I hate helicopters.
That thought had been playing over and over in Smith's head as he was riding in the Black Hawk headed towards Chicago for the past few hours. While it wasn't the fastest mode of transportation ever invented in the world, it did move him, a few Green Berets and the boy he'd picked up at the gas station along with the pilots and two soldiers on M-60's.
He felt almost back at home in his uniform, the General had quickly re-activated him and had assigned him to "Detached Duty", with enough authority to do most anything he needed.
He looked out the door of the UH-60 and down to the street, they weren't that far off the ground, only a good 100 feet or so. He could make out a HMMWV that had crashed into a telephone pole.
"Captain Brightling, if you could take us down?" He phrased it like a request, but he knew that the pilot would treat it as a mandate from God.
Slowly the UH-60 touched down on the street, thankfully there weren't many Zombies around...
Grabbing an M-4A1 from the rack on the wall, Smith walked over to the HMMWV and peered inside...
There were several people in Bio-chem suits -the Ruskies he supposed-; a woman with a shotgun had been talking to one of the Ruskies prior to his approach.
He rapped on the frame of the vehicle and made a quick gesture to the M-60 gunners on the helo to both cover him.
"You mind telling me who you are to have stolen military property?" He opened the conversation.
hit(&head, desk, HARD);