Hot Day
It
was a hot day in the Nevada desert.
Slowly
in the distance, a dot trailing smoke came closer.
Minutes
passed.
Above
a faint jet engine sounded, no more than a whisper.
The
sun was at its highest, burning mercilessly down.
An
omen of coming events?
The
dot was now a vehicle, an old yellow school bus.
Bars
covered the windows.
Hands
poked out of the gaps, as if asking for solace.
Rumbling
along at twenty miles per hour, the bus eventually stopped.
Level
ground arced out miles around it, leaving the vehicle naked.
Rusty
hinges creaked and the front and rear doors slowly opened.
Nothing
happened for a few seconds.
Then
three dozen hardened criminals sensed freedom and left in a riot of arms and
legs.
Some
ran almost falling, others staggered unable to grasp that they were ‘free.’
Up
above the jet engine was louder now, diving down upon its target.
With
sudden ferocity the F-20 Tigershark opened fire with twin 20MM cannons.
TAT
- ATAT - TATA - TAT! roared the guns.
Shells
kicked up sand, bounced off rocks and exploded across the bus.
In
a hiss one tyre burst, the bus leaned drunkenly over.
A
small fire started inside.
Several
men were sprawled on the ground, red blood soaking in.
Other
prisoners now knew what was happening:
liquidation.
They
ran for their lives as the jet curved round to re-attack.
It
dropped a cluster bomb at a group of fifteen prisoners.
POP
- POP - POP - POP! went the small bomblets when the case opened.
Most
were killed outright, sliced and diced by anti personnel bombs.
One
or two had arms and legs blown off, they moaned for their mothers.
A
small hill gave cover for four men.
Rolling
down range, the fighter came in.
The
pilot selected rockets.
WHOOSH
- WHOOSH - WHOOSH WHOOSH! screamed the
80MM explosive rockets.
Like
the cluster bomb, they were area weapons and the complete hill was blanketed.
Nothing
survived the wicked explosions except drifting smoke.
Another
gun run hit three men running over the open desert, cutting them down.
Two
more men stood their ground and told the F-20 pilot to fuck off.
The
pilot saw their raised fingers.
His
remaining cluster bomb soon sorted them out.
Now
it was time for his ‘dumb’ bombs.
Three
tumbled free, aimed by computer, and hit the yellow bus.
BOOM
- BOOM - BOOM! spoke the 750lb bombs.
A
cacophony of sound and violence tore the smouldering machine apart.
Six
men who had doubled back and hid inside or under it were blown to Hell.
With
only a few cannon shells left of air to ground ordnance, the pilot spotted a
lone figure.
A
dive, a burst, a kill and it was over. Too easy!
Climbing
back to altitude, the Tighershark went in search of his only airborne target -
a
Boeing 747 full of 500 murderers.
Like
the old school bus, it was remotely controlled with no crew.
Two
Sidewinder missiles would take care of this beast and his underwing drop tanks
were still half full.
Happily
the merc pilot grinned. This line of work was fun and paid well.
And
it got rid of scum.
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