Assault on Alpha Base

Chapter 22

Manny tore off his headset. “Have you spotted it yet?” For the past fifteen minutes he had been in communication over the secure link, speaking in a low voice so as not to disturb McGriffin.

McGriffin waited a full minute before answering. Two hundred feet below, jagged mountain peaks scraped the sky. Only the summits were visible in the scant starlight. Every so often a glint of light bore through the clouds and reflected off streams and small ponds of water in the valleys. Switching to the ANVIS-6 night-vision goggles, McGriffin strained, but still could not make out any sign of the helicopter.

He flipped up the goggles, rubbed his eyes, and looked to Manny. “Are you sure you corrected for wind?”

Manny nodded to the GPS readout. Corrected with differential GPS, it was accurate to within the gravitational uncertainties of the earth. Manny retorted, “I could fly us to within a foot of where we took off from. If your directions are accurate, we should be right on top of that clearing.”

“Sorry. Any other ideas? I know these coordinates are correct.”

“I’ll get you some more altitude. We can cover more area that way.” He shot a glance at the altimeter. “It’ll be touch and go, though. We’re already pushing this baby’s ceiling — I don’t want to go too much higher.”

McGriffin decided instantly. “Let’s do it.” He’d already made up his mind that any danger to themselves came second to recovering the nukes. If the terrorists were down there, the night-vision goggles would give them away — unless they were inside the stealth helicopter, but that was a chance he would have to take.

Manny pushed the chopper up, grabbing for altitude. The craft strained in the thin air. Slowly they crept higher, bringing more of the ground into sight.

As they rose, McGriffin flipped down the goggles and scanned the ground, methodically moving from north to south.

He was almost ready to have Manny move farther west when a smear of light broke across his sight. “Wait. Bring us back to the east.”

“Did you see anything?”

“I’m not sure. We’re a little high to tell for sure. It might have been a deer — hold it.” He held up a hand. “That’s it.”

“That’s what?”

McGriffin adjusted the night-vision goggles by changing the diopter, then refocused the low intensity picture. “There’s someone walking … make that four, no five, people. They’re moving toward something bright. I don’t have a positive on it, but I bet that’s an engine mounting I see.” He flipped up the infrared light amplifier. “How is Falcon Two doing?”

“He was loitering at twenty thousand, but he was sucking on fumes so he headed back. He had only enough fuel to get him back to Wendover.”

McGriffin unstrapped from the copilot’s seat and squeezed behind the seats. He surveyed his weapons: two pistols and a shotgun. Except for the flare guns — which were worthless anyway — things hadn’t changed. Great, I’m going to save the world, he thought, and don’t even have enough weapons to finish the job. Dear Lord, don’t let me screw up now.

Grunting, McGriffin pushed open the cargo door, jerking when it momentarily caught. A gale of wind whooshed through the helicopter. Lying on the deck, he flipped on the goggles and peered down.

The bodies moved in a slow line, hunched over, straining with something on the ground. They moved steadily in a group as if they were rolling something — the nukes? — then rushed back to where the helicopter lay and started all over again. McGriffin couldn’t make out the object they rolled the nukes to. He raised the gain and squinted.

A dark object slowly appeared in the screen, barely contrasting against the ground. A plane! The ground was slightly cooler than the aircraft, causing the ghostly infrared image to waver in the nightscope.

McGriffin refocused to infinity. Suddenly the bodies stood out in fine detail. One of them raised a hand and pointed upward, directly at the chopper. They heard us. Our blades must be giving us away. He straightened and slammed shut the cargo door. The wind died immediately.

He stepped up to the cockpit. “Manny, any more word?”

Manny shook his head, his lips held tight.

McGriffin took a last look down. “There’s a plane down there — they’re loading up the nukes, and worse, they’ve spotted us. They’re breaking out rifles or something. We’ve got to stop them.”

“Right. With what? Our bare hands?”

“If we have to.” McGriffin grasped the back of the seat. “Look, we’ve got to stall them, stop them from taking off until one of the other flights of fighters gets here. Get an ETA over the secure link.”

A moment later Manny lifted his head. “Twenty more minutes, but they’ve got our coordinates.”

McGriffin drew in a breath. “That’s not good enough. The plane will be gone by then.”

“So what do we do?”

McGriffin looked around the helicopter. The shotgun and pistol had to count for something. “Let me down. Land me by the edge of the clearing. I’ll try to sneak around and slow them from loading their plane — anything to stop them from taking off.”

“Land there! They’ll take out us out!”

“Got any other suggestions?”

A moment passed. Manny said slowly, “You’re crazy. You know that? Absolutely crazy. If this was special ops, I’d lay you down over the ridge. But with the time constraint you’ll never get to them before they take off …” He bit his lip. “Okay, but what about me after I drop you off?”

“Get some altitude. I’ll need you to vector the fighters in. They’ve got to take out that plane.”

“If they hit one of the nukes, it’ll take the mountain down.”

McGriffin shook his head. “It’s nearly impossible to set those things off. The worse that could happen is that the H.E. would detonate.”

“H.E. — you mean high explosives?”

McGriffin set his mouth. “Yeah. The H.E. is used to initiate the nuclear implosion, or something like that.” He wished he’d paid more attention to Lieutenant Fellows’s explanation. He turned for the rear of the craft. “Keep in contact over the link. Once I’m down, grab some air.”

Manny shook his head. “Right.”

Manny started combat landing number three: the other two were a piece of cake compared to this.

McGriffin lost all depth perception. They fell into the black abyss as quickly as they could. The peaks flashed by, their features painted silver by the starlight. McGriffin prayed that Manny’s night vision was better than his. He didn’t see the ground when they landed.

Manny screamed at him. “Out, mo-fro. Call me when you’re done.”

McGriffin leaped from the chopper as it thundered upward. He rolled away from the landing area, certain that they would start shelling him. As the helicopter accelerated upward, a missile raced over his head.

Manny’s helicopter lit up in the night. A doubled explosion sent the chopper rolling to the right. Light flashed inside the craft. Slowly, the super Jolly Green Giant crumpled to the ground, spinning as the blades careened off the meadow. The helicopter crashed not fifty yards away.

McGriffin watched, horrified. He got up and started running toward the downed chopper. Flames licked at the craft. He expected the helicopter to explode any moment, and at fifty yards away, take him with it.

He stopped in mid-stride, suddenly throwing himself to the ground. Silence. Were they waiting for him to expose himself? If he tried to rescue Manny, he’d be an easy target. So what would it be — Manny or the terrorists? He couldn’t get to both.

He grit his teeth. God, help me! A scream came from the helicopter. Manny shrieked in pain.

McGriffin tried to get his wits about him. Scanning the clearing, he quickly got his bearings. The light from Manny’s helicopter splashed throughout the meadow. Behind him the plane showed up as a dark, menacing outline against the mountain. Purple flowers pocketed the field. The tall grass hid him from view. But they would be watching.

Or would they? Did they know that he got out, or did they think the chopper was coming in for a landing? Either way, he couldn’t tip his hand. He backed up on his belly, trying to slide away from the helicopter and the light of its fire. Cradling the shotgun in his arms, he moved quietly back.

He tried keeping track of the distance as he drew away. Push, slide, and keep the head down — it seemed to go on forever. By the time he got to the one hundredth slide, he was out of the brightest circle of light. Hang in there, Manny!

The chopper still hadn’t exploded. Maybe they had been low on fuel … or maybe they were just plain lucky. Manny’s shrieks died to moans, now barely audible. McGriffin felt sick to his stomach.

McGriffin swiveled around and surveyed the meadow. Now that his eyes adjusted to the dim light, the plane stood out against the mountains at the end of the meadow, a good quarter mile away. It was a C-130! McGriffin held back a whistle of surprise. It started to come together — this was the bird from “Peterson Field” that had started tonight’s nightmare.

Turning on his buttocks, McGriffin spotted the hijacked HH-53. Its seven blades drooping in the starlight, the chopper sat a hundred yards from the C-130.

No one was around. Six white barrels dotted the field, laying in between the helicopter and plane. An unnatural stillness permeated the air.

McGriffin rocked back and waited. Another moan from Manny pierced the night—

A whistle alerted him. Slowly, a figure appeared from the C-130. It rushed to one of the white barrels. Two other figures picked themselves up from beside the barrel. An expletive. Then, “Hurry up. No telling when the next one will come.”

One of the figures kneeled. Grunting, he picked up a long tube. “What about the Stinger, Dr. Harding?”

“Keep it with you, you idiot. You’ll get just as little warning on the next attack.”

Two more figures emerged from hiding.

Then he heard a voice that floored him. “Do you think that was the helicopter hovering above Alpha Base?” Vikki! “There’s someone still alive on board.”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter anyway. After the nukes are all loaded, we’re leaving. So shut up and help.”

McGriffin strained to see through the darkness. The figures appeared as blobs. He was closer to the helicopter than the C-130, but was still at least fifty yards away. Vikki. It still seemed incredible — the hardest thing to accept was that she was a part of all this.

And from the tone of her voice, she obviously wasn’t a prisoner. It cut through him like a knife: she was one of the terrorists.

But through the disbelief, the reason why he was there reared its head: he had to stop the C-130.

Vikki’s voice shook him again. “Listen, Anthony. I don’t give a shit about putting any more of these nukes on board. You’ve got five already. How many more nuclear weapons are you going to need?”

One of the figures strode up and grabbed her arm. It was the one they called Dr. Harding. “I said, get to work. Every one of those containers is another hundred million in the bank. Ten more minutes, that’s all it’ll take.”

She shook off his arm. “And I’m not leaving another maimed body. For someone who’s fighting for peace, you sure as hell have killed your quota tonight. I’m pulling that guy out of the fire.” She stomped away.

“Yeah, and don’t forget about how you pumped poor innocent Britnell with lead, you bitch. What else are you going to do now? Screw that helicopter pilot after you save him?” He threw a rifle after her. It bounced on the ground and disappeared in the tall grass. “We’re leaving in ten minutes, with or without you.”

Vikki suddenly turned. She rummaged through the grass and found the rifle that had been thrown at her. Glaring, she stalked wordlessly away, toward Manny’s helicopter.

Harding turned to the others and barked out an order. “Hurry. Get these on board.” He pointed to one of the men. “Rev up the engines.” Throwing a glance over his shoulder at Vikki, he turned and put a shoulder to one of the barrels. He scowled, “Ten minutes and we’re out of here.”

He had a plan.

McGriffin waited as Vikki tromped past. She swept twenty feet from him. As her legs brushed through the grass, McGriffin crouched and followed her. He kept near enough so that his rustling would not stir the other terrorist’s suspicions, yet kept far enough away so that she couldn’t hear him.

As he followed, his back started to hurt. He tried to keep low in the foliage, but even the two-foot height of the grass couldn’t hide him entirely.

Vikki reached the helicopter. Placing her rifle in a bare spot, she glanced over her shoulder to the C-130. When she turned toward him, McGriffin hit the dirt and let out a muffled “ooof.” Sweat formed on his brow.

Vikki stepped to the burning chopper. She reached up and touched a metal piece that hung at a crazy angle to the ground. Stepping lightly up, she pulled herself onto the HH-53. Smoke rose around the craft’s periphery. An acrid odor of JP-4 and burnt plastic permeated the air. Manny’s moans had died to whimpers.

As Vikki poked around, McGriffin sat sweating, debating how to approach her.

She was his only ally, his only possible way to stop them. Without the helicopter to vector the fighters in, it was hopeless. But yet … if she was one of them, could he convince her to help him?

And if pigs had wings, they could fly.

Reality hit him smack in the face: he was kidding himself, molding her into what he wanted her to be. Vikki might be showing some soft side of her personality, but if she was really in on this raid — and if she’d really killed a man, as Harding had just said — he wouldn’t be able to change her mind. At least not in the next five minutes.

He inched away from the helicopter. His plan dissolved before his eyes.

Quickly turning, he started to make his way to the C-l30, back to where he might be able to do something to the plane — the fuel tanks, anything. If he had to, he could always pump a few rounds in the instruments and wing tanks in a suicide stand.

A trigger clicked behind his head. “Make another move and you’re dead.” McGriffin froze in his tracks. “Drop it.” His shotgun fell to the ground. He stood, raising his hands over his head, not offering any resistance. “Turn around.” As he slowly turned, Vikki came into view.

Her eyes widened. Her rifle dropped momentarily, then straightened as she tightened her grip. Her eyes drew together and flashed as if she were betrayed.

They stared at each other. Behind her the helicopter belched smoke, setting her body in a surrealistic frame. She whispered, “Well?”

McGriffin drew in deep breaths. His trembling abated. He kept silent.

Her rifle wavered. “Bill, what … do you know what you’re doing? How did you get here?”

McGriffin blinked and jerked his head toward the downed helicopter. “Vikki …”

She seemed to notice his uniform for the first time. She raised her voice and tightened her grip on the barrel. “How dare you. You didn’t tell me you were one of them.” She spat out the word.

“Vikki …” He shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re doing—”

McGriffin stopped at a rustling behind him. Harding’s voice broke through the night.

“Well, well. It looks like old home week here. Who is this, Vikki? Another one of your GI Joes you’ve been screwing on the side? Dragged him out of the helicopter for a little action, huh?”

Vikki held her rifle steady on McGriffin. “Don’t be an ass, Anthony. I didn’t drag him from anywhere. He was trying to get to the plane. Lucky I caught him, too.”

As Harding walked into view, McGriffin’s heart sank. Looks like I’ve tied one up big time. Anything else from here on out would only be a plus. An instance at the Academy roared through his mind. It was unarmed combat, and the instructor was telling them about impossible situations: never give up; never allow yourself to be shot between the eyes. Better to go down swinging and have half a chance than placidly have your hands tied behind your back and be executed.

Harding broke his chain of thought. “So where do you know this teddy from?”

Vikki hesitated. “He’s one of the fascists I met.”

“An officer?” Harding dropped his jaw in mock amazement. He brought his pistol up and brushed off McGriffin’s shoulder boards. “Too bad you couldn’t have nailed one of the really big ones. I hear that intelligence is inversely proportional to rank: the higher they come, the dumber they are. And compared to your friend Britnell, this bozo must really be an idiot.”

He jerked his head back to Vikki. “We’re loaded. Kill him. We’re ready to go.” He started toward the C-130.

Vikki stared at McGriffin.

After ten steps Harding stopped and said irritably, “I said, kill him. If he’s just a fascist, what’s the problem?” He narrowed his eyes and studied Vikki.

Harding was just at the edge of McGriffin’s peripheral vision. Vikki watched McGriffin. Her eyes grew round.

McGriffin whispered, “Vikki!” and took a step forward.

Harding whipped up his pistol.

McGriffin primed himself. I’m not going to stand here and be shot! He drew in a deep breath. Adrenaline raced through his veins. Vikki’s rifle wavered. He flexed his legs and started to jump—

“Shoot him now, dammit!”

Vikki trembled.

Harding swung his pistol to Vikki and pulled off a shot. Vikki collapsed as McGriffin dove into the brush.

McGriffin rolled, keeping his head tucked to his chest. Burrs and twigs tore into his skin. Pollen, shaken loose from his rolling, drove into his nostrils. He sneezed.

He opened his eyes, still rolling. Shots peppered the ground. Two, three, four—a red-hot needle tore into his arm. It felt as if his shoulder would fall off. He grabbed at the wound and crouched lower.

Scrambling, he ran a crooked path away from the shots. Harding crashed after him, emptying the pistol. A volley of shots rang out, but they zinged by, missing him. Reaching the edge of the meadow, McGriffin dove into the thick brush. Crawling on his hands and knees, he fell to the ground. He tried to catch his breath, then slowed his breathing so it wouldn’t give him away.

Pressing his wound with his hand, he gritted his teeth at the pain. He balled his body up and tried to make himself invisible by pushing his head to the ground.

Feet thrashed in the brush. The search continued briefly, a mixture of bullets and cursing filling the air. Finally, Harding yelled out in disgust, “Let’s go, dammit. He can’t stop us now.”

Waiting until the footsteps receded, McGriffin raised his head and peered toward the meadow. Harding stood over Vikki and toed her lightly on the shoulder. When she moaned, he bent and picked up her rifle. Rummaging for McGriffin’s rifle, he cradled both weapons and looked down at her. “You’d be better off with your boyfriend, bitch.” He swung a rifle down and pointed it at her.

Hesitating, he dropped the weapon. “Dying’s the easy way out. So much for your idealism. You didn’t have a clue about Do’brai, or why I really wanted to do this, did you? Just be sure to let them know if they find you what this was really about.” He turned for the plane.

McGriffin closed his eyes. Opening them, he watched Harding disappear into the night.

He could get the rifle from Vikki, try and stop the airplane. He waited and made sure no one was watching him. He was about to move when a loud whining broke through the stillness: an APU! The auxiliary power unit ran up through the decibels. One of the C-130’s engines coughed, then sputtered as it revved up. A second engine caught, and the meadow vibrated with the roar from the propellers.

McGriffin crouched and took an unsteady step forward. He tried to ignore the pain in his arm, but couldn’t concentrate. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket with his left hand and tried to wrap it around the wound. Fumbling with the cloth, he grew frustrated when he couldn’t tie it, so he threw the handkerchief away.

The C-130 revved up engine three and started moving up the meadow. McGriffin shot a glance at Vikki. His eyes widened. She’s gone! Wildly looking around, he couldn’t see her. She must have dragged herself away. As the airplane moved out, he felt suddenly chilled. He had to do something.

There was nothing left to shoot with. He thought briefly about throwing rocks, but quickly shoved the idea away. His breathing quickened. Good Lord, help me! He spotted the HH-53 that Harding had abandoned. Maybe they left something in there, anything.

Keeping pressure on his right shoulder, he stumbled toward the helicopter. The grass whipped past, hindering his motion. The C-130 started slowing as it reached the top of the meadow. The landing lights were off. The pilot relied only on the starlight to guide him.

Staggering across the field, McGriffin reached the helicopter just as the C-130 turned. He swung a foot up and pulled himself in with his good hand.

He looked wildly around. Nothing. The C-130 thundered, bringing its fourth engine up. The helicopter vibrated from the sound. Channeled by the ring of mountain peaks, the plane threw its noise straight down the meadow.

Now think, he thought. What would a chopper pilot use in an emergency? They sit alert, but not for fighting. These things rescue people, they don’t kill them. Come on, think!

Rescue! What would rescue helicopters use? Manny had said they were only used to rescue …

Flares! Of course, they were probably loaded with flares.

He crawled to the front. Wincing in pain, McGriffin tore into several bags stenciled with undecipherable black lettering. He hauled out a flare gun. Steadying himself for a moment, he caught his breath. His arm felt as if it would fall off. He grasped the flare gun with his right hand, keeping his left plastered to his right shoulder.

Turning, he moved to the door and stumbled out. He dragged himself away from the helicopter and toward the center of the field. The C-130 ran up its engines, brakes creaking as if it were a racehorse straining against the starting gate.

The noise was overwhelming. He raised the flare gun, aiming for the cockpit. He’d have to wait until it was closer. If he were lucky, he might be able to distract the pilot. If not, he might bring attention to any aircraft searching for them—

“Drop it, Bill!” coughed Vikki.

McGriffin rotated his body. Vikki was on the ground, holding an M-16 on him. She had the rifle Harding threw at her! If he could get it—

“Vikki—”

“Drop it!” she shrilled.

McGriffin wet his lips. “Vikki, my God — think of all the people that could die—”

“Think of all the people that will live. The peace, the way people will have to change once they find out how easy it is to steal these weapons. Think of the groundswell it will cause.”

McGriffin took a step forward.

“No closer.” She coughed, then spat blood off to the side.

McGriffin tried to switch tactics. He ignored the pounding in his shoulder. “Vikki, how could you do this? Harding tried to kill you. I can stop him.”

She twisted her mouth. Sitting on the ground, she looked up at him, holding her rifle steady. “You don’t understand, do you? It’s not him. It’s not Anthony at all. It’s what he can do if he succeeds. It’s something we’ve dreamed about for years.”

A tremendous roar washed over them. Turning, McGriffin saw the C-130 start moving. Slowly, it lumbered down the meadow, kicking up dust and grit in its prop wash. McGriffin turned back to Vikki. His eyes pleaded with her.

She raised her voice over the racket. “Drop it—”

McGriffin gritted his teeth and dove for the ground.

Vikki’s M-16 went off, spraying bullets over his head. The impulse knocked her backward.

McGriffin brought the flare gun up. His hands wavering, he let off a charge, aiming over Vikki’s head.

The night exploded in a mishmash of purple-green splotches. Vikki screamed and clutched at her eyes.

Rolling to his back, McGriffin let off a succession of three more charges. He could barely see the plane in the ensuing brightness.

The fireballs burst into the night just as the C-130 rotated from the ground. One went off in front of the cockpit. Pushing himself up, he squinted to see the C-130 still airborne. Burning flesh and hair stung his nostrils.

As he watched, the 130’s right wing dipped. Catching a tree at the end of the meadow, the aircraft spun around in slow motion. An explosion lit up the night. McGriffin could barely see through the spots before his eyes. The squat transport hit water and broke into pieces, skimming the surface. It burst into flames.

The fire flashed over the aircraft and spread to the meadow. The heat of the fire surrounding Vikki and him made him vomit. As he struggled up to stomp out the flames, he passed out.