Home / Articles at Blue Thunder Online

Viewing an article

LAST MODIFIED: 16 April, 2009 | SIZE: 19KB | VIEWS: 4135      
Chapter 2: Blue Thunder 2 - Millennium Thunder
Written by Michael Erickson
Copyrighted Columbia Pictures, 1983 - 2002

Based on characters and events by Dan O'Bannon and Don Jackoby


Finding out what the Code 17-X was, in some ways, a bit of an understatement. Around the small shopping plaza near the Bon Air Library Branch were a few stores that were open late. One in particular was a liquor store. A usual spot where some teenagers and college kids tried to purchase alcohol for various parties, and the like. It was also a convienient target for some people who just wanted to rob it of its profits. In this particular situation, it was a group of college kids who were being rowdy. The only problem was that they were being too rowdy, and starting a fight with some other customers. That resulted in the police being called in.
As soon as the two police units arrived, one of the college kids, a lanky young man began spouting off at the police and began throwing bottles at the four attending officers. As two of the officers tried to restrain the individual in question, the young man pulled out another empty beer bottle and tried to throttle one of the police officers.
It was at that moment when Ralston's jetranger flew overhead.
"Get the light on 'em," Ralston ordered.
Holt lit up the scene with the Nitesun searchlight and a bright blue glow shone down on the young man trying to wrestle away from the four officers. One of the female police officers hit the young man with a right cross, causing the bottle to fly out of his hand, and the young man finally hitting the hard pavement, unconcious. The other young college kids, two men and three women raised their hands up, signaling that they were not interested in causing any more problems.
One of the police officers gave a situation report over the police channel that the young man was in custody.. Ralston responded and peeled the Jetranger away from the scene.
Holt shook in his head in frustration. "Man, kids these days. Everywhere you go...."
"You hear that they have stirred up trouble in one shape or form," Ralston finished. "Usually it's trouble at home and the parents just lose control of their kids. Kids get together, and a group situation can cause over confidence and problems for the environment around them. Parents need to take control back."
Holt looked at Ralston as if to say, "Where did that come from?" They both shared a moment of humour as they realised the subject they were discussing. "Anyway," Ralston concluded, we'll find out what it's like one day."
The police Jetranger flew further down its assigned patrol area, before turning east, near Shelbyville Road. From there, it made an arc southwest. Passing near Bowman Field airport.
"Bowman Tower, Police Air 10 is at Shelbyville Rd one thousand," Ralston spoke into his comlink."Request permission to enter your airspace."
"Air 10, Bowman Control," came the feminine voice over the line. "You're cleared to pass. How are you, Michael?"
Ralston managed a stiff smile when recognizing the female's voice. "About the same, Karen. I'm breaking in a new pilot. What are you doing working at this hour?"
"Had to work a little late today," Karen Dougherty's voice came in, over a little bit of static. "One of our controllers fell sick. I'll be off in a couple."
"Just don't work too late, OK?" Ralston said.
"Same to you old man," Dougherty joked. "Give Annette my regards."
"Will do," Ralston said, wincing a little at the old man joke. "Old man, huh?"
"I take it you get a lot of old people jokes," Holt observed.
"Every since I turned thirty last September," Ralston recalled from his memory. "It must revenge for all the old people jokes I made as a teenager." "Attention all units," came another reply from police central. "7-9 alert in progress at Frankfort Avenue. 7-9 alert at Frankfort Avenue. Water Filtration area."
"Holy shit!" Ralston groused. "Call that in."
Holt flipped the comlink switch. "Air 10 to central. Responding to the 7-9 at Frankfort."
Both Ralston and Holt knew that a 7-9 meant one thing. Someone has beenkilled.

Four police units cordoned off the area where two vehicles had collided. Both smashed up cars were a Ford Taurus and an old Chevrolet Cavalier. From looks of what had happened, it was like the driver had been possibly driving under the influence of alcohol. The ambulance from Norton's Hospital and the fire trucks from the Frankfort Avenue area were busy at work, carrying out the usual tasks and proceedures on such incidents. Ralston orbited the Jetranger over the area, making certain that no passerbys interfered or caused any problems. From the look and the scene of the accident, it was a doozy. Ralston was feeling a little sick on the stomach from the scene of wrecked lives below.
"Goddamn," Holt observed, his eyes a bit wide. "What in the hell could have caused that?"
"Drunk driving," Ralston said sternly. "With Derby coming up, these things start to escalate."

About four miles away from Frankfurt Avenue, in the Old Louisville district, something else was brewing up. From First to Fourth streets in Old Louisville, it was rows of old and restored Victorian like houses. Buildings that had been converted into apartment buildings. The St. James Court area that was nearly across the street from Louisville's Central Park area was one of such rows of houses. Many people from various walks of life resided in these well-furnished homes. Including a small family from Iran. A family that had left the volatile country about a year past.
At first, the family were welcomed into the area with open arms. After September 11th, 2001 AD, the attitude toward this family changed. Having learned that the family was of the Islamic religion, many neighbors shunned the family. Those that found out who the family were from word of mouth, often made harrassing phone calls and the like.
It was something that Shala Shaheen was very tired of. The beautiful woman of thirty worked as a library clerk at the Louisville Free Public Library, and attended the University Of Louisville as a part time student. Her colleagues still accepted her and gave no indication of prejudice. However, the strain of the entire problem was taking its toll on her, both mentally and physically. After she had been attacked, when leaving work, by a group of young men, she began to carry around an electronic tazer. She refused to carry a gun or a knife. Most of the time, she was accompanied by her eighteen yera old niece. Like her aunt, the young girl was often the victim of race hatred.
The police had tried everything in their power to put a stop to the harrasment. However, Shala could tell that the police were not that very fond of her or her family, either. She was beginning to wonder if coming to the states was such a wonderful idea.
Shala and her niece were driving down third street, before turning onto Magnolia Avenue. The sooner she and her niece got back home, the safer she would feel. Things were not quite as tense as they were after 9-11. However, the memory of the violent resentment still lurked about.
"We're almost there," Shala said, as she parked the car close to the curb.
"I'd rather be anywhere, but here," her niece confessed. "I'm really sick of it, you know. Why won't you agree we should move now?"
"Where could we go?" Shala inquired of her. "It's not the place. It's just some of the people."
Little did Shala realize that someone was watching them. Hiding behind a large tree in the shadows. That someone silently motioned to two others hiding in the darkness. The two others nodded at the confirmation and carefully began the next step of their plan. The two people pulled out a baseball bat and a .9mm Taurus. The one person hiding behind the tree opened up a large leather case and produced a large tube like object. Adjusting the sites on the large RPG, he slid in the small projectile, and pointed it at the car.
Shala and her niece stepped out and began walking toward the house at a brisk like pace.
The young man with the rocket launcher pointed the weapon at the car and squeezed the trigger.
The rocket shot out with a loud woosh and impacted with the car, blowing it straight to hell in a cloud of orange red fire. The other two individuals came out from hiding and immediately chased after Shala and her niece. "Allah, help us!!!" Shala screamed.

"Looks like that was one hell of collision, Michael," Holt said, peering through his binoculars."No wonder nobody survived that!"
Ralston did not say much of anything. The fact that his skin was a bit flushed conveyed how he felt about the latest in drunk driving accidents.
"Welcome to Air Support," Ralston said, his voice a bit strained. "Be thankful that you are up here, and not down there investigating the whole crime scene."
"I don't know," Holt disputed. "It might have been interesting."
Ralston rolled his eyes. "Christ. You sound just like my girlfriend. If she did not pursue a career in government, she would have pursued one in the medical field."
Holt arched his eyebrows in mild surprise. "Oh, she was interested in this sort of thing?"
"Oh, yeah," Ralston admitted. "She told me that the human body and criminal investigations were an interesting subject. Her father, who used to be a police officer, thankfully convinced her otherwise."
"Is her father still a cop?"
"No," Ralston explained. "He retired from the force when she was in college. He died from cancer about a year later."
"Attention all units, we have a Code 9 in progress," came the dispatcher. "Code 9 at St. James court. Possible terroristic threat. Proceed with caution."
Ralston immediately gunned the engine of the helicopter and proceeded Southwest. Holt spoke into the dispatch system. "Air 10 to Dispatch, we're heading over to that."

The two young men shot down Shala and her niece in cold murder. Both women took lead slugs in the forehead. It was after the third individual blew up the car, that Shala's family came rushing out, and were immediately fired upon by the two attackers. Two of Shala's brothers were wounded seriously. Shala's husband came rushing out with a meat cleaver, which did not do him any good. One of the young men swung the baseball bat that connected with the husband's face, sending him reeling to the ground.
Ralston's Jetranger flew over with the searchlight blazing over a squad of police cars from the Police Substation at C. Douglas Ramey Central Park.
"Fuck!!!" yelped one of the attackers, who immediately turned his gun on the police.
The young man fired twice on one of the police cruisers, only to be gunned down by two police officers.
The other young attacker, a woman with blonde hair, immediately pulled out her gun.
"FREEZE!!!!!" one of the policemen ordered.
The woman did not comply and began firing, wounding one of the officers in the left shoulder and chest. The other officers returned fire, blowing the young woman, literally into the next world.
The individual who had been in hiding carefully moved away without being detected by the police or the helicopter overhead.
The woman who had been gunned down, yelled, "USA!!!!!!" and fired off two shots at Ralston's helicopter, before hitting the sidewalk in a loud thud.
"Shit!!!" Ralston cursed, hitting the dispatch button. "Central we have an officer down! Several casualties! Notify ambulance and fire right away!!!"
Ralston looked over the smouldering heap that had once been Shala Shaheen's car. From up above, it reminded him of what he had seen during Desert Storm, some twelve years past.
"Jesus Christ!!!" Holt cursed, looking thourgh his binoculars.
"Guess again," Ralston stated, a bit stunned at the carnage below.
As the Jetranger continued in a slow orbit around immediate area, the unseen gunman smiled in the darkness, and immediately made his way to a safe location. Satisfied that he had not been seen, he quickly made his way out of that particular neighborhood. A neighborhood he considered to be purifyied and cleansed.

"Air 10, cleared straight in to pad two," came Air Tower Controller Jacobson. "Winds are two three zero at 15 knots."
As Ralston's copter softly landed, Andrew Tobias spoke into the comlink. "Michael. The old man wants to see you and Richard right away."
As the turbine wound down to a quiet spin, the two pilots deplaned from their helicopter and headed in towards the entry to the building from the pad, their helmets in under their shoulders.
"Copy that, Andy," came Ralston's tired voice.
Tobias knew that both men had a rough night. It was going to get rougher when both of them had to file reports on the latest incident of hate crime activity. Sometimes Tobias wondered what the world was coming to. He would really be thrilled when he could retire. The problem was the fact that he had to wait about ten years.

The helipad office was a computer technicians version of a wonderful dream. Not only were there desks and the usual cubicles, there was also computer screens on the northern wall, showing displays of the city map and the red dots of the helicopters patroling certain areas. The windows were smoked glass, and Frank Murphy's office was furnished in a high-tech sort of way. His desk was polished oak, with some personal items and a computer. There were some commendations hung on the plaster wall. Including a picture of him and his partner, the late Richard Lymangood. There was even a picture of him and Kate, along with Kate's son from a previous marriage. Ralston and Holt came in, just as Frank was finishing a report he was reading. Looking over the pale green sheet, he motioned both Ralston and Holt to a couple of leather chairs in front of his desk. The door was left open, since it was nothing private he wanted to discuss with the two pilots.
"One of the things I've always had trouble with in this line of work," Murphy confessed. "Was reading the reports of various hate crimes. And the one that you two just witnessed would be considered a real stomach ache." He handed the thin sheet of paper over to Ralston. "You might just find this interesting. It's on the second paragraph."
Ralston adjusted the spectacles on his nose and read it over. By the look on the young man's chiseled features, he was a bit surprised. But not entirely. He handed the report over to Holt, sitting on his right.
"An old Army RPG blew up a Middle Easterners car," Ralston stated. "That's a first."
"It's more than that," Murphy continued. "When the Mayor heard, he phoned the Chief, and then the Chief phoned me. And to top it all off, the Islamic community is screaming bloody murder."
"Wouldn't this be better for their own community to sort out, not us?" Ralston said sarcastically. "They have to expect this kind of thing if they choose an American urban suburb here after September eleven. "
Murphy sighed and raised his arms. "Goddamn it, Michael, this is not to ignore.! You know we've had some problems recently with the Middle Eastern community. Now, we've got someone who used a rocket launcher on some those people! You have any idea where this is going?"
"Sir," Holt broke in. "Has there been any indication has to how someone obtained a missile launcher?"
"Nothing so far," Murphy answered. "The FBI is looking into it now. Possibility that we may have a civilian or some disgruntled military officer seeking a vendetta against the Islamic community."
Michael appeared frustrated. He shifted on his feet. "So, what does this have to do with us?"
"For the moment, nothing," Murphy stated. "Aside from you two filling out an incident report. Right now, by order from the Mayor, the city is on a Level 3 alert. With the Derby Festival coming up, it's not going to get any easier on us or the rest of the city."
"The whole thing smacks of a Tom Clancy novel if you ask me," Ralston grunted. "Look, what in the hell did you expect after Ground Zero? There was going to be trouble with those damn Allah worshipping bastards sooner or later. They're nothing but trash and terrorists!"
Holt was a bit taken aback by the clear tone of hatred in Ralston's voice. Something which made him wonder what really motivated his prejudice. There was more to that than the incidents in both New York City and Washington D.C., at least to him.
"Michael," Murphy said, trying to keep the exasperating edge out of his voice. "Leave any bigotry you have at home. There's no room for it in this department. Got that? I'm just letting you both know that things are about to get a bit rough. I want you both to fill out those reports by tomorrow. Dismissed."
As both pilots began to leave, Murphy motioned Michael to stick around. Holt left, and Michael sat back on the windowsill. He knew that he was about to get a lecture from his boss. If Frank Murphy had been someone else, Michael would have coldcocked him right where he stood. However, Ralston did look up to and respect the veteran pilot. Murphy did, after all, risk a lot to bring down a major corruption deeo inside the Government.
"Michael, you do know that the psychological review board wants to talk with you again," Murphy said, ina fatherly tone. "They still think that you're a bit trigger-happy."
"Christ, Frank," Ralston began to protest. "Don't those brain-butchers have anything else better to do than to probe into my personal life?"
Frank sat back in his chair and shrugged. "Well, what the hell do you expect after your experience with that Iraqi immigrant you arrested? You're just damn lucky you did not investigated too far for the injuries he received."
Michael tried not to think about that incident. It was while he was shopping at Winn-Dixie in Mid-City Mall, that he noticed a young college student had been causing a disruption in the store. Still smarting after witnessing the World Trade Towers collapse on live television, he snapped and proceeded to detain and assault Iraqi immigrant Abdul Noonian Hassan. Even though the young man had been reported to have been under the influence of some illegal substance, the bruises he received from Ralston's blows were really bad. Bad enough to cause an uproar in the Islamic community and sufficient fodder for the local newspaper and television stations.
"Michael, just take my advice and talk to the psychologist," Murphy said, sounding like he was pleading. "You're too good of a cop to lose. That's an order."
Michael snorted. "What the hell. But I don't think it will help. It will only hinder."
As Ralston walked out, Murphy sat back with his hands folded, staring at Ralston's retreating back. He could sympathize with the younger man on how he felt. He felt that way too, after watching the live coverage on NBC. Frank Murphy just did not want it to get to the point of having Ralston suspended or grounded. And at the moment, he could not afford such a thing to materialize.
"It's going to be a long two weeks," he said to no one in general.

Related pages:
1. Blue Thunder 2 - Millennium Thunder
2. Blue Thunder 2 - Millennium Thunder
3. Blue Thunder 2 - Millennium Thunder
4. Blue Thunder 2 - Millennium Thunder
5. Blue Thunder 2 - Millennium Thunder
6. Blue Thunder 2 - Millennium Thunder
7. Blue Thunder 2 - Millennium Thunder
8. Blue Thunder 2 - Millennium Thunder
9. Blue Thunder 2 - Millennium Thunder
10. Blue Thunder 2 - Millennium Thunder
11. Blue Thunder 2 - Millennium Thunder
12. Blue Thunder 2 - Millennium Thunder

WEBSITE MAINTAINED BY ANDREW GILCHRIST. BLUE THUNDER IS COPYRIGHT 1984 - 2019 © COLUMBIA TRISTAR PICTURES, UNLESS STATED OTHERWISE