Chapter 7 A Tumult In The Clouds
A gentle breeze rippled the endless corn fields of the People's Collective. The golden sea of agriculture dominated the landscape of the poor but hardworking nation in de the middle of the ruins of the former United States of America. A cristal clear blue sky spanned the world and the early morning sun added to the golden glow.
Chugging diligent through the peaceful surroundings was the Labour Express, adorned with the maroon flags of the Collective. Spewing a billowing cloud of steam, the powerful black locomotive was about to cross the Flint Hills towards Topeka, while pulling five cars containing the entire entourage of the leader of the People's Collective.
Unknown to anybody on board, a group of aircraft circled high above like a flock of metal vultures. With the Damocles at a safe distance, the Firebirds had gone all out for the mission. Flying among the group were two planes looking as new as the day they rolled off the assembly line. One was Wicked's P2 Warhawk, it's three engines humming low and menacing. The paintjob sported nose art of a little winged cherub holding a .50 caliber machine gun with the name Heaven Sent beneath it. On her wing flew Wild with her twin hulled Kestrel dubbed Special Delivery. Both warbirds were heavily armed and ready for action. To cover the heavy's, Jazz had ordered Scalpalot and Undertaker to fly cover with him.
They were waiting for the train to reach the hills before going in. It would give them much needed cover for the AA guns on the train and was vital to their plan. With the hills still miles away, Undertaker looked out of his cockpit onto the golden lands of corn.
'Yep, defenitely ain't Kansas anymore, Toto.'
'Keep quiet! We're supposed to keep radio silence,' said one of the girls.
'That really isn't necessary,' came another.
'Who said that?' demanded Jazz, 'There's good reason to keep radio silence. What if the Dustbusters picked it up?'
'Like I said, it really isn't necessary,' came the voice again.
Jazz turned his head around so fast, he nearly twisted his neck. Throught the haze of his pusher propellor, he spotted an entire squadron of the Collective's air corps, the Dusters, closing in on their six o'clock position.
'Easter, what a surprise,' greeted the pirate through gritted teeth. 'You still credit your callsign, comrade. I never figured you to be able to sneak up on us.'
'Aww, so sorry to hurt your pride, Jazz,' came the taunting reply. Comrade captain Jonathan 'Easter' Whittaker was known for his unconventional solutions to make up for the poor performance of the Marquette PR-1 Defender, the only available fighter plane to the People's Collective. They gave him his callsign, because he held more surprises then an Easter basket.
'Now, if you'll kindly follow your escort to the border and don't return, we'd be mighty grateful.'
Jason chuckled. 'I'm sorry, but that's a big no can do. You see, we have business here and I'm afraid we don't let something trivial like the law stand in our way.'
'That your final answer?'
''Fraid so.'
'All right, you asked for it.'
Easter pressed down on the firing button of his 30. machine guns, but Jazz already yanked back at the stick. As the Shady Lady rose up into the sky, a few rounds managed to scrape her tail. Those were a calculated risk made in a blink of an eye. Jason knew his Devastator was a superior climber and the Defender's light ammunition wouldn't do any major damage. The rest of his crew got the message as well and broke formation, scattering in every direction to confuse their enemy.
'After them!' commanded Easter his wing.
Checking his mirror, Jazz saw him climbing after him. The ace was certainly worthy of his title. Not only was he an excellent flier, he had also drilled his wing in the art of dogfighting. None of his pilots was without a wingman. The Defender's guns were almost pointing towards him again, making him a target. He let the Shady Lady roll over her right side and into diving battle turn. Arcing around, Jason tried to get behind the trailing Defender.
Yet Easter was smart. He twisted his stick and made a gut wrenching turn around, using the only advantage he had, maneuverability. He came around and prepared to fire. There was nothing but empty air in front of him.
Jazz had outsmarted him. Faking a maneuvre to get behind Easter, he instead swung around and got behind another Dustbuster who was trying to shoot Wicked. Two .40's and two .50's opened up on the frail little fighter and turned it into airborne wreckage, soon to be reunited with the ground.
'Another score for Newton's Law, thanks!' called Wicked.
'Damn you, Jazz!' spewed Easter, 'You won't get away with this!'
'On the contrary, comrade, I already am. Look around you.'
Although the Dustbusters were giving it all they had, they didn't stand a chance against the Firebirds. Both Undertaker and Cheesehead had scored a hit and even Wicked was finishing off a fighter with her much heavier plane. The Dustbusters had gambled on the element of surprise and lost. There were no more wingmen and the Firebirds working together to pick off the remaining militia planes one by one.
Easter tried to reach Jazz again, but his fighter was just too damn slow as the pirate already downed another of his squadron mates. Within minutes, the lieutenant found himself to be the only law left in the sky.
'You may have won this one, Jazz, but as long as I'm airborne I'll fight you! If I have but one bullet left, I'll get you! Even if I have to get out and pu-'
The rest was lost in static as Easters plane tumbled back to the earth, riddled with bullet holes. A parachute unfolded barely high enough to be safe.
'Right, that should keep 'm in the dark for a while,' said Jazz over the radio, 'Enough target practise, let's get to business.'
Each plane broke off and dove down towards the endless sea of corn. Some distance away, the Labour Express just entered the hills, its smoke stack marking its exact location with a beautiful plume of white smoke and steam.
