest of the crew could hear. “Paul, you better plan on setting
down on the far side of the runway opposite the action, off-loading the crew,
then evacuating the area,” Lassen told his pilot. To his SOG strike team leader
he said, “Kel, get on the phone to the chief of the Oakland Flight Service
Station and have them issue an emergency airspace restriction in a five-mile
radius of the airport. I’ll be the point of contact in charge of placing the
restriction. If you hit any delays after nine minutes from now, just get on VHF
GUARD on 121.5 and UHF GUARD on 243.0 and broadcast the warning in the blind
for all aircraft to avoid the airport. Christ,, what a mess.”
                 “The
TV stations will pick up the news if I broadcast on the GUARD channel, Tim.”
                 “I’m
not worried about that—I’m worried about Fortuna taking a shot at us or at some
commercial job who wants to land,” Lassen said. “Do it.”
     
                 Chico
Municipal Airport , California That Same Time
     
                 “ Chico ground, LET Victor Mike Two Juliett, ready
to taxi from Avgroup Airport Services with information uniform,” Cazaux
radioed.
                 “LET
Victor Mike Two Juliett, Chico ground, taxi to runway one-three left via alpha
taxiway, wind one-eight- zero at one-three,” came the response from ground
control.
                 “LET
Two Juliett,” Cazaux replied.
                 Russ
Fortuna, sitting in the front of the “six-pack” pickup truck, lowered the
handheld VHF radio and turned to his deputy strike leader beside him. “Right on
time and right where he’s supposed to be,” he said. The six-passenger pickup
truck they were riding in cut a comer and sped toward an open gate guarded by
an ATF agent and a sheriffs deputy. The three ATF agents sitting in the back of
the truck clattered as their armored shoulders bumped against each other. The
semirigid Kevlar armor they wore resembled a hockey player’s pads, with thick
face, neck, arm, torso, groin, and leg plates that would protect them against
heavy machine-gun fire with reasonable mobility. Their helmets were one-piece
bulletproof Kevlar shells with built-in microphones, headphones, and flip-up
night-vision goggles, powered by a lithium battery pack mounted on the back of
the helmet. They wore thickly padded ALICE vests over the armor, with spare ammunition
magazines, flash- bang grenades, and .45 caliber automatic pistols in black
nylon holsters. The agents carried no handcuffs or restraining devices—this was
a hard-target assault all the way. If the suspects weren’t restrained by the
sight of pistols and assault rifles, they were going to be suppressed by a
bullet in the head. Their main weapons were Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine
guns with flash suppressors; the driver of the truck would man a .50 caliber
heavy sniper rifle with a 30x nightscope that was big enough to destroy an
aircraft engine with one shot.
                 Once
through the gate, the truck headed along rows of small-aircraft hangars on
their right. A high-wing Cessna was taxiing toward them, flashing its landing
light, and the driver of the truck turned on emergency flashers to warn the
plane’s pilot to stay away. Another truck, an eight- passenger van with smoked
windows, was directly behind them, loaded with six more ATF agents in full
ballistic armor and combat gear. This van, and another one heading across the
airport to encircle Cazaux, each carried six fully equipped agents.
                 “Give
me a rundown of the