Part 13 (1/2)
He leaned over to the driver. ”We need to be there yesterday.”
”Right. Tell your folks out back to hang on. There's nothing I like more than breaking the speed limit!”
Brent smiled. ”You and me both! Go for it!” He then pa.s.sed word back to the others as the Husky leapt forward with a roar and subsequent vibration working up through the reinforced floor.
After a burst of static, George Voeckler appeared in Brent's HUD: ”Ghost Lead, this is Romulus, over.”
”Go ahead, Romulus.”
”We should be at the target coordinates in about thirty minutes. Suggest we move in immediately and try to secure the target, over.”
The word Negative Negative was about to escape Brent's lips, and he was certain that George expected him to deny the request and order him to set up an observation post and wait for them. was about to escape Brent's lips, and he was certain that George expected him to deny the request and order him to set up an observation post and wait for them.
But it was all about timing, not ego, and the Russian attack had no doubt alerted the Snow Maiden. She was a fool if she wasn't already on the move, and they needed to check out the leads quickly and efficiently.
”Romulus, I want you guys all over that location. You get in there and try to take her alive. But if not, you know what to do. No delays.”
George appeared a little flabbergasted, his face s.h.i.+mmering a bit in the HUD, but then his voice came steadily. ”Roger that, Captain.”
”And keep the channel open. I want full access to your cameras.”
”Will do. Romulus out.”
As he settled deeper into the seat, Brent wondered if they hadn't given him the Snow Maiden job as a way to ditch a troublemaker. They were always two steps behind her, and the more he failed, the easier it was for them to bust him down and out.
Now he was just being paranoid, and he wasn't the biggest troublemaker in the group. They'd given him the job because they knew he wouldn't play it by the book. Never did.
He got back on the Cross-Com, called Dennison, and asked to speak directly to Warda if he could. He waited. Five minutes later he had the woman on the line. His focus was on the vehicles owned by her brother's staff. She didn't know tag numbers but had a general idea of style and color. He asked Dennison to relay these details to the local authorities. She said she was right on it.
Suddenly, a fist was rapping on the cab's back window. It was Daugherty, looking wide-eyed and pointing above them.
Brent thrust his head out the open side window as two helicopters swept overhead, one of them decidedly Russian, the other an AH-80 Blackfoot American guns.h.i.+p firing on the Russian bird, the rounds and tracers missing as the Russian swept down toward the field.
And then more rotors drew closer, and with an immediate roar one more Russian bird appeared, a guns.h.i.+p itself, and fired on the American chopper, all of it happening not more than five hundred meters ahead, the first Russian helicopter descending to less than a hundred meters above the road. It was, in a word, surreal to see Russian Federation military aircraft flying over the U.K. and being engaged by Americans. Even their driver remarked on the audacity of it all. Obviously, JSF forces had been called in to a.s.sist, but now it seemed that the lone American bird could use some help.
”Can you tell your gunners to put some fire up there to help him out?”
”Negative!”
”Why the h.e.l.l not?”
”Because-you dumb Yank-that'll draw fire on us! And because I'd have to call for authorization.”
”Authorization? We're not sitting here to watch that pilot die! You get some fire on those enemy birds!”
”No, I won't! The Russians are his problem, not ours. And you've got a mission, right?”
Brent gritted his teeth. A fellow combatant needed him. ”Ghost Team, this is Ghost Lead. Relieve those gunners of duty, at gunpoint if necessary. Heston? Daugherty? I want you on those fifties. Lay down some fire on those Russian birds right now!”
”Captain, you'll get us killed!” hollered the driver.
Brent glared at him. ”If I do, I'll make sure you die first.”
ELEVEN.
Ghost Recon Team En Route to Sandhurst Captain, don't let them fire,” said Lakota from the other Husky. ”Check it out. We're rolling up on another neighborhood. Collateral damage.”
Brent couldn't deny the fact that civilians could be injured or killed should one of those choppers go down into the homes. Of course, the Russians didn't care if the American guns.h.i.+p crashed into a residential neighborhood; they just wanted that aircraft out of the sky.
And it was true that firing on them would no doubt draw a response. Those Russian choppers, identified in Brent's HUD as KA-65 Howlers, noted as being one of the most armed and armored helicopters in existence, could tear their little trucks to shreds in all of ten seconds. And it was Brent's job to reach Sandhurst.
He cursed and hollered into his boom mike: ”All right, stay on the guns but hold fire for now. Be ready in case they turn on us.”
”Thanks, Captain.”
”Now that's the sane choice,” said the driver.
”Shut up, Brit. That pilot's going to die. We'll honor him with our silence. And is that as fast as you can go?”
The driver swore under his breath and accelerated even as in the far distance, Brent watched the American guns.h.i.+p get double-teamed by the two Russian helicopters, while yet another Russian chopper, a troop transport, followed behind. A missile flew, and within a breath the American bird vanished inside an orb of white light. Below that orb, in an eerie slow motion, debris appeared and began tumbling down toward the rooftops of residential homes. The two choppers broke formation and wheeled back around to the north, while the third troop transport continued southward, ahead of them.
The driver got on his radio and called in his report, while Brent was interrupted by word from George Voeckler: They were just a couple of minutes away from the target location.
Brent issued a voice command to his Cross-Com, bringing up camera images from both George and Thomas Voeckler in separate windows of the HUD. He took a deep breath and waited as their car raced up a narrow suburban street.
”Looks like a police checkpoint,” said Chopra, his mouth going cotton as he eased on the brakes.
The barricade lay about two blocks ahead as they were pa.s.sing through the rural village of Flexford, according to the car's GPS. The Snow Maiden had ordered him to keep off the main highways, and this was the first barrier they'd come across. It was comprised of two police ”smart” cars parked at forty-five-degree angles on either side of fluorescent red cones spanning the road.
The roadblock appeared about as dangerous and imposing as a little old man armed with a water pistol, and Chopra doubted it would pose much trouble to the woman in his backseat.
”All right, calm down,” said the Snow Maiden. ”Drive right up and speak to them.”
”What do I tell them?” asked Chopra.
”The truth.”
”Excuse me?”
”I said the truth.”
He wasn't sure what this crazy woman had in mind, but he decided he would do just that.