Wall of Night

75

“We’ve got weather ahead!” the pilot called over his shoulder.

Tanner walked into the cockpit. The pilot pointed to the windshield. Swirling out of the blackness, ice pellets peppered the windscreen, their rapid-fire ticks sounding like a Geiger counter gone haywire. Even over the thump of the rotors Tanner could hear the wind howling.

“Barometer’s dropping, too,” the pilot said. “It’s a front, all right.” Suddenly the Hoplite lurched sideways. The pilot compensated and they leveled off. “Wind shear!”

“What’s air temperature?”

“Two degrees centigrade.”

Just above freezing, Briggs thought. “Climb to a hundred feet,” he ordered.

The pilot sighed. “Finally.”

“Don’t thank me. When we’re ten miles from the border, I want you to take it back down.”

“In this weather? We’re gonna die!”

“Maybe so,” Tanner replied, “but at least it won’t be in China.”

Twelve miles from the border, red lights began flashing on the ESM console. A rapid chirping filled the cockpit. From the tone, Tanner knew immediately it wasn’t a standard radar warning.

“Fire control,” the pilot announced. “From our six o’clock … he’s close!”

“What kind?”

The pilot punched a few buttons. “Raduga-F. It’s the Hind! He’s locked onto us!”

Tanner knew the Hind was primarily an antitank gunship, but its 20 mm nose gun was equally effective against air targets. A three-second blast from the 20 mm would slash the Hoplite in half.

“He won’t shoot,” Briggs replied. “Not yet. He’ll try to force us down first. Descend.”

As the Hoplite nosed over and dove downward, Tanner turned and yelled back into the cabin. “Hsiao, get everyone strapped in. It’s gonna get rough!”

The chirp of the ESM grew louder. Getting closer, Tanner thought. Was he guessing right? Would Xiang shoot first, or try to force them down?

“Fifty feet!” the pilot yelled.

“Keep going!”

Through the windscreen, Briggs could see the ice pellets had changed to snow. The flakes swept past the nose like miniature stars and for a moment he felt dizzy, as though looking into a kaleidoscope. He glanced at the pilot; he, too, was staring, transfixed, at the effect.

“Watch your gauges,” Tanner said.

“Sorry … sorry! Twenty feet …”

“A few feet … ”

Tanner could see the earth now, a carpet of blackness below them dotted with clumps of trees and rolling hills. The ground loomed before the windshield until the Hoplite’s belly seemed to be skimming the dirt. “Pull it up!”

The pilot eased back. “Ten feet! I can’t do this!”

“Yes you can.”

The ESM grew louder, the chirps overlapping one another.

“They’re going to fire!”

“Keep going. How far to the border?”

The pilot glanced at this console. “Two miles! What about Russian SAM sites?”

“This is Birobijan. There are no SAMs,” Tanner called back. I hope.

In the eyes of the post-Soviet government, Birobijan was not only one of the Federation’s poorest oblasts, but also a disposable buffer between it and China The chances of anything but token units being assigned to this section of the border were slim.

“You sure about that?” the pilot asked.

“Just fly. If we get across the border, we’re home free.”

In the Hind’s cockpit, the pilot said, “We’ve got a gunlock, sir.”

“How far from the border?” Xiang asked.

“Thirty seconds. I’m firing!”

“No, I want them alive!” You’re not getting away — not this time!

“They’re almost across!”

“Then follow them,” Xiang ordered. “We’ll overtake them and force them to land.”

“That’s Russian airspace! You don’t have the authority to—”

Xiang drew his pistol and let it dangle beside his leg; the pilot glanced at it. His face went pale. “Is this enough authority for you?” Xiang asked.

“You’re crazy.”

“And I’m also in charge. Now, follow them!”

“We’re crossing the border!” the Hoplite’s pilot yelled. “They’re not breaking off!”

“What?”

Suddenly the ESM panel went silent. In its absence, the cockpit was eerily quiet. Random ice pellets ticked off the windscreen and the wind whistled through the cabin door. Beyond the windscreen the snow was thickening.

“Where are they?” the pilot said.

“Close,” Tanner said. He stood up and peered through the windshield. “Turn on your landing light for a second.”

The Hoplite’s nose beam glowed to life, illuminating the ground below. The terrain had become more rugged: jagged mountains cut by steep river valleys, all covered by a thick layer of snow.

“Okay, turn it off—”

Out of his peripheral vision he saw a dark shape materialize out of the darkness.

“There he is,” Briggs said.

The Hind pulled ahead until it was at their 2 o’clock. Its landing lights blinked twice, then twice more. The cockpit’s interior light clicked on. Inside, the pilot jerked his thumb downward.

“He’s signaling us to land,” the pilot said.

“Keep flying.”

“They’re giving us a chance! Listen, maybe your government can negotiate for your—”

“My government will be lucky to find out where my body’s buried.” And Soong and Lion go back to the laogi where they’ll rot away and die. “Keep flying.”

The Hind matched their course for another thirty seconds, then abruptly banked away and disappeared into the darkness.

Ten seconds passed. Both Tanner and the pilot scanned the sky outside the windshield. In the cabin, Hsiao stood at the door window, face pressed to the glass.

Briggs called, “Anything, Hsiao?”

“No, nothing — there! Right side, right side!”

Rotors thumping, the Hind dropped out of the darkness and swooped across their nose. The pilot pulled back and banked right. “Whoa!”

“He’s coming around again,” Hsiao called. “Behind us! He’s making another pass!”

This time the Hind came from the left and above, dropping across the windshield, so close Tanner could see the tail number.

“He’s going to bump us!” the pilot shouted.

“Hsiao, do you see him?”

“Wait … wait. Yes! He’s below us!”

“Climb!” Tanner ordered the pilot. “Fast as you can!”

The Hoplite’s nose canted upward. Tanner gripped the armrests tighter. In the cabin, Lian cried out. Tanner glanced back. “Hsiao?”

“We’re okay! Everybody’s okay!”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know!”

Tanner stood up and stooped closer to the windshield outside. As he did, the bulbous nose of the Hind appeared out of the blackness below, matching their angle of ascent. With a sudden surge of power, the Hind shot ahead and upward, banking as it went.

“He’s too close,” the pilot yelled. “He’s going to hit us …!”

The Hoplite lurched sideways as though struck by a giant hammer. A shudder tore through the fuselage and they tipped sideways, then back upright. A light began flickering on the console; then two more, followed by a buzzing.

“What is it?” Tanner said.

“Oil pressure’s dropping! The temperature on the number two engine is redline!”

Another light; more buzzing. “Fire warning!” the pilot shouted. “We’re losing altitude!”

Tanner turned around: “Hsiao?”

“I’m looking! Yes, I see it … there are flames coming out of the stack.”

“We’re finished,” the pilot said. “We’re going down.”

A jagged valley appeared before them. Steep-walled, forested cliffs swallowed the Hoplite. Through the darkness and swirling snow, Tanner glimpsed a clearing.

“There,” he said, pointing. “An open spot!”

“I see it! I see it!”

Ten feet from the ground, a wind gust hit them broadside and pushed them toward the cliff face. The pilot compensated and banked the Hoplite onto its side. The ground rushed toward the windscreen. “I’m losing it!”

“Pull up!”

In the final seconds, Tanner turned in his seat and shouted, “Hold on!”

One of Hoplite’s rotor blades struck the ground and they began tumbling.