Tactical Strike (14 page)

* * *

Ryan set down his binos as the drone of the Spooky’s
turboprop engines faded and surveyed the rest of the team. Now that they had
some room to maneuver, they had some decisions to make.

He found three of the guys grouped around Hawking and another
wounded team member, all quiet and grim. “Enemy’s cleared off for a while.
What’s his status?” he asked of Hawking.

Gonzales, the other team medic, looked up at him and shook his
head. “Sucking chest wound, a few shrapnel wounds in his abdomen and legs. Needs
immediate evac. Patsy’s beat up but he says he’s still good to go in another
firefight.” He indicated the other wounded man with a jerk of his head.

“Fuck that,” Patterson growled. “I can shoot with my left hand
just as well.”

Ryan noted the way the man’s right arm dangled at his side, the
dark blood stains soaking the bandages. At the very least the guy had a badly
mangled arm and maybe worse, yet he was still game if the zealots on the other
side of the valley came at them again. These SF boys fucking rocked.

“Can’t move Hawking far,” Diamond Dave said, seamlessly
assuming the leadership role now that his commander was out of action. “How long
for a medevac to extract him?”

Ryan shook his head. “No helo’s getting in here with this
visibility and wind speeds. Canyon’s too tight. We’ll have to move him to a
better LZ and wait until they clear a helo in here.” If the weather kept
deteriorating no aircraft would get to them period, and even the Spooky might
have to RTB. If they were going to move the wounded and make use of the Spooky’s
radar, they had a very short window of opportunity to work with.

“Get on the horn,” Dave told him.

He did, and received the response he’d expected but dreaded.
“They can’t send a medevac until the weather cooperates,” he said to Dave.
Hawking hadn’t moved once since Ryan had arrived. He appeared to be unconscious,
his rattling gasps making gurgling, wheezing sounds in the quiet, despite the
attention from the medic to pack and seal the wound. The dropping temp wasn’t
going to help matters either.

Though no one said it aloud, it was clear that Hawking would
die in the next few hours if they didn’t get him out. Ryan had one last-ditch
plan to offer.

“I’ve got that Spooky holding tight,” he said, aware of the
urge to move, to get going or at least get away from here before the enemy
regrouped. Unfortunately that wasn’t an option at the moment. “It cleared off
the airfield and the far side of the valley wall. If the runway’s viable enough
I could direct it in to pick up our wounded.” Hell, it was worth a shot. Might
even save Hawking’s life if they could get him to Bagram in time. Before it
received its advanced electronics and weapons upgrade, the old C-130 airframe
had likely been used for medical transport at some point previously in its long
military service.

“I t-told you, I’m f-fine,” Patterson insisted, his teeth
chattering as the shakes hit him. Shock and cold were already taking their toll
on his system. In another few minutes he’d likely be too far gone to walk.

Diamond Dave didn’t hesitate. He nodded at Ryan as he slapped
the man next to him on the shoulder. “Let’s go check out that runway.”

Chapter Nine

“Your control,” Dover said to Candace.

“My control,” she responded, and took over flying the Spooky in
their holding pattern. The aircraft shuddered and bucked as the wind buffeted
it. Their scheduled sortie was up in just under an hour and they only had
another hour’s worth of fuel after that. Refueling with another tanker wasn’t
going to be possible in these winds, and theirs was pretty much the only
aircraft equipped with avionics advanced enough to allow them to fly in this
kind of adverse weather. “Not sure what the ground team’s planning on doing once
we pull out. They’re not getting anyone else out here for CAS until the storm
dies down.”

“No doubt.”

Ryan’s voice came over the radio again. “Got a big favor to
ask. Request emergency medevac for two of our boys. Over.”

She shared an incredulous look with Dover.
Medevac
? Them?

“Jesus, they must be in real bad shape,” Dover muttered,
frowning.

You
think
? If anyone knew the enormity of what landing
this particular aircraft out here on an abandoned runway entailed, it was Ryan,
so she knew he wasn’t asking lightly. The Spooky II cost tens of millions of
dollars with its sophisticated, delicate electronics and weapons systems that
could easily be damaged if the runway wasn’t smooth enough. This was beyond the
normal scope of any mission she’d ever flown, and the last thing she’d expected
to do out here. “We copy, Jackal seven. What did you have in mind?”

“The east end of the runway is clear enough for a landing.
We’ve got one critical, one seriously injured needing a lift to Bagram
ASAP.”

In other words, they couldn’t afford to wait for someone else
to help, and he knew no one else was getting in here until the weather front
passed.

She looked at Dover, not sure how to respond. “Well?”

His expression was set, a sure sign of his reluctance. “They’ve
gotta be desperate or they never would have asked us, and like you said, we’re
all they’ve got. Sounds like at least one of them will die if we don’t get him
out. Think we’ve got enough room down there to land and take off again?”

“He wouldn’t have advised us to land if there wasn’t.” Ryan
might be on the arrogant side and love to push the envelope, but he was damn
good at his job. He’d never ask them to take this on if it wasn’t possible. And
necessary. He was trying to save lives down there. The entire thing made her
flash back to what had happened to Devon and her crew during their last medevac
flight. Shoving back the frightening memory, Candace locked it down and focused
on the task at hand. Cool perspiration broke out between her shoulder
blades.

She keyed Ryan again. “Roger that. We’ll take a look.” While
Dover alerted the back enders over the ICS, she descended enough to get a good
view of the runway then went into another left-hand pylon turn above it in case
they came across any resistance. On screen the ancient runway came into view.
“He’s set up a Box and One strobe pattern,” she said, awed by his efficiency.
Her heart was already beating faster at the thought of landing down there
though.

“You’ll need to approach from the west and do a full reverse
the second your nose gear touches down,” Ryan added.

“Roger that.” The runway didn’t give them much room to
maneuver. “Gonna be tight,” she said to Dover.

Rather than answer, he called command and, after a few minutes
relaying the desperate conditions the ground team was in, received permission to
go ahead with the medevac attempt. Glancing over, Dover gave a small shrug that
said ‘the hell with it.’ Neither of them would leave men here to die if they
could help it. “First time for everything. Let’s get in there before this front
gets any worse.”

The urgency in his tone echoed her own feelings, and she wasn’t
surprised when he automatically retook control of the aircraft. “Roger
that.”

Dover took the aircraft into a wide turn and looped back to
align his approach. The steep cliff at the far end of the runway loomed ahead
like a giant wall. “Any enemy contacts down there?” she asked over the ICS.
Nothing showed on her screen.

“A few scattered ones,” the electronics warfare officer
answered. “We should be okay if we do this quick.”

She alerted the other back enders. “Prepare for landing. Could
be a rough one.” Landing this beast on a thirty-year-old airstrip should prove
interesting. Dover descended fast, aiming for the near end of the runway to give
them as much room as possible to slow before the cliff became an issue. The box
pattern strobe lights would help guide them, but might also draw the attention
of any bad guys waiting nearby if they had the right equipment to see the
strobes.

She tightened her hands on the control column. The pitch of the
engines dropped as their airspeed decreased, the shortened runway looming ever
nearer. “Here we go,” Dover murmured, moving closer and closer to the ground. He
flared the nose and reduced power just before touchdown.

The back wheels touched, followed a moment later by the nose
gear. While Dover controlled the rudder she switched the engines to full
reverse, and the whole aircraft vibrated under the sudden strain. A throaty roar
filled the air as the four turboprops ran at full power, forcing the aircraft to
a shuddering stop on the rough runway, well short of the cliff face. She
released the breath she’d been holding.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Dover remarked with a grin she was sure
he meant to inspire confidence.

“No, not so bad at all,” she agreed. It was taking off in this
thinner air on a short runway in total darkness that made her palms all sweaty
inside her gloves. That and getting out of here before more enemy shooters
started using them for target practice.

As soon as they’d slowed enough Dover turned the aircraft and
taxied back down the runway to where they’d first touched down, putting them
back in position to take off into the wind. The moment he brought the plane to a
stop, the back-end crew scrambled into motion. “We’re ready,” she advised
Ryan.

“Roger. Stand by for cargo.”

Behind her, Bertoni undid his harness and climbed down the
metal steps to the rear of the aircraft. The loadmaster opened the tail ramp and
a few moments later she and Dover swiveled in their seats as the heavy thud of
boots echoed off the steel deck in the back.

Bertoni reappeared at the top of the stairs a few minutes
later. “Cargo’s on board,” he said, climbing back into his seat and strapping
himself in.

Okay. So far, so good. All they had to do now was get back in
the air and everything would be fine.

Ryan came back on the radio. “Thanks for the pickup.”

The familiar sound of his voice resonated deep inside her. She
looked beyond her window into the darkness. He was out there somewhere, watching
over her though she didn’t know where he was and would never be able to see him.
“Happy to help,” she answered. “We’ll get them to Bagram ASAP.” A part of her
wished he was aboard too, so she could get him out of harm’s way. But no matter
how much she hated having to leave him here when armed insurgents prowled the
area, there was no room for emotional attachment right now. They all had jobs to
do. She had to get the wounded and her crew back to base immediately. And she
had to believe that Ryan would be okay, because he was an expert at what he
did.

“You boys making our passengers feel at home back there?” she
asked her crew over the headset.

“You know it,” one of them answered. “Not sure about one of
them, though, Cap. He’s pretty bad.”

“We’ll be in the air shortly.” She waited while the tail ramp
closed and finally the loadmaster gave the all-clear.

“See anyone out there?” she asked Dover, the back of her neck
prickling.

He craned his head around, scanning the darkness. “Nope.”

While she liked the thought of friendlies being close by, she
was glad there weren’t any bad guys in sight either.

“Wind’s zero-seven-zero at forty knots, gusting to fifty-five
knots. You’re cleared to take off,” Ryan advised a moment later.

“Roger that.” She keyed the ICS. “Prepare for takeoff.”

Dover took over the power levers. The engines powered up smooth
and steady as they started rolling down the runway. Fifty meters down, a series
of sharp, staccato cracks suddenly sounded outside the aircraft. Glowing tracers
arced outside the cockpit’s left-hand window. Her belly tightened as Dover
twisted around in his seat to get a better look.

“That us or them?” she asked, eyes trained to the runway before
them. They had to get in the air. Now.

“No idea.”

That only made her want to get out of there faster. Her crew
and the wounded were counting on it. She kept checking the instrument panel as
they increased speed and finally said, “Eighty knots.”

“Your control,” he responded.

“My control.” She took over the power levers, steadily pressing
them forward while Dover took the tiller to steer the nose gear. The Spooky
picked up speed, racing ahead in the darkness, the landing gear bouncing over
the rough runway. Eighty-five knots now.

Just as she was about to pull back on the control column to
pull the nose into the air, something suddenly exploded beneath them.

Candace’s heart leaped into her throat as the back of the
aircraft veered sharply to one side, sending them into a skid. Screams and
shouts erupted from the back.
Shit
!

Her hand reflexively tightened on the power levers as Dover
tried to control the sudden skid. “Reducing power.” Heart thudding, she pulled
the levers back hard to try and slow them. The acrid scent of smoke drifted into
the cockpit. The plane fishtailed a moment, swung in a wide arc to the right and
dipped suddenly, catching a wing tip on the runway with a giant crunch. Orange
and red sparks sprayed up from the grinding metal. Candace hid a flinch. After
what seemed an eternity, the plane came to a violent, rocking stop.

“I’m going down.” With that, Bertoni unbuckled his harness,
grabbed a fire extinguisher and raced into the rear of the aircraft.

Candace frantically scanned the controls and gauges, trying to
ascertain the extent of the damage while the flight engineer did the same. The
reinforced silicon carbide and Spectra fiber armor on the flight deck had
shielded them from the blast, but the rest of the crew in the back obviously
hadn’t been that lucky. Had they run over an old mine? An IED? Or had one of the
insurgents gotten lucky with an RPG?

“Right gear’s collapsed,” Dover said, face grim in the low
interior lights.

Cries of pain continued to drift in from the back, whether from
the casualties they’d picked up or from the crew, she couldn’t be sure.

Candace looked out her window toward the damaged wing. No sign
of fire there. Yet. “Three engines still functional.” Not that it mattered.
There was no way they could take off without knowing just how much damage they’d
sustained.

The radio chirped. “What’s your status?” Ryan asked.

“Right rear gear and wing are damaged. Something’s on fire in
the back, and we may have more injuries,” she responded.

“Can you still take off?”

“Negative.”

“Copy. We’re coming to you. Be advised there are unknown number
of enemy contacts closing in on your right.”

“Dammit,” Dover spat.

She immediately peered out into the darkness, scanning for
threats. All she saw was blackness. Knowing a threat was bearing down on them
made the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

From the top of the stairwell Bertoni poked his head into the
cockpit. “Two of our guys have burns and shrapnel wounds. One of the SF guys is
unconscious. Fire’s contained, but there’s lots of damage to the frame and some
of the equipment. I think the strut’s snapped on the rear landing gear.” He
looked at the control panel. “What’s the story?”

She met Dover’s eyes for a breathless moment, hardly able to
believe what was happening.

The aircraft commander’s mouth was a thin line in his grave
face. “Radio in a mayday and have everyone evacuate.”

Though she’d expected them, those words sent a fresh wave of
adrenaline rushing through her. Unbuckling her harness, she dialed in the right
frequency and contacted command. “Mayday mayday mayday, this is raptor two-niner
reporting emergency. We’ve taken a blast on the ground and have casualties.
Aircraft heavily damaged and unable to take off. We’re evacuating the crew and
request emergency evac from this location.”

Someone back at base responded a moment later. “Copy that,
raptor-two-niner. Stand by.”

Dover continued to shut down systems while she waited, his
hands moving with renewed urgency. When the answer came her heart sank. “We are
unable to launch a rescue at this time due to weather conditions in your area.
You are advised to evacuate with the ground team to await further
instructions.”

She swallowed, fighting the urge to shout that that wasn’t good
enough. “Roger that, Bagram. Raptor-two-niner, out.” The protocol for evacuation
flickered through her brain like a fast-moving movie reel. She helped shut down
the aircraft then reached for her survival vest with the 9 mm pistol in its
holster, while Dover grabbed his own gear and put it on atop his jacket. Bertoni
had already taken his and disappeared into the back. She hoped the rest of their
emergency equipment hadn’t been destroyed in the fire.

With a calm she didn’t feel, she radioed Ryan. “Jackal seven,
we’re evacuating the aircraft. Bagram’s advised us to wait with you in a safer
location for further instructions.”

He answered instantly. “Roger that. Four of us are moving to
your rear now.”

The even tone of his voice and the knowledge he was coming to
help gave her only a small measure of confidence. It was pitch black outside and
freezing. Her crew’s jackets weren’t going to be much help out there in these
conditions and there was no telling how long they’d have to wait for a rescue
chopper. They didn’t know how many men were coming at them from the darkness.
After zeroing the radio she took a deep breath. Rising from her seat, she
glanced at Dover.
One
step
at
a
time
.
That’s
all
you
have
to
do
. “Ready?”