Wickham could hear the sound of the engines and beat of the rotors over the radio. He turned the volume down as far as it would go. The American agent knew the real worry was the Soviet gunships.
The senior agent turned to Dimitri and spoke reassuringly. “Seven m-miles out. Three minutes at the outside. Sweet Jesus, w-we’re going to make it! We’re going to make it, Dimitri.”
Wickham, using his left arm in a backwards motion, slapped the young agent across the shoulders in a gesture of friendship and elation.
Dimitri, half smiling, tears streaming down his cheeks, turned to Wickham. “W-we’re going home, we’re going home,” he choked.
“Snap out of it, Dimitri!” Wickham ordered, then continued. “Take off your coat and get ready to run. Your s-sole mission is to concentrate on getting into the chopper, okay?”
“Y-yes,” Dimitri replied, shaking violently, “that’s all I want to do.”
Wickham looked down the river at the inflatable raft. They had reached shore and the two dogs were leaping from the boat to the muddy edge of the river.
Wickham pressed the radio transmit key again.
“Scarecrow, Sandman. Urgent!”
“Copy, Sandman,” Higgins instantly replied. “Go!”
“Be advised,” Wickham paused, counting, “there are approximately forty, maybe fifty, ground troops around us, plus two helicopters.”
Wickham waited, without hearing anything, not even an acknowledgement, for ten, then fifteen seconds.
“Say type of helicopters,” Higgins said.
“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 ADF, then back to the INS. The ADF 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 spook 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 goin’ 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.