Close Quarters

FORTY-FOUR

‘Watchman, we’re tracking a Mi-24 attack helicopter heading in your general direction from the east out of Sloviansk. The flight is not logged and the pilot is not responding to calls from Kiev air traffic control. Current distance from you is eighty miles, repeat eighty miles.’

‘Copy that.’ It was reassuring how with such ease we’d changed from normal speech to the rapid-fire truncated pattern normally found in battle conditions. Lindsay was telling me only what I needed to know, and I was confirming that I’d got the message.

What she’d told me didn’t sound good, although just because the helicopter was heading this way and observing radio silence didn’t make it a direct threat. ‘What’s at Sloviansk, anyway?’

‘It’s an air repair base, currently in the hands of separatist militias. They’ve also taken over the local government building, police and the local SBU office.’

The SBU is Ukraine’s security service. If the militias had taken over to that extent, any forces in the area would have also been overrun.

‘There’s something else,’ Lindsay continued. ‘I ran a search of all information on the area. The separatists in Sloviansk recently shot down a military helicopter containing a dozen Ukrainian soldiers and a general from their National Guard. They also took over the repair base which is housing six Mi-24 attack helicopters from the Air Defense Regiment. Reports say those helicopters are currently being tested and made air ready, thought to be with the help of Russian ground crews.’

And one of them was heading this way. Damn. That certainly made it more relevant.

‘Keep me posted.’ I disconnected and concentrated on driving. Not that I was kidding myself that I could out-drive them. Eighty miles was nothing to a Mi-24. With a cruising speed of approximately 200 mph, it could be over us within twenty minutes without even trying.

‘It’s a coincidence, isn’t it?’ Travis asked. The way his voice rose at the end told me he already knew the answer to that. If Grey Suit had discovered our change of vehicles, and he had Russian connections, then calling up a rogue helicopter to stop us would have been easy meat. The separatists had a handful of them sitting on an airfield doing nothing; with a few sympathetic aircrew, which I was laying money on, then the problem was solved. Look for a car heading west with two men inside and that was their target.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ I told him. ‘Keep your eyes to the east. If you see movement, we’ll have about two minutes to take evasive action.’

‘Can’t we get off the road now while we have a chance?’

I looked round at a flat terrain, with fields on either side of the road and no dead ground that I could see. The only building in sight was a broken-down barn a quarter of a mile off to our right. It might as well have had a giant target painted on the side. If the people in the helicopter couldn’t see us, they’d reckon there was only one place we could be. It would give the gunner a great opportunity to try out his skills. Hell, it wasn’t his ammunition, so what was the problem?

‘Where do you suggest?’ I said. ‘We might as well be on the moon.’

He didn’t reply and sat twisted round with his eyes glued to the rear.

Fifteen minutes later we received another info-burst from Lindsay.

‘Watchman, the Mi-24 is currently five miles out, repeat five miles out to your rear and closing. It will be on your location very shortly. Kiev Military Command has been advised and will respond. In the meantime, you should take whatever evasive action you can.’

She sounded calm enough but there was an underlying tremor to her voice that I hadn’t heard previously. A live developing scenario like this must have been mind-blowing for a trainee who’d never been in this kind of situation before. Nor could she have been fully prepared for the reality of what she was seeing and hearing. This was real-time action, not some classroom simulation, and I just hoped Callahan was there to support her if she needed it.

‘Copy that,’ I said, and continued checking out the flat landscape looking for cover but finding nothing to hide even a couple of men, never mind a Land Cruiser.

I put my foot down. There was hardly any traffic now, which meant I could hold the centre of the road to avoid the broken surface at the sides and keep our speed to the maximum. Not that the Land Cruiser had the same punch as the Isuzu, but it was game to try. I checked the petrol gauge; half full and plenty enough for now. If anything was going to happen it would be within the next few minutes and miles, and having a few extra litres of fuel on board wasn’t going to make much difference.

‘They’re coming for us, aren’t they?’ Travis was looking at me, but quite calmly now. He still looked sick as a dog and was holding his ribs, but our predicament had taken hold of him in a positive way. He was expecting hell to turn up and it had hardened his resolve to the situation.

‘We keep going for as long as possible. If we see a way out we take it, otherwise we hope Kiev send a plane that can kick an attack helicopter’s ass.’

I picked the clatter of the blades beating the air before I spotted the craft. I turned my head for a quick look but the road here was too narrow for taking chances that would throw us into a ditch.

‘Helicopter,’ Travis said calmly. ‘About a thousand yards at four o’clock and coming right in.’

I ignored it and checked the countryside again for cover. But I was flat out of ideas. There was nothing I could do but keep going, since sitting still and waiting to be blasted wasn’t in my nature. If the helicopter was going to take us out, it would first have to take up an attack position, and that would be instantly recognizable. It would give us a few seconds to abandon ship, during which I’d unsling the OSV and see if I could inflict some damage first.

It was a limited hope because attack helicopters are built to take more than just the odd hit from incoming rifle fire, even one as heavy as the OSV. But maybe I’d get lucky and break something critical or put the pilot off his game.

The helicopter roared up alongside us, keeping station about a hundred yards out and fifty feet up. It was OK flying but I’d seen better. Attack craft by definition of their role require more than the average level of skilled pilots. They have to be able to throw their machines around on a dime because that’s the kind of action they face. It’s a dangerous role and requires absolute confidence and skill.

But I wasn’t sure this pilot was among the best. If it was a scratch crew put together by the separatists, then their coordination wasn’t going to be the smoothest. It takes months of training to get that right, and these guys would take a while to put their act together. Which might just be long enough to help us.

‘Watchman, a Ukrainian Sukhoi-27 fighter has been deployed by Kiev Military Command and is coming in from north-west of your position. ETA four minutes. Repeat, four minutes.’

‘Good news. Tell him he might like to put the hammer down and get here now.’ Kiev must have spotted the Mi-24 coming east and had sent up an attack fighter to check it out. But four minutes when you’re looking at being blasted off the face of the planet is way too long. It was going to seem like an age unless I could think of a way of playing for time.

Question: how the hell does one play for time with an attack helicopter in a bare landscape and nowhere to hide?

The noise from the helicopter was tremendous. The effects of the down-draught made the windows of the Land Cruiser vibrate and shook the vehicle hard, making the wheel tremble in my hands. I risked a glance to my right and saw a couple of faces checking us over from the open door in the side of the helicopter. They both wore flying helmets, but instead of the normal one-piece flight crew suits they had on mismatched combat jackets and pants.

I was right; it was a scratch crew, probably made up of ordinary flight crew members who happened to be available and wanted some action. The slight advantage that gave us was that their experience might be on different helicopters and not highly advanced attack craft like the Mi-24.

I know; when faced with a heavy storm, you look for any ray of sunshine you can find.

One of the figures leaned out and gave us an angry pointy-finger signal to stop. I ignored him. I wasn’t going to make it easy for them unless I was forced to. He repeated the gesture, and this time showed us what we were up against by pointing at the barrel of a heavy machine gun mounted at one of the windows.

‘Give them an OK sign,’ I told Travis, ‘but hold on to your seat.’