Victoria had set up shop inside one of the hangars, and Tyce wanted to see how his wounded men were faring. Just as he had directed his men to do, he raced from one hangar to the next, not wanting to expose himself for long—especially now that the sun had come up and they were visible from all around.
A hail came from the rafters of the hangar. Tyce looked up and saw Blue and several snipers. A long, three-story ladder had afforded them access to a series of crisscrossed gangways where several cranes and other electronics were housed, and they had set up a modified sniper hide position. They had punched some holes in the siding and seemed to be pretty happy with their vantage.
“How’s the view up there?” Tyce yelled up.
“Not bad, sir,” came the response from the team leader. “You all look like ants from up here.”
“Okay,” yelled Tyce. “Just be careful you squish the right ones if the time comes.”
Two Humvees drove into the hangar and stopped near Tyce. The Marine driver leaned out of the Humvee.
“Hey, sir, the C-130 crews worked really hard and fast, but say only one of the planes is operational. The other must have been damaged by some crossfire or something.”
Crap, thought Tyce. They had been planning on increasing the survivability of the government guys by splitting them between two aircraft, just in case. If the planes were detected by the much more maneuverable Russian fighters, at least they could have split up, and one of them might make it. In any case, it was all very risky, but at least they still had a chance with one plane—and their luck had held out so far.
“Got it,” said Tyce, “So we’re ready?“
“No, sir. They just asked that we stay out of their way while they go through their preflight check.”
Tyce waved the men off and gritted his teeth. Everything was taking too long. Why even do preflight checks? Don’t those stupid flyboys know they have a bigger chance of getting shot down, especially with the time they’re wasting, than having a small fuel leak? Tyce had never been big on flying, and after a few crummy experiences downrange, he tried to grab a Scotch or a few beers before taking a civilian flight. But right at that moment, routine safety was the least of his concerns.
Right as the Humvees turned to head back out, one of the sniper rifles above barked out a flat report, which resonated loudly throughout the metal hangar.
“Hey, sir,” came a shout from above as Tyce sprinted a short distance for cover, tumbling behind a stack of aviation tires. “There are a few guys probing the perimeter. Looks like the same guys we fought before. At least, the uniforms look like Russian air force.” There was a slight pause. “One less of ’em now,” the voice said cheerily.
Bang!
Another of the alert snipers had fired.
“Make that two . . . but they are looking for a weak spot. We’ll keep them at arm’s length. ’Bout how long ya figure?” This time, it was Blue’s voice. Looked like he was still keeping himself gainfully employed.
Tyce put his helmet back squarely and wiped himself off. Since Iraq, the sound of a sniper’s bullet still made him jump—both incoming and outgoing sniper shots. Tyce tried to stand, but his prosthetic had come off when he had leapt over the tires.
He yelled up to Blue, “Hopefully soon.” Then hopped over to retrieve his leg. He saw Victoria approaching him from the corner where she had set up her ambulances. She wore her usual scowl, but it softened the instant she saw him hopping around for his leg.
Embarrassed, Tyce tried to get over to the leg before she reached him, but she misread his intent and hustled over to help him.
“Hey, Tyce,” Victoria said, as she helped him buckle the prosthetic back on. Her hands and arms were covered with dark red bloodstains.
Tyce looked her up and down. He was embarrassed for being a cripple and needing someone’s help in battle but even more angry at himself for noticing her again as a woman. But she looked all the more beautiful to him after performing her duties saving his men’s lives.
“How are we doing?” he asked to cover up his embarrassment.
“You mean, how many have we lost? None on my operating table,” she answered with a medical provider’s firmness while snapping the last buckle on Tyce’s leg. “But I can’t account for those still out on the battlefield. I tasked several of your men to guard some of my corpsmen, and they are out there right now recovering the . . . fallen.” Her voice choked up a little.
“You haven’t lost anyone?” Tyce said incredulously.
“No, but there are four of your men who will need prosthetics. I took three arms and one leg. They are recovering in the back of the Humvees, if you want to visit with them. Though I doped them heavily on morphine drips.”
“Yeah, I’d like to visit with them. See how they’re doing.”
Victoria looked Tyce over, as any medical officer would, then rubbed some dirt off his cheek.
The moment was nice. But just as before, it was interrupted—this time by the sounds of an LAV engine. One of the two LAVs Tyce had sent to keep a good, roving eye on the perimeter shot into the hangar, its turret pivoting on a distant target as the vehicle spun around and tucked just on the inside of the huge metal sliding door. The commander was up and out of the turret and waving Tyce over.
Tyce ran over to the LAV and climbed aboard. The commander caught Tyce by the hand, hauling him aboard like an old cavalry movie. Tyce grabbed the crew helmet handed to him and squatted behind the pintle-mounted 7.62mm machine gun on the top of the vehicle.
He keyed the intercom. “What’s up, guys?”
“Hey, sir, that Bradley said he’s spotted the Russian helicopter. He said he just caught a piece of him through the thermal sights running behind the ridgeline to the east.”
“Okay, understood. What direction was he traveling?”
“South.”
“Crap,” said Tyce. “Means he’s probably spotted SFC Garrison’s Brad. Where are your other vics?”
“Two still at the front gate, and my wingman is near the edge of the hangars—”
Wham wham wham wham!
The hillside around the remaining Bradley lit up. They heard the whop-whop of the huge Russian helicopter, but the pilot had chosen his approach wisely. He had stayed below the shelf that the airport was set on and now, by the sounds of things, was maneuvering between or slightly above the giant, three-story hangars.
As they moved more out into the open, Tyce could see a huge brown cloud of dirt near the stricken Brad.
Tyce flicked the control lever so he could transmit over the radio. “All stations, all stations. Mass fires on that damned chopper. Don’t give him a second’s break.”
There was no response over the radio, but Tyce knew at that moment, everyone in the unit was looking for their chance to pepper the aircraft. Sure enough, the sounds of small arms came from all around the camp: the familiar pop-pop of rifle fire, kerplunk of 40mm grenades, and the buk-buk-buk of 7.62mm machine guns. It sounded like everyone who’d spotted the threatening helicopter, no matter how small their window of opportunity, wanted to give it hell.
Rooooar!
The enemy helicopter flew right between the two hangars and directly over Tyce’s LAV. Tyce felt like he’d just had a minor heart attack. It was so close, he could almost have reached up and touched it. Instead, he opened up with the pintle-mounted machine gun and gave it a heavy burst from the weapon. The effect was minimal. It looked as if all the rounds bounced off. If nothing else, though, at least the bulky aircraft was having to keep moving to avoid getting shot from every angle.
The LAV crew were talking, trying to get an angle, but the aircraft was too swift and their turret too slow to get off a good shot. Tyce knew the 25mm would surely make a mark where the smaller arms couldn’t.
Tyce shouted through the intercom, “Get us out in the front of the hangars. If that Brad is still alive, he can cover over our heads and we can cover over his.”
“Copy, sir. You sure it’s worth the r
isk going into the open? That bird has some anti-tank missiles that will chew through our armor.”
“It’s worth a shot, and we’re doing no good stuck between these buildings. If we sit here, eventually that damn flying tank will pick us apart piece by piece.”
The LAV bounded out to the front side of the hangars, the tall buildings still preventing them from seeing west, but they could easily see out east to where the Brad was. Tyce instantly lost confidence in his own decision when they saw it, though. There were huge plumes of white smoke coming from the Bradley.
“Hey, sir, he’s a goner. Best we go back between the hangers. Without his cover on our blind side, that Russian will make short work of us.”
“No, let me try to raise him. You call over to your wingman and pull him over near us. Have him cover southeast, and you cover northeast.”
Tyce clicked over to the battalion net and tried to raise the Bradley. After several calls with no response, he was about to give up when a faint call came, barely audible above the noises from the vehicle.
“Iron horse, Iron Horse, this is two-seven-two.”
“Hot damn,” said Tyce. “Hey, copy. Glad you’re alive. How you holding up over there?”
“Driver bought it, but me and my gunner and scouts are alive. I had them set fires all around us to confuse the helo’s thermals.”
“Well, it confused us, too. Interrogative, your main gun working? Are you up for some work”
“That’s an affirm, and if it means gutting that fat Russian bird, absolutely.”
“Can you cover over our heads?”
“Yes . . . yes, sir, I see you right out in the open. Shouldn’t you get some cover, six?”
“No, we’re going to make a fighting triangle. Need your gun to cover our backs. We’ll cover yours. This pilot is good. He’s gone to ground a few times and popped up in different spots. I think he’s using old Russian anti-armor doctrine. We just need to get some good, clean shots off at him.”
“Roger six, makes sense. We’re locked and loaded here. What if he has missiles?”
“Then I need you faster on the trigger than he is.”
The waiting game proved to be even more unnerving. After the last bursts of gunfire, the Hind had disappeared again. The gunship was swift enough and had enough terrain to hide behind to pop up again anywhere.
Tyce listened to the whirr of the turret as the LAV gunner scanned. The commander, Tyce, and even the LAV driver were atop the vehicle and searching the skies.
“Iron Horse, Iron Horse,” came a radio call.
“Go for Iron Horse-six.“
“Roger, this is Tower. The C-130 Herc crew wants to know if they are clear to taxi?”
Tyce had been so intent looking out for the enemy aircraft, he had almost forgotten about his primary mission. His men had hastened up to take over the airport’s control tower on their own initiative. Great thinking, boys!
“Okay, that’s a negative,” Tyce said with maybe a bit too much force, revealing his thoughts. If the C-130 were to pull out now, the helicopter would most certainly blast it before it could even make it to the runway.
“Tower copies,” came the response.
Tyce thought for a second. “Hey, Tower, can you spot that helo on your radar?”
There was a brief pause, then another voice came over the net. It was Gunny. “Negatron, boss. This is Gunny. We took the tower, but it’s just us infantrymen up here. I couldn’t tell you which one of these switches was a radar and which one launched the nuclear strike.”
At least it gave them another vantage point. “Okay, keep your eyes peeled.”
“That’s one thing we can do. Also, the Herc pilot wants you to know that he’s spinning up now, he has to get the engines fired up and check throttles and fuel feeds or he’s a negative for takeoff.”
Crap, thought Tyce. Double crap crap! If the C-130 spun his rotors, the helicopter was sure to see his engines in its thermals. The four turboprop engines would stand out against the cold air like white hot embers in a fire and probably leave a plume of snow.
“Hey, sir, this is Tower. He says it’s now or never. He’s gotta warm up those engines.”
“Okay, have him spin up, but tell him to wait.” Tyce found it immensely ironic that only half an hour before he had been trying to speed everyone up, and now he was begging for just a few more minutes.
The LAV commander came over the intercom. “If the C-130 pulls out of his parking stall, engines at full rev, wouldn’t that draw the helo in?”
“It might . . . I’m not too comfortable using the VP’s plane as bait.”
“Why not, sir? We’re bait.”
Tyce ruminated on that point a second more. It was insanity, but he was out of options and way past being out of time.
“Tower, tell the Herc to rev his engines all the way up.”
“Roger.” Came the response and in seconds everyone heard the Herc’s big engines throttle up and a massive plume of white snow crystals rose above the base.
A few more minutes and Tyce was just about to give up when the now familiar thump-thump came distantly to their ears. It came from the northwest, right above SFC Garrison’s Bradley.
The Hind poked its head up from behind the hill, taking the bait. It raced forward, aiming to make a run on the Herc, Both LAV gunners locked on it and started cranking out rounds at a rapid rate even though they were beyond their maximum range. None hit, but the Hind immediately knew it was being fired upon from somewhere. Still, the Hind Pilot remained fixed on the Herc.
“Don’t hit the Brad,” yelled Tyce.
Spotting the LAVs in the open, the Hind turned its nose for a moment and fired a barrage of rockets, then a second and a third, then went back to diving at the Herc. Thankfully, the continuous, but inaccurate LAV fire caused the Hind to juke and dodge making the rockets land wide. A cluster of them blasted the ground around Tyce and the LAVs, blowing huge chunks of asphalt into the air. Tyce felt like a sitting duck.
It was extremely long range, but Tyce couldn’t resist opening up with the top-mounted machine gun and joining in, his anger rising. As he did so, he heard everyone else on the base firing, too; the snipers, small arms, and Diaz’s machine guns joined in again.
Good, keep him on edge, thought Tyce.
As it neared the field, enough 25mm shots were now hitting the Hind that it finally seemed to change its mind. Switching focus from the Herc to fully committing to attacking the LAVs, the pilot turned his helo and now raced directly for the LAVs.
“He’s coming for us. Get ready for a heavy rocket and gun run.” yelled Tyce.
It was a good idea—take out the threat, then go for the Herc—but the pilot neglected one fact. SFC Garrison and his Brad were still in the fight. In its eagerness to smash the two LAVs in the open, the Hind passed directly over him. Garrison’s Brad waited until the Hind was directly in line, then opened up with the 25mm at extreme close range.
One, two, then three rounds hit the tail rotor, bursting the blades. Four, five, six rounds made contact with the massive helicopter’s armored body and it started to smoke.
Now at a closer range, the LAVs’ cannons found their mark, slapping into the fuselage, tearing pieces of metal framework, and shattering glass from the pilot’s and copilot’s bubble windscreens. The Hind started to spin, slowly at first, then more and more rapidly, gradually losing altitude and descending toward the airfield.
A testament to the aircraft’s design, the bird slammed into the ground but remained relatively intact. It heeled over, the rotors still spinning rapidly and tossing up great chunks of earth and snow. No one let up, they all unleashed hell, tearing the grounded beast to pieces until it finally caught fire.
Tyce thought of the pilots—soldiers just like him and the rest of the men. Then he remembered they had never asked for this war, and the Russians were invaders and occupiers. Against his better judgment to try and stay dispassionate, he fired another few shots at the aircraft, then
tilted the barrel back and keyed his radio, letting out a series of rapid orders.
“Tower, tell the Herc drivers to taxi. Main, send the Humvees with the VP and cabinet to the runway. Alpha-med, collect all casualties and prepare to leave.”
* * *
In minutes, Tyce and Gunny stood outside the Herc, its engines whining. Three Humvees pulled up, and the VP and his cabinet jumped out. He took one look at Tyce and smirked. He wasn’t soon going to forget Tyce had almost killed him.
Tyce stuck out his hand. “No hard feelings, Mr. Vice President. Just gettin’ the job done.”
“No hard feelings, Major. I understand. Though maybe next time you could just ask me to move back a bit before you lock-n-load on an old civil servant.”
“No can do, sir. If there is a next time, I’ll need you to stay out of my and my troops’ way.”
The VP pulled in closer to speak directly into Tyce’s ear. “Would you really have shot me, son?”
Tyce smiled. “Next time you’re on my battlefield, we’ll have to find out.”
The Herc crew chief shouted at them from the open side hatch to get aboard.
“Good luck and Godspeed, Mr. Vice President. I hope you and the rest can do the right thing by the American people from up there in Canada.” The VP nodded and then he and the what remained of the government of the United States scrambled onto the C-130.
The Herc pushed the throttles to full, released the parking brakes, and jerked forward rumbling toward the runway. For a brief second, Tyce held his breath as the pilot, eager to finally get airborne, took the turn onto the runway too fast. The wheels skidded off the taxiway, its wingtip practically scraping a snow-covered gravel berm, but it righted, and in moments it throttled up and dashed down the runway. It ascended into the air, but remained no higher than a few hundred feet, staying within the valley for cover, and headed north.
CHAPTER 43
Yeager Airport
Assault by Fire Page 28