“Or anybody. Let’s take a look.”
Head ran over the rationale. It didn’t take much to convince him that if they didn’t go in, nobody would.
“You got the ’15’s number?”
“Rog.” Gould leaned forward and punched the frequency into the radio.
He clicked the mike. “Maddog, Fox One.”
“Fox One, Maddog One.”
“Maddog, we’ve lost contact with Mother Hen.”
A moment passed. “That’s a rog. We’ve lost them too.”
“We’re going in to take a look. Ah, looks like the bad guys have that HPM weapon — electronic warfare and all that. It’s probably housed in that plantation house. Supposedly it will only affect you within a thousand-yard range. If you don’t hear from us after a while, sure would be nice if you didn’t forget us.”
“Fox One, Maddog. You’ve got five minutes and we’re strafing the house, unless you say the word. Sound all right?”
“Rog.” Head clicked the mike twice, then reached down to reset the tilt of the rotor. “Keep an eye on that clock. If we’re still there, I don’t want any fighter jocks hosing us down.” Head paused. “Any trouble with the IR?”
“No, Dick.”
“Okay, you cover the sensor and I’ll look for them with the night-vision goggles. We’ll come in low over the south side of the clearing.” As he spoke, Head flipped down his ANVIS-6 night-vision goggles. “If they’re not there, we’ll get the hell out of Dodge. And don’t call me Dick!”
Cervante moved as quickly as he could. He slipped through the jungle, just outside of the clearing where the brush and foliage had not yet thickened. The south end of the clearing was not far away. He carried his M-16 with one hand and used the other to push branches aside.
Moments earlier he had seen the American aircraft divert its route. The HPM weapon! He smiled at Barguyo’s effort.
If the Americans were still interested in the clearing, then the vice president was still here.
Five more yards. Another fifteen feet — half the distance for a first down. One-twentieth the length of a football field. Something that Bruce was used to running in less than a second.
Now the distance seemed insurmountable.
Bruce held Adleman up while leaning against the vice president. Like two dominoes, ready to collapse, they painfully made their way to the jungle, to cover.
Bruce pushed with all his strength … until he heard the unmistakable sound of a helicopter rotor.
Seconds later a dark object thundered overhead. Once over the clearing, it dropped below the top of the trees. The Black Hawk! Bruce’s heart yammered in excitement. He quickly scanned the clearing, but still couldn’t see Yolanda.
He turned and started limping for the helicopter, pulling Adleman along with him. The Black Hawk shot down to the ground in a combat landing.
Bruce skipped with his left leg while barely touching the ground with his right. Vice President Adleman understood what was happening; he helped with a limping lope, and didn’t cry out.
The helicopter whipped up a gust of wind, sending water flying. The sound of the engine filled the clearing. Someone scrambled out from the helicopter, crouching and running low to the ground. As he approached, Bruce could see the man’s night-vision goggles.
Bruce recognized the approaching man: Zaz. Zaz took the vice president over his shoulder and yelled, “Let’s move it!”
Bruce started after him, but without Adleman’s support, he couldn’t walk upright.
Zaz turned. “Come on!”
“I … can’t.” Bruce waved him on. “Get Adleman on board … I’ll make it.”
Bruce crawled toward the Black Hawk, pushing the M-16 ahead of him. He tried to stand, wobbled, then started skipping on one leg. He lightly touched down with his right foot, and had to hold back a yelp.
He tripped and fell forward.
Looking up, Bruce saw that Zaz had reached the Black Hawk and was pushing the vice president into the helicopter. Zaz turned and sprinted back for Bruce.
From the noise, Cervante thought that a plane had landed in the clearing. He moved cautiously to the jungle’s edge.
There, just visible against the black jungle, was a helicopter! Fifty yards away! The audacity of the Americans, to hide like vermin and then bring in a helicopter to spirit the vice president away!
The helicopter looked evil, like a huge bug that had zoomed out of the night to squat in the clearing. A side panel opened and someone sprinted from the craft.
Cervante moved quickly to the south, remaining at the edge of the jungle. The Americans would be too concerned with their vice president to notice him.…
He brought up his rifle, took aim, and cracked off a shot.
Bruce had pushed up and started to straighten when Zaz suddenly went sprawling. “Hey!” The action surprised Bruce. Zaz wasn’t more than ten yards away. Bruce crawled over to him. He was just about there when he heard a zing whiz past his ear. Someone’s shooting!
Bruce flung himself out, then rolled to the right. A volley of bullets zippered the ground around him. Bruce swung the M-16 up and started firing into the jungle.
The Black Hawk’s engines suddenly whined, rising in pitch. The wind increased as the helicopter rose from the ground.
Bruce waved the Black Hawk away. “Go on! Get him out of here!”
The Black Hawk rose to twenty feet, then slowly rotated. Bruce squinted; the side of the helicopter came into view. Sticking out of the side was a long-nosed minigun. A burst of flames came from the weapon.
The jungle erupted in a crash of sound as the twenty-millimeter rounds ripped through the foliage, again and again sweeping through the jungle.
Bruce crawled with his elbows over to Zaz. The young enlisted man bled from the mouth. His face was slack.
Bruce ran a hand over Zaz’s body. He couldn’t find the bullet wound. Nothing indicated where Zaz had been shot.
Bruce slapped the man to see if he was still alive. If the Black Hawk hurried, there would be time to get Zaz back to Clark, fly him straight to the hospital.…
The minigun stopped firing and Bruce jerked his head up. The Black Hawk’s engine coughed as the helicopter listed suddenly to the left, over-corrected, then wobbled to the right. The Black Hawk just slipped from the sky.
It twisted until it was nearly sideways. The rotor hit the ground and the craft suddenly whipped around, thrown by the rotor’s angular momentum.
The Black Hawk tumbled once, twice on the ground, bounced and started to fall apart. It didn’t explode, but tiny flames flared up all around it. Some of the fires died immediately, but flickering flames cast shadows out on the ground.
Screams. A shriek, then moaning came from the Black Hawk.
Bruce crawled to the site, only fifty yards away. If the Black Hawk had rotated any more, it might have crashed right on top of him. Bruce clawed at the ground, pulling himself forward.
The clearing fell silent. Bruce could hear the flames even from fifty yards away — and the sound of the diesel generator coming from the plantation once again.
He pushed everything out of his mind and concentrated on just one thing: reaching the Black Hawk.
He suddenly froze. Someone was moving, not too far away.
A figure crept out of the jungle and moved toward the crash. Rifle at ready, the person moved twenty yards to Bruce’s left. Bruce tried to make himself flat against the ground. In the glow from the helicopter’s fire, Bruce couldn’t make out who it was.
Bruce pulled the M-16 carefully around. He brought the figure into his sight, then slowly squeezed the trigger.…