Six.
Escape.
Things had been dull until ten minutes ago when Duke put the entire team on alert. Gung-ho, Alpine, Dusty and Bazooka were all sitting on edge in a non-descript sedan outside one of the entrances to the underground parking garage waiting for further word from the First Sergeant. They were keeping to themselves, especially the mountaineer Alpine, who was obliviously thinking of his Family at this time and wanting to be with them. Gung-ho, seated at the wheel, on the other hand, was gripping the steering wheel with continuous amounts of force. The big Cajun Marine was never one for waiting, especially when things were serious and his teammates in possible need of help.
Dusty and Bazooka exchanged worried looks in the backseat when seeing that. It was Dusty who moved forward to point out to Gung-ho that if he didn't relax he was going to break the steering wheel, when a gradually increasing roar, coming from the mouth of the garage entrance, caught their attention--a car with a high-powered engine was coming out at high speed. Which meant only one thing…Unless; it was a partier deciding to leave early…
That answer soon came when they all saw Wildman's roadster launch itself out of the exit ramp to land perfectly on all four wheels, as Torch and Thrasher hung on for dear life on the left side.
"A-bout time!" roared Gung-ho with a wide smile as he fired the engine to life. "I was getting' tired of sittin'!"
The car launched itself forward once the marine set the gear and slammed his foot down on the accelerator, glancing off of three parked cars on the way to give chase.
"What in Hell are you people doing here? This is a Federal Operation, not a Military one!!"
The Leader of the fire retardant soaked team, covered from head to toe in a frothy cream whip, was the typical college kid who made his rank not through grunt work but because he knew the right people. He promptly latched onto Duke with a vengeance when the Joe Team's First Sergeant identified himself.
"You are in direct violation of Federal statutes by interfering with this operation, and interfering with Federal officer in the performance of their duties!!" The Leader went on. "I will have both you and your Team court marshaled and hung out to dry as an example!!"
And this is the thanks I get for trying to help them out, Duke sourly though. He could also say a few more things to the Fed like the fact that he was so far off in his assertions that he'd might as well be standing on the far side of the Moon for all they were worth. Anything else would not only blister the skin right off the kid, but get Duke into real trouble—and not ease the sting of Wildman's escape.
And there were bigger things to worry about, like the fire extinguishers. He didn't operate them, and he knew Hacker and Firewall were lucky just to tap undetected into the video surveillance network of the Hotel. Anything else would have had them evicted from the site, and Colton wasn't willing to risk that happening. Given all the trouble they've had with Hotel Management since arriving, it didn't take much imagination on Duke's part to piece together the possibility that Wildman had arranged for such things to occur so to escape.
Really cool, really slick, Duke had to admit to himself. But bringing charges against the place wouldn't be worth it on a gut feeling that had no form or evidence to support it.
Then his cell phone started vibrating.
"Excuse me." He told the flustered Fed. Then walked away while drawing the phone from his jacket.
"Hello"
It was Alpine, and he was yelling. "Dreadnoks heading out of the Center on some fancy wheels…Wildman's with them."
"They have Wildman prisoner?" Duke worried, but there was some hope that everything wasn't for not.
"Looks like he's driving the car, Duke"
"Wildman!? Give me that phone!" The Leader quickly rushed up from behind to snatch Duke's phone away from him, but Duke shifted the phone to his other hand, grabbed the angry Fed and promptly flipped him right onto an unoccupied party table--which collapsed with a resounding crash.
"What was that?"
"Fed Tossing." Duke quickly told him. "Now stay on their tail! Back-up's on the way!"
And Duke left the Fed moaning amongst the wreckage.
There wasn't any state highway patrol or any local police patrols on the highway, but the journey on the throughway was very short as Buzzer directed Wildman to get off at the first exit—which dropped them right into New Orleans proper.
"Don't worry, Gov'" the chainsaw wielding Dreadnok told him. "I's knows exactly where I's going. But could you's slow down a bit there?"
Not that Wildman was about to complain about it, nor was Angel while discreetly trying to assess the damage to her evening gown to avoid any more troubles—while giving the door mirror the occasional eye. Not that she could see anything behind them well enough to discern who it was, due to Torch's body always getting in the way. And the headlights of a persistently following car blocked out any identifying traits of who was driving it.
Nor was she the only one who spotted it.
"Hey, Gov!" Thrasher called over the wind. "Make a turn down that street commin' up."
"That's not the way to the Commander." Buzzer sourly whined at him. But Thrasher's attention was elsewhere.
"I wanna see somethin'" He frowned.
When Wildman made the turn as requested, the car behind them suddenly sped up. And by then, everyone was certain.
"Hang on!" Wildman yelled. The Bentley lunged forward with a roar of power, causing many in and on the car to desperately cling to it for fear of falling out onto the road. That wasn't the only thing the car was capable of. Built into the back of the large steering wheel were numerous special function buttons Wildman knew about, each one when pressed would enable the Bentley to perform a specific feat or defend the vehicle itself. He pressed the middle button on the right underside, and quickly darted the car onto another street in such a way that by rights it should have either skidded out of control, or flip over repeatedly until crashing into something immoveable, from all of the unbalanced weight on its body. Instead it stayed on its wheels with little skidding or sliding. The Joes' weren't so lucky in their car; though built to handle a high-speed chase, it could only do so in the hands of an experienced driver—which Gung-ho was anything but. Try as he may, the Bentley kept moving further and further away from them, until it darted around one corner and vanished by the time they reached it. And all Gung-ho could do was curse while smashing his fist into the dashboard, repeatedly.
Wildman kept up the sharp turns for a couple of more blocks until satisfied their pursuer was shaken, and slowed the Bentley down much to the relief of many.
"G…Good." Buzzer slurred, very green in the face. "They're…gone."
Now though, they were well off the path they wanted to be on. With another button command, Wildman displayed a computerized city map on the inside of the Bentley's windshield. But getting back to that path took much more effort, largely due to encounters with numerous groups carrying on violently, or drunkenly, without a care of what they did to what, or anyone, around them.
Sometimes, Wildman was able to avoid and outrun such groups who responded with hurtled insults and what they could find to throw at their escaping forms. Other times, the crowds were just able to reach out and brush both car and its occupants—either by trying to climb on it or pull people from the car as it raced past. Wildman countered by releasing tear-gas from ejectors built into the running boards, while the Dreadnoks simply used their weapons on any with in reach or range. And, there were those who shot back at them—or anything that moved in their general area. For the most part, owing to intoxication, their shots usually went wild. But there were the few that whizzed very close to their heads or hit the body of the car with resounding thuds.
But at one intersection, there was an massive crowd of several hundred absolutely violently wild people that completely blocked the way through with burning vehicles and their sheer numbers, having what could only be seen as a massive fight. Wildman slid the Bentley to a halt and started reversing as the crowd started surging towards them in mass, delighted at the prospect of smashing up something nice and new with people inside they could hurt all they want. The Dreadnoks shot down the faster once of the mob, but the rest were undeterred and fought back with hurtled bricks, car parts, and anything else that would hurt at the retreating Bentley. Scoring many hits upon its Dreadnok occupants.
"OW! BLOODY HELL!!" Ripper squalled after a car's accelerators peddle bounced off his head. "GIT US OUTTA HERE!!!"
So Wildman gripped the steering wheel, with thumbs pressing on the inside portion now, and pulled up slightly. The Bentley shot straight up into the air a good twenty feet, surprising both the crowd and Dreadnoks in the car, and flew off over the crowd and the blocked intersection before they could regain their wits to attack. They kept that why for some distance from the area before Wildman gently lowered them back to the street.
"Blimey!" Thrasher exclaimed in absolute amazement.
But Wildman didn't say anything; he just accelerated the car until they were far away from the area.
As much as it blew to do so, Alpine would have called in their failure to capture Wildman. What made it worse to be the bearer of bad news was the fact that none of the other Joe-Mobile units were able to help, having to deal with large groups of wild partiers that blocked up entire city streets that prevented them from helping with the chase—or finding themselves conveniently trapped by closed garage security doors back at the Continental.
Of course Gung-ho would have had a fit, but the mountaineer was in a No-BS mood as he reached for the microphone. Then, Dusty came up with an ideal; "They were turning at every intersection; right, left, right, left, right—"
"So?" Alpine flatly remarked, but Dusty had Gung-ho's and Bazooka's attention.
"If they think they've eluded us, they would have slowed down by now." The desert fighter explained. "I'm betting they turned left after that right turn we saw, if so, we might be able to catch up with them."
Alpine just frowned, Gung-ho, on the other hand, simply exploded with delight. "Excellent thinkin', Dusty!"
"Are you crazy?" Alpine scolded him. "There's no chance of us catching up with them—"
"And I aint about to call it quits either, looser!" Gung-ho roared back. "I'm not going to go crawlin' back on ma' belly to Duke a failure—not just yet!"
So, with gears grinding and the engine roaring, the small group went back over where Wildman could have gone—with Alpine chaffing all the way. Being called looser was an insult, especially by a fellow Joe, since all of the in the Team were expected to give what ever mission they were assigned to everything they had—including their lives if nessicarry—to complete. But chasing after a fancy car on the streets of a city embroiled in chaos, a car for all intentions was probably on the far side of the moon by now, an absolute waste of time. Alpine knew, as they all did, that if a mission didn't feel 'right' largely due to bad intelligence, no one would criticize them for bailing on it.
And as they drove on, Alpine was more and more ready to announce this as fact until they arrived in time to see the very car they were looking for float over the heads of an unruly mob.
"Dang." Gung-ho uttered, simply amazed by the sight, as they all were.
Alpine started eating his words, regretting all he said and thought about this mission being a waste. But a car with flying ability, that made things a lot harder to deal with than previously planned. Just like the crowd rushing towards them with evil in mind.
"Hey, Gung-ho…How about we head down that side street over there before we get trampled by that mob." He quickly pointed out.
Gung-ho easily complied, and soon they were, hopefully, driving parallel with the Roadster.
"Ok." The big marine started, "Anyone here have a suggestion as to what we do now? Dusty? Ba-zook? Alpine?"
Dusty was silent.
"Shoot them down?" Bazooka slowly drawled.
Alpine just shrugged.
"I guess we shoot em' down." Gung-ho said, and sent the car down a side street to the next boulevard where the Roadster was thought to be.
"Get ready!" he yelled.
The Roadster was only a half block ahead, but quickly started fleeing at the sight of pursuit.
"Oh no you don't" Gung-ho growled, reaching under the dashboard. There was a simple click, and suddenly the car shot forward as if launched by a rocket, nearly tailgating the Roadster before any of them regained their senses. Except for Gung-ho, who was grinning like a madman.
"Nitrous Oxide booster." He grinned. "They aint getting' away this time!"
With the boost, Gung-ho was able to keep up with the Roadster much better than the last time. But that was no compensation for the big marine's poor high-speed driving skills. During turns, the Joe's sedan often slammed or rubbed up against parked cars and building fronts because control would be lost enabling the Roadster to gain a minute lead before Gung-ho would bring them right back. Now Alpine started worrying on weather or not they'd survive the chase. Being dead with nothing to show for it due to teammates recklessness was an ultimate no-no in any book, and started telling Gung-ho that just as he made another sharp turn when something hit his side of the car while they were crossing the center of the street.
Whatever it was, kept them from crashing up against more parked cars—prompting Alpine to glance in the still usable door mirror just as their police scanner crackled to life, "This is Unit 037…Two maniacs smashed my bike. They are presently headed east on Highland; one a fancy rig and the other a wreck…You can't miss em!"
Alpine looked sickly at Gung-ho, just as Dusty moaned for the back seat, "Great going, Gung-ho."
"Units 033 and 095 heading on Whites Street to intercept." Crackled the radio scanner built into the Bentley's dashboard
"Hey! I thought there were no Peelers out tonight!" Exclaimed Ripper.
Wildman kept his thoughts on controlling his roadster amid the bedlam of wailing sirens, flashing lights and gunshots occurring all around them. Normal police wouldn't dream of engaging in wild Hollywood-style gunplay from moving vehicles while in such close quarters with them, but that wasn't his concern at the moment. With the press of the control buttons, he quickly darted onto a side street catching his pursuers seriously off guard. Some overshot the street, while others who could make the turn had to contend with Gung-ho's driving which sent several of them crashing into parked cars and building fronts. The Officers in the wrecks weren't too badly injured, thanks to the inbuilt safety equipment in their cars. But they vented over their radios, using language that would get them reprimanded to the point of full dismissal had these been normal times. Instantly their fellows responded, and manifested themselves as a swarm of police cars and motorcycles two blocks later in whose operators indiscriminately shot at both the Joes and the Bentley.
The Dreadnoks' responded in kind by firing back, but the Joes wouldn't have been allowed to under any circumstances. Bullet-proof glass and armored body panels kept them safe from the projectile hail directed at them, but even such things had their limits. Gung-ho quickly figured it up in his mind, and proceeded slamming the sedan viciously against any close enough police vehicles making them crash into whatever immoveable object was available or into each other.
"What are you doing!!" Alpine wailed in a voice far higher than normal.
"Getting Wildman!" Gung-ho thundered back. "And nothings going to stand in my way!"
The police cars around the Bentley suffered a different fate, largely from the colorless gas Wildman issued at them by pressing several more secret buttons. Once within the engine, the heat within caused that gas to solidify rapidly within the combustion chambers until it froze the engine completely. Wheezing and heaving, these police cars died right in the street blocking their unaffected fellows—who slammed right into them with breaks squealing. Not the Joes though; Gung-ho drove the sedan right onto the sidewalk avoiding the congestion while bashing up the car even more.
The Bentley darted right a cross their path, making Gung-ho curse that he wasn't moving faster so to smash right into them. But when entering the street hot on their heels, a devilish grin broke out across his wide face.
In the intersection before them was a massive parade float built like an old-fashioned brass bed with a wide staircase running from its base to its top. The Church of the Perpetually Indulgent gladly welcomes you to one last fling! Read a large white banner stretched just below its top. And true to form, there were a goodly number of people climbing those stairs to do just that on the Float's massive bed with scantily clad 'church members' urging them on.
It also completely blocked up the whole intersection before them.
Yet the Bentley rocketed towards it.
"He's going to jump it!" Dusty yelled.
"Naw, the stairs would stop him!" Gung-ho yelled back, still grinning and slowing the sedan down.
"I didn't mean it that way!" Dusty desperately cried.
Gung-ho started shout back when he saw what Dusty alluded to; as they had witnessed earlier, the Bentley suddenly leaped into the air thirty feet before the intersection as if hitting an invisible ramp, climbing higher and higher to just skim over the heads of those at the top of the stairs and surprising those already frolicking on the bed before disappearing over the other side.
"Ohhhhh" was as far as Alpine got before Gung-ho uttered an explosive oath while slamming the accelerator to the floor. The Sedan hit the base of the stairs and managed to travel half way up before its weight compromised the Float's integrity, exploding through it in a shower of float portions, padding, discarded clothing and people in various stages of undress, to a violent landing on the other side. And that was it; all four tires exploded, body parts simply fell off, and the front windshield (already a mess of spider-web cracks) popped right out of its frame and shattered to the horrible rattling coming from the engine compartment. But the breaks still worked, though broadsiding the first of two Police cars in the next intersection was what finally stopped the car.
Of all of them, Gung-ho was still, and surprisingly, intact. Dusty and Bazooka were moaning painfully in the rear seat, while Alpine was seated upright with his goggles cock-eyed across his face which was frozen in a silent wide-eyed scream. He didn't respond at all, even after Gung-ho punched him in the arm as hard as he dared. Meanwhile, the second police car swung around to the other side of the Sedan. As its driver when to check on the condition if his fellows in the first Police car, his partner approached a raging Gung-ho with pistol ready.
All the big marine could think of at that moment was Wildman getting away, and that enraged him to the point where he was violently cursing his luck while smashing his fist into the now useless sedan's dashboard in complete frustration. He gave it his best, and what happened wasn't fair—and he wasn't the kind to loose.
Then he noticed the second Police car, sitting there with doors opened and engine running, only a short distance away—and started to believe in God once more. For there was no other way that he could think of at the moment, beyond divine intervention, of something that fortuitous occurring. Gung-ho didn't bother opening the door, he just shoved his hardest and it came right out of the frame flattening the second cop just as he was aiming his gun.
"Sorry, but I need to use your car—Government business!" He yelled, sprinting to the second Police car. And once in, he didn't bother closing the doors as he roared off.
Wildman easily knew the Bentley couldn't take much more. Though it's body was far better armored than any other vehicle of its similar class, it's Lifters were burnt out from the stress of carrying them over the top of that weird float, and most likely damaged upon landing in the way they did—not to mention all of it's numerous special defenses were either seriously damaged during the more intense moments of the chase or completely played out in the escape attempt. All he could hope for was to reach the Harbor District, where Buzzer finally told him was their final destination.
So far, as they could figure from the Police Scanner, there were no helicopters in the sky tracking their progress. And Wildman was really praying they wouldn't encounter any more Police.
But in the distance, approaching them quickly from behind was the unmistakable signs of a Police car…
While he couldn't believe his luck, Gung-ho couldn't believe he'd lost his personal radio. Duke had personally given them out to each member of the Team the direct means of contacting him, General Colton, or any other member of the New Orleans detail should the need arise. And for the life of him, Gung-ho couldn't recall where or when he had it last, caused him much aggravation—as would the dressing down he'd receive over loosing it…
And far worse if Wildman escaped.
In the long minutes after taking the Police car, Gung-ho worried like he never had. What if Wildman had escaped, he feared, taking a street he' just drove past. Many times, something fought the urge to turn back and investigate—what if he didn't think anyone was following him?
It was possible, just like the last time when he'd caught up with them at that mob.
And they would have seen him wreck. It certainly made enough noise.
And, after those long minutes passed, the distinctive taillight assembly of that Roadster was seen just entering the Harbor district filling him with sheer delight.
Now, he had to call it in. There were several options, even using pay-phones or 'borrowing' a civilian's cell phone. Gung-ho could easily use both, but the closest thing in reach was the Police radio mounted just where the normal radio would be in a normal civilian car, and those weren't allowable. Even though there was a Police Scanner back at the 'base', the Police considered their radio frequencies their domain, and that had to be respected even in these circumstances. There was the chance of inadvertently involving innocent bystanders, local civic government, and the media including the Police in what was a secretive operation they really were better off not knowing anything about.
But he had no other means of communication. He gritted his teeth in frustration while grabbing the microphone.
"General Colton, this is Gung-ho…Please respond."
Well, that did it, he knew. And worse, the Roadster suddenly bolted away from him. But even as he chased the car around the wharf warehouses, he began to worry…Why hasn't anyone responded?
There was little time to really ponder things. They were now on the wide pier itself, racing towards the eastern end at full speed. Gung-ho had to marvel at the Roadster, all dented and pounded upon was still able to maintain a commanding lead despite all that had occurred to it.
He was also wondering if it was going to fly again, as they were fast approaching the end of the pier itself. Then the Roadster literally spun about, charging at him with its powerful headlights blinding him…
And then they were gone, leaving large bring spots before Gung-ho's eyes—and soaring off the pier before it registered in his mind.
Wildman skidded the Bentley to a halt and turned in time to see the water plume from the impact collapsing upon itself some thirty feet from the pier's edge. He wanted to run back, to see if their pursuer managed to escape.
"That's 'opefully that!" Buzzer fitfully remarked, still slightly green in the face from the night's adventure. "Comm'on back, Doc…We're almost…home."
Wildman forced himself to resist running. The Mission, he made himself remember, forcing himself back into the car, back behind the steering wheel and starting the car—while noting Angel's heated glare upon him.
"It's only a short distance…now." Buzzer continued.
"Hey Buzzer, you don't look so grand."
"Aw, shut-up…Ripper."
19
