The boots, made from alligator, cinched it for Zen.
As Zen swung the Flighthawk over the airport again, he told the computer to push the infrared sensor settings to their maximum setting. The Megafortress was a dull brown in the screen — the engines weren’t on.
“I don’t think she’s fueled,” he told Colonel Bastian. “Nobody aboard.”
“You think we could land and pick them up?”
Zen was just about to tell him that was too crazy an idea when McNamara broke in.
“Radar up!” warned the copilot. “One of the Hawk missile batteries.”
Zen mashed the throttle as the radar-warning indicator showed that he was being targeted.
“Out of there, Zen,” Dog said. “Everybody hang on.”
“Missiles in the air!” shouted McNamara.
Chapter 54
Danny Freah could see the shadow of the derrick in the distance, rising up over the platform a few miles away. The Dreamland Quick Birds had made good time getting here.
A good thing, too. The helicopters were many things — fast, reliable, heavily armed — but comfortable they were not. Their seats had about as much padding as a metal washboard.
Danny pulled on his smart helmet, which allowed him to communicate with the rest of his team and the helicopter pilots. The helmet’s visor included a panel that could be used to display feeds from video and infrared cameras at the top of the helmet, as well as images from other team members and an array of sensors.
“All right, we do this the way we drew it up,” Danny told them. “Team one rappels down, then team two. We secure the facility, make sure the roof can take the helicopters’ weight, then land. Questions?”
Danny waited for Boston’s wisecrack. He was almost disappointed when it didn’t come.
“Sergeant Liu, we, ready?” he asked Liu, who was heading team two in the second chopper.
“Ready, sir.”
“All right, pilots, your move.”
Unlike conventional helicopters, which used tail rotors to help them maneuver and remain stable in flight, the Quick Birds used a system similar to the “Notar” McDonnell Douglas had developed for the MD 530N version of the basic design. The innovative design made the small helicopter even more maneuverable, and the pilot was able to swing in close to the large metal framework as he and Danny gave it the once-over.
“Let’s do it,” said Danny.
The three men who’d been sitting in the rear compartment had already readied their ropes, anxious to get out of the cramped quarters of the scout. Danny was the last one down, his boots clunking on the metal roof of the small building that sat above the double deck of the platform. Just as he let go of the rope he lost his balance; he managed to pitch back and fall on his butt — undignified, but far better than falling on his face, and light-years ahead of going off the side.
“First deck is secure,” said Sergeant Geraldo Hernandez. “Bison, where are you?”
“Yo, right behind you,” answered Sergeant Kevin “Smokes” Bison.
“Going downstairs.”
Danny felt the rush of wind from the second helicopter overhead as he jumped down off the roof. He checked the time on the status bar at the bottom of his smart. They had about ten more minutes to decide whether the helicopters were staying or not; after that, the mission plan dictated that the choppers head back to the Philippines and return later in the day. Even the Dreamland helos couldn’t carry enough fuel to linger very long.
The door to the enclosed office and rest area was locked. Danny drew his pistol, and fired once point-blank at the lock. The bullet had a specially designed metal slug as its payload; it worked like a sledgehammer, removing the lock.
MP5 ready, Danny sprung the door open with his foot, staying back in case there was a reaction. After a few seconds, Sergeant Jack “Pretty Boy” Floyd inserted a telescoping wand with a fish-eye camera into the open space; it fed a shadowy image into their smart helmets.
“Clear,” said Pretty Boy.
Danny moved quickly into the large room, still on edge. A beach chair sat on the far wall; a bag of clothes or linens was nearby it. There were two open doorways on Danny’s right. The smart helmet sensors couldn’t see very far into the rooms.
“Right first,” said Danny. Pretty Boy checked both rooms with the telescoping eye; both were clear, as was a shower and restroom area inside the second room.
The rest of the team, meanwhile, landed. Sergeant Liu had begun inspecting the interior of the building.
“Bad news, Cap — this’ll never hold the helicopters. There’s supposed to be braces here,” said Liu, pointing at the wall area. “This is just Sheetrock through here. We’re lucky this held us.”
Danny went over to it. The plans that he had seen showed a trio of thick girders running across the center of the building area, and the plan notes had indicated that the roof was strong enough to brace an additional deck or helipad.
“Guess they don’t believe in building inspectors in this part of town,” quipped Boston.
“Shit,” said Danny. He glanced at his watch — three more minutes. “I’m going to check that dock area we saw,” he told Liu.
“Want me to watch your back?” asked Boston.
“Secure the two decks and see if you can figure out the electric situation. That generator is supposed to be on the first floor somewhere.”
Chapter 55
Dog instinctively threw the Megafortress into a hard zag as soon as the missile warning sounded.
“Tracking us,” said McNamara.
“ECMs. Break it.”
“Trying.”
The HAWK MIM-23 was an excellent anti-aircraft missile, but it was an American weapon and in theory it should be easy for the electronic counter measure system to confuse. Theory and practice weren’t quite the same thing, however. McNamara reported that one of the missiles was continuing toward them, its speed closing in on Mach 2.5.
“Hang on,” shouted Dog, and he put the Megafortress onto her wing, just barely ducking thé missile. The computer complained that he had exceeded flight parameters and tried balancing the different forces, working hard because of the second Flighthawk that was still attached to the right wing. The Hawk exploded off the right wing and the Megafortress slipped into a spin, her momentum corkscrewing around, and the aircraft’s wings lost her grip on the sky. A second missile exploded nearly a half-mile away, but now gravity and momentum were much more worrisome enemies.
Dog had learned to recover from spins very early in his training as a pilot, but the sharp smack of gravity multiplied by the harsh twist of surprise made his hand slow to respond. His head felt as if it were being forced to the left; he fought it at first, concentrating on his skull rather than the aircraft. It was only a moment’s hesitation, but had they been much lower, it might have been fatal. Finally Dog’s instincts and training came through; he stopped worrying about his head and was able to move with the plane, willing it under control and pulling up as the altimeter dipped down just below a thousand feet.
“Shit,” managed McNamara as they started to climb. Dog looked right; his copilot was holding his left arm, which he’d smacked up during the plummet. “I think I broke my arm.”
“Target the HAWK control van,” Dog told him.
“There’s a backup”
“Both of them”
“If we do that, we won’t have any bombs left for the plane on this run,” said McNamara.