JSA: Atrocity

By Bruce Wayne

DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters portrayed in this story are copyright by DC Comics, an AOL/Time/Warner company. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit by the author.

An Elseworld's story: Stories, situation or events involving familiar characters in unfamiliar settings.

Chapter 11

The driver handed over the identification card.

The gate guard accepted it, studying it for a moment. Then he looked at the face of the man who had passed it to the driver.

The general watched the guard, a corporal in the Military Police. His only visible armament was a .45 Government Model in a military flap holster on his right hip.

The MP handed back the identity card, saluting. Then he asked, "May I be of assistance to the General, sir?"

He cleared his throat. "No, son, just making an inspection. I have to drop in unexpectedly once in a while. Just open the gates and let us pass through as quietly as possible -- me and my inspection team."

"Yes, sir. But I am supposed to contact Colonel Arden, sir."

"Well, you go ahead and tell him Brigadier General Adam Franklin's here, then. If he wants, he can meet me down by the field, checking out your Air Cav readiness."

"Very good, sir." The corporal saluted.

He leaned forward over the backseat, a little closer to the driver. He nodded, giving a fast sharp salute. "I'll remember you in my report, Corporal."

"Thank you, sir!"

He nodded to his driver, his voice whiskey tinged and deep, said, "Phil, drive us on over to the field now."

"Yes, General," the driver said.

He watched as the gate swung open. The flags on the right and left front fenders stiffened as the car moved ahead.

False-Face exhaled hard, saying to Flyboy, his driver, "The general's voice is a difficult one. He drinks too much. Or should I say, he drank too much."

Billy Mason laughed.

False-Face, without turning too much, glanced behind him. Two Jeeps loaded with men and another staff car brought up the rear.

False-Face settled back, lighting one of General Adam Franklin's noxious-smelling cheap cigars. He inhaled hard to get the odor onto his breath, exhaling the smoke across the chest of his uniform blouse, then wrinkling his nose at it. As they drove the post streets, he noticed uniformed men and women stopping to salute. False-Face dutifully returned salutes lazily.

The airfield would be another secure area. He puffed on the cigar again to keep the smell going as the car turned right. He looked ahead. The airfield gates were closed. Two MPs with M-1 rifles stood at the gate.

The staff car slowed, then stopped. Flyboy hopped out, opening False-Face's door. False-Face stepped out, straightening his uniform tunic. The MPs stiffened, going to present arms.

False-Face, inhaling his cigar, looked across at the men and returned the salute. "You men stand easy ... looking sharp, Phil," he said to Billy Mason, "show these soldiers my orders." False-Face turned away, and from the corner of his eye, he saw Flyboy produce the orders.

False-Face surveyed the two Jeeps and the second staff car, looking beyond them across the base. Exhaling loudly, he said, "God I love Colorado weather. The air up here --" and he sucked loudly on his cigar "-- is worth breathin'. Not like at the Command School in Kansas. Air there smells like cowshit all the time." He turned and walked past Billy Mason and the two MPs. One of them was perusing the orders.

He stopped at the gates, hooking his fingers on the chain link and staring across the field. Without looking back, he addressed the senior of the MPs by name -- he'd read the name tag. "Sergeant Cummins, think this here Air Cav outfit can stand a quick inspection and come out looking as sharp as you and that private?" He didn't glance back.

"Yes, sir!"

False-Face turned around. He extended his hand for the orders. "Good, then open the gates. And give Colonel Arden a call for me. Tell him to clear his calender for this afternoon. I'm buying him lunch."

"Yes, sir." The sergeant snapped to a rifle salute at sling arms. False-Face returned the salute and took the orders back, handing them to Flyboy. False-Face started for the open back door of the staff car. He stepped inside, settling back and puffing on his cigar. Mason closed the door.

The two MPs went to present arms again as Flyboy bounced into the front seat and put the transmission in drive. The staff car started forward. False-Face nodded to the MPs as the gates swung open. The car picked up speed, heading across the field.

Ahead, False-Face could see the main hanger. "Drive that way, Billy, " he said in his own voice.

"Yes, F.F., I mean General." Flyboy laughed again.

The four vehicles drew up to the main hanger, and all the occupants stepped out. They entered the building.

False-Face strode across the central space of the main hanger, followed by his other officers, all carrying clipboards. Each man in the "inspection team" also carried an attache case. False-Face inhaled, glancing up at the nearest of the Sikorsky helicopters. His eyes took in the small, three-man cockpit, the girderlike fuselage and the massive six-blade main rotors.

Each selected pilot had flown this Sikorsky model.

"Ascertain the readiness status of these aircraft, Colonel," False-Face said to the officer nearest him. His staff officer turned to the knot of ground-crew personnel standing at the far end of the hanger.

"You, there, Sergeant!"

"Sir!" The fatigue-clad sergeant started to run over.

Colonel Arden had joined them and was now standing on False-Face's left. He nodded approvingly. "Your men get things going mighty quick, Colonel."

"Thank you, General," the colonel said, smiling.

"Four Sikorsky's and four Bell's. You've mustered them out quick, colonel."

False-Face's men were already aboard each of the eight machines, inspecting flight readiness. The beating of the rotors sounded like a swarm of giant insects.

False-Face turned to Arden, smiling then walked toward the hood of his staff car. He could feel Arden near him.

"General, if I may ask, sir, why just these specific aircraft, sir? I mean, we could really show you --"

False-Face had his attache case open. The silenced pistol was in his right fist as he turned around. He spoke in his own voice. "I'm a master criminal, Colonel, and these eight machines were all I required. Thank you, very much."

The first round from the gun punched a neat hole between Colonel Arden's eyes just under the peak of his uniform cap. The cough of the silenced shot was inaudible over the beating of the rotor blades. The body fell backward.

False-Face closed his briefcase, holding the silenced pistol against his right thigh as he started walking toward one of the Bell helicopters.

Men were starting to move. False-Face heard a single shout. "It's the colonel --"

Another, "Maybe it's a heart attack."

After a moment there was a loud shout, louder than the rest. "Jesus -- Colonel Arden's been shot in the head!"

False-Face smiled, turning around, dipping his head under the rotor blades. Flyboy rolled the body of the pilot out onto the airfield tarmac.

An MP was fumbling for his .45 auto in its full-flap holster. False-Face raised the silenced pistol, aimed it leisurely as the MP worked the slide of the pistol to chamber a round so he could fire. False-Face fired first.

Red splattered over the white scarf at the throat of the MPs uniform. The left hand clutched at the Adam's apple, which False-Face had used as a target.

False-Face climbed aboard the Bell helicopter as Billy Mason began to work the stick. The rotor speed increased. Then the craft was airborne.

False-Face looked right and left. The Sikorsky's were already lifting off, going low across the field away from the main hanger and the smaller hangers that made up the complex on the field. The Bell helicopters were also airborne now. False-Face reached across and snatched up the headset, pulling it on over his hat. "This is False-Face. initiate plan Alpha, initiate Alpha." Then he glanced at Flyboy, tapping him on the shoulder.

Mason looked at False-Face as he signaled with his right thumb, jerking it upward. Flyboy nodded, smiling. His hat was gone, and his blond hair blew in his eyes from the healthy wind whipping into the cabin through the craft's open side door.

The helicopter spun and climbed as Billy Mason thought about the next part of the plan. All the attache cases that the "inspection team" had carried, and the two staff cars contained bombs. The attache cases had been left behind.

False-Face looked to Flyboy. Mason nodded, signifying that they were far enough away. False-Face took out an electronic device that looked like a garage door opener and pushed the large button. Suddenly the main hanger of the airbase erupted in a fireball of orange and yellow. A cloud of heat and fire scorched upward. Bombs also went off in the smaller hangers and other aircraft still on the ground.

The hangers and helicopters were exploding. Men in full battle gear were running toward the helicopters. Pieces of bodies rained down as False-Face watched.

One of the other Bell helicopters was streaking just above the ground toward the center of the compound, an M-60 firing from its open portside door at trucks moving out onto the field. The trucks were stopped.

False-Face tapped Flyboy on the shoulder again. He signaled thumbs up again. Mason laughed, and the helicopter lurched to starboard. False-Face spoke on the radio, "Attack elements break off. Pick up and fly cover on the Sikorsky's. False-Face out."

He looked at the chewed stump of General Franklin's cigar. Somehow it reminded him of Mrs Franklin's fingers after they tortured her to get information out of her husband.

***

"F.F.," Flyboy said, speaking to False-Face through the headset.

"Yes, Billy?"

"They cannot help but hear us."

"What should cause them to suspect military helicopters until it is too late?"

"But what if the base -- Oh, I forgot ... the attack on the radio center and the headquarters."

"It should take at least another half hour before anything formidable can be thrown up against us. And by then ..." False-Face let the sentence hang.

"What if they contacted -- the convoy, I mean, F.F.?"

False-Face, unbuttoning the blouse of his brigadier-general, shook his head. He stared through the canopy of the chopper at the small fleet around him. "The liklihood of such fast action is remote, exceedingly remote. And even if they expect us, what can they do? Turn around? Fight us? With what? Stop? For what? They can do nothing. Two drivers, alternating, in each vehicle. Eight all told. Two men in each of the two pilot cars for each truck. Another four men. Twenty-four men against eight helicopters -- four of which are heavily armed with M-60 machine guns -- and we have some grenades. What can they do, indeed? Take a chance on one of the containers carrying the VX gas to start leaking from an errant bullet? Poisoning the middle of New Mexico? Kill thousands of people? What can they do, Flyboy?"

Billy had no answer.

False-Face expected none.

TO BE CONTINUED ....

***

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