white man bore no visible weapons.
From the center truck Steve Lee looked up, growing impatient with the flier’s antics. He approved Keegan’s cautious approach, hovering menacingly in the distance, but Eddie Marsh seemed to be pushing his orders. Lee keyed his microphone. “Beanie Two from Grunt One.”
“Beanie here. Go.” Marsh’s voice was light and chipper on the UHF frequency.
“Back off, Beanie. You’re bothering the locals. Over.”
Marsh responded with two mike clicks, lowered his nose, and moved off to the northeast.
Langevin took advantage of the momentary interruption while Stevin watched the Alouette depart. Though not trained as an operator, the scientist recognized a well-planned position: two machine guns placed for mutual support with riflemen on the flanks. But he was certain that the defenders had not shown him everything.
Addressing the senior guard again, Langevin repeated his demand. “We are here to inspect the facility. May we enter?”
The Belgian mercenary remained calm. “I have no objection,
Langevin watched the burly guard walk past the gate, taking his time en route wherever he was going. “He’s stalling,” the American said to Bawoyeu.
As if in confirmation, Marsh was back on the radio. “Be advised, there’s a truck and trailer headed for the north gate!”
Lee was monitoring the channel. “Beanie Two, are there any other vehicles?”
After a short interval, Marsh replied, “Affirmative. Another truck and semi and a couple of SUVs. One is headed for the parked truck. Over.”
Lee visualized the developing situation. Time mattered now more than ever. “Beanie Two, keep an eye on the mover. Break break. Grunt Four, copy?”
Chris Nissen’s baritone snapped back. “Copy, One. We’re in position, over.”
“Ah, roger, Four. Do what you have to but stop that truck.”
“Affirm. Out.”
Satisfied that Nissen’s squad would handle the northern roadblock, Lee set down the microphone on his command set. Then he checked his portable radio and leaned out of the door. He made a circular motion with one hand, signaling the deployed squads to advance on the perimeter. J. J. Johnson caught the sign and directed the maneuver element. With that, Lee nodded for his driver to head for the gate.
Above and behind him, Breezy pushed the canvas tarp aside to deploy a bipoded HK-21, leaning into the 7.62 machine gun and trying to steady it on the roof of the cab.
Marcel Hurtubise grasped the emerging confrontation. Ruefully he sped past the second Mercedes, not quite half full of yellow cake. Briefly he considered driving the truck himself to salvage more of his end user’s product, but he dismissed the option.
Etienne Stevin labored under many human frailties. Some would say most of them, but he was nothing if not loyal. That sense of camaraderie mixed with the cognac he had consumed now conspired to produce a mental binary. Deep in the recesses of his memory he heard the measured strains of
Sensing the helicopter threat to Deladier’s truck, the Belgian tossed aside a tarp and picked up a Mistral missile launcher. It was one of three stashed within the compound.
Stevin had not fired a man-portable SAM in several years, but he knew the drill.
Hefting its nineteen kilograms, Steven settled the loaded launcher on his right shoulder. He tracked the Alouette in his sight, pressed the enabling switch to activate the homer, and held his breath. In seconds he was rewarded with the light confirming that the missile’s seeker head was tracking a heat source within range.
He pressed the firing button.
Inside the launcher, the booster motor ejected the missile with an impulse lasting less than half a second. Fifty feet downrange, the sustainer motor burst into life, accelerating with eye-watering velocity. At more than twice the speed of sound, the Mistral ate up the distance to the target.
Stevin knew that the Mistral was rated effective against helicopters at four kilometers. His target was barely half that far.
Three kilometers up the road, Chris Nissen saw the missile’s telltale wake. He pressed his mike button, hardly knowing what to say.
Had Nissen or Stevin or anyone else had a heartbeat to ponder the situation, they might have been struck by the irony. A French missile— named for a cold north wind that blows along the Riviera — dashed with demonic obsession toward a French helicopter, fired by a Belgian employed by a French firm. But most missiles are like bullets, conceived without a conscience, pursuing their embedded purposes depending upon the preference of their human masters.
Since Stevin’s Mistral lacked a logic board, and Marsh’s Alouette lacked IFF or even chaff or flares, the result of the firing was nearly certain. Stevin did not recall the precise figure, but he had read that Mistrals could be ninety percent effective when launched within parameters.
Before Nissen could shout a warning, the missile exploded. Its laser proximity fuse sensed the overtake on the heat source and detonated the three-kilogram warhead.
Scores of tungsten balls erupted outward from the blast pattern, ruining the helo’s airframe. The boom was nearly severed from the cabin, sending the Alouette spiraling crazily to earth.
47
“Look at that!”
Racing to catch Deladier’s semi truck and trailer, Hurtubise shot a glance to his right. Following his companion’s extended trigger finger, Marcel glimpsed a missile plume and a receding midair explosion in the gray Saharan sky. “Damn it to hell! I said no unnecessary shooting!” Things were turning to hash. He put his foot on the floor.
Everybody was talking at once. The air and ground radios were jammed with shouts, questions, and exclamations.
Lee sought to make sense of the babble. He knew he would have to wait a few moments for the talkers to get a grip on themselves.
Terry Keegan was the first to break through the noise. He dispensed with call signs. “Steve, Terry. Eddie’s down! Repeat, Eddie’s down. A missile got him.”
“Where’d it come from? Over.”
“Inside the perimeter. I think more to the south side.”
Looking outside his truck, Lee saw the remaining Alouette lower its nose and accelerate to the north. “Terry, Steve. Do not proceed north. Repeat, do not go north.”
“Ah… Steve, I can reach him faster than Nissen.”
“I know, Terry, I know. But we can’t risk you and the reaction force. Please stay back here ‘til we get sorted
