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.
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
“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 …