“Kacey, the front position is designed for a gunner,” Tammie protested. “Why do you get all the fun?”
“We’ve got wounded to pull out and ammo to deliver,” Kacey said. “Both birds, captain. Chief, get Valkyrie One in the air. Fast. In the meantime, I’m going to go deliver a message to the Chechens.”
The wounded had been cross-loaded to the Blackhawk which was already in the air. Most of the Keldara in the area, therefore, stopped what they were doing as Tammie and D’Allaird started tugging back the doors to the hangar. Everyone, of course, knew that the other Hind had been armed, and painted. But this was the first time that most of them had seen it.
As the two Americans pushed the Hind into view the Keldara started clapping and and hollering. About half the women present ran forward to help push.
D’Allaird had been a busy man. Not only were the pylons of the Hind now loaded with two gatling guns and two 57mm rocket launchers, but the front of the bird had been painted in a snarling dragon head. To either side, tusks on the flaming dragon, were two more fixed gatling guns for a total of four of the brutal weapons. Kacey already had the engines warming and as soon as the tail was clear of the hangar bay she started up the rotors.
“Tiger Base, this is Helo Two, designation Dragon One,” Kacey said, plugging in the route she planned to follow on the terrain avoidance system. “Mission change. Combat op to clear defenses along the Guerrmo Pass route.”
There was a pause then Nielson’s voice came back over the radio.
“Keldara Two: Confirm. Good hunting, Dragon One.”
“I’m going to bring them the word of God, Tiger Base,” Kacey replied. “These fuckers are going to face the flame.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“If we don’t get the go word, I swear to God I’m going to make a boo-boo and initiate on my own,” J.P. said. “The Hind got seriously dinged on that last flight.”
“I know, sir,” First Sergeant Kwan replied. “But until we get the okay… ”
“I do not fucking care,” Guerrin said. “DC is playing fucking political games while the Keldara are getting slaughtered over there.”
It was great weather for Rangers and ducks. The rain was pouring down, the wind was howling and it was cold as hell. Black, too. The night was like being inside the gullet of a snake. For a few minutes it there had been some clearing and he got a glimpse of dawnlight. Now it was black again. If they got the order to move he could take out those bunkers in no more than thirty minutes. He had the plan in place. All he needed was the go order.
The distant firing, while muted by the distance and the mountains, was clear. Just the fact that they could hear it was amazing; it meant there was one fuck of a lot of firing going on. What was happening on the other side of the pass wasn’t a firefight, it was a fucking battle. According to their latest intel update the Chechens were throwing everyone they had in the area, and even drawing back forces that had been in contact with the Russians, in a bid to destroy the Keldara.
“Sir, if we move, your career is toast,” Kwan pointed out. “And so is mine for not stopping you. We’re also out-numbered and out-gunned. So please don’t go running right into the fucking bunkers, okay?”
“I won’t, First Sergeant,” J.P. replied. “But we are going to have to do… ” He paused and cocked his head. “Okay, who in the fuck is playing their iPod too loud?”
“I dunno,” Kwan said. “I hear it, too… ” The music was Spanish flamenco guitar, carried on the wind. He wasn’t sure what direction it was coming from. Then he realized, just as the tune changed, that it was getting closer. “That’s not an… ”
“Holy fuck,” Guerrin said as the tune changed to screaming heavy metal guitar. And it was getting louder. Much much louder.
“Sir!” Serris yelled. “What is that?”
“Music, Serris,” Guerrin replied, sarcastically.
“I know that, sir,” Serris said. “Where’s it coming from!” the last was screamed as the guitars and drums muted for a singer entered screaming something about “riding to the fight.”
“That’s a… ” Kwan started to yell as finally, overwelmed by the screaming guitars, the “whop-whop” of helicopter blades could be heard.
The Hind was nearly invisible in the blackness of the night but it was easy enough to follow as the deafening music pealed across the valley. And it was low, the Rangers were pelted by branches thrown from the trees in its rotor wash as it banked up the ridgeline and crested with its belly brushing the treetops.
Guerrin ducked unnecessarily and then started laughing.
“I think that Miss Kacey got tired of being shot at,” Guerrin yelled. “This I gotta see!”
Kacey keyed the music as she entered the final valley before the pass. The Rangers were occupying the upper portion of the valley and she intended to cross their position as a final checkpoint. That position, at the least, was secure.
She reached down and cranked the volume all the way up. The speakers were special designs, flush mounted, and enormously powerful. The thunder of the drums rattled her teeth but Islamics tended to hate Western music. Great. Let them hate it as she sent the fuckers to Allah.
She banked up and to the side as the terrain warning system screamed at her she was too low. Too fucking bad. Low was good. She had at least six inches clearance, what more did the Czech piece of shit want?
The positions of the bunkers were keyed in on her firing system and as soon as they came in sight the system D’Allaird had installed karated them in her heads up display.
“Time to face the flame motherfuckers.”
“Holy fuck,” Serris whispered.
The Hind had seemed to clip the ridge but as it crossed over them it dropped to skim the scrub between the ridge and the pass entrance. And spotlights on the front came on showing not only the paint job but the heavy ordnance on the bird. It was a deliberate taunt to the gunners in the bunkers, practically asking them to open fire.
The Hind dropped down to practically ground level and flew straight down through the kill-zone of the three main bunkers as tracers started clawing towards it through the night. Most seemed to be missing but some were sparking off the front of the bird.
The driver of the Hind, probably Captain Bathlick as the CO had said, didn’t seem to give a shit that she was taking fire. She flew hey-diddle-diddle straight up the middle — actually slowing down as the gunners got the range — until the singer screamed something about “through the fire and flames.” Then the Hind seemed to explode.
Rockets began spewing out of both pods as the gatling guns opened fire, sending a quadrupal line of tracers that looked like nothing so much as a laser into first one then another bunker.
The bunkers were wide spaced but the Hind didn’t have any problem with that. It was flying in the most bizarre manner Serris had ever seen. It would slide sideways through the air and engage one bunker then pivot at lightning speed and engage the other, pivot again and engage, pivot, engage, still maintaining an almost straight line up the middle of the defended pass. There wasn’t any dilly-dallying with “walking the rounds into the position.” The thing was just striking back and forth like a snake.