‘The big boy’s still about a minute out. Stallion’s just coming in now.’
‘Get a move on!’
‘Hell, yeah, sir!’
SIXTY-THREE
The fifth member of the Ghost Team, the Warhound, was sitting in the back of the Sea Stallion chopper, waiting to be dropped off on the beach. Kozak had already powered up the four-legged, heavily armored Unmanned Ground Vehicle (UGV). He guided the robot around the cargo compartment to be sure all systems were nominal. When he panned the Warhound’s digital camera with stereo vision system to the right, he spotted the chopper’s crew chief, whose jaw was still dropped.
‘It’s okay, Chief,’ Kozak said via the Warhound’s public address system. ‘I’m in control from down here, and I promise not to blow up your helicopter.’
‘Thanks!’ hollered the chief, his tone turning heavily sarcastic. ‘Thanks a lot!’
Kozak checked to be sure that the 60mm mortar and micro guided missile systems were online, then he turned the Warhound around, facing it out toward the ramp, the octagonal-shaped plates on its articulated legs shielding its hydraulics, its communications antenna sprouting from its back. With a few quick movements on the Warhound’s touchscreen remote, Kozak could get the drone to crouch like a dog, then spring up and attack. More armor plating covered its body, which was shaped like a diamond whose pointy bottom had been chiseled off. The mortar and missile launchers sat piggyback. With the drone’s legs fully extended, it was almost as tall as Pepper, who was positioned beside him, having just released the team’s UCAV.
‘Pepper, how’re you doing?’ Kozak asked.
The battle plan was rapidly evolving before Pepper’s eyes, and if he had his choice, he’d rather be in a good old-fashioned gunfight instead of crouching in the jungle to remote pilot an Unmanned Combat Aerial Vehicle; however, his role was now more vital than ever.
The Seahawks and their Hellfires were supposed to take out the Penguin launchers on the train tracks, but they’d been temporarily diverted to put fire on the APCs. That meant that Pepper’s task was to get the UCAV in position to launch both of its EMP missiles simultaneously in an effort to knock out power to the missile control system (MCS) of each launcher.
The UCAV was soaring over the treetops, gaining altitude, when something flashed from the corner of the drone’s camera, and a moment later Pepper lost all contact with the drone. He cursed and bolted to his feet. ‘Ghost Lead? RPG must’ve got the UCAV. Lost contact. Bird’s down. Need another way to take out those Penguins.’
Just then, one of the Seahawks came slicing overhead with a tremendous roar while launching two of its missiles, which tore twin seams in the night, rocket motors burning like tiny orange suns as they sank over the treetops and, a breath later, exploded in successive bursts, the ground rumbling beneath Pepper’s boots.
The sound of that diesel engine began to rise in the distance, the train traveling toward the area where the Marines had blown the tracks. As Pepper turned back toward it, he gasped in disbelief.
One of the eight-finned Penguins had been fired and now streaked away from its unseen launcher, arcing high in the sky and out toward the strait, where the LCS was now moving in at top speed.
Barely a second later, a second Penguin from about a quarter mile south punched the air, curving just behind the first, twin smoke trails filled with white-hot light.
‘Ghost Lead, missiles in the air!’ Pepper cried.
‘I know,’ replied Ross. ‘You and Kozak, fall back to my position. Damn it, Kozak, get the Warhound over here!’
‘He’s coming!’
Big Pat Rugg called over the command net to tell Ross his Marines had moved up on the outpost but were now pinned down and heavily outnumbered. Hamid’s fighters maintained cover behind their Hesco walls and continued to hammer Rugg’s men with withering .50-caliber fire and an almost constant rotation of RPG fire, rockets with HEAT warheads coming every five or six seconds, the jungle around the outpost already coiled with smoke, palms shredded and set ablaze, tracers drawing fiery ribbons overhead like they’d been caught in a meteorite shower.
Meanwhile, the command hut Ross and 30K had been observing was now shielded by two of the patrol variant APCs whose drivers had positioned their rides close to the hut doors and whose crews had remained aboard to fire from their heavily armored positions. If Ross was reading it right, Hamid and the others were waiting for the right moment to flee from the hut and into one of those carriers. They would hightail it to the north side of the island, where they’d try to escape by a boat or second helicopter they’d already called in.
‘Delta Dragon, this is Guardian,’ called Mitchell. He’d opted for voice-only communication now that the battle had commenced so Ross could maintain better situational awareness.
‘Go ahead, Guardian.’
‘I just put the Seahawks back on those Penguin launchers. You saw they got off two missiles. Independence fired countermeasures, but one missile struck her bow near the 57mm gun. Wagner’s contending with the damage now. She’s taking on water, compartments closed. You’ll need to take out the APCs yourself, over.’
‘Roger that.’
Two more Penguin missiles thundered in the sky from behind them, and Ross craned his head in disbelief. Where the hell were those Seahawks?
Even as he finished the thought, both choppers wheeled around, each firing pairs of Hellfires, with one pair arrowing off to the south, the other to the north, the whooshing powerful enough to make him duck –
Just as both choppers pitched up, about to come around, as though they, like the diesel engine, were riding on rails. A flash of pale yellow light woke about twenty meters away at one of the bunkers, and Ross cursed over what he’d just seen: an SA-24 being fired into the air. The soldier who’d gotten off that shot was already on the ground, clutching the gaping chest wound inflicted upon him by the Marines as he watched his Grinch soar through the air.
The rocket struck one of the Seahawks on its port-side, the detonation lighting up half the outpost with flickering veins of igniting fuel as the chopper’s engine sputtered, the black smoke already trailing, the pilot losing control, the bird breaking into a spin and losing altitude, revolving more swiftly and coming within five hundred feet, three hundred, the smell of fuel finally reaching Ross, and one hundred feet –
Ross bit his lip and cursed at the sound of impact, metal twisting, fuel tanks igniting in secondary explosions, the gunfire being traded by the Marines and the FARC-Bedayat soldiers in the bunker seeming to double, the downing of the helicopter now a battle cry for the enemy.
Ross stiffened. He felt responsible for that chopper crew who had just been killed. He and the Ghosts had allowed the SA-24s to get this far …
But now he swore to avenge them.
SIXTY-FOUR
30K had the drone crawler in the air, and then, with the APC crews preoccupied with the Marines targeting them just off to the east, he set down the drone, quadrotors turning into wheels. He began rolling it beneath the APCs and toward the huts, marking targets as he did so. He realized then that the farthest hut on the east side closest to the jungle was entirely unprotected, probably no one home. If he could scale it and assume a position on its roof, he’d have an excellent supporting fires perch. He shared this news with Ross, who gave him permission to head out there and get up top, but stay under active camouflage as much as possible.
This time he would be the insurance man instead of Pepper, and that was the whole idea, wasn’t it? Keep the old man safe. He took off running only a few seconds before Pepper and Kozak reached Ross, with Pepper calling after him.