Close Quarters

FORTY-FIVE

Travis looked at me as if I was nuts, but did what I asked and gave the helicopter a thumbs-up signal of compliance. It got a responding nod from the crewman, who lifted a hand to the comms connection of his helmet and said something.

The target is stopping.

Like hell I was. I reduced speed slightly as if I was looking for a suitable place to pull over. It had the effect of making the helicopter drift slightly ahead of us. The pilot began to slow down to match our speed and position, so I stamped hard on the brakes for two seconds, slowing almost to a stop. It caught the pilot by surprise; midway between adjusting his speed and angle of flight, he suddenly lost sight of us. His dilemma wouldn’t have been helped much by the crewman in the doorway; I could see him yelling animatedly in his intercom. For a pilot with a strange machine, it would have been chaotic and unsettling, which was what I was counting on.

There was now no chance he could turn and attack us quickly, and I was betting the side gunner wasn’t good enough to take us out from the angle he was now facing. The pilot managed to correct and began to drift back alongside, turning the machine face-on, so I put on speed again. This made him correct again, the tail jigging around alarmingly as he over-compensated to adjust his height and position and to give the side-gunner a clear field of fire. It was a lot to think about in a very short space of time.

‘Two minutes, Watchman. ETA two minutes.’

It was now obvious to the crewman that I wasn’t going to comply. He turned and nodded to someone on the inside. No words this time, just a nod.

‘Get ready!’

A long burst of gunfire hammered out, churning up the ground a hundred yards ahead of us and throwing dirt and stones into the air. I hit the brakes as the roof was pounded by falling debris, wary of losing the windshield and running blind into a hole and busting the suspension.

The firing stopped and the Mi-24 came back in, closer this time and more controlled. The pilot was getting his coordination sorted out, which reduced our chances of getting away by trying to fool him. The man in the doorway looked as if he wanted to jump out on top of us and stamp on the roof, and repeated his signal to stop. This time he followed it with a no-mistaking flat-hand gesture across his throat.

We’d had all the chances we were going to get. If we didn’t stop we’d be obliterated. It was a convincing threat and he had all the aces.

I didn’t respond. I’d had my eyes on a small clump of trees half a mile away. It was almost useless as cover, but I’d figured that if we could get the helicopter to land and drop men on the ground, we stood a better chance of fighting back against them than against an armoured and heavily armed military machine.

‘Watchman, the fighter is coming in on your position and the pilot has orders not to open fire unless attacked. What is the situation?’

Damn. Kiev were playing careful. The pilot would have to make a pass to assess the situation before making a decision — and then only join the dance if he saw what was happening. Too long and too late.

‘Copy that,’ I replied. ‘We’ve received warning shots and he’s not going to tell us again. Firing is imminent.’ I began to slow down, this time waving my hand out the window. I was hoping the pilot had orders to take us captive if possible, but only to use his guns as a last resort.

Twenty long seconds and Callahan came on. ‘Watchman, we’re picking up voice from the Mi-24. He has orders to engage target. Repeat, orders to engage.’

He didn’t say anything else. I figured there was nothing else he could say.

The fighter wasn’t going to make it in time.