“Well, this is a strange and pleasant surprise,” Palcikas said. “The Americans appear to want Fisikous as much as we do.”
“What are we going to do, sir?” Zukauskas, Palcikas’ executive officer, asked. “Are they after us or the Soviets? Will they attack …?”
“We will find out right now,” Palcikas said. “Radio to all units: stay clear of the two aircraft over the security building. Continue to your assigned positions and await further orders. All other unidentified aircraft are to be considered hostile except for the two subject aircraft over the design center. They are to be monitored but not interfered with.” On the portable radio, Palcikas said simply: “Proceed as desired, gentlemen. Welcome to Lithuania.”
At that, the two tilt-rotor aircraft wheeled to the right in unison and lifted into the night sky. The first aircraft disappeared from sight while the second accomplished a tight turn around the security building inside the design-center compound.
“Should we monitor the first aircraft’s position, sir?”
“I think both aircraft will stay very close,” Palcikas said. “I want all units to monitor for signs of Soviet counterattack. It will do neither us nor the Americans any good to be caught unaware now. And the Soviets are coming. I can feel it.”
“I don’t fucking believe what we just did,” Gunny Trimble muttered— loud enough to be heard by everyone, but addressing no one except the shades of lucky Marines all throughout the Corps’ history.
McLanahan didn’t dare open his mouth, but inwardly he was beaming. Captain Snyder, the task-force commander aboard Hammer Three, had done what no one expected he would ever do: he had intentionally exposed both MV-22 aircraft to unknown, possibly hostile, forces. He had allowed the voice on the radio who claimed to be a Lithuanian Self-Defense Force general to see both secret special-operations aircraft, and even to position them the way he wanted. Snyder had ordered both SEA HAMMER aircraft to hover right in front of Palcikas and his men, in plain sight, with lights flashing, completely vulnerable to even light ground fire.
And it had worked. When that voice on the radio said, “Proceed as desired, gentlemen. Welcome to Lithuania,” the thrill of anticipation McLanahan felt was unbearable.
Lieutenant Marx was on the command radio talking to Snyder. He lowered the phone, stood, and balanced himself in the aisle so he could speak with everyone in the cargo section. “Listen up. Slight change of plans. The Captain doesn’t want any Hammer aircraft on the ground — too risky with all those troops hanging around. Also, the security building is still heavily occupied with Black Beret troops. The LZ security team will set up on the roof. Gunny Wohl, get your officers ready to fastrope. They’re going on the rooftop.”
“Hoorah,” Wohl yelled, pleased that he was going to see a bit more direct action instead of sitting with the security team near the MV-22. Wohl got to his feet and stood in front of McLanahan, Ormack, and Briggs, and withdrew a large canvas bag from an underseat compartment. “All right, sirs, the one-LT says we’re going on the roof. I showed you how we fastrope, and you’ve all tried it during training.
“Remember the briefing on this rooftop: it’s got only a two-foot rim,” Wohl continued. “Perfect for falling off. Just follow me. You’ll all have night-vision goggles, and the place will be illuminated by infrared lights. Don’t walk under the engine nacelles. If you get confused or disoriented, just drop to one knee and look for me. I’ll be looking for you.” From the canvas bag, Wohl withdrew several sets of thick leather-and-cloth “reactor” gloves, specially made for fastroping.
“Remember, you do everything the jumpmaster tells you — no more, no less,” Wohl said as he watched McLanahan and Ormack suit up. “There will be a Marine jumper on the rope across from you, so just watch him and descend with him. When he slows down, you slow down. If you freeze up, listen for me on the ground for distance calls, but continue your descent or you’ll be hanging from the rope when the aircraft climbs away. Got it?”
“Got it, Gunny,” Briggs replied, all fired up.
“I’m ready. Let’s do it.” McLanahan gave Wohl a thumbs-up, looking Wohl right in the eyes.
Wohl liked that. If there was any fear, Wohl could not see it.
Ormack too made eye contact with the Marine instructor, but he muttered his “Okay.”
“General, you up for this?”
Another slight reply and a nod.
“You better speak up, General, or you’ll be riding instead of jumping.”
Ormack raised his head. His eyes were round with fear, and his expression appeared pained, almost nauseated. But he answered, “Yes, I’m ready.”
Wohl nodded. He knew he should abort Ormack. He knew it. But there was going to be only one jump, and they had come too far for a little anxiety to jeopardize this mission. Wohl said, “Very good, sir. Remember your procedures, take a deep breath. You’ll do fine.”
As Hammer Four departed on a seven-minute orbit around the rural area south of Vilnius, Hammer Three swept around the security building from the east, the side of the building where intelligence reports and photoreconnaissance had shown there were more blocked windows and fewer offices.
For maneuvering and landing, the SEA HAMMER pilots and crew chiefs/door gunners wore a set of improved NVS-13 night-vision goggles, which gave them better depth perception for tricky landings and hard maneuvering. The copilot had control of the PNVS / NTAS system, which projected digital imagery taken from both the FLIR sensor and the attack radar onto his goggles; the copilot could aim the FUR and both the Chain Gun pod and Stinger rocket pod by simply moving his head.
“I’ve got two machine-gun nests on the rooftop!” the copilot shouted. He quickly slaved the steerable M242 Hughes Chain Gun pod to the FUR sensor with the press of a button. “Target!”
The pilot quickly searched the area on either side of the building. No other forces in sight. It would not be wise to have friendly troops nearby when the Chain Gun opened fire. “Jumpers clear the doors. Clear on the sides?”
“Clear left,” the left door gunner replied.
“Clear right.”
“Clear to shoot,” the pilot said. The copilot squeezed the trigger, and a stream of 25-millimeter bullets raked the rooftops, peppering the OMON machine-gun emplacements with pinpoint accuracy. Not expecting an attack from the air, the soldiers manning the nest could not raise their heavy machine guns fast enough to take aim at an aircraft, and they were forced to leap away from the hailstorm of hotdog-sized bullets showering down on them. The gunners on the second nest got off a few shots at the MV-22 with rifle fire, but the SEA HAMMER’s copilot quickly centered the gun on the second machine-gun nest, and it was destroyed seconds later.
“Enemy troops on the rooftop!” one of the door gunners shouted on the interphone as he watched the OMON troops alternately scurrying for cover and taking potshots at the SEA HAMMER in the darkness. “Taking ground fire. Target!”
“Clear to shoot,” the pilot repeated. The Marine door gunners sprayed rounds on the survivors from their door-mounted M134 Miniguns. A single two-second burst from the Minigun sprayed a cloud of one hundred 7.62-millimeter shells on the retreating troops.
The MASTER CAUTION light, a large yellow push-to-reset light in the top center of the instrument panel, snapped on. The big light commanded instant attention. The pilot reset it, then both pilots quickly scanned the instrument panel, looking for the malfunction. Another yellow caution light was illuminated on the center console: it read RT OIL PRESS. The copilot punched buttons on one of his multifunction displays and scanned the graphic engine instrument readouts. “Got it. Oil-pressure drop on the starboard engine,” the copilot announced. “Still in the green band, but two… now five PSI lower than the port engine.”