got the first engine started and the red light goes on in that panel. It will switch to green when the ramp is up and locked.'
Sean left him and ran down the length of the Hercules' body.
The Shanganes were milling about uncertainly in the darkness.
'Ferdinand!' Sean shouted. 'Get them to sit in the side benches and show them how to strap in.'
Sean groped his way toward the flight deck. He found the wooden missile cases loaded over the Hercules' center of gravity between the wings. They were piled against the fuselage on wooden pallets and covered with heavy cargo netting. He eased past them and reached the door to the flight deck. It was unlocked, and he burst through it and dumped the heavy gunner's bag into the map bin under the flight engineer's steel table. Through the cockpit windows, he saw that the mock attack on the south perimeter was still in full swing, but that the volume of fire from within the base was now much heavier than from the raiders out in the bush beyond the wire.
'The Fifth Brigade has woken up,' Sean muttered. He climbed into the left-hand seat and switched on the lights of the Hercules' instrument panel. The vast array of glowing dials and switches was intimidating and confusing, but Sean would not allow himself to be daunted.
It was a lot simpler than starting the old Baron. He merely switched on and ran a finger along the rows of circuit breakers to ensure that they were all in.
'The hell with start-up checks,' he said and hit the start switch for the number one engine. The starter motor whined and he watched the needle creep around the rev counter.
'Come on!' he pleaded. As revolutions touched 10 percent the aircraft automatically primed her cornbusion chamber with fuel and the engine ignited. He wound her up to 70 percent of power while he adjusted the earphones of the radio set on his head.
'Job, do you read?'
'Loud and clear, man.'
'Get the ramp up.'
'It's on its way.'
Sean waited impatiently for the ramp warning lamp on the panel to switch from red to green. The moment it did so, he kicked off the wheel brakes and the Hercules rolled ponderously forward.
He was taxiing on one engine and had to use gross opposite rudder to meet the asymmetrical thrust. However, as he followed the pale strip of the taxiway, he worked on the other three engines and one after the other coaxed them to life, adjusting the controls as the power thrust altered.
'No wind,' he muttered. 'Makes no difference which direction for takeoff.'
The main runway lad been extended to accommodate the excessive takeoff and landing requirements of modern jet fighters. However, the Hercules was STOL-short, takeoff and landing. It required only a fraction of the available distance, and Sean steered her for the main intersection directly in front of the control tower.
So far the Hercules had drawn no fire. The heavy machine guns at the gates were still firing wildly into the night sky. Poor fire control was always one of the problems with African troops, who in all other respects made excellent soldiers.
On the other hand, at the southern perimeter the crack veterans of the Fifth and Third Brigades were showing what well-trained African troops were capable of Their fire was going in deadly professional sheets, and already they had almost entirely extinguished Alphonso's initial onslaught. Apart from a few desultory mortar shells, there was no longer any return fire from the dark sea of bush and forest beyond the base security fence.
It would only be a short time before Carlyle managed fully to alert the garrison to the enemy within and the flight controllers in the blacked-out tower realized there was an unauthorized takeoff in progress.
Sean was taxiing the Hercules at a reckless speed, so fast she was already developing lift and wanting to fly. He knew that if he came off the concrete taxiway onto the grass, there was a chance of bellying her or getting her stuck, but not as good a chance as having her shot up by the 12.7-men if he delayed the takeoff a moment longer than was necessary.
'Job,' he said over the intercom, 'I'm going to give you cabin lights so you can make sure the lads are seated and strapped in.
Takeoff in forty seconds.'
He switched on the cabin lights to prevent chaos in the dark belly of the fuselage, and then flicked his headset to the control tower frequency of 118.6 megahertz.
They were calling him stridently. 'Air Force Hercules Victor Sierra Whisky. State your intentions. I say again, Air Force Hercules-'
'This is Air Force Hercules Victor Sierra Whisky,' Sean replied. 'Request taxi clearance to avoid hostile ground fire.'
'Sierra Whisky, say again. What are your intentions?'
'Tower, this is Sierra Whisky. Request...' Sean mumbled and slurred his transmission deliberately, forcing the tower to ask for a further repetition. He was watching his engine temperature gauges anxiously as the needles crept up infinitely slowly toward the green.
'Tower, I am having difficulty reading your transmission,' he stalled them. 'Please repeat your clearance.'
Behind him Job barged open the door to the flight deck. 'The men are strapped in ready for takeoff,' he called.
'Get into the right- hand seat and strap in,' Sean ordered without looking around. The engine temperature gauge needles were touching the bottom of the green. The main runway was coming up fast. Sean toed the wheel brakes, slowing for the turn and lineup.
'Air Force Hercules. You are not cleared to taxi or line UP.
Repeat, you have no clearance from tower. Discontinue immediately and take first left. Return to your holding area. I repeat, return to your holding area. 'Up yours, mate!' Sean muttered as he pulled on ten degrees of flap and revolved the trim wheel to slightly tail heavy.
'Air Force Hercules. Stop immediately or we will fire upon you. and swung the monstrous Sean switched on the landing lights onto the main runway. She handled as lightly as his little aircraft twin Beechcraft.
'You are a pussycat, darling.' He'knew that, like a woman, an aircraft always responded to loving flattery. He advanced the bank of throttle controls smoothly, and at that moment the heavy machine gun beyond the tower opened up on them.
However, the Hercules was accelerating strongly and the gunner had not learned the art of forward allowance. He was shooting at the place where the aircraft had been seconds before, and perhaps nd.
his nerves were still rattling for his fire was high as well as behi The first long burst of tracer curved away over the high tail fin.
'That cat needs shooting lessons,' Job remarked calmly. Sean always wondered if Job's cool and phlegmatic behavior under fire was put on.
The next burst was low and ahead; the tracer splashed across the concrete runway just under the Hercules' nose. 'But he learns fast,' Job grunted a reluctant admission.
Sean was leaning forward slightly in the seat, his right hand holding the bank of quadruple throttles fully open, his left feeling the control wheel for signs of life, watching the airspeed needle revolve sedately around the dial.
'Here comes your friend,' Job said, and pointed out of the side panel of the canopy. Sean glanced around swiftly.
An open Land-Rover was tearing wildly across the grass verge alongside the main runway, its headlights cutting crazy patterns in the darkness as it bounced over the uneven ground. It was attempt. to cut them off, 4Pd Sean could just make out the features of mg ood in the back of the speeding vehicle.
the man who st 'He doesn't give up easily, does he?' Sean remarked, and gave his attention back to the Hercules.
Carlyle must have commandeered one of the guard Landits black driver. He was standing in the open back, Rovers and clinging to the mounting of the RPD machine gun, and his face was pale and contorted in the reflection of the Hercules' landing lights as he egged on the driver to greater speed. He really taking it to heart.' Job leaned forward to watch with interest as Carlyle swung the machine gun in its mountings, aiming up at the cockpit of the Hercules.
The driver swung the Land-Rover over on two wheels until it was tearing along beside the huge rolling aircraft only fifty yards away, almost level with the wingtip.
'Hey, man.' Job shook his head. 'He's aiming at us personally.' Carlyle braced himself behind the gun, and the muzzle flashes blinked rapidly at them. Bullets raked the Perspex canopy, starring it with silver dollars, and both of them ducked instinctively as shot flew past their heads.
'He's a better shot than the other cat,' Job murmured. With the tip of his finger he touched the drop of blood on his cheek where a splinter had cut him.
Sean felt the controls come to life in his hand as the Hercules approached flying speed and the wings developed lift. 'Come on, pussycat,' he murmured. Carlyle fired another burst at the same moment the Land-Rover hit a concrete culvert and bounced wildly, throwing his fire high and wild. He steadied himself and lined up to fire again.
'He's fast becoming my least favorite cartoon character.' Without flinching Job watched him take aim. 'Okay, here it comes!'
