Defcon One (1989) (36 page)

Gunships. Havocs, I believe, Wickham responded. I think they're low on fuel. Wickham looked up at the Russian Mi-28 crossing the river.They've been out here for quite a while.

Good, Higgins replied. Hang in there. Sandman. We're almost there! We're tryin' to, Wickham said, watching the six advancing spetsnaz troops and their dogs.

Chapter
Sixteen.

Buchanan and Higgins rapidly scanned the A.D.F, then back to the INS.

The A.D.F needle pointed straight ahead, not wavering.

The inertial nav showed 3.4 nautical miles to the rendezvous point.

Buchanan glanced at Higgins with a look of resignation, then pushed his intercom switch. This is for real, guys. Don't screw the pooch.

You got it, skipper, Oaks replied, looking at Lincoln, the

paramedic-turned-door gunner.

Buchanan leaned toward Higgins. Ask Sandman his exact position, and see if he can describe the disposition of the ground pounders, Buchanan said, as he started slowing the agile Night Hawk.

Sandman, Scarecrow, Higgins radioed, watching the mileage wind down in the INS.

While Higgins awaited the information from Wickham, Buchanan talked to the other pilots and crews over a separate radio.

Scarecrow Flight, listen up! Buchanan ordered the other two command pilots. I'm slowing to ninety knots at this time, going to approach from one mile upriver. We've got two gunships and approximately fifty grunts on top of our troops.

Two, Barnes replied in clipped fashion.

Three! Charbonnet responded, highly charged from the airborne engagement.

Two, you jump the gunships, Buchanan ordered, and Three, you strafe the troops.

Two, Barnes replied, rechecking his cannon.

Three will take the troops, Charbonnet responded, adding power to close on his leader.

Two, you break off now and hit the gunships broadside, Buchanan instructed his old friend.

Copy, Buck, Barnes said. Here we go.

Three, you stick with me and keep their heads down while I go in, Buchanan ordered Scarecrow Three.

Right on your tail, Charbonnet replied.

Higgins pressed the intercom switch. Most of the troops are on the east side of the river between the road and the riverbank.

Beautiful, Buchanan replied. Are the gunships in the air or on the ground?

Our man says they're airborne, apparently circling the area at a leisurely pace, Higgins answered, then remembered the important part of the message. The Spock confirmed there are two of them, but they're on the opposite side of the river from the planned pickup point.

How the hell did that happen? Buchanan didn't wait for an answer, knowing it was category three information at this stage of the rescue.

We'll just have to grab 'em the best way we can. I may not be able to land, so we better prepare to haul 'em in from a hover or use the ladder.

Yeah, no problem, Higgins answered. Ah ... one other detail.

Buck. They've got troops and dogs closing on them on their side of the river.

Jesus! Buchanan replied. This is turning into a major cluster-fu The pilot's statement was cut off as Scarecrow Two, traveling at a high rate of speed, flashed into view spewing cannon shells at the Russian helicopters.

Buchanan and Higgins were stunned, not expecting Barnes to engage the Russian gunships as quickly as he had. The sky seemed to glow brightly under the overcast as various weapons opened up amid the confusion.

We're coming up to the river now, so let's pick it up, Buchanan radioed Charbonnet.

' Three is accelerating. Got you in sight, Charbonnet replied as he lowered the nose of his Sikorsky to gain more speed.

I've got the river.

Scarecrow Two rocketed between the two Soviet helicopters in a hail of ground fire.

Okay, Jim, check your switches, Buchanan ordered. I'm going' to need a lot of suppression.

We're hot, Charbonnet responded, rechecking his arming switches. I see the major concentration of troops.

Buchanan keyed his intercom. Gunny, you engage the troops on the far side of the river while Steve handles the guys closing on our agents.

Will do. Major, Oaks replied, giving Lincoln a reassuring thumbs up gesture.

I've got a tally! Buchanan said over the radio. Pete, try to work 'em on the east side!

Best ... we ... can ... Buck, Barnes groaned, obviously under stress from the violent maneuvers he was performing.

Bastards. Pretty quick!

Higgins was yelling over the discreet frequency to Wickham.

You'll have to guide us over your position, copy? The copilot couldn't hear amidst the clattering of the machine guns. Speak up!

We can't hear you! You'll have to guide us in!

PING!!

THUD!

Two rounds hit the aft left side of the main cabin. One penetrated the fuselage, missing Lincoln by three inches, while the other ricocheted upward into the rotor blades.

We're takin' rounds. Major! Oaks said over the intercom.

Big stuff. Better slow it down! Higgins told Buchanan, pointing to a spot across the river from the planned rendezvous point.

There they are ... I think.

Yeah, I have 'em, Buchanan responded. Shit! The grunts are almost on top of 'em.

Buck, Higgins glanced at the commander of Scarecrow One. This don't look so good.

Launch the Vikings. Launch the Vikings, blared the flightdeck loudspeakers as the catapult crews hustled out from under the two S-3B ASW aircraft.

The twin engine jet on cat number one roared down the pitching deck, lifted off, and started a turn to the right as the landing gear retracted. Seconds later, engulfed in a cloud of catapult steam, the second Viking streaked into the air and turned to rendezvous with the leader.

Two additional Lockheed S-3Bs taxied into position on the forward catapults. The four VS-30 Sea Tigers would join up five minutes after the last sub-killer was airborne.

Each Viking carried four depth bombs internally plus two bombs on the wing pylons.

Hummer, Fishhook Seven-Oh-Seven, flight of four, Lt. Cmdr. Spencer Rainer radioed the Hawkeye.

Fishhook, we've got the coordinates and the clearance.

CINCLANT authorization.

We're ready, Hummer.

Rainer listened to the controller while his copilot copied the coordinates for two of the three Soviet submarines, then read them back.

That's affirm. Fishhook, the Hawkeye controller said.

Seven-Oh-Seven and Seven-Oh-Four will take target one.

Seven-Oh-One and Oh-Six take target two. We are vectoring two P-3s at the third target.

Rainer keyed his radio. 'Four, let's come starboard one-zero-five.

Roger.

One and Six, Rainer continued, we'll see you at the boat.

Ah ...roger, the second section leader radioed, leading his wingman to the second submarine. Good fishing.

Rainer clicked his mike twice in acknowledgement, then keyed the ICS.

I don't know what the hell is going on, but we're stepping into deep shit.

THE AGENTS Dimitri lay spread-eagled in the shrubs as Wickham frantically gave instructions over the small radio.

You're about a hundred fifty yards away! Straight ahead, along the shore, Wickham yelled into the radio. He looked around at the advancing spetsnaz troops. They had spread out and were firing at the approaching Night Hawk.

Dimitri, Wickham shouted, fire in the vicinity of the troops! The ones off the boat!

Wickham pulled out his Beretta and aimed in the general direction of the advancing Soviet troops. Even if the agents didn't hit the Russians, the rounds whining overhead would keep the troops at bay, or at least slowed.

You're only a hundred yards away, Wickham shouted into the radio.

Straight ahead!

The high-powered round ricocheted off a tree two yards from the agents, causing both men to drop prone on the frozen ground.

Dimitri, Wickham barked, start crawling toward the chopper. GO!

GO!

Dimitri dropped his weapon and started crawling on his hands and knees.

Wickham turned toward the Russians, then froze in panic when he saw one of the killer dogs snarling twenty feet away.

The animal had hesitated for a split second.

Oh, shit, the agent said quietly as he gripped the Beretta with both hands, aimed at the middle of the dark, growling canine, and squeezed the trigger.

The Dobennan staggered backwards, emitting a mournful howl, then fell over a stump and died.

Wickham fired the remaining rounds at the advancing Russians, then dropped the Beretta and started crawling after Dimitri.

Keep movin'! GO, Wickham yelled to the struggling figure in front of him.

Wickham caught the flare of an explosion, then felt the concussion, as a helicopter thundered into the ground next to the roadway. He fervently hoped it wasn't an American chopper.

Sandman! Sandman! Higgins urgently radioed, trying to expedite the rescue effort. We've got to set down here. It's the only clear spot.

Can you make it?

Wickham looked up, judged the distance to be sixty yards, at most, then frantically keyed his transmitter. Yeah! On our way. We need cover fire!

The CIA agent grabbed Dimitri by the collar. Come on!

GO! GO! RUN, Wickham shouted, racing for the settling Night Hawk.

Run, Dimitri!

Fifty yards, Wickham judged as the two men stumbled through the low shrub trees. Their numbed appendages refused to respond in a coordinated fashion.

Forty yards! Just forty yards, Wickham shouted to Dimitri.

His arm and shoulder shot excruciating pain through his body every time his right foot hit the ground. Wickham forced his mind to block the pain as he stumbled through the shrubs, limping, in a crouch to reduce the target area.

Buchanan saw a stream of fire trailing along another helicopter on the far side of the river. He took his eyes away to orient himself, then glanced back to see tracer rounds continue to pour from the stricken gunship as it slowly rolled over and flew into the muddy river.

RUN! RUN, Lincoln screamed as Wickham fell over the back of Dimitri.

Move it! GO, Wickham cried breathlessly as parts from the crashed helicopter rained down amid the chaos.

Twenty yards, Wickham shouted to Dimitri, then forcefully shoved the young CIA operative.

An automatic weapon opened up from the far side of the river, kicking up pieces of shrub tree immediately behind Scarecrow One.

Blackie Oaks returned fire with his Me0 machine gun, silencing the heavy weapon, then sprayed the entire riverbank with tracer rounds.

Major, Oaks shouted over the intercom. Three is in the river! Some got out!

Buchanan yelled over the intercom. Keep 'em covered, Gunny!

Oaks answered with a hail of machine-gun fire directed back and forth over the downed Night Hawk.

Wickham and Dimitri reached the side of the Sikorsky as Lincoln jumped out to assist in boarding. The rotor wash was like a hurricane, whipping everything into a blur of dust and weeds.

Dimitri fell, picked himself up, then reached for the door as Lincoln thrust him bodily into the cabin. Wickham shoved on Dimitri, too, as the young agent rolled sideways into the fuselage.

Wickham reached up, grabbed the door, lifted his leg, then stopped in mid-stride as if someone had hit him in the back with a sledgehammer.

He fell into the side of the fuselage, then rolled on his side, moaning.

Lincoln grabbed the agent and yelled for Gunny Oaks. Buchanan was shouting into the cabin as Oaks leaped out to help Lincoln get the CIA operative into the helicopter.

What about Three? Higgins shouted to Buchanan as the pilot added power and pulled up on the collective. We can't leave them here.

Goddamnit! I know that, Buchanan shot back, raising the Night Hawk into the air, then pivoting around to face the river as Oaks scrambled aboard after Lincoln. Wickham was lying face down on the floor, bleeding profusely from the back wound.

Pete, cover me while I try to get Jim's crew out, Buchanan ordered as he eased the Sikorsky toward the far riverbank.

Roger, Barnes replied. We've got a Hind down. The other is running.

Stay in there, Buchanan said, turning the Night Hawk so Lincoln would have a better view of the downed crew. Pete, spray the shoreline left of the gunship wreckage, the one you bagged.

Will do, Barnes radioed as he swept low over the river in a forty-five degree bank, then pulled up steeply in preparation for a strafing run.

Buchanan could clearly see the crashed S-70 as he crossed the riverbank.