“You’re taking your damn time.”
There was no sense arguing with him. Bastian looked up as the door to his office opened again. Danny Freah stood there with one of his most serious expressions.
“With all due respect, sir, I’m advised by my security people that we’re speaking on an open line,” said Bastian.
“That’s not going to get you off the hook, Bastian.”
Dog was tempted — sorely tempted — to ask if Keesh thought he’d arranged the crash solely to make the Secretary look bad. But he merely told Keesh that he would keep him apprised through the proper channels, then hung up the phone.
“You’re not here about that line being open, are you?” Dog said to Danny, who was still standing in the doorway.
“They’ve lost contact with the Pave Low that Powder and Liu were on,” said Freah. “They think they went down. The storm’s pretty bad.”
“Excuse me, Colonel,” said Major Stockard, rolling up behind Danny. “Can I get in on this?”
“I don’t know that there’s anything to get in on, Jeff,” said Bastian.
“Nellis is asking for help in the search,” explained Danny, who obviously had already told Zen what was up.
“Raven and the Flighthawks can help,” said Stockard. “The IR sensors on the U/MFs are more sensitive than the units in the Pave Lows. We can get in through the storm while Raven stays up above.”
“We just lost two Flighthawks,” said Bastian.
“The Flighthawks had nothing to do with that,” said Jeff. He gave his wheels a shove, then pulled his hands close to his body as the chair rolled across the threshold, narrowly clearing the doorjambs. “We can be off the ground inside of thirty minutes. Twenty, easy. Raven’s ready to go. With the weather, the Flighthawks would extend our vision exponentially.”
“I don’t know Jeff. Those are our last two Flighthawks.”
“Why do we have them if we can’t use them?”
“You have to be tired as shit.”
“Screw that.”
Bastian folded his arms. If the Flighthawks ran into trouble in the heavy storm — and the weather report was anything but pleasant — Keesh would be unmerciful. Worse, the Flighthawk program might be set back six months or even longer.
But he had two missing men, plus two Whiplash team members and the crew of a Pave Low down. What was more important?
His men certainly. Unless you added in the lives of men who might be saved in the future by a squadron of Flight-hawks.
As for Secretary Keesh…
“SAR assets are strapped. They’re looking for help,” added Danny. “That was the only Pave Low available within a two-hundred-mile radius.”
“You sure you’re not tired?” Dog asked Jeff.
“Of course I’m tired,” said Zen. “But I’m not going to fall asleep now anyway.”
“Go for it.”
Chapter 51
Powder slogged his sodden boot up and over the rock outcropping, forcing his foot into the small crevice. Then he boosted himself over the razor-sharp diagonal, finally onto solid and relatively flat ground. The CIV and its helmet were heavy, but they did at least give him a pretty clear picture, even in these conditions — the helicopter sat on its side about a hundred yards away, its nose pointed down the opposite slope. One of its blades pointed into the air like a giant middle finger raised against the storm. The rain and sleet had turned back into snow, which had already piled about an inch high against the fuselage.
“Shit,” Powder told Liu, who was just clearing the ravine behind him. He pointed the flashlight attached to his wrist, showing Nurse the way.
“Light a flare,” suggested Liu, pointing left. “We’ll stage off those rocks if anything goes wrong.”
The night turned crimson-gray, the flare burning fitfully in the wet snow. They walked gingerly, unsure of their footing. The crash had forced the front of the helicopter’s fuselage together; Powder prepared himself for a gruesome sight.
He couldn’t see much at first. Liu climbed onto the chin of the helicopter, draping himself over it and then smashing at the side glass with his heavy flashlight and elbow. Powder took out another flashlight from his kit and clambered up.
Someone groaned inside.
“We’re here, buddy,” shouted Talcom. Adrenaline shot through him; he reached his fingers into the door frame and somehow managed to pry it open, the metal twisting as he did so. He got to his knees and then his feet, pushing the bent panel away with all of his weight. The mangled hinges gave way and the door flew through the air and into the snow.
The pilot and copilot were still strapped into their seats. Liu leaned in, slinking over the men to check on them.
“Pulses strong,” said Nurse. “Let’s take this slow in case they injured their backs.”
“Hey!” yelled a voice in the back. “Hey!”
Powder clicked the visor from starlight to infrared mode and scanned the dim interior. Fingers fluttered in front of a wall; the viewer made them look like worms in a lake, unattached to anything human.
The sergeant slipped the helmet back and yelled into the helicopter. “Yo!”
“Hello,” yelled Brautman. “Leg’s broke,” he added, his voice almost cheerful. “Otherwise, I’m cool except for whatever the hell is holding me down.”
It looked like a good hunk of the helicopter wall.
“You say the F word yet?” asked the flight engineer as Powder tried to push his way toward him.
“No way,” answered Powder. “You owe me ten.”
“Mission’s not done yet.”
“Need a pneumatic jack to get him out.” said Liu from somewhere outside the helicopter.
“Screw that.” Powder straightened in a small spot between the forward area and what was left of the rear compartment. He had enough clearance to sit upright, but still couldn’t see Brautman’s head. “I said ‘screw,’ not the F word,” he yelled back to the trapped crewman.
“I heard ya. You will.”
Powder backed out, gingerly climbing atop the wrecked helicopter. Liu stood on the ground near the door — the chopper body had been squeezed so tight it barely came to his shoulders. Moving forward on his knees, Powder looked for something to use to help lever the rear door off its rail. When he couldn’t see anything, he set himself at a forty-five-degree angle and managed to jerk the metal out in two loud rips, producing a two-foot-wide opening.
“I ate my Wheaties this morning,” he told Liu as he leaned back to rest. His arm felt like he’d pulled it out of its socket.
The helicopter creaked as he spoke. He straightened, then realized they were moving — not far, not fast, but definitely moving.
“We may slide down the slope,” said Liu.
“Shit,” answered Powder.
“Get the pilots out one at a time, ASAP.”
As Liu said that, he was already clambering back to the cockpit. He leaned in, trying to release the pilot from his restraints.
The helicopter slid some more, then stopped. Powder thought of trying to find something to prop it in place, but quickly dismissed the idea. He swung down and took the pilot’s body from Liu.
The pilot was heavier than he thought, and Talcom’s legs buckled as he carried the man toward the rocks they had pointed out before. The rocks didn’t offer much shelter, but they were easy to find in the swirling snow and sat on the other side of a large crack, which might — might — mean they were safe from the slide. Powder laid the pilot as flat as possible, then lifted the crash shield on his helmet to make sure he was still breathing. When the man opened his eyes, Powder nudged his cheek with his thick thumb, then closed the shield. He took off the CIV and smart helmet, placing them next to the pilot, and ran back to the Pave Low. Liu was just lifting the copilot out.