missile punched away most of the Vampire’s vertical stabilizer.
The warning and caution panel was lit up like a keno board. Rebecca now had both hands on the control stick, trying to keep her Vampire under control.
“You got it, Rebecca?” Daren shouted.
“Shit… damn it…” She never answered, but she didn’t need to — Daren could tell that she’d lost control. “I am
“Time to jump out, Rebecca,” Daren said, managing to reach over and touch her hand. “It’s over. You did a good job—
Rebecca swore, then gave the controls one more try. She saw the altimeter go below two thousand feet aboveground — and she couldn’t even tell which way was up anymore. “Get out!” she shouted. “Get the hell out.”
Daren nodded, straightened up in his seat, put his hands on his armrests.
He stood, and pushed his chair back. Rebecca followed right behind him. They squeezed past the technician at the console right behind the aircraft commander’s seat and looked at the flight-path depiction on his computer screen. The Vampire had just hit the vast floodplain of the northern Caspian Sea coast. “Impact,” the technician said. “Couple miles north of Lake Aralsor in Kazakhstan. You flew almost seventy miles with virtually no flight- control system and just two engines, and she still took three Russian missiles before she finally went down. That area is pretty marshy, and the plane was in an almost vertical spiraling dive — it may have buried itself a hundred feet into the mud.”
Rebecca studied the monitor, checking to see if the plane had gone down in an uninhabited area. As far as she could tell, it had. She opened up a bottle of water, took a deep swig, and passed it to Daren. “Crap — I hate losing a plane,” she said. “Even if it is a
Daren gave her a kiss on the cheek, then opened the door to the portable virtual-cockpit control cab. The small warehouse in which the VC had been set up on the tropical island of Diego Garcia was supposed to be air- conditioned, but the heat and humidity they felt as he opened the door were still oppressive. To them, though, after the past five hours in the VC, it felt glorious. Right beside them was a second VC, which another crew was using to control the unmanned air-defense EB-1C Vampire.
“Just remember, Rebecca,” Daren said, smiling as he took her hand and stepped out of the cab, “any landing you can walk away from is a good one.”
“Shut up, Daren,” she said. She smiled back, realized he was still holding her hand — and she gave his a squeeze. “Just take me to my room, get me a drink, get this flight suit off, then take me to bed.”
“Don’t we have to debrief our mission or something?”
She rolled her eyes in exasperation, pulled him to her, and gave him a kiss. “You have your orders, mister,” she said with an inviting smile. “Carry them out.”
“Yes,
“Contact, two troop choppers inbound,” Hal Briggs reported. “I’ve got three more attack helicopters coming in farther south.”
“We’ve got a total of six troop and four attack helicopters inbound from the northwest,” Chris Wohl said. “The troop helicopters are outside the range of my weapon. They look like they’re unloading.”
“Three attack helicopters to the southwest,” another of his commandos reported. “Looks like they came right over the city. They… they’re firing, Red Team, attack helicopters opening fire with antitank missiles. Incoming, incoming.”
Hal Briggs steadied the electromagnetic rail gun using his powered exoskeleton, centered the helicopter in his electronic sights, and was about to squeeze the trigger when all three attack helicopters opened fire on his position. He immediately jet-jumped away seconds before a half dozen AT-16 laser-guided antitank missiles hit at exactly the spot where he’d been hiding a second ago. “Looks like they got some longer-range missiles on those choppers — they fired from almost six miles away,” Hal said. He studied his electronic tactical display — almost every one of his men had to dodge missiles launched at them. Whatever sensors the Russian attack helicopter gunners were using, they were extremely effective.
Hal immediately jet-jumped toward where he thought the troop helicopters had touched down. He found the group of two transport helicopters, one Mi-6 and one Mi-8, just as they were lifting off after offloading their troops. Hal raised his rail gun and was about to fire on the larger Mi-6 when the earth erupted just a few feet in front of him. One of the Russian Mi-24 attack helicopters had found him and had opened fire with an antitank missile, narrowly missing him. The rail gun was blasted out of his hands, and he flew thirty feet through the air from the force of the missile explosion.
Hal was able to get to his feet. The rail gun was gone. When he looked up, he heard it — the unmistakable sound of the heavy Mi-24 Hind attack helicopter bearing down on him. His suit registered a laser beam hitting him. He was being targeted with a laser-aiming device from the Hind. Less than two miles away — it couldn’t miss now….
Suddenly two small missiles streaked through the sky and hit the Hind helicopter from either side. The big chopper’s engines exploded, and it plummeted to the ground, cartwheeling for over a mile before the wreck of burning, twisting metal finally came to a stop.
“Ho there, my friend!” he heard a voice shout in Russian.
“What are you doing here, Turabi?”
“We were busy retreating, getting out of Charjew before the Russians dropped a nuclear bomb on us next,” Turabi said. “But then we ran into your little party here, and we thought we’d crash it. You don’t mind, do you?” He retrieved his portable radio and a map and issued orders in Pashtun. Moments later the desert around where the Russian soldiers had just alighted was obscured by mortar and grenade blasts. Several more shoulder-fired missiles flew through the sky, knocking down Russian helicopters.
“I think this would be a good time to get out of here, my friend,” Turabi said. “My men are scattered pretty thin. We can’t hold the Russians off for long.”
Just then Hal heard a beeping sound in his helmet. He shifted his electronic visor to mapping mode — and what he saw made him smile inside his battle armor. “Not quite yet, Turabi,” he said. As Turabi watched in puzzlement, Briggs simply stopped and stared at the Russian exfiltration spot, then turned and stared for a moment at another Mi-24 attack helicopter, about five miles away. “Where else have your men made contact, Turabi?” he asked.
“They are everywhere,” the Afghan replied. “They are coming from all directions. They—”
At that moment the Hind helicopter that was turning and lining up for an attack run exploded in a ball of fire. Seconds later the ground where the Russian soldiers were advancing on them disappeared under dozens and dozens of small but powerful explosions.
“We are under attack!” Turabi shouted.
“Not quite,” Briggs said. He pointed skyward. Turabi looked — just as a small, dark StealthHawk unmanned aircraft passed overhead. “Our little buddies are back.” As they watched the StealthHawk fly away, it launched an AGM-211 mini-Maverick missile on another Hind, shooting it out of the sky.
“Well, I never thought I’d be happy to see those devil birds again,” Turabi said. “I don’t suppose they could inform us as to where our friends the Russians are now?”
“They can indeed,” Briggs said. He took Turabi’s chart and a grease pencil and, using the electronic map projected onto his visor, drew the locations of all the known Russian airborne troops on the ground in the area. “Need some help with them, Turabi?” Briggs asked.
“If you would be so kind as to take care of the attack helicopters with your devil birds up there,” Turabi said after he reported the Russians’ positions to his men deployed around Charjew, “my men can take care of the
