Ghost - Into The Breach Part 52

"I am going to f.u.c.king kill that thing this time," Baakr said, pointing at the helicopter.

"It's going faster this time," Hanan noted, holding the belt. "Lead it."

"Iam leading it you pig eater," Baakr replied, as he opened fire. He was crouched down, but he just couldn't seem to get the fire high enough. "Help me! Lift this thing up!"

Gretchen held down the trigger of the minigun, walking the rounds into the nearest bunker. They were both firing but she ignored that. She just wanted to bring some servants to the Hall.

This time she managed to walk the rounds into the firing slit of the north bunker and let out a hoot as the machine-gun stopped firing.

"Yes! I have slain this..."

Gretchen hadn't realized she'd left her intercom on but Kacey wasn't about to interfere with the girl's moment. But when the scream of joy cut off she hit her mike switch.

"Gretchen?" Kacey shouted. The d.a.m.ned Hinds weren't open to the troop compartment so she couldn't even look back to see if the girl was okay. "GRETCHEN!?"

Oh, f.u.c.k.

"Oh, f.u.c.k."

Two groups operated Predators in theUnited States government, the United States Air Force and the CIA. And USAF Predators were not armed. The Air Force held the position that anything was going to fly and be armed, it d.a.m.ned well better have a pilot in the c.o.c.kpit and not just a bunch of wires.

The Army was making a bid to get some armed Predators but the AF was using every bit of political muscle to prevent it. Going all the way back to the Key West Agreement in 1947, the Air Force had done everything it possibly could to prevent the Army from havinganything with a weapon on it in the air. They'd failed with helicopters but they were standing firm on anything with a "fixed wing." Predators were fixed wing aircraft and, therefore, the Armymight be permitted some thatweren't armed, but armed Preds were right thef.u.c.k out.

The CIA stood outside that particularly asinine turf battle. The Air Force had occasionally complained about various armed CIA aircraft to which the CIA had invariably answered "what aircraft?"

So the CIA had Predators. And they were, by G.o.d, armed. What's the point, otherwise? And they used them in various ways, mostly removing high value terrorists that, for other reasons, were hard to reach.

They really didn't give a d.a.m.n where they sent their Predators, or the h.e.l.lfire missiles they mounted, because if anyone said anything about missiles, or the occasional crashed Predator, they just said: "What missiles? What Predators? We have no knowledge of any such aircraft or missiles."

The pilot of the CIA Predator was a former Air Force captain who had made something of a career in the Air Force flying Predators. The problem was, if you made it known you liked Predators and thought they were the future of air combat, your days in the Air Force were numbered.

After an Officer Evaluation Report that, in subtle ways, indicated that he might as well hang up his flight suit, the captain had reluctantly left the Air Force.

But before he could ever hit the exit door a nice man in a suit had offered him a job.

Flying Predators.

Armed Predators.

Gosh, the captain had thought,wonder who he works for? Because everybody knows that n.o.body has armed Predators.

So these days he flew armed Predators for about twice the pay he made as a captain. And the great part about it was, he never had to leave theNorthern Virginia area. The Predator could be controlled, via satellite, from anywhere in the world. Oh, thelaunch teams had to get closer. This one was, in fact, based in easternGeorgia . But he was apilot . He could do the job from hisbedroom .

No more sleeping in nasty barracks in someThird World s.h.i.+thole. No more bad chow-the commissary in this building was, in fact, first rate. And his commute to work was about twenty minutes.

This was the s.h.i.+t.

But some days were better than others.

This mission had some very high priorities. Predator video was routinely pumped to the White House.

Sometimes the President watched, sometimes he didn't. But unless it was aUS ground force in action, he rarely got involved. Even then, the most they might get was an occasional minor retask to look at something in particular. This president, thank G.o.d, wasn't Johnson. Despite having a better ability to control things from the safety of the White House, he stayed hands off.

Mostly.

This seemed to be an exception to the rule. He'd been told that this mission was a direct tasking. The f.u.c.kingDirector had called three times, asking when they could get some good video.

Video, though, had been the least of the problems. Flying a Predator was always an exercise in mind over instinct. You sure as h.e.l.l couldn't "feel" the plane. All you could do was watch the instruments and the video and hope like h.e.l.l you didn't crash.

And the last few hours of flying had dropped his hope level pretty low. Technically, the Predator was an "all weather" aircraft, at least according to his new employers. It had GPS and night vision (night was considered a "weather" condition.) It had instruments to figure out if it was upside down or not. Ergo, it was "all weather."

But last night,Georgia time, had been anything but realistic flying weather. The Preds had been socked in all night. And flying them back, over the mountains, was a nightmare. Generally you just told them where to go and they went. But the conditions had been so bad he'd had to manual them the whole way back, the most pulse-raising ride he'd had since his last F-16 check ride.

Even now, with the weather clearing and the sun coming up, he was sweating bullets. The winds were h.e.l.l. The Predator was neither overpowered nor particularly aerodynamic so at times it seemed when he turned into the wind he was going backwards. Flying with the wind was worse since he lost almost all control. Crosswinds had him flying at a slant. Updrafts and downdrafts were all over the place.

Conditions justsucked .

But for six sweating hours he'd kept the d.a.m.ned thing on station. Just in time to spot this through a break in the clouds.

"Control, you might want to look at the Pred feed," he said. "We have a situation on the ground."

"Get them off!" D'Allaird shouted. "Move!"

The Keldara women were already unloading the stretchers, the ripped Keldara men stifling screams at the rough handling. There was no way they were going to scream in pain in the presence of their own people.

As Gregor was loaded on a stretcher, Kacey scrambled out of her seat.

"Chief?" she yelled, running to the rear of the bird.

"Stop," D'Allaird said, holding up his hand. "Just get back in your seat, Kacey."

"f.u.c.k that," Kacey said, pus.h.i.+ng by as Tammie came up behind her.

Gretchen was lying against the far door. She had been hit on the upper chest. The round had cut through her armor as if it weren't there and blasted her chest into ruin. Most of the girl was still held in place by the surviving armor but her head slumped to the side, connected only by a few strands of tissue.

Kacey turned around and threw up, puking up everything in her stomach and then some.

"Oh...f.u.c.k," Tammie said. "When we couldn't get her on the intercom we...hoped..."

"Ain't much hope there," the chief said, climbing on the bird and picking up the ravaged and remarkably light body. He had long experience of bodies ripped by everything from crashes to gunfire. And it always amazed him how much the weight of the body was in blood. Gretchen was pretty much fully bled out.

"Not Gretchen!" Mother Silva screamed. She tried to compose herself but she just couldn't. She ran to her daughter and cradled the broken body to her breast. "Not Gretchen. Please!"

"Kari," Mother Makanee said. "You will not do this. We have to clear the helicopter. We go on. We continue the... themission ."

"Oh, G.o.ds, Julia," Mother Silva said. "First Viktor and now Gretchen!"

"And Sion and Gena was not alive," Mother Makanee said, pulling the woman away. "We are the Keldara. Our place is in battle. They rest in the Halls. We will join them at the end of all things. They shall fight the final battle in our names and bring us honor as they honor us this day. But you must come away."

Kacey didn't know what the women were talking about, but she kind of figured the one crying was Gretchen's mom. As they carried the little body off she turned to D'Allaird.

"Chief, I'm done taking fire and not being able to do anything about it," Kacey snarled.

D'Allaird, watching the two women carry Gretchen over to the line of bodies by the hangar, nodded.

"Gotjust what you need, boss," he said, gesturing to the hangar. "She's tanked and armed. And it's got the 'special' package on it."

"I'm taking it straight to those f.u.c.kers in Guerrmo," Kacey snapped, heading for the hangar.

"f.u.c.kyeah," Tammie said, starting to follow her to the bird.

"Alone," Kacey said, holding out a hand. "Chief, load up this bird. The Keldara are getting hammered out there. Tammie, head back as soon as the bird is loaded. Do the drop, do the dust-off. But I'm going this one alone."

"Kacey, the front position isdesigned for a gunner," Tammie protested. "Why do you get all the fun?"

"We've got wounded to pull out and ammo to deliver," Kacey said. "Bothbirds, captain. Chief, get Valkyrie One in the air. Fast. In the meantime, I'm going to go deliver a message to the Chechens."

The wounded had been cross-loaded to the Blackhawk which was already in the air. Most of the Keldara in the area, therefore, stopped what they were doing as Tammie and D'Allaird started tugging back the doors to the hangar. Everyone, of course, knew that the other Hind had been armed, and painted. But this was the first time that most of them had seen it.

As the two Americans pushed the Hind into view the Keldara started clapping and hollering. About half the women present ran forward to help push.

D'Allaird had been a busy man. Not only were the pylons of the Hind now loaded with two gatling guns and two 57mm rocket launchers, but the front of the bird had been painted in a snarling dragon head. To either side, tusks on the flaming dragon, were two more fixed gatling guns for a total of four of the brutal weapons. Kacey already had the engines warming and as soon as the tail was clear of the hangar bay she started up the rotors.

"Tiger Base, this is Helo Two, designation Dragon One," Kacey said, plugging in the route she planned to follow on the terrain avoidance system. "Mission change. Combat op to clear defenses along the Guerrmo Pa.s.s route."

There was a pause then Nielson's voice came back over the radio.

"Keldara Two: Confirm. Good hunting, Dragon One."

"I'm going to bring them the word of G.o.d, Tiger Base," Kacey replied. "These f.u.c.kers are going to face the flame."

Chapter Thirty-Nine.

"If we don't get the go word, I swear toG.o.d I'm going to make a boo-boo and initiate on my own," J.P.

said. "The Hind got seriously dinged on that last flight."

"I know, sir," First Sergeant Kwan replied. "But until we get the okay..."

"I do not f.u.c.kingcare ," Guerrin said. "DC is playing f.u.c.king political games while the Keldara are getting slaughtered over there."

It was great weather for Rangers and ducks. The rain was pouring down, the wind was howling and it was cold as h.e.l.l. Black, too. The night was like being inside the gullet of a snake. For a few minutes it there had been some clearing and he got a glimpse of dawn light. Now it was black again. If they got the order to move he could take out those bunkers in no more than thirty minutes. He had the plan in place.

All he needed was the go order.

The distant firing, while muted by the distance and the mountains, was clear. Just the fact that they could hear it was amazing; it meant there was one f.u.c.k of a lot of firing going on. What was happening on the other side of the pa.s.s wasn't a firefight, it was a f.u.c.king battle. According to their latest intel update the Chechens were throwing everyone they had in the area, and even drawing back forces that had been in contact with the Russians, in a bid to destroy the Keldara.

"Sir, if we move, your career is toast," Kwan pointed out. "And so is mine for not stopping you. We're also out-numbered and out-gunned. So please don't go running right into the f.u.c.king bunkers, okay?"

"I won't, First Sergeant," J.P. replied. "But we are going tohave to do..." He paused and c.o.c.ked his head. "Okay, who in thef.u.c.k is playing their iPod too loud?"

"I dunno," Kwan said. "I hear it, too..." The music was Spanish flamenco guitar, carried on the wind. He wasn't sure what direction it was coming from. Then he realized, just as the tune changed, that it was getting closer. "That's not an..."

"Holy f.u.c.k," Guerrin said as the tune changed to screaming heavy metal guitar. And it was getting louder.

Muchmuch louder.

"Sir!" Serris yelled. "What is that?"

"Music, Serris," Guerrin replied, sarcastically.

"I know that, sir," Serris said. "Where's it coming from!" the last was screamed as the guitars and drums muted for a singer entered screaming something about "riding to the fight."

"That's a..." Kwan started to yell as finally, overwhelmed by the screaming guitars, the "whop-whop" of helicopter blades could be heard.

The Hind was nearly invisible in the blackness of the night but it was easy enough to follow as the deafening music pealed across the valley. And it waslow , the Rangers were pelted by branches thrown from the trees in its rotor wash as it banked up the ridgeline and crested with its belly brus.h.i.+ng the treetops.

Guerrin ducked unnecessarily and then started laughing.

"I think that Miss Kacey got tired of being shot at," Guerrin yelled. "This I gotta see!"

Kacey keyed the music as she entered the final valley before the pa.s.s. The Rangers were occupying the upper portion of the valley and she intended to cross their position as a final checkpoint. That position, at the least, was secure.

She reached down and cranked the volume all the way up. The speakers were special designs, flush mounted, and enormously powerful. The thunder of the drums rattled her teeth but Islamics tended to hate Western music. Great. Let them hate it as she sent the f.u.c.kers to Allah.

She banked up and to the side as the terrain warning system screamed at her she was too low. Too f.u.c.king bad. Low was good. She had at least six inches clearance, what more did the Czech piece of s.h.i.+t want?

The positions of the bunkers were keyed in on her firing system and as soon as they came in sight the system D'Allaird had installed karated them in her heads up display.

"Time to face the flame motherf.u.c.kers."