The C-130 revved up engine three and started moving up the meadow. McGriffin shot a glance at Vikki. His eyes widened. She’s gone! Wildly looking around, he couldn’t see her. She must have dragged herself away. As the airplane moved out, he felt suddenly chilled. He had to do something.
There was nothing left to shoot with. He thought briefly about throwing rocks, but quickly shoved the idea away. His breathing quickened. Good Lord, help me! He spotted the HH-53 that Harding had abandoned. Maybe they left something in there, anything.
Keeping pressure on his right shoulder, he stumbled toward the helicopter. The grass whipped past, hindering his motion. The C-130 started slowing as it reached the top of the meadow. The landing lights were off. The pilot relied only on the starlight to guide him.
Staggering across the field, McGriffin reached the helicopter just as the C-130 turned. He swung a foot up and pulled himself in with his good hand.
He looked wildly around. Nothing. The C-130 thundered, bringing its fourth engine up. The helicopter vibrated from the sound. Channeled by the ring of mountain peaks, the plane threw its noise straight down the meadow.
Now think, he thought. What would a chopper pilot use in an emergency? They sit alert, but not for fighting. These things rescue people, they don’t kill them. Come on, think!
Rescue! What would rescue helicopters use? Manny had said they were only used to rescue …
Flares! Of course, they were probably loaded with flares.
He crawled to the front. Wincing in pain, McGriffin tore into several bags stenciled with undecipherable black lettering. He hauled out a flare gun. Steadying himself for a moment, he caught his breath. His arm felt as if it would fall off. He grasped the flare gun with his right hand, keeping his left plastered to his right shoulder.
Turning, he moved to the door and stumbled out. He dragged himself away from the helicopter and toward the center of the field. The C-130 ran up its engines, brakes creaking as if it were a racehorse straining against the starting gate.
The noise was overwhelming. He raised the flare gun, aiming for the cockpit. He’d have to wait until it was closer. If he were lucky, he might be able to distract the pilot. If not, he might bring attention to any aircraft searching for them—
“Drop it, Bill!” coughed Vikki.
McGriffin rotated his body. Vikki was on the ground, holding an M-16 on him. She had the rifle Harding threw at her! If he could get it—
“Vikki—”
“Drop it!” she shrilled.
McGriffin wet his lips. “Vikki, my God — think of all the people that could die—”
“Think of all the people that will live. The peace, the way people will have to change once they find out how easy it is to steal these weapons. Think of the groundswell it will cause.”
McGriffin took a step forward.
“No closer.” She coughed, then spat blood off to the side.
McGriffin tried to switch tactics. He ignored the pounding in his shoulder. “Vikki, how could you do this? Harding tried to kill you. I can stop him.”
She twisted her mouth. Sitting on the ground, she looked up at him, holding her rifle steady. “You don’t understand, do you? It’s not him. It’s not Anthony at all. It’s what he can do if he succeeds. It’s something we’ve dreamed about for years.”
A tremendous roar washed over them. Turning, McGriffin saw the C-130 start moving. Slowly, it lumbered down the meadow, kicking up dust and grit in its prop wash. McGriffin turned back to Vikki. His eyes pleaded with her.
She raised her voice over the racket. “Drop it—”
McGriffin gritted his teeth and dove for the ground.
Vikki’s M-16 went off, spraying bullets over his head. The impulse knocked her backward.
McGriffin brought the flare gun up. His hands wavering, he let off a charge, aiming over Vikki’s head.
The night exploded in a mishmash of purple-green splotches. Vikki screamed and clutched at her eyes.
Rolling to his back, McGriffin let off a succession of three more charges. He could barely see the plane in the ensuing brightness.
The fireballs burst into the night just as the C-130 rotated from the ground. One went off in front of the cockpit. Pushing himself up, he squinted to see the C-130 still airborne. Burning flesh and hair stung his nostrils.
As he watched, the 130’s right wing dipped. Catching a tree at the end of the meadow, the aircraft spun around in slow motion. An explosion lit up the night. McGriffin could barely see through the spots before his eyes. The squat transport hit water and broke into pieces, skimming the surface. It burst into flames.
The fire flashed over the aircraft and spread to the meadow. The heat of the fire surrounding Vikki and him made him vomit. As he struggled up to stomp out the flames, he passed out.
Chapter 23
“Don’t move, Major. You’ve got an IV in you.”
McGriffin opened his eyes. The ceiling jiggled crazily, like someone was bouncing the room up and down. JP-4 and antiseptic mixed in a bizarre potpourri of smells. The whooshing and movement brought him back to reality: he was inside a helicopter. He tried to move his hands but couldn’t. They were bound to his sides.
His shoulder didn’t hurt. It struck him that nothing hurt. Trying to move his arm again, he realized that he couldn’t feel it. He opened his mouth — it felt cottony.
The nurse put a finger to his lips and smiled, shaking her head. “You’re burned pretty badly, sir. We’ve got you doped up and will be air evacking you to Salt Lake City as soon as we reach Wendover.”
“Man … Manny?” He was surprised at the sound of his voice. The words croaked out.
The nurse sternly admonished him. “No talking, Major.”
“Howdy, sir.” Chief Zolley pushed his face over McGriffin’s. Zolley threw a look at the nurse. “I’ll fill him in, Lieutenant. He’s probably dying to know what’s going on.”
The nurse grimaced at his choice of words but moved back, allowing Chief Zolley to hunch forward.
“Manny, I mean Captain Yarnez, is right behind you. You’re both going to be spending some time in the Shriner’s burn unit. It took a while, but once the fires showed up on satellite, we were able to pull you out by airlifting nearly half the base to the mountains.” He leaned closer. “You got them, Major. The DOE team recovered every stolen nuke. They weren’t even scratched in those containers. You really did a real Sierra Hotel job.”
McGriffin tried to wet his lips. “Alfa — Alfa …”
“Alpha Base? It’s surrounded with the rest of the security police force, plus some Marines flown in from Pendleton on Transatmospheric Vehicles. They rounded up the terrorists, including four in a Bronco, trying to escape off base. No civilian air traffic is allowed anywhere near Wendover.” He laughed. “There’s some crazy first lieutenant, a big black security policeman, who was inside Alpha Base during the raid — he nearly took out the whole NEST and Broken Arrow teams when they didn’t produce their ID’s fast enough. He’s acting like he’s possessed.” Zolley shook his head. “Between him and those two drunk fighter pilots — after the smoke cleared, we couldn’t drag those two F-16 jocks out of the O’Club bar.”
Moving his weight from one foot to the other, Zolley continued, “We were holed up in the command post for nearly two hours, trying to dig out from the explosions. Whoever planned that assault didn’t have to do anything fancy: they just took out our centralized communications points and hit us when we were asleep.”