Assault on Alpha Base (19 page)

Chapter 22

Sunday, 19 June, 0117 local

Humboldt National Forest

Manny tore off his headset. “Have you spotted it yet?” For the past fifteen minutes he had been in communication over the secure link, speaking in a low voice so as not to disturb McGriffin.

McGriffin waited a full minute before answering. Two hundred feet below, jagged mountain peaks scraped the sky. Only the summits were visible in the scant starlight. Every so often a glint of light bore through the clouds and reflected off streams and small ponds of water in the valleys. Switching to the ANVIS-6 night-vision goggles, McGriffin strained, but still could not make out any sign of the helicopter.

He flipped up the goggles, rubbed his eyes, and looked to Manny. “Are you sure you corrected for wind?”

Manny nodded to the GPS readout. Corrected with differential GPS, it was accurate to within the gravitational uncertainties of the earth. Manny retorted, “I could fly us to within a
foot
of where we took off from. If your directions are accurate, we should be right on top of that clearing.”

“Sorry. Any other ideas? I
know
these coordinates are correct.”

“I’ll get you some more altitude. We can cover more area that way.” He shot a glance at the altimeter. “It’ll be touch and go, though. We’re already pushing this baby’s ceiling—I don’t want to go too much higher.”

McGriffin decided instantly. “Let’s do it.” He’d already made up his mind that any danger to themselves came second to recovering the nukes. If the terrorists were down there, the night-vision goggles would give them away—unless they were inside the stealth helicopter, but that was a chance he would have to take.

Manny pushed the chopper up, grabbing for altitude. The craft strained in the thin air. Slowly they crept higher, bringing more of the ground into sight.

As they rose, McGriffin flipped down the goggles and scanned the ground, methodically moving from north to south.

He was almost ready to have Manny move farther west when a smear of light broke across his sight. “Wait. Bring us back to the east.”

“Did you see anything?”

“I’m not sure. We’re a little high to tell for sure. It might have been a deer—hold it.” He held up a hand. “That’s it.”

“That’s what?”

McGriffin adjusted the night-vision goggles by changing the diopter, then refocused the low intensity picture. “There’s someone walking … make that four, no five, people. They’re moving toward something bright. I don’t have a positive on it, but I bet that’s an engine mounting I see.” He flipped up the infrared light amplifier. “How is Falcon Two doing?”

“He was loitering at twenty thousand, but he was sucking on fumes so he headed back. He had only enough fuel to get him back to Wendover.”

McGriffin unstrapped from the copilot’s seat and squeezed behind the seats. He surveyed his weapons: two pistols and a shotgun. Except for the flare guns—which were worthless anyway—things hadn’t changed. Great, I’m going to save the world, he thought, and don’t even have enough weapons to finish the job. Dear Lord, don’t let me screw up now.

Grunting, McGriffin pushed open the cargo door, jerking when it momentarily caught. A gale of wind whooshed through the helicopter. Lying on the deck, he flipped on the goggles and peered down.

The bodies moved in a slow line, hunched over, straining with something on the ground. They moved steadily in a group as if they were rolling something—the nukes?—then rushed back to where the helicopter lay and started all over again. McGriffin couldn’t make out the object they rolled the nukes to. He raised the gain and squinted.

A dark object slowly appeared in the screen, barely contrasting against the ground.
A plane!
The ground was slightly cooler than the aircraft, causing the ghostly infrared image to waver in the nightscope.

McGriffin refocused to infinity. Suddenly the bodies stood out in fine detail. One of them raised a hand and pointed upward, directly at the chopper.
They heard us. Our blades must be giving us away.
He straightened and slammed shut the cargo door. The wind died immediately.

He stepped up to the cockpit. “Manny, any more word?”

Manny shook his head, his lips held tight.

McGriffin took a last look down. “There’s a plane down there—they’re loading up the nukes, and worse, they’ve spotted us. They’re breaking out rifles or something. We’ve got to stop them.”

“Right. With what? Our bare hands?”

“If we have to.” McGriffin grasped the back of the seat. “Look, we’ve got to stall them, stop them from taking off until one of the other flights of fighters gets here. Get an ETA over the secure link.”

A moment later Manny lifted his head. “Twenty more minutes, but they’ve got our coordinates.”

McGriffin drew in a breath. “That’s not good enough. The plane will be gone by then.”

“So what do we do?”

McGriffin looked around the helicopter. The shotgun and pistol had to count for something. “Let me down. Land me by the edge of the clearing. I’ll try to sneak around and slow them from loading their plane—anything to stop them from taking off.”

“Land
there!
They’ll take out us out!”

“Got any other suggestions?”

A moment passed. Manny said slowly, “You’re crazy. You know that? Absolutely crazy. If this was special ops, I’d lay you down over the ridge. But with the time constraint you’ll never get to them before they take off …” He bit his lip. “Okay, but what about me after I drop you off?”

“Get some altitude. I’ll need you to vector the fighters in. They’ve
got
to take out that plane.”

“If they hit one of the nukes, it’ll take the mountain down.”

McGriffin shook his head. “It’s nearly impossible to set those things off. The worse that could happen is that the H.E. would detonate.”

“H.E.—you mean high explosives?”

McGriffin set his mouth. “Yeah. The H.E. is used to initiate the nuclear implosion, or something like that.” He wished he’d paid more attention to Lieutenant Fellows’s explanation. He turned for the rear of the craft. “Keep in contact over the link. Once I’m down, grab some air.”

Manny shook his head. “Right.”

Manny started combat landing number three: the other two were a piece of cake compared to this.

McGriffin lost all depth perception. They fell into the black abyss as quickly as they could. The peaks flashed by, their features painted silver by the starlight. McGriffin prayed that Manny’s night vision was better than his. He didn’t see the ground when they landed.

Manny screamed at him. “Out, mo-fro. Call me when you’re done.”

McGriffin leaped from the chopper as it thundered upward. He rolled away from the landing area, certain that they would start shelling him. As the helicopter accelerated upward, a missile raced over his head.

Manny’s helicopter lit up in the night. A doubled explosion sent the chopper rolling to the right. Light flashed inside the craft. Slowly, the super Jolly Green Giant crumpled to the ground, spinning as the blades careened off the meadow. The helicopter crashed not fifty yards away.

McGriffin watched, horrified. He got up and started running toward the downed chopper. Flames licked at the craft. He expected the helicopter to explode any moment, and at fifty yards away, take him with it.

He stopped in mid-stride, suddenly throwing himself to the ground. Silence.
Were they waiting for him to expose himself?
If he tried to rescue Manny, he’d be an easy target. So what would it be—Manny or the terrorists? He couldn’t get to both.

He grit his teeth.
God, help me!
A scream came from the helicopter. Manny shrieked in pain.

McGriffin tried to get his wits about him. Scanning the clearing, he quickly got his bearings. The light from Manny’s helicopter splashed throughout the meadow. Behind him the plane showed up as a dark, menacing outline against the mountain. Purple flowers pocketed the field. The tall grass hid him from view. But they would be watching.

Or would they? Did they know that he got out, or did they think the chopper was coming in for a landing? Either way, he couldn’t tip his hand. He backed up on his belly, trying to slide away from the helicopter and the light of its fire. Cradling the shotgun in his arms, he moved quietly back.

He tried keeping track of the distance as he drew away. Push, slide, and keep the head down—it seemed to go on forever. By the time he got to the one hundredth slide, he was out of the brightest circle of light.
Hang in there, Manny!

The chopper still hadn’t exploded. Maybe they had been low on fuel … or maybe they were just plain lucky. Manny’s shrieks died to moans, now barely audible. McGriffin felt sick to his stomach.

McGriffin swiveled around and surveyed the meadow. Now that his eyes adjusted to the dim light, the plane stood out against the mountains at the end of the meadow, a good quarter mile away.
It
was a C-130!
McGriffin held back a whistle of surprise. It started to come together—this was the bird from “Peterson Field” that had started tonight’s nightmare.

Turning on his buttocks, McGriffin spotted the hijacked HH-53. Its seven blades drooping in the starlight, the chopper sat a hundred yards from the C-130.

No one was around. Six white barrels dotted the field, laying in between the helicopter and plane. An unnatural stillness permeated the air.

McGriffin rocked back and waited. Another moan from Manny pierced the night—

A whistle alerted him. Slowly, a figure appeared from the C-130. It rushed to one of the white barrels. Two other figures picked themselves up from beside the barrel. An expletive. Then, “Hurry up. No telling when the next one will come.”

One of the figures kneeled. Grunting, he picked up a long tube. “What about the Stinger, Dr. Harding?”

“Keep it with you, you idiot. You’ll get just as little warning on the next attack.”

Two more figures emerged from hiding.

Then he heard a voice that floored him. “Do you think that was the helicopter hovering above Alpha Base?”
Vikki!
“There’s someone still alive on board.”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter anyway. After the nukes are all loaded, we’re leaving. So shut up and help.”

McGriffin strained to see through the darkness. The figures appeared as blobs. He was closer to the helicopter than the C-130, but was still at least fifty yards away.
Vikki.
It still seemed incredible—the hardest thing to accept was that she was a
part
of all this.

And from the tone of her voice, she obviously wasn’t a prisoner. It cut through him like a knife:
she was one of the terrorists
.

But through the disbelief, the reason why he was there reared its head: he had to stop the C-130.

Vikki’s voice shook him again. “Listen, Anthony. I don’t give a shit about putting any more of these nukes on board. You’ve got five already. How many more nuclear weapons are you going to need?”

One of the figures strode up and grabbed her arm. It was the one they called Dr. Harding. “I said, get to work. Every one of those containers is another hundred million in the bank. Ten more minutes, that’s all it’ll take.”

She shook off his arm. “And I’m not leaving another maimed body. For someone who’s fighting for peace, you sure as hell have killed your quota tonight. I’m pulling that guy out of the fire.” She stomped away.

“Yeah, and don’t forget about how you pumped poor innocent Britnell with lead, you bitch. What else are you going to do now? Screw that helicopter pilot after you save him?” He threw a rifle after her. It bounced on the ground and disappeared in the tall grass. “We’re leaving in ten minutes, with or without you.”

Vikki suddenly turned. She rummaged through the grass and found the rifle that had been thrown at her. Glaring, she stalked wordlessly away, toward Manny’s helicopter.

Harding turned to the others and barked out an order. “Hurry. Get these on board.” He pointed to one of the men. “Rev up the engines.” Throwing a glance over his shoulder at Vikki, he turned and put a shoulder to one of the barrels. He scowled, “Ten minutes and we’re out of here.”

He had a plan.

McGriffin waited as Vikki tromped past. She swept twenty feet from him. As her legs brushed through the grass, McGriffin crouched and followed her. He kept near enough so that his rustling would not stir the other terrorist’s suspicions, yet kept far enough away so that she couldn’t hear him.

As he followed, his back started to hurt. He tried to keep low in the foliage, but even the two-foot height of the grass couldn’t hide him entirely.

Vikki reached the helicopter. Placing her rifle in a bare spot, she glanced over her shoulder to the C-130. When she turned toward him, McGriffin hit the dirt and let out a muffled “ooof.” Sweat formed on his brow.

Vikki stepped to the burning chopper. She reached up and touched a metal piece that hung at a crazy angle to the ground. Stepping lightly up, she pulled herself onto the HH-53. Smoke rose around the craft’s periphery. An acrid odor of JP-4 and burnt plastic permeated the air. Manny’s moans had died to whimpers.

As Vikki poked around, McGriffin sat sweating, debating how to approach her.

She was his only ally, his only possible way to stop them. Without the helicopter to vector the fighters in, it was hopeless. But yet … if she was one of them, could he convince her to help him?

And if pigs had wings, they could fly.

Reality hit him smack in the face: he was kidding himself, molding her into what he wanted her to be. Vikki might be showing some soft side of her personality, but if she was
really
in on this raid—and if she’d really killed a man, as Harding had just said—he wouldn’t be able to change her mind. At least not in the next five minutes.

He inched away from the helicopter. His plan dissolved before his eyes.

Quickly turning, he started to make his way to the C-l30, back to where he might be able to do something to the plane—the fuel tanks, anything. If he had to, he could always pump a few rounds in the instruments and wing tanks in a suicide stand.