Firefox Down

The commpack operator was relaying the information he received to Gant via Moresby's R/T, which was still clipped to the cockpit sill. Gant shrugged, sensing the nervous tension, the urgency in his frame as he gangloaded the ignition switches, reached for the fuel cocks -

And stared in disbelief at the purple light glowing on the main panel, to the left and just below the cockpit coaming.

'For Christ's sake, I thought this aircraft was checked!' he exploded.

Ahead of him, visibility was already decreasing. The window in the weather had lasted for less time than had been forecast. The far end of the lake was dimly visible, an irregularity of the thick air rather than a landscape. The two Lynx helicopters had completed their clearance of the ice. They waited silently now, beside the Harrier, as teams with shovels and hot air blowers completed the task.

'It was,' Moresby replied grimly. He looked down at the technicians who surrounded the Firefox. 'Ramp differential light's on,' he called down. 'Port engine intake — check it now! Come on, you buggers, the intake ramp's jammed or something! Find out what's wrong.'

'How did I miss it?' Gant said, staring at the purple light. 'I missed the damn light!'

'So did we all, Gant — so did we all.' Moresby leaned out from the pilot's steps, clinging to the cockpit sill, straining to see what his technicians were doing. 'Well?' he called. Through the open R/T Gant listened to Waterford as he proceeded with the disposition of his forces. Brooke and his SBS men were to the south and east of the lake, while the marines who had parachuted in from the Hercules were on the opposite shore, where the Russians had been discovered.

'Nothing, sir — it's jammed all right.'

'Why the hell that circuit was only routed through ignition, I don't know!' Moresby snapped in self recrimination, staring at Gant. Frost had begun to rime his moustache, as if the man had been breathing more heavily. Gant's heartbeat raced. He felt his stomach watery and his chest hollow and shallow, as if there was insufficient space for his heart and lungs. 'That bloody APU snarl-up earlier didn't help — nor the bloody rush — come on.'

'ETA of leading helicopter, three minutes fifty.'

'Shit,' Moresby breathed.

'Sir — we've found it — '

'What is it?'

'ETA — three minutes.'

'Piece of sheet metal — looks scorched — it's folded like a bit of cardboard, sir. Wedging the door. Have to be careful with it — '

'Then be bloody careful!' He looked at Gant. 'Some debris from one of your military encounters, old man,' he said with forced and unfelt lightness. Gant merely nodded.

'Get me an update on the Bardufoss weather,' he said into the R/T.

'Sir.'

'I hope to God it stays no worse than it is,' Moresby murmured. 'Because, if you can't get in there, I wouldn't guarantee the vehicle for a longer distance!'

'Two hundred miles-you think I'll be safe two hundred miles away?'

'It's Norway, old man — '

'So?'

Moresby's finger flicked at his moustache. A noise of levering, and scraping, twisting metal, came from aft of them on the port side. Gant shuddered.

'Be bloody careful!' Moresby yelled.

'ETA of leading helicopter, two minutes forty,' the radio operator announced.

'Where's that weather update?'

'Coming, sir — '

Gant heard Buckholz's voice over the R/T organising the loading of the two Lynx helicopters with the Norwegian personnel who had been engaged in the operation. Women, children and allies first, he thought with bitter humour. Waterford's constant radio chatter was a muffled background, since he had left his R/T open. He had perhaps forty-five men. The three big MiLs coming behind the leading, unarmed reconnaissance helicopter and flanked by the two gunships, would be carrying perhaps forty or fifty troops each. Fewer than that only if they were bringing heavy equipment or light vehicles. Waterford dare not make the first move, even to protect the Firefox. He had to get the airplane out — ! If he managed to take off, Waterford's men could melt into the landscape, avoiding all contact with Russian troops.

'I have to get her out,' he repeated aloud.

'Weather, sir — '

'Yes.'

'They're closing Bardufoss in five minutes, sir. Within ten, they say, no one could get in.'

'OK,' Gant replied in a small, tight voice. He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he saw Moresby staring at him.

'Where to, laddie? Mm — where will you take her when you get in the air?' It was not sarcasm; rather defeat.

'If I have to — all the way.'

'What?'

'You heard me. All the fucking way, man! UK or bust!' He tried to grin.

'I wouldn't advise that, Gant. Anything, everything — could go wrong. Try to get into Bardufoss — I really am serious about that…'

'ETA of leading helicopter — one minute.'

'For Christ's sake, you buggers, hurry it up!' Moresby raged.

'Sir, we're having to be very careful to avoid more damage- it's really wedged in tight.'

'Then cut the bloody thing into smaller pieces!'

'You have maybe two minutes or a little more — unless they hold back until the leading helicopter's done some spotting,' Gant announced.

'Don't tell me…'

'Maybe we can bank on an attempt to capture the airframe more or less intact?'

'You think so?'

'It depends on one thing,' Gant replied. 'Who's now in command of the operation. If it's still Vladimirov, he'll think he has a chance. If it's politicians — then kiss goodbye to your asses! They'll be blown out from under you.'

'It's coming, sir- OK- yes, it's free, sir!'

'ETA, thirty seconds

'Change to hot refuelling,' Gant snapped as Moresby rammed home the circuit breaker and the light on the panel disappeared. 'Thank God,' he sighed.

'Hot refuelling?'

'Have to now. I want to be ready to move at any moment I choose.'

'How full do you want the tanks?'

'I've got sixty percent capacity now.' Gant shook his head. 'Just keep filling them up.'

Gant glanced up, his body slightly cowered in the pilot's couch, his arm half-raised as if to shield his eyes or protect his face. He could hear the noise of the helicopter rotors.

Men had paused, as they crossed the ice towards the two helicopters, and were looking up. Visibility was closing in, heavy as a blanket. The far end of the lake was already obscured. It had begun to snow; big flakes pattering against the cockpit sill, on the shoulders 6f hi$ pressure suit. He fitted his helmet once more, and plugged in his oxygen supply and the jackplug for the thought-guidance system.

The ugly MiL-24, probably unarmed to increase its speed, appeared like a squat beetle above the clearing. Gant cursed their lack of Blowpipe missiles. Even had they possessed them, he doubted whether Waterford would have opened fire first.

The MiL drifted out over the lake, over the two Lynx helicopters and the unarmed Harrier. Gant could see Thorne's helmet raised to watch it. The gunship floated above the Firefox, as if taunting her,