Black Flagged Redux (3 page)

The car continued for another minute and then slowed to a stop.

"I think we took a wrong turn. I need to look at the map to try and make sense of these dirt roads. This is the middle of nowhere," the driver said in broken Russian.

The driver opened the door and walked forward, unfolding a map. The front passenger joined him, and they flattened the map on the hood, examining it with a flashlight for a few seconds. Suddenly, the interior roof lamp bathed the car in a dingy orange light and the man in the rear passenger seat next to Anatoly started to exit the vehicle. He exchanged a few words in Arabic with the men huddled around the map and stuck his head back in the car.

"It's an old Russian map. They need your help reading it," Ahmad said.

"No problem," he said.

Reznikov opened the door to join the three Al Qaeda operatives, who were staring quizzically at a map that had given them no problems on previous occasions. As he approached, the new passenger pointed to an odd cluster of hills to the southwest.

"We're trying to figure out where we are. Can you see if those hills break apart in the middle? If they do, I know exactly where we are. You might have to walk down the road a bit," he said and went back to the map.

"Sure," Anatoly said and continued walking.

As he reached a point alongside the three men, he drew a compact GSh-18 pistol from a large flapped pocket on his dark brown overcoat and fired two 9mm hollow point bullets into each of their heads. He started with Ahmad, who faced him on the other side of the hood, and rapidly dispatched the remaining two extremists, before they had even straightened their bodies in response to the deafening noise.

In the reflected light of the car's high beams, he watched the mystery passenger's body slide down the side of the car, taking the blood and brain matter-stained map with him. Ahmad and the driver lay on the road next to the car. In the dusty illumination of the dropped flashlight, he watched Ahmad's left foot twitch erratically, until it slowed and stopped.

Satisfied that the men were dead, he returned to the car and opened the trunk. Inside, he found exactly what he had expected. A cardboard box filled with spray bottles of cleaning solvent and assorted rags. Like Reznikov, his "partners" had no intention of returning a blood-stained car to the rental agency at the Semey Airport. He took the cleaning supplies and grabbed the flashlight from the side of the road. He'd start with the larger brain pieces.

Chapter 2

1:24 AM

Caucasus Mountains

Southern Dagestan

Captain Vasily Tischenko fought with the controls as he tracked the infrared navigation lights of the lead helicopter through the incredibly tight, tree-lined canyon. His grainy perception of the scene through night vision goggles (NVGs) told him that he had plenty of room, and his limited experience flying similar missions validated the deceptive green image that flickered and changed without warning. He had supervised the detailed route planning with the other pilots and knew logically that the Mi-8MS "Hip's" rotors had ample clearance from the rocky, pine-covered sides of the small river valley, but he had long ago learned never to trust anything but his instruments while flying at night.

Unfortunately, the only useful information he received from his cockpit controls told him that he had one hundred feet between the helicopter and the ground, and the altimeter hadn't been installed with night-vision flying in mind. Normally, he could check the altimeter and trim gauges with a flicker of his eyes, but the night vision goggles severely limited his field of vision, requiring him to move his head and take his eyes off the helicopter ahead of them.

He despised flying with NVGs and relied on his co-pilot to check several instruments for him, most importantly, their route. His co-pilot monitored a recently installed low light GPS screen and called out their position relative to the calculated track, which gave him some reassurance that they wouldn't slam into the side of the valley. Tischenko figured that if the lead helicopter didn't crash and burst into flames, they would probably be fine on the approach. He had enough distance between them to avoid a deadly pileup.

As with all Alpha Group Spetsnaz operations, the pilots had been given scant details regarding the nature of the target, only the ingress and egress routes, timeline, and expected support tactics. Tischenko had only flown two other missions for Alpha Group, and one had been aborted thirty minutes into the flight. The other had been a fairly straightforward insertion, in an uncontested landing zone near Grozny.

Overall, Tischenko's year in Chechnya had been quiet, as most of insurgency had been quelled by the time his helicopter squadron had started its year-long rotation. This had suited him well. A ready supply of SA-7 "Grail" surface–to-air missile launchers had been distributed to the rebels by mutinous Chechen regiments, and dozens of helicopters had been lost in similar operations during the early years of the insurgency. Helicopter losses were a rarity these days, which gave Tischenko all the more hope that he would make it back to attend his daughter Elena's third birthday party.

The captain's stomach pitched as the helicopter unexpectedly dropped fifteen feet, and he nudged the collective to raise the 22,000 pound chunk of metal back to a steady altitude. He was careful not to overreact, since the close walls of the canyon would not be very forgiving of an overcorrection. The helicopter bucked again, and he repeated the process, fighting a sudden torque problem, as wind shears from his own rotor wash came back from the valley walls directly across his tail. He delicately applied pressure to pedals that controlled the tail rotor blade pitch, and kept the fully-laden assault helicopter pointed at the center of the Alpha One. He had fought thousands of these small aerodynamic battles since entering the river valley fifteen minutes ago, and could barely wait to get out of these narrow confines. He sensed no change to the vibrations of his helicopter, which settled his stomach…slightly. He could detect the slightest changes to his helicopter and could often detect a problem before the helicopter's own fault sensors.

He wished there was an easier route to their target, but he understood the need for their clandestine approach. Three helicopters were about to drop sixty Alpha Group "special operators" onto a single site, which meant their target was important and probably heavily defended. He figured they had another minute before banking hard left and dropping directly into the middle of the insurgent base.

Once he made the turn, his helicopter would be less than one minute from dropping twenty of Russia's most highly trained Spetsnaz into the darkness. There would be no room overhead to hover and provide cover fire for the commandos. They had been instructed to climb out of the valley and use the nearby hills for cover until the operation had concluded. If requested, one helicopter would return for close air support. Luckily for Tischenko, that task fell to Alpha One.

"One minute to Final Waypoint," the copilot said over the internal communications circuit.

Following standard procedure, the copilot flashed the muted dark red lights in the troop compartment, which would let the commandos know that their insertion was imminent. They knew the drill better than Tischenko's crew and would be moving around the compartment making last second preparations. His two gunners would start to spin the barrels of their GshG-7.62mm miniguns, in preparation for the short period of time they would be allowed to engage targets of opportunity on the ground. It would be the only support Alpha Group would receive from the air, and his gunners wanted to make it count.

Roughly one minute later, Tischenko watched Alpha One's shadowy green profile start to change as the massive helicopter banked left and disappeared behind the adjacent valley's rocky spur. He would execute the same turn and line up on Alpha One as soon as he was clear of the same tree-covered outcropping. He expected all hell to break loose when they accelerated into the hidden valley.

A few more seconds passed, and he could tell that his own helicopter had crossed into the secondary valley opening. He caught sight of Alpha One's infrared taillights through his night vision and adjusted the cyclic to put the helicopter into a sharp left turn. He steadied on Alpha One with a clever manipulation of his pedals and watched as the lead helicopter picked up speed, seconds away from inserting its team.

His copilot flashed the troop compartment lights twice in rapid succession, and Tischenko felt the helicopter jolt as the doors on both sides of the modified special operations helicopter slammed open, ready to disgorge their human cargo. He felt the crisp mountain air rush into the cockpit and fill his helmet. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, as Alpha One flared, and two thick ropes dropped from each side of the hovering black beast. Once the helicopter settled a few seconds later, figures started to rapidly slide down the ropes, and Tischenko tried not to count them. He needed to focus on the narrowing gap between his rotor blades and the trees, since reconnaissance photos and survey maps indicated a tight squeeze before the valley opened up into the perfect hiding place for a high value insurgent base.

He found his helicopter approaching Alpha One too quickly and reduced the forward cyclic, waiting for the lead helicopter to dip forward and speed away. Once Alpha One started moving forward, he would move Alpha Two into position for his turn. Given the tight fit within the valley and the limited flat ground near the insurgent base, mission planners had decided against trying to fit two helicopters into the LZ at one time, especially at night. One miscalculation could be catastrophic. Alpha One's miniguns started firing, sending continuous streams of green tracers into the darkness on both sides of the helicopter.

"There he goes," the copilot said eagerly, before Tischenko could process the fact that Alpha One was speeding away.

He generously pushed the cyclic, and the helicopter lurched forward. His copilot continuously called out the distance to the final Assault Point using the GPS system, which was accurate to one meter. Tischenko was a skilled pilot and brought the Mi-8MS "Hip" right into position, flaring at the last second to completely stop the helicopter's forward motion. As the helicopter settled, the first thing he noticed was the unmistakable sound of small arms bullets clanking into his helicopter. He couldn't hear the source of the gunfire, but one of the lower cockpit windows spider-cracked, followed by the window immediately to his left.

"Stable at Assault Point. Deploy Alpha Team!" he yelled into his helmet microphone.

"Alpha Team deploying," he heard.

His own helicopter's miniguns barked like buzz saws, spitting hundreds of 7.62mm bullets per second back into the insurgent positions. Through his peripheral vision on both sides, he saw thick streams of green tracers float away from his helicopter. They had a full-scale battle on their hands in this shitty little valley. Alpha One had warmed them up and escaped untouched.
Lucky motherfuckers
, he thought momentarily, before he immediately regretted the thought.

Alpha One had cleared the LZ and just started its ascent from the valley, when at least two flashes caught Tischenko's attention. The flashes came from the left side of the valley, and his mind didn't have enough time to process more of the scene before his night vision flared bright green, blinding him. He held the controls steady, as every natural instinct programmed into his body fought against him. The Spetsnaz team had already commenced fast-roping to the ground, and he could not break his hover. Any sudden changes to the aircraft's stability could hurtle one or more commandos fifty feet to their death. He had to settle himself and wait for the "all clear" from his crew chief, who was directing the fast rope operation. He pivoted the night vision goggles out of his face and took in the scene. What he saw gave him little hope of ever seeing his wife and daughter again.

Alpha One had activated its decoy flare system, which fired eight blinding magnesium flares into the air behind it, rendering his night vision equipment useless. The flares landed on the ground and completely illuminated the entire valley, including his own helicopter. He couldn't see Alpha One beyond the burning flares, but a crunching explosion and a billowing orange pillar of fire didn't leave much to Tischenko's imagination. He needed to get out of here before the insurgents could reload their rockets.

"Chief, how much longer?" he yelled into the helmet microphone.

"Half of the team is out. We're doubling up on the ropes. Five more seconds," came the abrupt reply.

One of the cockpit window panels above his copilot's head shattered, and a bullet ricocheted through the cockpit. Several more bullets struck the reinforced glass around them, which miraculously held. The miniguns belched sustained bursts of withering fire back at their targets as Tischenko counted the seconds aloud. Seven seconds later, his crew chief screamed through the headset that they were "all clear."

He decided to skip the low level egress route chosen by Alpha One and pushed the cyclic and collective together, favoring the collective. Alpha Two rushed forward, ascending rapidly. His IR missile sensors started to flash and a harsh tone blared in his headset, but he resisted the impulse to launch his own flares, knowing they would likely rain down on Alpha Three. The missile threat never materialized, and Tischenko's helicopter rose above the valley, racing for an adjacent range of hills. He could see enough without the night vision goggles to keep them safe for now, until they were inevitably called back into the valley to pick up the Spetsnaz.

"You need to redesignate helicopters, Captain," the copilot said.

"Standby," he said and opened a channel to the ground force commander and the other helicopter.

"Redesignate call signs. Flight Hotel Victor Four Three Two is now Alpha One. Flight Hotel Victor Four Three Three is now Alpha Two, over," he said.