“Come on, Carlos. Let’s go get the bounty on some bad guys,” and Preston turned his aircraft to the right and headed in formation west towards Charlotte at 5,000 feet with Carlos just behind him.

They flew over Charlotte 15 minutes later at 320 miles an hour. That was as far as Martie had come, and Preston decided to check out several of the roads leading in from the west. They stayed above I-85 and cruised down to Atlanta, arriving over Atlanta 40 minutes later. They had only seen one old truck and the highway looked pretty empty of dead cars.

“If they are staying out of the weather and coming from the west, I reckon they would use I-20, wouldn’t they?” suggested Carlos. “How’s your fuel, Preston?”

“Three quarters full, and I agree,” replied Preston. “Let’s continue along I-20 to Birmingham, and then turn north up 59 to Chattanooga. If we haven’t seen anybody by then, we can turn for home. If they are further out, they won’t get to us until morning. I suggest we climb up to 15,000 so we can see more. The weather is so clear out there.”

At 15,000 feet, they were just under the requirements for oxygen masks, and from that altitude they could see for 30-40 miles in either direction.

“There looks like a long convoy of moving vehicles coming towards us, about 12 miles west of us on the highway,” stated Carlos a few minutes later. “On my map, they are passing a highway exit to a town called Helfin or Heflin, a mile to the north of the highway. Do you see them?”

“Roger, I have visual. Do you think they can hear us at this altitude?” asked Preston.

“If they were not driving in vehicles, I would think so, but stuck in cold weather, and in moving trucks and cars with the windows tight, I don’t think so.”

“Okay,” replied Preston. “It looks like they are doing about 40 miles an hour and there is an area of open highway about three or four miles in front of them. I want to go down low and buzz the convoy right over the top of them. You stay off to the side, Carlos, and tell me if they shoot at me with anything. If they do, we then come in from the east, in front of them, and hit them hard.”

“Roger that. I’ll be your wingman, Mr. Vader,” replied Carlos and they went down fast, the convoy still several miles in front of them. Carlos peeled off to the right side and Preston screamed down and flew over the top of the vehicles at 100 feet and 400 miles an hour with Carlos a quarter of a mile out.

“I see them trying to get out of the car roofs and windows,” stated Carlos. “One guy has a shoulder rocket-launcher and is trying to fire at you. A couple of others are standing up through the sunroofs and trying to fire at us with carbines. I don’t think they are friendly and they definitely are firing first.”

They carried on a couple of miles past the convoy and then they turned left and returned east several miles south of the highway at 500 feet. There was no way that the convoy could see them.

“I think we should fly a pass with machine guns all the way down the convoy and then turn back and use the Sidewinders,” Preston called to Carlos. “The convoy is about half a mile long. I’ll take the second half at 500 feet and you come in and gun the first half at about 700 feet. Just look out for any explosions. With the Sidewinders, we should be at least above 1,000 feet altitude or more, as those babies pack a punch. Then we come in again with the guns until they are empty, use up our rockets, and survey the damage. What do you think Carlos?”

“I think that by the third run the riders will be in the nearest ditch and the vehicles empty. I should probably fire down the ditch instead of the vehicles,” Carlos suggested. Preston agreed as he flipped off the safety on his never-used .50-caliber machine guns, which packed a total of 1,250 rounds per aircraft, and would give them about six seconds of firing, Preston estimated. It would take about three seconds to strafe half of the 50 vehicles below them.

“Testing guns,” Preston stated and fired a very short burst. The Mustang shuddered slightly and Preston told Carlos to keep his sights on the convoy and to expect a slight decrease in speed. They climbed higher and decided to go in at full throttle, 430 miles an hour, and gently dive in from about 2,500 feet to pepper every vehicle. They turned sharply westwards at 3,000 feet and the convoy came over a brow five or so miles in front of them.

It looked like the men in the convoy were not expecting an attack as they stayed in one long line, kept moving forward, and several vehicles had men sticking out of every orifice. Preston got ready, set his sights, and pushed the throttle forward as far as it would go. The engine began to scream as the Mustang went down in a shallow dive. “I’m a couple of hundred yards behind you,” stated Carlos. “Don’t put on the brakes for any reason. You turn out left and I’ll turn out right and then we can regroup for Round Two.”

The first vehicle, a truck much like Preston’s own Ford, quickly came into his sights and he waited until he thought that he had passed over at least 20 before pressing the firing button on his joystick. The first vehicle in his sights stopped immediately and literally blew up. He kept his eye through the gun sight and felt the blast from underneath. He managed to keep firing until the last vehicle and took his finger off the button as he turned left to get out of the area. He rose to 2,000 feet and turned.

“Are you ok Carlos?”

“I took a little damage but everything is holding together. It was that first blast of yours that got me.”

“I want to go straight back in from the west before they scatter,” continued Preston. “I don’t know what damage these rockets do, but let’s climb up to 5,000 and then swoop down to 2,000 and Carlos, no closer.”

“Roger,” replied Carlos, and they rose and turned towards the heavily smoking convoy, still in the middle of the road and both armed their rockets. They had two triggers for these and each trigger released two rockets at the same time.

“Carlos, we have two shots at this. I’m going to do the last half again and you fire at the forward half just before we go over.”

Preston went in first, lined his sights up on the third car from the rear and pressed the first trigger. Two rockets flew away from him and went into the rear of the fourth and fifth vehicles from the end of the convoy. It was a little off, he thought to himself as he pressed the second button and the second set went even further along the convoy and blew a truck up and onto the one in front of it. Even at 2,000 feet, the blasts were felt. He turned left as he had done the time before. “Are you okay, Carlos?”

“I’m fine, the second two rockets went off late and hit the second car instead of about five down.”

“Let’s get rid of what we have left and survey the scene. As you said, let’s go in together and you spray the closest hedges, or whatever is on the side of the highway, the nearest the highway our vehicles are on, and I will make sure as many trucks as possible don’t work.”

They started on the first non-burning vehicle this time. Preston nearly got to the end of the convoy before the chambers rattled empty and he knew their attack was over.

For the first time, they really looked at the damage from 5,000 feet. It was a mess down there. At least a dozen of the vehicles were burning brightly; another large explosion blew a couple of men into the air and bodies lay everywhere. It looked like the convoy had come to a halt.

“My oil pressure is a little low,” reported Carlos. “Let’s head home and as soon as we are in radio range we can get Sally and her military guys out here to set up a road block for the night.”

“Good idea,” replied Preston, and they climbed for height and headed straight home.