“I haven’t spotted it, sir. But as long as we stay at least a thousand yards out, the HPM’s intensity won’t affect us.”
Lutler appeared at the young officer’s side. He placed a hand on the EWO. “I’ll help the gunner set it up, you sing out and aim it. Have the pilot bring us into range.”
“Rog.” The EWO turned back to his scope. He clicked his mike. “Pilot, EWO. Lutler will fire the Vulcan.”
“I know, EWO. I figured that’s what he’d have us do. We’re pulling into position now.”
Seconds later the EWO heard the side hatch come open and the Vulcan twenty-millimeter cannon swing into place. Colonel Ben Lutler positioned the cannon as the EWO slaved it to the IR sensors.
Captain Head bypassed the standard five-minute warm-up and punched the main rotor engine after a ninety-second surge. The rotor caught, causing the Black Hawk to vibrate.
Three minutes later they were in the air, a hundred feet over the top of the jungle. Gould kept in communication with Mother Hen. The MC-130 vectored them in to the south, but warned them to stay away from the house in the middle of the clearing.
Head looked over to Gould as he pulled his night goggles down. “Tell Zaz to break out the miniguns. The hoist will have to wait.”
Bruce quit trying to pull Adleman along. He positioned himself under Adleman’s right armpit and lifted, carrying the man.
Bullets whizzed by, zinging into the ground and sending up sharp splashes of mud. Bruce tried to keep low, but the vice president threw off his center of gravity.
Step, slide. Step, slide.
Bruce squinted up, out of breath.
The jungle was still a hundred yards away.
Bruce dropped Adleman to the side and swung the M-16 around. The house looked too close. He hadn’t gone anywhere.
He pulled back the safety and took a knee, aiming the automatic rifle towards the bobbing shapes that came toward him.…
Lightning. Thunder.
The sound nearly bowled him over. It came in a long, drawn-out zzzziiiipppp, trailing red light behind it.…
And it came again.
Bruce fell back onto his buttocks, stunned. The sound struck again, peppering the area in front of him. Screams came from the house — around the corner and to the far left. Zzzziiiipppp—the sound echoed throughout the clearing, rolling back and forth.
A Vulcan cannon! Someone was covering him, either from a gunship or a helicopter. The bullets rained down from above at an unthinkable rate, so fast that the ear couldn’t discern an individual round going off. It sounded like one long shot, two- or three-second bursts at a time.
Bruce found himself breathing hard. He took a moment to allow his chest to slow down, then turned to Adleman.
The vice president lay on his side. His head rolled listlessly; mud covered most of his body. Bruce put an ear by Adleman’s mouth — he was still breathing.
Bruce swung the M-16 over his shoulder, secured it, then straightened. He dragged Adleman to his knees and managed to get the vice president over his shoulder. Bruce took an unsteady step, then started for the jungle. He moved as quickly as he could, but now he didn’t look back.
Captain Head brought the MH-60 Black Hawk around in a tight bank. Gould kept his head glued to the infrared and terrain-following radar, calling out the altitude. There were no obstacles to worry about twenty feet above the tree line. As they approached the fire zone, Gould continued to rely on the electro-optical instruments.
The clearing they were vectored to was lit up brighter than a centennial birthday party.
Gould scanned the clearing while Head lowered the craft to prevent them from being seen. They were two hundred yards away. Bolts of Vulcan cannon fire erupted from the MC-130 orbiting four hundred feet above them, inside the clouds.
Head clicked the mike. “Mother Hen, Fox One. Do you copy our location?”
“Rog, Fox One. Don’t get any closer.”
“Rog. Ah, the pickup, Mother Hen. Looks pretty dangerous, even with your cover. Do you want to call in a strike?”
“Negative, Fox One. We’re saving Maddog — some friendlies might be in the house.”
Head thought for a moment. He saw sporadic gunfire bolt across the clearing then stop, as the MC-130 trained its cannon on the sniper.
Head clicked the mike. “Do you have a visual on Assassin?”
“Ah, we think so. They’re heading for the south side of the clearing. Can you pick up?”
Head watched the firefight continue. The Combat Talon was doing a damn good job, but there were too many bullets flying. Maybe if the bad guys could be diverted … out in the open the Black Hawk would go down in seconds. Assassin needed to reach the jungle.
“Negative on the pickup, Mother Hen. What about the Fulton?”
“Can you drop it?” Head clicked over to the intercom. “Zaz — the Fulton Recovery hardware ready to drop?”
“Rog-o, Captain.”
Head flipped back to the ops frequency. “Rog, Mother Hen. We’ll do a quick pass and drop it on the south side.”
“Do it to it.”
Head clicked his mike twice, then said to Gould, “Make sure Zaz gets it right the first time. We aren’t going back if he misses.”
“Right.” Gould spoke quietly into the microphone, talking with Zaz in the back. Head drew in a breath and wheeled the Black Hawk around. Seconds later, they were headed straight for the mouth of the beast.
Bruce dumped Adleman on the ground, then dragged him a few feet into the jungle, watching out for his leg. The vice president had fainted from the pain. Bruce scanned the area for Pompano and Yolanda, but didn’t see them. God, he prayed that she was all right.…
The vice president was breathing, and that was all that mattered at the moment. Except for Yolanda.…
Keeping a lookout through the brush, Bruce pulled out the walkie-talkie. “Mother Hen, Assassin.”
“Good to hear from you. How’s Lonestar?”
“Salubrious and copacetic. We’re ready for pick up.”
“That is kind of hard right now, Assassin. Can you move back to your original drop-off point?”
Bruce glanced at Adleman. No way.
“Negative on that idea. Can you pick us up here?”
“South side of the clearing?”
“Rog.”
“Ah, a change in plans. Your friend Fulton is dropping in. Will Lonestar be able to ride the balloon?”
Bruce exploded. “Negative! Get a chopper down here!”
“Can’t do that, Assassin. Too much activity. You’ll have to go the Fulton route.”
Bruce fumed. He said reluctantly, “Rog on that, Mother Hen.”
“I say again, can Lonestar handle it?”
Bruce glanced at Adleman. “Rog.”
“Are you near the pickup point?”
“Rog.”
“Glad to hear that. You’ve got some friends sitting at thirty-seven thousand waiting to help you out. After they make their run, you get that balloon up so we can get Lonestar outta there, ya hear?”
“Rog.”
“Have you spotted that HPM weapon they’re supposed to have?”
Bruce shook his head. “Negative. But I can’t see the front of the plantation house.”
“Okay. Let us know if you find out.”
Bruce waited a minute before switching the walkie-talkie off. In the distance, gunfire broke through the otherwise peaceful night. The yells had subsided as the Huks conserved their energy for the hunt.
“Ready, ready—now! Captain Head yelled into the intercom. Zaz grunted, then pushed the bulky package overboard. The yellow tarp covering the device flipped over in the air as it fell the fifty feet to the ground. As soon as the package was off, the Black Hawk returned to the relative safety of the trees, away from the clearing.