radar had been activated. Martin, however, ignored the tone. His mind and body were absorbed by the act of superimposing the laser designation reticle onto the ventilator shaft of the bunker below. That was at that moment all he needed to see, all he needed to worry about.
The blast of air let into the helicopter when First Lieutenant Frank Zack, the American ranger company executive officer, slid the door open hit Major Nikolai Ilvanich like a sledgehammer. Ilvanich, lulled into a deep sleep by the Blackhawk helicopter's vibrations, hadn't realized that they had reached their target. With the ease of a practiced veteran, Ilvanich, however, was fully awake and taking in everything. Nothing escaped him. He heard every word and saw every action around him. The executive officer across from him was in the door and ready to leap out as soon as the helicopter touched down. Behind him a nervous sergeant was fumbling with his gear while an excited soldier with fire in his eyes, named Pape, kept nudging him in an effort to get closer to the door. Ilvanich watched the young soldier as his fingers worked the action of his squad automatic weapon while he urged his sergeant to get moving. That young man's lust for battle, Ilvanich knew, would be tempered as soon as he saw his first wounded man at his feet writhing and screaming.
When the helicopter came around the side of the mountain and began its descent, Ilvanich turned his attention away from Pape and leaned forward to study their target. Outside, framed by the helicopter's door, lay the landing zone. From where he sat, it looked small, mainly because it was small. To one side was the mountain that contained the nuclear weapons storage site. The landing zone was nothing more than a ledge measuring one hundred by two hundred meters that jutted out from the side of that mountain. In the glow of the security lights, Ilvanich could see the tunnel entrance, wide open at the moment. The entrance was protected by a small concrete bunker jutting out from the right side of the tunnel entrance overlooking a small maze of movable concrete road barriers set up in such a manner that anyone entering the tunnel had to zigzag through them single file. Across from it stood a cinder block building that provided protection for half a dozen or so guards responsible for patrolling the chainlink fence topped with barbed wire that ran along the entire outer perimeter of the ledge.
There was, as far as he could see, no movement on the ground, no guards visible. The security lights were still on, providing the helicopter pilots ample light with which to land.
More importantly, there was no anti-aircraft fire. The surprise was complete. Barring a serious miscalculation, success was all but guaranteed.
Unsnapping his seat belt, Ilvanich readjusted his gear, pulled the zipper up on his camouflage parka, and pulled the folding stock assault rifle that he had slung over his shoulder around from his side onto his lap, resting his right hand on it. By the time the helicopter's wheels hit the ground with a thump, Ilvanich was ready.
In a second Blackhawk across from Ilvanich's, the scene was repeated. Before the Blackhawk's door gunners could open up with their M-60 machine guns, Captain Vernon Smithy's command of 'LET'S GO, RANGERS' cleared the helicopter. In their haste to get out onto the ground and deploy, the rangers with Smithy masked the right door gunner's field of fire, preventing him from dropping the two Ukrainian guards standing behind the concrete barriers at the mouth of the tunnel that ran into the side of the mountain.
For a moment, the two guards hesitated, each one thinking the same thought: Stand and fight or flee? The shock of seeing four whitewashed helicopters in a perfect formation drop out of nowhere and disgorge dozens of armed troops less than twenty meters away was overpowering. That they would never be able to stop them was obvious. That there was no escape from this flood of invaders was equally clear. All that remained for the guards to do, in the few seconds that it took their attackers to disembark and form an assault line, was to shut the huge steel blast door and warn the guards inside the mountain. After glancing at their attackers one more time, both fled for the bunker.
The faster of the two made it into the bunker and grabbed the phone to notify the guards inside the tunnel. The second Ukrainian guard followed after dropping down behind the concrete barrier and crawling to the bunker on his hands and knees. Once he reached the open doorway of the bunker, the second Ukrainian guard pulled himself up and faced the panel just inside the bunker door that controlled the lights and the blast door of the tunnel entrance. He only managed to hit the switch that started the thick steel door closing before a ranger tossed a grenade around the corner of the concrete barrier into the open door of the bunker.
The door gunner on the helicopter that carried Ilvanich and First Lieutenant Zack had no problems with the exiting rangers. Without any orders being needed, the twenty-one-year-old native of Tennessee opened fire, raking the cinder block building that served as a guard shack with a quick burst. The six Ukrainian guards stationed there, who were responsible for securing the outer perimeter fence, instinctively chose to fight, ignoring in their haste the door gunner's first burst. Pouring through the narrow door, parkas half on but weapons at the ready, they rushed out into the night to deploy and to repel the attackers. The lean country boy behind the helicopter's M-60 machine gun held his fire as he watched, waited, and shifted his gun to the right a little. When he fired again, he dropped the first three guards. The remaining three, seeing their comrades chewed up by machine-gun fire so quickly, were thrown into a panic. Caught in the open, between the onslaught of attackers and the chainlink fence they were supposed to guard, the remaining three guards turned to run back into their guard shack.
Kevin Pape stopped that. Holding the butt plate of his squad automatic weapon against his right hip, Pape trained his weapon on the first Ukrainian, who already had his foot in the door of the guard shack. Using his body to aim and direct the fire of his weapon, Pape opened up, holding the trigger down while he moved his entire body to the right, raking the file of Ukrainians. Like tin cans set on a wall for target practice, each of the Ukrainian guards was knocked back as Pape's hail of bullets swept down their file.
Following close behind Zack, Ilvanich watched the brief firefight with the six Ukrainians in the guard shack and the two guards at the tunnel entrance. All were dead or wounded in a matter of seconds. They were no longer a factor. But the two guards at the tunnel entrance, though they chose not to fight, had been far more effective than the six in the guard shack. In their haste, not one of them had even considered killing the floodlights that bathed the area around the mouth of the tunnel in a glaring green fluorescent light. That light, Ilvanich thought, was a gift to the Americans. It was a great aid to the demolition team, allowing them to prepare the charges that they needed to blow their way into the tunnel in record time. The light also made it easier for the rangers already on the ground to finish their deployment around the perimeter and assist in the landing of the next wave. Not killing the lights, Ilvanich thought, negated the sacrifice that the two guards at the tunnel had made.
Standing upright for the first time since landing, Ilvanich looked around and watched the American rangers. A little sloppy, he thought, but so far there were no problems that the Americans were not prepared to deal with. With nothing to do and no need to advise anyone, Ilvanich began to follow the ranger company XO. The ranger company commander, Captain Smithy, had more than made clear during the planning and preparation for the raid, that he had no use for Ilvanich. Ilvanich, though offended, had said nothing. He had no desire to add to Smithy's concerns. Smithy already was burdened with one Russian advisor, a slightly overweight major who had once been the deputy commander in charge of security of this storage site. Smithy didn't need a second advisor hovering over his shoulder.
Noting that Zack, the XO, had already moved into the guard shack in the company of two radiomen and a sergeant, Ilvanich followed to see what he was doing. Carefully stepping over a body that partially blocked the doorway, Ilvanich entered the guard shack. As he did so, he was overwhelmed by the warmth of the room and the bright lights that were still on. Dressed for combat in the cold, Ilvanich was made uncomfortable by the heat from the stove. He considered going back outside but decided to wait until he found out what Lieutenant Zack intended to do in there.
Zack, ignoring Ilvanich as his company commander did, went about the task of setting up the company command post. As soon as the radiomen set their radios on the table, Zack stripped off his heavy mittens, cocked his helmet back on his head, and grabbed the hand mike of the radio set on the battalion command net. 'Swift Hawk Six. Swift Hawk Six, this is Alpha Five. Alpha is down and preparing to enter the briar patch. Over.'
For a moment Ilvanich refused to believe that Zack intended to make this building the company command post. Not only was it the only landmark of importance with its lights still on, but it sat right in the middle of the primary approach leading onto the ledge that any Ukrainian reaction force would use to get to the tunnel fifty meters away. The comfortable and warm guard shack would in a matter of minutes become a death trap.
Deciding that he wanted no part of that, Ilvanich called out to Zack, telling him that he was going to go outside.
Zack, with the radio's hand mike to his ear, waved to Ilvanich. 'You go ahead and do that, Major,' mumbling to himself after Ilvanich had turned to leave, 'Shithead.' Once outside, Ilvanich paused, shaking his head as he
