NVGs. They got ripped off when you screwed up your landing, Hugo.'
Fitzduane started to raise his eyebrows in surprise, but they seemed to be stuck in place. Cochrane was in his element. This was a man who had found himself.
The goggles still worked. Fitzduane started to feel generally more optimistic. Half the Tecuno army might be on their tail, but at least he could find his way around and, truth to tell, their thermal viewers and passive night vision had given them an incredible edge over the opposition, so it was nice to hang on to some of the equipment. There was still some serious work to do.
He looked down the valley. In the distance, roughly halfway down the valley, he could see vehicles burning. Cochrane saw his look and grinned.
'The hostiles chased us into the Funnel,' said Cochrane, 'but I had a go with the. 50 Barrett after we got hit. It seems ridiculous that a rifle can take out an armored vehicle like a BMP-1, but there is the proof. An average of three rounds each at nearly a kilometer, and up they went. Thin armor, vulnerable fuel tanks, and armor-piercing incendiary make a lethal combination. Anyway, they pulled back and now seem to be regrouping. I guess they figure time is on their side. They put up some flares a few minutes ago, so they know our track is out. And where are we going on foot? There is nothing in every direction.'
Fitzduane decided to ignore that last rather disconcerting remark and focus on the shooting. 'Just so you know, Lee,' he said. 'Running a private war – just because Al and I were unconscious – is greedy.'
Cochrane laughed out loud.
'Back to business,' said Fitzduane. 'Any contact with Eagle Friend?'
'Affirmative,' said Cochrane.
He tapped the personal radio every member of the team carried for emergencies. It was low power and strictly line of sight, but it combined voice capability with a locator beam. 'He's doing a run in any minute. He's contour flying to avoid SAMs, so voice contact is intermittent.'
The Combat Talon was using the surrounding mountain range to shield it from SAMs – surface-to-air missiles – as it approached. The Talon had some useful offensive firepower, but its main defense lay in being extraordinarily hard to detect. Its electronic warfare black boxes made it effectively invisible to most radar. Nonetheless, line-of- sight triple-A – antiaircraft artillery – and SAMs could be a serious threat when it could be seen with the naked eye, so Talon pilots worked hard to remain invisible. In this context, a few mountains between them and hostiles were highly approved of.
Fitzduane unclipped an Ultimax from its mount and fitted a fresh hundred-round magazine. A pump-action grenade launcher went over his shoulder and more ammunition went into a rucksack. Then he joined Cochrane in carrying Al Lonsdale into a natural rock emplacement in the foothills.
It was a far-from-perfect location because there was no overhead cover, but there was nothing better immediately around and their plans depended on their moving up rather than out in the next few minutes. That meant they needed access to the sky.
Parachute flares exploded in the sky and the valley was lit up with white light. Backed up by field glasses, it was an old-fashioned solution for dealing with the visibility problem but effective nonetheless.
The wrecked Guntrack could be clearly seen. Fitzduane doubted that the Tecuno mercenaries could see them crouched down behind the rocks in camouflage with blackened faces, but common sense dictated their rough location.
There was a moaning sound and a salvo of mortar shells bracketed the wrecked vehicle, and blast after blast hurled metal splinters into the surrounding rocks. Half a dozen heavy machine guns joined in.
The parachute flares died out but the barrage continued, and Fitzduane knew it would only be a matter of time. They seemed to be up against some serious opposition, and the way the assault was being conducted suggested that the hostiles had recovered from their confusion.
He prayed that someone up high would come to their assistance very soon, or they would be up there themselves checkout out their new wings.
It was a prospect Fitzduane was willing to postpone. He decided he would try the direct approach.
'Eagle Friend,' he said quietly and deliberately into his radio, 'we have heavy incoming here, so hear me well. This is no time for subtlety. Knock off your coffee break and be kind enough to seriously fuck the bad guys. Do you copy?'
'Loud and clear, Hugo,' said the Bear, and there was a roar of engines as the Combat Talon popped up and tracked the valley, its two six-barrel. 50-caliber GECALs blazing.
Eight thousand rounds a minute – armor-piercing, high explosive, and tracer – into the broad end of the valley occupied by the mercenary task force.
Devastation. Slaughter. A scale of destruction it was hard to comprehend.
Explosion after explosion rent the air as armored vehicles blew up. The incoming mortar and APC rounds ceased.
Fitzduane and Cochrane peered between two rocks at the holocaust.
'Unbelievable,' said Fitzduane in an awed voice.
A parachute opened above them, and seconds later a bulky package hit the ground.
Fitzduane grinned at Cochrane. 'It's been easy up to now,' he said.
Major Khalifa Sherrif might have been a truly terrible map reader, but militarily he was moderately competent.
Under fire, he normally had a reasonable idea of what to do if it was only how to keep his own valuable body out of harm's way. Nonetheless, fighting Indian peasants in Tecuno armed with only shotguns, the odd AK-47 assault rifle, and RPG-7 rocket launchers had not prepared him for this kind of combat.
Rifles that could take out armored personnel carriers at well over a kilometer and aircraft guns that could put a round in every square meter of land in a valley-wide swath were new to him – and quite terrifying.
He thought about the situation. Another column had showed up from the south and he had deployed them around the airstrip. Part of the enemy force had already left – he had seen the Combat Talon taking off in the distance – but at least the remainder were now surrounded somewhere in the narrow end of the funnel and the airstrip had been rendered unusable.
The enemy, whoever they were, but certainly commandos of some kind, were trapped. They had no way out. And by morning the forces around them would be overwhelming. Infantry and armor was converging on the Funnel from every direction.
It was going to work out. The post of military aide to Governor Quintana that he had been after would be his. The minor detail that his armored column had been shot to pieces by the enemy would be glossed over, and anyway there was a useful technique called creative accounting. No one was really going to come out here to the battlefield to take a look.
He switched to consideration of immediate tactics. Sending in armor was for the birds. The burning wrecks of T55s and armored fighting vehicles dotting the valley floor below were blunt proof of that.
No, the best tactic overall was to wait the enemy out and let the sun do its work tomorrow. There was no water in the Funnel, so it would only be a matter of time.
He considered this option. It certainly made the most sense militarily. Still, the politics of the situation also had to be factored in. Surrounding – without doing anything more – did not have a heroic ring, and soldiers were supposed to fight.
He had one platoon of hard cases he used for chasing Indians in the hills. A small group used to this kind of terrain might just do the trick where armor had failed.
He sent them in and watched them as they disappeared into the darkness. In his report, he would lead them, of course. Fortunately, in real life he had more sense and whistled up his sergeant for a cup of tea.
The Bear watched the loadmaster get his end of the Fulton Rescue System ready and tried to get his mind around what was about to happen.
