Day 151: 30 Dec 2010
I don't think we ever actually stopped moving on the runway -- we landed, slowed down, sped up, took off. We managed to get airborne again before any of Jared's soldiers got to us, but only just-- hit one in the head with the landing gear. He tumbled along the runway towards his friends, but got back up instantly, apparently unhurt.
"All right, fuckers," Black said. "Let's see how you dig these."
He climbed into one of the AC-130's stations and brought up an image of the runway on the small TV. There was a crosshair in the center of the screen.
"How many rounds did you guys make?" he asked me.
"About five thousand," Cassie answered before I could.
"All right. I'll try to be conservative," Black said. On the screen, we saw bullets flying. I knew they were 25mm minigun rounds with obsidian tips -- I'd handmade most of them. Jared's soldiers started to fall instantly. The bullets were shredding them easily, and Black started to chuckle under his breath.
"Captain! We're taking. . . not fire, but. . . You'd better get up here," the pilot yelled from up front.
"Shit. Travis, keep on this," Black said, waving to his station.
"Uh. . . how?"
"Ever played video games?"
"You'll figure it out."
And I did. It really wasn't that hard. As I settled into his seat and got a look at the screen, though, I could see what the pilot had been concerned about. I was, too. Down on the tarmac below, Jared's men had started throwing things at the plane. Luggage carts, trams, huge chunks of runway concrete. Some of them were getting pretty close.
"We're going to have to go higher and come back in the M-ATV," Black said as he came back. "This thing crashes, and we won't survive."
"Where's the nearest place we can set down?"
"About three hundred kliks. It'll be a hell of a drive back," Black said, sighing as we climbed away from Reykjavik.