by Doug Beason
After they wired the third helicopter, things started going wrong.
He heard a “plunk” as he waved the men on, splitting them up to set the rest of the explosives. The alert bird—a helicopter kept ready to instantaneously fly away in case of an emergency—sat well away from the ones they scurried about.
But the “plunk” sounded bad.
Koch ducked down and raced back to the giant HH-53. It loomed over him like a silent sleeping giant as Koch crawled under the 53’s fuselage. The explosive had fallen from the airframe, jarring the timer away from the fuse. Great, he thought. If he hadn’t found it, it wouldn’t have exploded.
Koch slapped the fuse and timer together before setting the explosive back underneath the fuselage. He decided this was the optimal place—hiding it inside the chopper would draw too much attention if it were found.
He placed the plastique underneath the body, right by the wheel well. It was virtually impossible to see.
Koch crawled out from under the chopper and decided to inspect the other two helicopters.
Both explosives had fallen from their places. One had the timer and fuse still together, the other was separated.
Koch cursed and fixed the two. He had a sudden thought—racing back to the first chopper, he saw what he was looking for. He swore to himself. The explosive had fallen again.
He ran his hand over the fuselage. The skin felt cold to his touch. Something was wrong. If this wasn’t an aluminum skin, then what was it? It felt like plastic. But it had to be aluminum—what the hell else could it be?
More important, all the plastique planted by the men were probably no longer sticking to the helicopters.
He glanced at his watch: 2256—four minutes and the show begins. Wetting his lips, he looked hurriedly around. He spotted one or two of the men slipping in among the helicopters. Too little time was left to ensure that all the HH-53’s would blow. And if they didn’t …
Koch angrily pushed the thought out of his mind. It was too late to prevent what happened—he had to move on to the next part of the plan: load the men!
He ran across two rows of helicopters. Four of his men disappeared around a helicopter. Moments later they trotted up to him. “That’s it.”
Koch grunted. They had to time it right—after the communications building blew, but before the plastique they planted went off. When they started the chopper’s engines, the sound would draw security policemen like a shark feeding frenzy. With Pablo’s diversion at the command post they might be able to get the five choppers off the ground.
He glanced at his watch again: 2258. Two minutes. He directed the men to load the choppers. Swinging up into the cockpit, he ran his hands over the equipment. In the darkness he managed to find his way around without too much difficulty.
A light glinted off the windshield. Jerking his head up, he caught sight of two cars moving slowly up to the helicopters. The first was a jeep; the other was a security police car. Men climbed from the cars.
2257 local
Wendover AFB Flight Line
McGriffin pulled up to the flight line. Although the two security policemen escorted him, he still felt wary about crossing the “drop dead” line encircling the HH-53’s. He wasn’t sure how serious they took the line at Wendover. He looked for the grim-faced security policemen guarding the line with an M-16 in hand—but no one was around. He knew that on a Saturday night the average nineteen-year-old guard would rather be doing quite a few other things besides pacing alone outdoors; but still, where were they?
McGriffin turned off his lights and waited for the security policemen to park beside him. He jumped from the jeep as a third car drove up. A figure in a flight suit slammed the door.
“Major McGriffin?”
“Over here.” The voice sounded familiar …
The security policemen joined McGriffin as the man approached. The man called out, “Hi ya, Bill—”
“Manny, what the fat brings you out here?” McGriffin shook hands with the lanky chopper pilot.
Yarnez grinned and returned the security policemen’s salute. “I should be the one to ask. I was just pulling alert when I got this frantic call from Chief Zolley. He said you were chasing some airplane around and were afraid something was going on with the 53’s.” He lifted his eyebrows at McGriffin.
“Yeah, I’m not sure what’s going on myself. I just wanted to check out your helicopters to make sure nothing was wrong.”
Manny spread his arms. “Satisfied?”
McGriffin frowned and looked around. “What about the guards?”
Manny scanned the area, then shrugged. “They’re on patrol. What else do you think they’re doing?”
“All right, don’t rub it in.” He glanced at his watch: 2259. “I tell you what—I still want to track them down. Afterward I’ll buy you a grease burger and fill you in.”
“It’s a deal. Hole in the Ground? I’ll meet you there.” He threw a quick salute and left for his car.
“Sure.” McGriffin headed wearily for the flight line. What a night, he thought. Thinking he should check in with Zolley, he turned back to his vehicle—
The explosives went off as he reached the jeep. Momentarily blinded, he groped for the radio. Helicopter blades screamed around him. Heavy fumes of JP-4 nearly bowled him over.
He managed to click on the mike. “Command post—can you read me?”
A helicopter exploded not a hundred feet away, knocking him against the jeep door. Flames shot into the air. A boiling cloud of smoke and fires rolled over the flight line. Another helicopter exploded, blinding him.
Over the hiss of the walkie-talkie Chief Zolley cried, “... the command post is under attack!”
Chapter 17
Saturday, 18 June, 2300 local
Alpha Base
“Now!” Renault jabbed at the screen. The APC jumped, its electric engines pushing the vehicle to the limit.
Harding leaned over Renault’s shoulder and punched up the outside view. He turned the audio down, lowering the sound of explosions crashing in. Mortars screamed into the night. The area rocked with white noise as the explosives detonated. Harding pointed excitedly at the screen. “The barracks—they took out the barracks!”
Renault ignored Harding’s excitement and instead concentrated on urging the personnel carrier forward.
Vikki strained to see the screen. An entire building roared in flames. The enlisted barracks, she thought. How many of Britnell’s buddies were trapped inside? An image of the first party Britnell took her to raced through her mind, the groupies, girlfriends, and wives. How many widows did we make tonight?
The APC flew over the outside perimeter road and bore straight for the fences. Another building went up in flames—the command post and security station. Trucks exploded, mixing with sporadic gunfire.
“It’s like Pearl Harbor,” shouted Harding. He slapped Renault on the back and turned to Vikki, grinning. “We caught them napping. We’re going to do it!”
They bore down on the first fence. Renault drove on, gluing his eyes to the screen.
“Fifty yards, hold on!”
Twang!
“Gunfire—they see us!”
“I don’t think they’ve spotted us. They’re shooting blind.”
Renault gripped the steering column. Entering the smoothed-over dirt buffer zone, they were right on top of the fences. “Come on, baby. Let’s punch right through. Four in a row.”
Vikki dropped her rifle. She held on to her seat with both hands.
Brooomph!
They hit the first fence. Vikki strained to see the diagnostics flashing on Renault’s screen. They hit the ten-foot-high barrier at forty-five miles an hour. The armored personnel carrier ripped a hole and slithered through the opening as if it weren’t even there.
“Hold on—” Broooomph! The second fence whipped past. Harding whooped. The APC slowed minutely, then picked up speed …
She started to hold her breath and—broooomp
h!— they were through the third fence. The outside view jumped on the screen, then died. The video camera’s hit!
“Keep away from the sides!” yelled Renault. “This one’s electric—”
“Broooooomp! The screen went dark. The APC kept moving, but the electric engines whined from the impact. Seconds later the APC turned nosedown as it dove into the crater. The inside lights flickered, then blinked out. The APC hit something hard, bounced, and jerked to a halt.
“Everybody out!” shouted Renault in the darkness. “It’ll only be a matter of seconds until they’ve figured out what happened. Move it!”
Vikki struggled with her belt. Renault knocked her down as he scrambled past her, crawling up the hatchway. “Hey!” Falling to the floor, she lifted herself up on one elbow and patted around for her rifle.
Renault clamored out the hatch. The sound of gunfire and sirens roared through the opening. Harding stuck his head down. “Vikki, what’s keeping you?”
She pushed up and started for the ladder. “Get moving. I can take care of myself.”
Reaching the top of the ladder, she shoved her rifle out first. Twang! Gunfire peppered the vehicle. She pushed herself over and rolled down the side, hitting the caked sand. The air roared with noise. Red-orange flames belched smoke where the barracks had been. Several vehicles burned, smoking with remnants of a fire.
A dull thudding pounded the area. Gunfire, screams, and explosions mixed with the sound of mortars still hitting Alpha Base. The sound of helicopters grew louder.
Vikki crawled alongside the APC and peered around the edge. Fifty feet lower in the crater Renault and Harding kneeled before a bunker door. They affixed explosives to the portal, carefully stacking roll after roll of plastique around the detonator. Harding pushed in a set of wires. He looked wildly around. A half dozen men fanned out, providing cover and setting up mortars inside Alpha Base.
“Get the hell out of here. We’re ready to blow. Thirty seconds!”
Vikki grew cold; a shot of adrenaline raced through her. She had to get out of the way—fifty feet wasn’t nearly far enough. She half crawled, half ran to the left, parallel to the fence. Slipping, she picked herself up and sprinted the distance to another bunker. She clambered around the side and leaned against the dirt berm, gasping for breath. Her chest heaved from the run. Any second now. She steadied herself against her rifle.
A helicopter popped overhead, its blades kicking up dust. Vikki swung her rifle up and squinted at the craft through her sight. Is it one of theirs or ours? she thought.
At the same instant, a pair of headlights jumped behind her. She swung her rifle around.
Making a split-second decision, she pumped off five rounds into the jeep. Screams, tires squealing, and the roar of the helicopter’s wash. The jeep ran into the dirt berm, its wheels spinning as it flipped over. The helicopter shot back up into the sky. She followed it with her rifle, still unsure if it was one that had been commandeered or not.
An explosion rocked the ground. Rocks rained from the sky as a cloud of dust rolled over her.
Vikki drew in several breaths. She took a moment to get reoriented, then scrambled around the bunker. Mortars thudded in the distance, Renault’s men keeping the Alpha Base forces at bay.
Vikki grasped her rifle and trotted for the bunker Harding had blown. Dust from the helicopter and explosion settled, leaving a fine powder of sand and debris. Renault and Harding moved toward the bunker. Vikki picked up her pace.
Halfway there, three helicopters thundered overhead. Vikki started for cover. Landing, the choppers hit the ground and bounced. Eight of Renault’s men scrambled from each craft, fanning out. When the last man exited, the helicopters lifted into the air.
Vikki continued to the bunker. The helicopters patrolled the area. A man hung out the door of each chopper, spraying the ground with bullets. Explosions peppered the ground from hand grenades they tossed.
Vikki slowed to a trot as she approached Harding.
The physicist kicked at the bunker. “Damn it all to hell!”
“What’s wrong?” Vikki was surprised how her words squeaked out. She was badly out of breath.
“There must be four inches of steel in this door.” He turned angrily to Vikki. “I thought that toad Britnell told you there was nothing special about these plates. Two hundred fifty pounds of plastique should have cracked it open.”
“So the kid didn’t know his crap. Can’t you blow the hinges off?”
“A thousand pounds of dynamite would only buckle four inches of steel. You screwed up, Vikki. No, I screwed up. I should have never trusted the information you got out of that twerp.”
“Wait one damned minute,” shrilled Vikki. “If you’re going around pointing fingers, you sure the hell better not point fingers at me. After all, who got you that IFF unit? Who—”
“Hold it, hold it.” Renault stepped between them.
“In case you didn’t notice, we’re smack in the middle of a shootout. If we’re lucky, we’ve got about an hour and a half before they get their act together and counterattack. We’ve cut them off from higher headquarters, but they’ll find a way to get to us. We’re safe for now, but we can’t stay here forever. The choppers will provide us with cover, and the rest of my men are combing the bunkers for stragglers.”
He scanned the sky. “But we’ve got to hurry—my men didn’t get all the helicopters. There may be some left back at the main Wendover complex.”
Harding stepped unsteadily forward. ‘What in the hell—”
“I said there may be some left; one or two at the most.” Renault turned to a metal box imbedded in the side of the concrete bunker. “Right now we’d better figure out how to get into the bunkers.”
Harding breathed hard but stepped up and studied the container. It was open, smashed in by one of Renault’s men. He seemed to calm down, appearing puzzled. “If this is the way to get into the bunker, I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
“Neither have I,” said Renault. He pointed to the inside of the box. “There’s no place for a key or combo. Just a glass eye.”
“Okay—so what do we do?” Harding looked to Renault.
Vikki took a step back, cooling down. “How many do you think we’re up against?”
Renault set his mouth. “If your information about Alpha Base is correct”—Vikki shot a glance at Harding, but he ignored her—”we may have killed two thirds of the men in the barracks—about 130 out of two hundred. We’ve confirmed at least thirty more dead, leaving forty still out in the crater.
Harding scowled. “So we outnumber them.”
“Barely,” Renault reminded him.
Vikki scanned the area after a burst of gunfire rang out. “What about reinforcements?”
“That’s the hour and a half buffer we’ve got. Even if they can mobilize their entire security police force, they can only throw another two hundred men at us. Reinforcements from another base will take at least that long to get here.”
“Only another two hundred men. Great. Just frigging great.” Harding slammed a hand against the metal box.
“All right, cut the whining. If you’re still in this, then shut up and start contributing. If all you’re going to do is bitch, then get the hell out of here. I’ll do it myself. Understand?”
Renault stared at Harding. They glared at each other, each refusing to budge.
Vikki stepped forward. “We’ve got an hour and twenty-nine minutes, Colonel. What do we do?”
Harding opened his mouth. Vikki ignored him and studied Renault’s face. “Come on, Colonel. You’re wasting time.”
Renault tore his attention away from Harding. He seemed to collect himself. “My men have orders to bring any officers they capture to me. Once we get someone in command, we’ll force him to open the bunker.”
“How will he do that?” asked Vikki.
Renault picked up his rifle. “That’s the officer’s problem, not ours. But until we find one, we split up. Don
’t do anything stupid. Just capture him. Remember why we’re here—it’s not to play John Wayne.”
2301 local
Wendover AFB Flight Line
McGriffin picked himself up off the concrete. His teeth hurt and he couldn’t see out of one eye. Touching a hand to his head, he winced and drew back blood. He pried his eyelid open.
Acrid smoke bellowed from a majority of the helicopters. Flames licked at their undersides. A dozen HH-53’s lay crumpled on the apron. Sirens wailed in the distance, giving the night a surrealistic feel.
Suddenly, engines screamed, revving up.
“The helicopters. They’re taking off!” McGriffin looked wildly around. He stumbled toward the flight line.
The security police car was in front of him, its lights out. McGriffin ran up and yanked open the door. One of the security policemen tumbled out, his head lolling listlessly to the side. Blood dripped from his mouth and ears.
McGriffin looked up as one of the helicopters lurched from the ground. The super Jolly Green Giant hovered in the air, slowly moving upward. It passed over him, spraying its wash across the area.
The other policeman in the car didn’t move. As a second helicopter lifted off the pad, McGriffin reacted. He pulled the .45-caliber pistol out of the dead security policemen’s holster, then unlocked the back door to the police car. Grabbing the shotgun from its holder in the rear window, McGriffin crouched low as the second helicopter passed over him.
McGriffin’s brain yammered at him: They’re stealing the helicopters! It seemed crazy—setting off explosions, attacking the command post—
The command post! Chief Zolley had shouted something about the command post being attacked when the explosions started.
McGriffin pushed past the security policeman’s body and grabbed for the microphone. He clicked it.
“CP, this is Mobile One. Come in CP.” No response. “Anybody, come in!” He threw the mike back inside the car and stood.
The whining continued. A third helicopter started to lift—
A hand touched McGriffin’s shoulder. He whirled, bringing the shotgun up to Manny Yarnez’s face.