“Oh,” Kacey said in a small voice, her eyes wide. Shit, she’s potentially the boss’ wife! “I so have to learn not to ask questions. Case of suits in the corner. Grab a spare helmet. We’ll fit those later. Somehow I’m sure you can figure out the zipper.”
“I’m still not natural with this bird,” Kacey said, banking the Hind down the narrow valley. “How’s our clearance?”
“Good,” Tammie said, watching the ground avoidance radar. Technically, with the design of the Czech Hind, the pilot could do it all. And Kacey was risking glances at the instruments. But with her current comfort level it made more sense for Tammie to act as, effectively, a navigator while Kacey concentrated on not plowing the bird into the ground. “I think this is as low as we should go for now, but you’re good. LZ is marked in about another klick up the valley. There’s a ridge in the way you’re going to have to negotiate.”
“See it,” Kacey said. The problem with the night vision goggles, though, was that they had virtually no depth perception. “Distance?”
“Six hundred meters, three hundred, start climb.”
“I’m good,” Kacey said, increasing power and touching the collective upwards. The helicopter lurched, not the smooth lift she was trying for but she was missing the ground and that was the important thing. She crested the ridge much higher than she would have liked but she could dial in her technique when she knew the bird a little bettter.
The LZ was clearly marked, fortunately, with what looked like cyalumes laid out in a Y formation indicating wind. She banked left then back to the right and settled towards the ground. The touchdown was smooth, if slow. Slow was still good in her opinion.
“Tell the ladies to start a dumpin’,” she said, breathing in relief.
Mike walked over to the Hind cockpit and waved in a friendly manner.
“Glad to see you ladies,” Mike said with a grin as pilots opened their canopies. “And you said you couldn’t fly one of these things. O Ye of little faith!”
“This is very damned hairy, sir,” Kacey replied, evenly. “This is high skill flying, sir. I’ve got the skill but I don’t have the time in the bird to feel really comfortable with it.”
“Well, I’m comfortable with your skill, captain,” Mike said. “You’re good or you wouldn’t be here. You’ll get comfortable. You know this mission wasn’t precisely necessary, right?”
“No, sir,” Tammie said, confused. “You needed the supplies, didn’t you?”
“Sure, but only because we light loaded for the first movement,” Mike said. “The main purpose to this mission is because the next one is tougher. You needed the experience and the Keldara have never operated like this with helos. They’ve flown in them but never been resupplied by them. I wanted both groups to get comfortable so when the shit hit the fan neither they nor you would freak. Tomorrow’s mission is way more important. And if you have to supply us on the other side of the mountains, well that’s going to be hairy as shit. So get confident. Fast.”
“Got it, sir,” Kacey said.
“Looks like time for me to odie,” Mike said. “I’ll see you in a few days. Keep the faith.”
“Yes, sir,” Tammie replied as Mike backed out past the supplies. “Is it just me or is that guy, like, charismatic as hell?”
“I’ve got 257 hours in this bird, as of this mission,” Kacey said. “And I’m flying a night, tactical, NOE. You think I’d do that for just anybody?”
“So when are you going to nail him?” Tammie asked.
“I probably won’t get the chance,” Kacey replied. “Damnit. You know the blonde we got as load?”
“Yeah,” Tammie said.
“Girlfriend.”
“What?” Tammie snapped. “Doesn’t he have enough women?”
“Long story… ”
“Hello, Viktor,” Gretchen said as she lifted the first box out of the door of the helicopter. The pilot had not stopped the rotors so there was very much dust but that was why she had been given goggles.
“Gretchen?” Viktor said, surprised. He took the box of rations, though, and tossed it to the next man in line. “What are you doing here?”
“Somebody had to unload the helicopters, yes?” Gretchen said, tossing him another box. “The new crew chief said we may be trained as crewmen. We are privates, now. The pilots are women, why not?”
“What does Father Makanee think of this?” Viktor asked, grinning.
“He sulks, what else?” Gretchen siad, grinning back. “Women are for cooking and making babies and beer. Not for flying around in helicopters. Much less in combat. Father Kulcyanov has blessed us, though, and our mission. We are soldiers now.”
“Are you going to be in combat?” Viktor asked, worried.
“The crewman mans the machine-gun,” Gretchen said, gesturing to the door gun. “You tell me.”
“Hopefully not,” Viktor replied. “I’d hate to be at your funeral. I would hate to have to deal with… Does the Kildar know about this?”
“I don’t know,” Gretchen said, shrugging. “But I think he likes strong women, yes? So this is good. As to funerals, I think I would hate to be at yours, brother. So I agree to take care and you do so as well.”
“I’ll try, sis,” Viktor replied.
“Damn.”
Dr. Arensky looked at the rip in his shirt and shook his head.
“I wish they’d given us a hammer. There are nails sticking out all over. That’s the fourth rip I’ve gotten in my clothes!”
“For a scientist, you sure are clumsy,” Gregor chuckled from the corner.
Arensky had taken to walking up and down the small room whenever he wasn’t puttering with his cultures or cooking. Both he and Gregor were putting on weight from the latter and he’d decided to fight it by pacing. Gregor hadn’t argued or complained unless he neared the room’s sole door. Unfortunately, there were several nails sticking out of the roughly constructed wall. And he’d managed to find all of them.
“Is there any way you could get me a needle and thread?” Arensky asked, fingering the tear.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Gregor said with a shrug. “Don’t tell me you can sew as well?”
“Who else was going to fix our clothes?” Arensky asked. “Oh, Marina learned eventually. But I didn’t get paid enough to buy clothes just because a collar was worn out or a sleeve ripped. This shirt is nearly ten years old, it’s been mended, even rebuilt, many times. I suppose you can’t even call it the same shirt anymore.”
“You are a wonder, doc,” Gregor said, his eyes still closed. “I’ll get you the needle. I need my socks darned.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Fuenf minuten!” the loadmaster yelled, holding up five fingers.
So much for “an English speaking crew”, Captain Guerrin thought. The pilots spoke English, but the only language he and the Ukrainian loadmaster had in common was German. Guerrin had spent several tours in Germany in the course of his career and picked up the language readily. He should have concentrated on Ukrainian.