High Alert

CHAPTER 36

At 2130 Nick and the others made a final equipment check. Selena told them what Valentina had said about Vasiliev.

"Explains a lot," Nick said. "We'll have to keep an eye on him once we're at the target. If he's going to try something, it will be there."

"A lot can happen on a mission like this," Lamont said.

"That's what I'm afraid of. It's a complication we don't need."

"It's easy for him to make trouble if he wants to," Ronnie said.

"Yeah. Once we're on the ground things could get confused. Everyone better watch their six."

The plan was for the Russians and Americans to keep their separate unit configurations. Once they were on site, each team would move toward assigned targets. After the missile battery and antiaircraft stations had been eliminated, both assault teams would move against the tower and the launch pad.

Vasiliev had six on his team, plus himself and Valentina. They were going in the lead helicopter. Nick and the others would follow in the other. Radio communications between the two units would be handled by Valentina and Selena. That took care of potential language difficulties. Both teams had their own comm channels in addition to a shared frequency. Voice activated radio units allowed for hands-free operation.

The Russians carried suppressed Nikonov AN-94 assault rifles and a variety of personal weapons and grenades. They'd brought along RPG-7s, the workhorse of rocket propelled grenade launchers. The Americans carried MP-7s, grenades and their pistols. Ronnie had the AT-4 rocket launcher. It was a single use weapon, discarded after firing. One 84mm shot was all it had, but one would be enough. Both teams had packs of explosives and detonators. C-4 or Semtex, it made no difference. Plastic explosives were indifferent to political systems and ideologies.

A chill wind cut through the layers of camouflage and thermal underwear everyone wore as they walked to the waiting choppers. The night sky was high and cold above, with a three-quarter moon glowing pale silver through thin, scudding clouds. The air felt electric, as if it were waiting for something to happen.

"Mount up," Nick said.

The MI-35 was an evolution of the Hind helicopters that had been effective for the Russians during their war in Afghanistan. That effectiveness ended when the CIA began giving the Afghans Stingers and the training to use them. Moscow's strategy in Afghanistan had been based on the helicopter, but the big Russian choppers had no defensive capability against the shoulder fired missiles. The Stinger had turned the tide against them. That, and traditional, uncompromising Afghan resistance to any foreign invader. No invader had ever won in Afghanistan. Nick was certain no one ever would.

The machine Nick and the others climbed into bore only a passing resemblance to the helicopter of forty years before. The shape was similar, the basic function was the same, but at that point the similarities ended. Weapons, avionics, engines, defenses, everything was far superior to the aircraft Vasiliev's father had flown.

The MI-35 was one of the best attack helicopters in the world. It was also uncomfortable and cold as hell. The hold smelled of metal, fuel and stale vomit. From where he sat, Nick could see into the cockpit. Two pilots watched a multifunctional display playing out in red against the windscreen.

Overhead, the enormous rotor began winding up. Crisp commands in Russian echoed in Nick's earpiece.

Selena held her hand against her earpiece and listened to what the Russians were saying. "They're getting ready to take off. There's a new front moving in."

"Is that going to delay us?" Nick asked.

"No. Apparently this thing can fly through anything short of a major hurricane. Might not be great on the ground, though."

"Bad weather could help," Ronnie said. "If things go south it might stop the Koreans getting their fighters up."

The pitch of the rotors intensified. The machine lifted off the ground and tilted forward.

They were on their way to North Korea.