As the ear-piercing whine of near-misses rang in his ears, he swiftly twisted his body around the palm tree and cautiously rose to a deep crouch on the other side. He rested his back against the tree and quickly shifted his gaze to the right. Zimmer was there. Ortiz looked to his left, saw no one there. Puzzled, he looked back at Zimmer, who shook his head slowly and pointed toward the light undergrowth. Ortiz understood. Three had died in their team, including Siegel. Ortiz reached for the radio.
“This is Mambo One! Situation report!” Ortiz screamed as loud as he could.
“Mambo Two. We’ve taken three casualties. Someone’s sneaked up on us. Can’t tell where the fire’s coming from. Must be using flash suppressors. The bastards got us pinned down. Can’t leave the cover of the trees!”
“Keep cover ‘n’ fire only if you got a clear target. Save your ammo. Repeat, save your ammo! Mambo Three, are you there, over? Mambo Three? Mambo Two, any word from Mambo Three?”
“Ah, negative, Mambo One.”
Ortiz clenched his jaw in rage, frustration, and sheer disbelief. Mambo had lost at least six soldiers during the first twenty seconds of fighting without inflicting any damage on the enemy, not counting losses from Mambo Three. Not a very impressive record. He checked his watch. Launch was due any second now. He eyed the Javelin missile launcher assembly. It lay next to the now-deflated raft, roughly thirty feet away.
“Dammit, Tommy, can you see where the fire’s comin’ from?”
“Shit, no! Can’t even show my nose without getting’ it blown off.”
We’re in the shit now, thought Ortiz.
Vanderhoff picked up the phone. “Yes” What is all the commotion about?”
“Gunfire, sir. We spotted intruders in Section A on the other side of the fence. We have over twenty men engaged at the moment.”
“Keep it under control. The launch must go on as planned. Keep them pinned down. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir!”
Vanderhoff hung up the phone and checked his watch. Less than a minute to go.
Ortiz couldn’t wait any longer. It had to be now or never. “I’m goin’ back, Tommy!”
“What? You’re crazy, man!”
“That’s our mission, hermano. That’s what Siegel and the others died for! I gotta do it.” Ortiz dropped to the ground and began to crawl toward the raft. Then he heard the powerful roar. The earth trembled and night became day as a huge ball of orange flames erupted from the launchpad. Ortiz didn’t glance in that direction, although he did notice that the shooting had at least temporarily subsided. He kicked his legs harder and harder, gaining foot after agonizing foot of terrain, closing the gap. The raft was now a mere ten feet away. He had to reach it. He was the only one, besides Siegel, who could operate the British-made surface-to-air weapon.
Five feet. Still no fire. He dragged his body through the last few feet, and smiled when his hands came in contact with the cold aluminum canister of the Javelin system. He sat up, rested the weapon on his shoulder, and armed it. The self-contained system came to life. Ortiz quickly acquired the target in the monocular sights. The rocket was beginning to leave the ground. The cloud of smoke and debris seemed small in comparison to the space shuttle launch Ortiz had witnessed several years back, but by no means was it a minor launch.
The enemy found him. The earth exploded as rounds impacted just short. Ortiz didn’t sway. His concentration focused on the departing rocket several hundred feet away, he squeezed the trigger and felt the missile come alive and exit the aiming unit. He waited. The flares to the missile went off and were automatically detected by a sensor in the arming unit in order to gather the missile to the center of Ortiz’s field of view.
The twenty-six-pound missile reached Mach 1.8 in a matter of seconds as it made its way toward the rocket. Ortiz kept the target centered in his sights. The semi-automatic line-of-sight guidance system generated signals that were sent to the Javelin missile’s control surfaces via a radio link.
A bullet struck the side of the aiming unit. Ortiz staggered back, jerking the aiming unit toward the sky. The Javelin responded and drifted upward.
Mierda!
He recovered quickly. He glanced toward the launchpad. The rocket was roughly ten feet in the air and quickly gaining altitude and speed. Ortiz remembered Marie telling them that the best time to destroy the rocket after lift-off was during the first fifteen seconds, before the rocket shot up at great speed.
Ortiz discarded the used canister, jumped to the raft, grabbed the second missile unit, and quickly clipped it on to the aiming unit.
Even flying at treetop level, Crowe saw the initial blast as the rocket began its launch. It was visible from miles around, creating enough light that his night goggles’ automatic gain control decreased sensitivity to the point of being ineffective. He spoke into his voice-activated radio.
“Mambo, this is Stallion One, over.”
No response.
“Mambo, Stallion One here. Over.”
“Jesus, Stallion One, Mambo here. Hurry! The bastards found us. There’s at least six dead. Repeat, at least six dead. Currently tryin’ to complete mission. Can you read our signal on radar, over?”
“Affirmative, Mambo. Heading your way right now.”
This time it was different. Ortiz rested his head on a rock and kept the tip of the rocket lined up with his sights. The Javelin’s tail of smoke went straight for the target. He saw a small explosion near the rocket’s cone.
Crowe noticed something wrong. The large rocket had been slowly ascending in what appeared to be a smooth climb, but that had changed a second ago, when something had struck it. He now understood the mission of the ground team, and silently cursed his superior officers for not giving him the entire story. The Stallions were too close.
“Break left, Stallion Two! My God! Break hard left!”
Too late. The huge rocket stumbled out of control. It turned on its side and quickly accelerated toward the perimeter of the complex, straight toward them.
Crowe threw the cyclic left, forcing his helo into a wickedly tight turn. He could feel the branches tearing at the Stallion’s underside. He ignored it and kept the turn at the same level. The large rocket hit the ground at great speed. Tens of thousands of pounds of volatile chemicals went off at once less than five hundred feet from their position.
“We’ve been hit, Stallion One! Mayday. Mayday. This is Stallion Two. We’re going down!”
“Keep the pressure on the cyclic, Stallion Two! Keep the pressure!”
Instinctively, Crowe put both hands on the cyclic and pulled it back in anticipation of the downward shock wave. It came, forcing the heavy rescue helo down, but the back pressure kept the Stallion’s nose above the horizon.
Stallion One, we can’t control it. Can’t control—”
Crowe caught a bright flash to his right. It was quickly followed by a thundering roar.
“Madre de Dios, Tommy! Run for your life, hermano! One of the rescue helos just blew up!”