Almost on cue with this thought, the lead helicopter exploded in midair, spinning ninety degrees and dropping to the horizon. Upon impact with the ground, a secondary detonation expanded skyward, blinding his night vision goggles. He couldn’t tell if the explosion had simply masked the second helicopter from sight or enveloped the second helicopter in the storm of shrapnel and fire that illuminated the countryside. He prayed for the latter. He raised his NVGs and scanned for any sign of a second crash site, unable to see past the firestorm that appeared well within his grenade launcher’s range.
“Splash one helo! I don’t have a visual on the second,” he said.
“Second helo peeled off in a wide arc,” Farrington said. “We might have caught a break. Get us to the border, Misha. I don’t care how you do it.”
Misha accelerated the Tiger forward through the rough terrain, making a final push for the border. They travelled several seconds before Farrington broke the bad news over the intrasquad radio.
“Control reports that the second Hip appears to be back in the fight, approaching from our seven o’clock. They have a bird’s-eye satellite view of the situation and can estimate range. We’ll turn into them at 2000 meters so you can engage with the grenade launcher,” Farrington said.
“How far to the border?” Gosha asked, pushing his NVGs down over his face.
“One point five kilometers. We just have to stay in the game for three minutes! Control is telling me to stand by to maneuver. Three, two—” Farrington said.
“I don’t have a visual,” Gosha said, scanning the indicated sector for a dark object hovering over the horizon.
“Hard left! Accelerate!” Farrington said.
The vehicle banked left, swinging Gosha into the metal lip of the hatch and breaking his grip on the grenade launcher’s handle. When the Tiger straightened on its new southerly course, Gosha swung the launcher left, expecting to see the Hip lined up within a few degrees to either side of the weapon’s barrel. Instead, he saw nothing in a one hundred and eighty degree arc.
“I can’t see it!”
Before Gosha figured out his error, a continuous line of green tracers hit the ground in front of the Tiger, ricocheting in every direction. Misha managed to turn the vehicle out of the rapid-fire onslaught less than a second before the flow of 7.62mm projectiles hit them. The buzz-saw sound of the Hip’s minigun filled the air, competing with the general panic on their internal communications net, as he followed the last line of tracers back to the source. The helicopter had attacked them from a high angle, which he clearly hadn’t expected.
Misha’s quick maneuver had saved them from certain oblivion. This Mi-8 Hip was fitted with GShG 7.62mm miniguns, capable of accurately firing 6,000 rounds per minute out to 1000 meters. The gunners aboard the Hip only needed to line the Tiger up in their minigun sights for one second to shred the Tiger with over one hundred steel-jacketed projectiles. While his grenade launcher could saturate a stationary target at twice the range of the minigun, hitting a moving target was a different story altogether. The grenades took forever to reach their target and didn’t travel in a straight trajectory, making it nearly impossible to calculate the necessary trajectory to successfully lead a fast-moving target. He wasn’t the least bit optimistic about hitting a helicopter moving at 150 miles per hour with one of his grenades. Not before they were torn to pieces by the Hip’s miniguns.
Instead, they would have to work together to dodge the obtrusively lethal green line of tracers. If they could maneuver wildly enough at the last moment, the gunners would have a hard time lining up a shot. The last gun run had lasted fewer than three seconds, which was all the time the Russian gunners would get if the pilots continued to play it safe and conduct high-speed strafing runs. He watched the Hip bank left and commence a slow turn, while Misha pointed the Tiger toward the border and floored the engine.
Chapter 67
The president turned to General Gordon and demanded an explanation for what they had all just witnessed on the screen.
“Did one of our helicopters just crash in Russia? I did not authorize the extraction force to cross the border!” he said, turning to Manning next. “Find out what the hell is going on there!”
“That was not one of our helicopters. Black Magic is sitting three kilometers west of the border. I’m talking with the SOCOM air controller right now,” General Gordon said, putting his right hand over his ear to drown out any noise from the room. “I’ve just been told that Black Magic saw the explosion. They also report another helicopter in the area firing on Blackjack.”
“Mr. President,” Manning said, “Blackjack reports that they are under attack by Russian helicopters. Heavily armed Mi-Hip transports. Blackjack is less than a kilometer from the border and requests immediate extract.”
“Black Magic Zero One is armed, Mr. President,” General Gordon said.
“We don’t know how many Russian helicopters are out there. What if there are more? We don’t even know where these helicopters originated!” Jacob Remy said.
“Our analysts are pretty sure they came from the airbase at Novosibirsk,” Manning replied. “Probably helicopters in transit to Georgia or Murmansk from a squadron based in Irkutsk. They feel confident that this is all we’ll see.”
“All I heard was ‘pretty sure’ and ‘probably,’ Mr. Manning. We can’t afford any more surprises here. General Gordon?” the president said.
“Yes, sir?”
“Get Black Magic out of there. Roll the whole package back to Manas.”
“Understood, Mr. President.”
Manning couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Against all odds, Farrington’s team had made it close enough to the border to get within visual range of Black Magic, and they were still going to pull the plug on the operation.
“We could have them onboard our helos in less than three minutes, Mr. President. We’ve come too far to give up at this point,” Manning pleaded.
“Correction, Mr. Manning. We’ve gone too far at this point. I’m responsible for a trail of Russian corpses extending nearly two hundred miles from Novosibirsk to Kazakhstan, and now we’ve just added a Russian transport helicopter to the list. I’m already facing a hard fucking day on the diplomatic front tomorrow. I won’t risk compounding the situation with the loss of an American helicopter on Russian soil, especially not one of those prototypes. I don’t know how I let any of you convince me to authorize their use. General Gordon, are those helicopters heading back?”
“They just received the order, Mr. President,” the general said.
“You’re making a big mistake leaving them behind, Mr. President,” Manning said. “If any of them are captured alive, you’ll be facing more than a bad day on the diplomatic front.”
“Stand down, Mr. Manning,” Director Copley said.
“I want him out of here,” Remy said, prompting Manning to stand up.
The Secret Service agents standing at the door stirred, responding to Manning’s sudden movement. He wondered if they would physically remove him from the room if he refused to leave, and found himself not caring. He activated the communications channel to Karl Berg and passed information that he knew would result in his immediate expulsion from the Situation Room.
“Berg, this is Manning. The president refuses to send the helicopters to assist Blackjack. Black Magic has been ordered to return to Manas Airbase. Make sure they know who’s responsible.”