Devil's Eye (40 page)

Chapter 40

Somewhere in the Egyptian Sahara south of Aswan a young American captain was standing in the turret of an M
‐
1 tank at the head of an armored column. His company was part of regular joint U.S.Egyptian military maneuvers in accordance with a treaty the two countries had signed in the wake of growing attacks on the Egyptian government by fundamentalists who were growing in numbers and increasingly well armed and organized in the perpetually volatile region.

The maneuvers were deliberately close to the southern border with Sudan as a pointed message to their government, which continued genocidal atrocities in its Darfur region despite international protestations. In the wake of resurgent fundamentalist terrorist attacks in unstable African countries, Sudan’s role as a source of support for such activity was very evident.

The American officer was cursing the searing sun and looking for a likely spot to halt and wait out the mid
‐
day heat.

“
Captain, a message from one of the tanks,” his radioman’s unexpected voice crackled in his earphones. “They came across something off their right flank.”

“
What? A mirage?” the captain replied impatiently. “There’s nothing out here.”

“
No, sir. Rotor blades. Broken helicopter blades sticking out of the sand. And part of a fuselage.”

“
Sounds like somebody’s lost a chopper,” the captain acknowledged with increased interest. “Is it one of ours?”

“
They can’t tell, sir,” the radioman replied.

“
Okay. We may as well stop right here,” the captain decided. “Pass the word. We’ll bivouac here. Advise the Egyptians.”

The captain looked up at the broiling sun bearing down on them unobscured by a single cloud. “We’ll get a digging party together as soon as this sun lets up.”

Meanwhile radio communications between the column and military headquarters in Cairo became the focus of attention. The maneuvers had been tedious and routine, but the helicopter in the sand presented a genuine mystery—a focus of interest—something to shake the boredom of routine maneuvers, especially when the joint headquarters command radioed from Cairo: “No missing helicopters in area.”

The American and Egyptian commanders were ordered to secure the site and not begin digging until a technical specialist team arrived.

Colonel Nicholas Vandergaard, commander of the U.S. force, pulled up to the lead tank in his sand encrusted Hummer command vehicle. “Captain Stallworth!” he called out. “Since your men found this thing, we’ll have them dig out this chopper. If you need help, let me know.”

“
Yes, sir!” the captain replied.

“
Since they’re sending out an intelligence team, I don’t need to tell you that you’ll have to dig carefully,” the commanding officer explained. “They must have some particular interest in this thing, because there’s no reports of friendly losses. Not for some time. Especially not around this godforsaken area.”

“
Yes, sir,” the captain acknowledged.

“
Carry on, Captain!”

“
Very well, sir!”

Two Air Force Intelligence officers had been dispatched to the scene and arrived at dusk. Colonel Vandergaard introduced them to his Egyptian counterpart and presented them to Captain Stallworth, who had prepared the area for digging. The spot was obvious from the huge canvas canopy that stretched above the scene, held up by three telescoping poles and the turret of one of the tanks. Another tank equipped as a bulldozer and a heavy crane for towing disabled tanks were parked near the exposed blades and section of exposed fuselage.

The scene was lit with a battery of lights mounted on several tanks. Since the maneuvers were meant to be as visible as possible, the intense lights illuminating the barren desert were a conspicuous calling card for the Sudanese and any Middle East governments that cared to get the message. The nighttime activity was a relief to the soldiers, who would not have to dig in the scorching sun.

“
Let’s see what we have,” one of the intelligence officers said as a group of officers and soldiers approached the twisted blades protruding from the sand.

“
From the looks of these rotors, I’d say it’s a big one,” said Major Michael Lee to his companion.

“
A transportation helicopter or a troop carrier,” suggested Major Thomas Billingsly.

The intelligence officers were speaking as much to the nearby soldiers of the armored company as to each other, good naturedly flaunting their knowledge of aircraft from barely identifiable pieces of metal.

“
It’s buried on its starboard side,” Major Lee continued. All the soldiers around him could accurately surmise that much.

Major Lee knelt down near the exposed fuselage and brushed some sand away with his palm.

“
Eastern bloc,” he said matter of factly. “The rivet work is functional, but not aesthetic.” He stood up and rubbed sand granules from his hands. “If it’s not Egyptian, it could be one of the other client states of the old Soviet Union.”

“
Shall we start digging, sir?” Captain Stallworth prodded.

“
Uhh, yes,” replied Major Lee. “Dig toward the front here so we could find a hatch. This could be a big sucker and your men won’t appreciate digging the whole thing out with shovels. Let’s see if we can get inside. Then we’ll know if we need to be careful or if we can just bulldoze the thing out.”

Captain Stallworth motioned his men to dig where the Major was pointing.

After some strenuous digging the soldiers uncovered an air intake for turbine engines.

“
Holy shit! This thing
is
big,” Major Billingsly declared. “We’re still near the main rotor shaft.”

“
If it’s laying on its side, a hatch ought‘a be over there somewhere,” Major Lee said.

The soldiers dug farther away from the rotor shaft where the Major was pointing. Each shovel seemed to be thrust with eager anticipation until finally one soldier hit glass. “A porthole, sir!”

“
All right! Let’s concentrate over here! Right here!” Major Lee shouted enthusiastically. “The main hatch should be right here. This looks like one of the biggest choppers the Soviets ever built.”

“
A Mil,” Major Billingsly offered.

“
Bingo!” replied his intelligence companion.

“
I’d hate to have to dig this out by hand,” Major Lee told the captain in charge. “If it’s an Mi 6 or 10, it’s more than thirty meters long and nine meters tall.”

“
There were only about five hundred of these babies built,” Major Billingsly told Captain Stallworth and the men around him. “It had the biggest rotor system of its time and set world records in speed and payload.”

“
NATO designation ‘Hook’,” Major Lee added. “The rotors and shafting were tremendous. Its gearbox alone weighed more than three tons, more than both its engines. It had little wings to help with lift.”

“
What would it be doing out here, sir,” Captain Stallworth asked the obvious.

“
Good question,” the intelligence officer replied. “It depends on how long it’s been here.”

“
It first flew around Nineteen fifty
‐
seven,” Major Billingsly said. “So, by the time it passed into client hands like the Bulgarians, North Vietnamese, or in this case, Syrians or Iraqis, I’d say it would have to be of pretty recent vintage.”

“
I’m still not convinced it can’t be Egyptian,” Major Billingsly added for good measure. “I’m not sure some of these local militaries keep such good inventory or know what’s going on in their own forces...” He quickly caught himself to see if any Egyptian officers were within earshot.

“
Well!” announced Colonel Vandergaard who had come with his Egyptian counterpart upon the brightly lit circle highlighting pieces of rotor and fuselage exposed in the sand and surrounded by a tight ring of curious soldiers. “The only way we’ll know anything is if we dig. So, let’s end this speculation and find out what we have here. A little muscle exercise trumps intellectual exercise in a case like this.”

“
Right on! Yo! and Yes, sir!” echoed anonymously among the soldiers in support of their commander’s retort to the intelligence officers.

Soon the digging party had uncovered the forward hatch of the helicopter. When it was completely exposed they stepped back. The soldiers look warily at the hatch, wondering what was inside this flood
‐
lit entrance made eerie by the darkness of the desert around it.

“
Who wants to check it out?” asked Major Lee.

“
Well, sir. They sent you gentlemen here especially…” Captain Stallworth began.

“
You got some ‘night eyes’?” Major Billingsly cut in. “Let’s open the hatch and get to it.”

Sounds of approval erupted from the troops, while several soldiers grappled with the hatch. They opened it without too much effort.

The floodlights were enough to illuminate the pilot still strapped in his seat, hanging downward toward the co
‐
pilot’s seat. The co
‐
pilot was missing. A hint of the stench of death emanated from within. The heat and dryness of the desert were kind to those it claimed and entombed in its shifting sands. So much so, that it was difficult to say how long the helicopter had been there.

“
I see the pilot, poor soul,” said Major Billingsly as he looked into the cockpit with his night vision goggles. “Can’t make out his features, but he’s pretty well preserved. Co
‐
pilot’s gone. If his harness broke on impact, maybe he’s farther down.”

The major looked towards the opposite hatch directly below him. He saw the crumpled form of a figure.

“
The co
‐
pilot’s down there too. He’s lying on the starboard bulkhead.”

Major Billingsly sprawled onto the fuselage next to the open hatch, lowered his head and peered deep into the cargo area. “Looks empty back there. No troops. No equipment.” He scanned back and forth with his goggles.

“
Wait a minute! I think I can make out something—one, maybe two men! We’ll need to go inside with more light. These goggles don’t give me enough detail.”

Minutes later he was gingerly stepping inside the cockpit of the huge helicopter lying on its side. Major Billingsly used the side of the pilot’s seat as a step, then carefully placed his other foot on the side of the co
‐
pilot’s seat as another step. As he did so, he brushed against the shoulder and head of the pilot’s remains. He heard a scurrying sound and quickly looked toward it. Two scorpions darted into openings of the shattered instrument panel.

A chill coursed through the major’s spine. What if there were snakes here too?

“
Let’s get some more light down here!” he shouted. Meanwhile, he did not move. He stood on the side of the co
‐
pilot’s seat with the dead pilot’s head and right shoulder resting against his calf. The major tried not to think about it.

Someone from above shined a beacon into the cockpit. The Major recognized by the windowed bomber
‐
like nose that this was likely an Mi 6. He looked all around him to be sure there were no other living creatures nearby as he waited for more illumination and for someone to join him in this cavernous tomb to alleviate his sense of unease.

“
We’ll rig up a rope ladder!” Major Lee said. “We’ll send down a party with pallets and body bags. How many do you need?”

“
About three or four at this point!” his intelligence partner replied. “I don’t know what’s back in the payload area. This thing can carry about seventy troops.”

A rope ladder dropped next to him and he felt his way onto it. Alongside it was a rope with a heavy duty flashlight attached. Billingsly undid the flashlight and aimed it downward as he climbed. After several more steps he was on the starboard bulkhead of the helicopter, where he now looked for footing. He fixed his light on the crumpled figure at his feet. The co
‐
pilot was huddled with his face turned away from the Air Force intelligence officer, as if looking at the instrument panel. The major panned around the body, which was dressed in a khaki flight suit. It looked old fashioned.