Dragon Sim-13 (23 page)

Lemester watched warily as the pilot got out of the first chopper and walked over to him.

"Evening, sir. We'd appreciate it if your men could top off our birds and if you could find the four of us a quiet place to get some rest for a few hours. We're not leaving again until about a quarter after midnight local time. We'd also sure appreciate it if you could detail a couple of marines to keep people away from the inside of the birds. We've got a lot of classified gear on board."

Lemester designated one of his ensigns to escort the pilots to a stateroom. The short conversation with the pilot had done little to ease his disquiet. Lemester was also annoyed. First of all, the pilot hadn't introduced himself. Second, he wasn't wearing any identifying insignia, just a plain flight suit. Third, the man obviously felt that the captain of this ship didn't have a need to know what the hell was going on. Fourth, one of the pilots was setting up what looked to be a portable

SATCOM radio and sending a message right from the flight deck— without even asking. Lemester didn't fancy being treated as a floating gas station and hotel.

The pilot could have acted more friendly, Lemester fumed. He might have asked if Lemester had any pertinent information for them. For instance, it might be helpful to know about the radar along the Soviet coast off to the west. But if the pilot was too important and high speed to ask, then the hell with him. The captain turned and went back to his bridge.

Fort Meade, Maryland Thursday, 8 June, 1000 Zulu Thursday, 8 June, 5:00 a.m. Local

The buzzer on the computer woke Meng out of a fitful nap. He accessed the file and perused the message from the FOB.

CLASSIFICATION: TOP SECRET

TO: CDR USSOCOM/ SFOB FM/ MSG 56

FROM: FOB Kl

TEAM CONFIRMS PZ/ SAME PLACE/ SAME TIME/

READY FOR MISSION/ AWAIT FINAL GO/

DENSER STABLE/

CLASSIFICATION: TOP SECRET

Things sounded as though they were finally starting to go right. Meng had already received a message that the helicopters had arrived at the Rathburne almost twenty minutes ago. He typed in the confirmation of the PZ and transmitted it to the launch site in Misawa to be forwarded to the aircraft.

PZ Drable, Operational Area Dustey, China Thursday, 8 June, 1100 Zulu Thursday, 8 June, 7:00 p.m. Local

Olinski led Reese out into the open field. They left O'Shaugnesy back at the tree line in a morphine-induced unconsciousness. Despite the

best efforts of Comsky, blood was still seeping through the bandages covering O'Shaugnesy's stomach.

Using knives and a small folding saw, they began cutting down all the small trees and bushes more than a foot high. After an hour's work they had succeeded in clearing an area large enough for one helicopter to land safely. They gathered all the loose debris from the field and disposed of it twenty-five meters into the tree line, so it wouldn't be blown about when the helicopter landed.

Olinski then checked the wind direction. Out of the west. Using his knife he dug four small holes in the ground in the shape of an inverted y, with the stem pointing into the wind. There was a hole at the end of each stem and at the joint. A half hour prior to the scheduled exfiltration, Olinski would stake down an infrared chem light in each hole to mark the landing zone.

The team had an FM frequency and call signs for the aircraft, but they would be used only if absolutely necessary. Hopefully, the pilots would be able to find this small open area. Olinski didn't have much confidence in the navigational abilities of pilots, however. He'd have the PRC68 radio hooked to his vest, ready just in case he had to guide the aircraft.

Fort Meade, Maryland Thursday, 8 June, 1520 Zulu Thursday, 8 June, 10:20 a.m. Local

Meng knew he must send the final authorization code. Everything and everyone involved was committed. To back out at this point would simply result in his disgrace and punishment without any result. Looking at the headline on the front page of today's New York Times strengthened his resolve: "ARTILLERY FIRING IN SUBURBS ADDS TO TENSION IN BEIJING; MYSTERY ON LEADERS GROWS. ARMY CLASH DENIED." Meng scanned the article for the twentieth time, focusing on what he felt to be the critical parts.

The evening news program denounced as "purely rumor" the reports of fighting between military units near the military airport in southern Beijing. It also offered an unusual denial of a report that Deng Xiaoping, China's senior leader, had died.

"That's a sheer fabrication intended to poison people's minds," the newscaster said, without shedding any light on Mr. Deng's situation or whereabouts.

Not since the end of the Maoist period more than a dozen years ago has there been such confusion about the situation in the world's most populous nation. Today, even the most basic information— such as whether anyone at all is running China, or whether Mr. Deng is alive—is contested. None of China's leaders have been seen for 12 days or more, and there have been rumors of coups or assassination attempts against both Mr. Deng and Prime Minister Li Peng.

Meng put down the paper. The Old Men were teetering—he could feel it. Maybe all that was needed was a final push. Meng sat down at his computer keyboard and typed in the final authorization code word to the FOB.

Checkpoint 2, USS Rathburne Thursday, 8 June, 1530 Zulu Friday, 9 June, 12:30 a.m. Local

Right on schedule the two Blackhawks crawled into the sky, laboring under the load of more than sixteen hundred gallons of fuel. C.J.'s right hand was wrapped around the cyclic, which poked upright between his legs from the floor. With his left hand he held the collective, a lever set into the floor on the left side of his seat. Pulling up on the collective basically increased power, making the helicopter climb. Dropping it decreased power, making the helicopter descend. The cyclic controlled the attitude of the blades and was used for maneuvering. To add to the fun there were pedals (one for each foot) controlling the rear vertical rotor blades, which kept the aircraft in trim and flying straight, along with a throttle, which adjusted the fuel rate. Juggling cyclic, collective, pedals, and throttle made the helicopter perform. Each affected the others, which was why a helicopter was much more difficult to fly than a plane. Let go of the controls of an airplane and the plane will glide along, held aloft by the lift of its wings. A helicopter's wings are its rotor blades; let go of the controls and the helicopter tries to turn upside down and beat itself to death.

C.J. banked his aircraft smoothly to the northwest and headed for the shore. He adjusted the throttle for maximum fuel conservation, and they were on their way, skimming along at 130 knots fifty feet above the waves. One hundred and twenty kilometers of ocean and then the real fun would begin.

Surveillance, Target Dagger, Operational Area Dustey Thursday, 8 June, 1600 Zulu Friday, 9 June, 12:00 p.m. Local

ZEROFO URROGE RZEROF OURXXG OXXXGO

XXXGOX XXGOXX CMOPPE RSENRO UTEXXX

CMOPPE RSENRO UTEXXB ESTWIS MESAND

GOODLU CKDRAT TSXXXX

Riley read the message and smiled. They had the final go and the birds were coming. Outstanding, Riley thought. He had been afraid of a last-minute cancellation.

Everybody was in place. Devito and Lalli, armed with their RPGs, were positioned where the compound service road ran into the pipeline's service road. Chong and Trapp were along the tree line, off to the west. Trapp, with his SVD, would shoot out the southwest camera; Chong would provide local security for Trapp.

Riley, Comsky, and Mitchell would stay here at the surveillance point— Riley to shoot out the berm camera and Comsky to shoot out the southeast one. Hoffman and Smith were waiting with them, prepared to hit the target as soon as the snipers finished firing.

In the glow of the security lights from the compound, Riley could see the gleam of anticipation in the others' eyes. He was nervous but wouldn't show it in front of the team. He knew that everyone was nervous—and scared. Once they hit the target, the clock started. The hunt would be on. And Team 3 would be the hunted.

Natyn, Peter the Great Bay Thursday, 8 June, 1605 Zulu Friday, 9 June, 1:05 a.m. Local

Junior Lieutenant Omsk took his duties as watch officer very seriously. Senior Lieutenant Chelyabinsk had impressed upon him the importance

of maintaining a vigilant watch, since the American ship was circling farther out to sea.

"You never know. The Americans may attack you!" Chelyabinsk had told Omsk, laughing, before he retired to his captain's quarters for the night, leaving strict orders not to be disturbed.

Omsk didn't think it was amusing. He was a commissioned officer in the navy of the Soviet Socialist Republic. Enemies of the state were only one hundred kilometers away. Certainly that was nothing to laugh at.

Omsk had grown even more serious a minute ago, when the radar operator reported picking up two low-flying objects moving directly toward the Naryn. Objects coming from the direction of the American ship. The two blips would be flying by in only a few seconds. Omsk glanced down quickly at the 25mm-gun crew. He yelled at them to be prepared. They stared back at him stupidly.

As Omsk was debating about waking up Chelyabinsk, the first helicopter flew by only fifty meters off the port bow. Omsk didn't know what to do. He hadn't recognized the outline of the helicopter and didn't know if it was friendly or not. Then they saw the second helicopter.

Exfiltration Aircraft, Peter the Great Bay Thursday, 8 June, 1606 Zulu Friday, 9 June, 1:06 a.m. Local

Hawkins didn't even see the patrol boat as he flew by it. Flying lead for this leg, he was concentrating on trying to make out the shoreline through his goggles. His instruments told him that the coast should be coming up any second. The two helicopters had been switching off lead every thirty minutes to reduce fatigue.

He saw the ship only when its searchlight came on and probed the sky. The flare of the light exploded in his computer-enhanced goggles, causing them to shut down momentarily to prevent overload. At first, Hawkins thought he was being fired at. His helicopter dropped toward the surface of the ocean before he regained control. He turned slightly left to see what was going on, then saw the ship and the searchlight.

Jesus Christ! Hawkins thought. What the hell was a patrol boat doing here? Hawkins hit his right pedal, swung the tail of his aircraft toward the ship, and opened his throttle all the way, heading for the safety of the shore.

C.J., piloting the trail bird, had also been blinded. He'd seen the patrol boat in his goggles just a second before they blacked out. His first thought concerning the flash of light was missile launch!

C.J. immediately took the proper evasive action, diving down and toward the direction of the missile. This pointed his helicopter directly at the ship. The purposes of this maneuver were to turn the hot exhaust of the helicopter away from a heat-seeking missile, to present a smaller target, and to give the missile less time to react.

In the two seconds it took to tear off his goggles, he'd closed the two hundred meters between his aircraft and the ship. Looming in front of him were the searchlight and mast of the ship. C.J. frantically hauled back on his collective and jerked the cyclic to the right. He felt, rather than saw, his aircraft hit something. It shuddered momentarily, then the power was back and he was gone, slowly gaining altitude. He yelled at Yost to take the controls so he could put his goggles back on.

Natyn, Peter the Great Bay Thursday, 8 June, 1608 Zulu Friday, 9 June, 1:08 a.m. Local

Omsk stared in amazement as the second helicopter flew off into the dark night. He would have sworn that the helicopter was going to crash into the ship after he turned on the searchlight. It had passed only ten feet above his head, striking the radar mast. Looking up, Omsk could see that the mast had been severed just below the tip. Who were those fools? he thought, just as Chelyabinsk staggered onto the deck.

"What the hell was that?" Chelyabinsk roared.

"A helicopter," Omsk replied.

"What helicopter? Whose helicopter? What hit us?" Chelyabinsk barked out questions.

"I don't know, sir. There were two of them. They had no lights on. The first one kept going. The second dove right at us when I turned on the searchlight. We'd picked them up only a minute ago, coming from the direction of the American ship."

Chelyabinsk stopped yelling at his junior lieutenant. It was obvious that the man was ignorant. He ordered the ship's searchlight turned off.

Back in his cabin, Chelyabinsk sat down and tried to figure out what he would report. How the hell can I put together a report when nobody seems to know what happened? Probably some army pilots out of Vladivostok in training—maybe buzzing the American ship. That fool Omsk must have blinded the pilot by turning on the searchlight. I'm surrounded by idiots. Well, Omsk would pay dearly for the damage to the ship. I'll file the report when we get back to port, Chelyabinsk thought. The captain turned off the light and went back to sleep.

Changbai Mountain Range, China Thursday, 8 June, 1630 Zulu Friday, 9 June, 12:30 a.m. Local

"Fuck this shit. Let's go home."

C.J. turned his eyes momentarily from the mountains flashing by and glanced at his copilot through the goggles. He knew that the little wimp would chicken out when things got tough. He'd never liked flying with Yost and had complained to the captain several times, saying he didn't think Yost had the right stuff to make a flight like this.

"Listen, Yost, we're only three and a half hours out. Those guys will be waiting for us. We're going in."

"Bullshit, C.J. We had a blade strike at least. This thing could shake apart on us any minute. Plus somebody knows we're here now. We'll never get out. That ship will be waiting for us when we come back."

"So we come back south of there. No big deal."

"Come on, C.J. We'll never make it. Fuck those guys. Nobody will blame us for turning around. Not after hitting that ship."

As he flew, C.J. considered what Yost was saying. True, no one would blame them for turning around now. In training, a blade strike is considered an emergency that requires immediate landing, followed by replacement of the entire transmission of the helicopter, since a blade strike can cause damage to the gears. If the transmission seized up while they were flying, the UH-60 would have all the aerodynamics of a rock and would land accordingly.