“All the gauges appear to check out,” Moshenko answered.
Already grinning, Grant purposely looked at his friend, as he said, “Then let’s boogie on outta here!”
“I will ask you later about this ‘boogie’ thing,” Moshenko responded.
Chapter 10
A piercing, double ring from the phone jolted him from a deep sleep. Gorshevsky rolled over in bed, fumbling for the phone. “Yes?”
“Sir, this is Mikhail. I have news.”
Gorshevsky reached for a light switch. He squinted and blinked when the light came on. Resting on his elbow, he said, “I am listening.”
“We received word from Defense Minister General Alexi Boyra that one of our helicopters, a KA-27, was commandeered during the night from a maintenance facility near Shelkovka, sir.
“Guards reporting for duty found the men they were replacing, bound and gagged. Their only means for contacting General Boyra was by using a radio from one of the aircraft. Apparently, the attackers destroyed the communication equipment.”
“Go on,” Gorshevsky said, as he threw off the covers, then swung his legs over the side of the bed.
“The guards reported the facility was overrun by a number of attackers. One comrade was killed. According to these men, only one of the attackers spoke, although very little. We can only assume these guards are telling the truth, sir.”
“Mikhail, do you believe the ones who took the aircraft were the same individuals reportedly seen at Domodedovo?”
“The coincidence is too great, sir. A small truck was found abandoned just outside the facility’s grounds. No identification, nor plates were found with the vehicle. One peculiar piece of information is that two holes, one on each side in the back of the truck, were discovered. It appears that someone was trying to get more air inside. We haven’t determined what type of explosive was used.”
“As if someone were transporting passengers,” Gorshevsky commented with disgust.
“Yes. Passengers.”
“Have you succeeded in tracking the individual or individuals who may have planted the device?”
“We are interrogating two, sir.”
Gorshevsky stepped across the room, then lowered a window. “And what of Colonel Moshenko?” he asked, walking back to the bed, feeling bile creeping up to his throat.
“It will be some time before we have a total body count from the wreckage. In the meantime, that leaves two other possibilities we must consider: First, Colonel Moshenko was taken prisoner, and two, he may have defected, and it was he who leaked the information about the Americans.”
“Do you realize what you are saying?” the premier’s voice boomed.
“I do, sir, but as I said, those are only possibilities, and we must leave all open. But to add to the situation, we have been unsuccessful in contacting his wife, at home or the hospital. No one has seen her.”
Gorshevsky’s back went rigid. His face flushed. Blood pounded against his skull. “Mikhail, I want you to notify every division commander from Shelkovka to Berlin.”
“Excuse me, sir,” Antolov interrupted, “but with the time of the attack, they are well beyond Shelkovka, and probably approaching East Germany.”
“Then find them! Stop that aircraft! And, Mikhail, I want any or all of the bastards who perpetrated this… this crime, kept alive.”
“I will see to it, sir.” Conversation over.
As furious and concerned as he was, Gorshevsky thought beyond the current situation. If he managed to keep the aggressor, or aggressors, alive and in custody, he would have another chance at an exchange of prisoners.
The sun had already been up for over an hour. They’d been flying without incident. Moshenko kept the chopper low, moving fast. Flying, as Grant once said, was in his blood. If it had not been for the dire situation they found themselves in, he’d be in his glory.
Grant turned, looking back toward the cabin. Adler knelt by the open door. Staying just behind the bulkhead, looking forward, he held onto a safety line.
The men sat rigidly in their seats, strapped in securely. They all realized the chance these three men were taking for them. Over the past years they’d been held in captivity, it would have been easy to give up, give up on themselves, give up on their government, give up on ever being free. Unexpectedly, this has become their second chance. These men were giving them that chance, trying their damnedest to make it possible for them to go home.
The strap of Adler’s fully loaded Uzi was over his shoulder, the weapon hanging by his side. Wind whipped across his body whenever he’d lean slightly, trying to get a better view, trying to spot potential trouble. But they were flying close to one hundred sixty miles an hour, nearly maximum speed for the KA-27. The ground passed rapidly, especially flying at one hundred fifty feet above it.
Moshenko was pushing it. He eyed the gauges. “We have just crossed the border. We are in East Germany. We have less than one hundred kilometers to Berlin.”
Grant stared at his friend. “Sixty miles of stomach churning. This’s been one helluva op, Grigori, and it’s still not over.” He glanced at the gauges. “How’s the fuel?”
“We are all right, my friend.”
“Think the ‘gas station attendants’ at our fuel stop recognized you?”
“I do not believe so.”
Grant looked out the windshield, spotting a small village at twelve o’clock. “Any installations we have to worry about?” He reached behind him and took out the binoculars.
Moshenko responded, “We have almost five hundred thousand troops in East Germany, Grant. Most are stationed in or near bigger cities. There are many small encampments scattered around the countryside. Many East German troops are being used to patrol borders but they also have encampments. I do not know how many communication stations they have.”
“What about airfields? Any in this area?”
Moshenko shook his head. “I do not believe so. But our helicopters can be anywhere.”
Grant didn’t even want to think about that possibility, as he looked at his watch, then went back to the glasses. By the time those two guards were discovered, it should’ve given us a big lead, he thought,unless somebody in Moscow put all the pieces together earlier. Scary thought.
There was always a possibility aircraft could be waiting ahead, patrolling. But they were flying in a Russian chopper. Maybe that’s all they had going for them.
There haven’t been any transmissions coming across the airwaves, nobody telling them to “land immediately or else.” Maybe it’s been too damn quiet.
No sooner had the thought passed through his mind, when out of nowhere there was a sound of bullets striking the underbelly of the chopper.
“We’re under attack!” Adler shouted. “Machine guns! Starboard!” He returned fire with the Uzi. More bullets hit near the tail fins, then again the underbelly. Moshenko sent the chopper into a climb, then he pulled the cyclic-pitch lever (the “stick”) left, banking to port.
Grant punched the release for the shoulder harness and rushed back to Adler, trying to maintain his balance as Moshenko flew evasive maneuvers. “You okay?” Grant shouted.
“Couldn’t see ’em, skipper! Jesus! They’re fuckin’ everywhere!”
Grant pulled the satchel closer to Adler, laying an extra clip for the Uzi on top, then he grabbed a clip for the Makarov. “Gonna call Tony!”