"Based on a map recon, I've tentatively picked an exfiltration pickup zone. It's about fifteen klicks ahead of us. As far as the radio goes, I'm not sure yet what frequency to send on."
Mitchell considered that. "If the other bird made it, Hossey'll know we burned the 70. There's no reason for him to get someone to monitor the guard net."
"I know," Riley responded. "I guess there's some sort of international distress band the pilot may know. Of course, the Chinese, North Koreans, and Russians will probably monitor that, too."
Mitchell looked his team sergeant in the eye. "Things aren't too positive, are they, Dave? I mean, I know you don't want to say it, but the rest of us aren't stupid. The transmitter is a hell of a long shot. Without any gear, we're going to be getting kind of hungry soon, to put it mildly, and cold. I definitely screwed up when I let us destroy all that equipment on the pickup zone. We should have taken some of it, particularly the 70, with us. That was a bad mistake. I let the team down."
Obviously, Mitchell had been thinking along the same lines as Riley. The team leader gingerly picked himself up and forced a grin. "Crying about it isn't going to do us any good, I guess." Mitchell looked at the other men sprawled around the halt area. "Hey, Comsky. I got first rights on cuddling up with you tonight when it gets chillish. I've always had a thing for short, ugly guys with real hairy bodies. Let's go, folks, time's a wasting."
Mitchell led the way as the rest of the team picked themselves off the ground and moved out. Mitchell's example shook Riley out of his apathy. He'd been getting too down. As long as they were alive, they had a chance.
Senior Lieutenant Wei was having fun. Any time he was allowed to fly, he had fun. At the moment, he was flying at sixty knots airspeed above the terrain. He kept his Z-9 at two hundred feet above ground level as he climbed into the mountains.
The air was thinner up here, and Wei had to apply extra power to keep his helicopter airborne. The Z-9 was the only rotary-wing aircraft the Chinese Air Force possessed other than the S-70s that could fly up here like he was doing. The French certainly knew how to build, he marveled. This helicopter was as good as anything the Russians had. Wei's ship was one of the thirty-five Z-9s the Chinese government had bought from Aerospatiale. The six in Wei's squadron had been modified into gunships with the addition of 7.62mm miniguns on either side.
Chinese Air Force pilots normally didn't get to fly often. Fuel and repair parts cost money. Wei knew that the recent American embargo on military equipment would eventually cause all the S-70s to be grounded for lack of repair parts. The French hadn't announced an embargo yet. Wei swooped down into a draw. He'd worry about that when it happened.
He wasn't sure what had caused the alert today, putting all the fly-able helicopters in the air. They'd just been told to look for an armed band of dissidents. The whole thing was very unusual. Especially the questioning by the political officer prior to takeoff. Wei and his fellow pilots had been forced to account for their whereabouts the previous evening. Wei didn't care what this was all about, as long as he got to put in more flying hours.
Wei's sector of search was this part of the mountain range southwest of Yanji. His unit of six helicopters from the 3d Aviation Regiment was working out of a forward base in Yanji. He had flown up the river out of Yanji and around the highest part of the mountains; now he would fly over the crest of the Changbai Mountains on his way back.
It was one of the more difficult sectors. Many of his fellow pilots didn't like flying the mountains. The winds were sometimes perilous. Wei enjoyed the challenge.
Another three or four kilometers and he would be over the crest, heading for home. It would be dark soon anyway. At this rate he'd make it back to base just as it got completely black. He was looking forward to a nice hot meal tonight.
Then he saw the burned area.
They were switching off carrying Olinski every twenty minutes now. Chong was scouting about fifty meters ahead, picking the easiest path for the team. The vegetation was growing thicker as they descended, but they still had to cross occasional open spots.
The men had just started across one of these spots when they heard the sound they'd been dreading — the beat of helicopter blades in the air. Riley tried to figure out what direction the sound was coming from, as he gestured for everyone to move faster.
They were halfway across. Hoffman and Comsky were walking as fast as they could with Olinski. Another seventy-five meters and they'd be under the cover of a stand of trees.
Riley had been peering downhill looking for the helicopter when it occurred to him to check behind. As he turned, he saw the Z-9 coming swiftly down the mountainside about three kilometers back.
An aircraft had gone down back there. Whatever it was had crashed and exploded, scorching the earth for more than a hundred meters in every direction. Wei had spent about five minutes flying over the site. There had been no place close by to land and investigate, so he turned and headed for the crest. Once he was over the top, he'd be able to radio in his report without the mountains in the way.
The engines were straining as the Z-9 crested the ridge. Wei slid over the top and, as he rapidly descended, keyed his radio.
"Let's go!" Riley yelled. Hoffman and Comsky started running awkwardly with the stretcher. Riley reached over and grabbed the pole nearest Comsky while Mitchell grabbed the other side. Together the four of them sprinted toward the tree line, followed closely by the pilot.
Chong had already reached the tree line. Resting the muzzle of his SAW on a tree branch, he started to take aim at the point where the helicopter should appear over the far tree line. It was getting closer.
They were ten meters from the tree line when C.J. lost his balance and fell. With his right arm in a sling, he'd had trouble running, and now he couldn't break his fall. He landed heavily on his broken arm.
The Z-9 came over the far tree line, flying only fifty feet above the ground. Chong sighted in on the cockpit and began applying pressure to the trigger.
Wei thought he saw something as he flew over the small open area. He keyed the intercom and asked his copilot and the crew chief in the back if they had seen anything. They replied negatively. Wei considered going back for a look, but the impending darkness and low fuel supply prompted him to continue on home.
The pain in his shattered arm was so intense that it caused C.J. to vomit. Riley and Comsky ran out and dragged him back into the tree line. Chong waited a second, then joined the rest of the team.
If the helicopter had made the slightest hostile move, Chong had been prepared to fire. He had spotted the miniguns hung on either side of the bird. Chong hadn't fired because he thought there was a chance that C.J. might not have been seen, and firing definitely would have given away their location. That decision appeared to be vindicated as the sound of the Chinese helicopter faded into the distance.
Riley had to look away as Comsky tore the splint off C.J.'s arm. The fall had turned the simple fracture into a compound one. Pieces of white bone stuck out of the skin in two places.
Comsky took off his jacket and wrapped it around the pilot. Then he tenderly started re wrapping the man's arm, using the last of his sterile bandages. C.J. screamed from the pain.
What the hell else is going to happen? Riley wondered.
Jean Long was eating her dinner in the dining room of the Page II Club when the news of the lost helicopter in the Sea of Japan was announced by the Armed Forces Korean Network (AFKN) news show. She watched the brief story on the large-screen TV in the corner of the dining room. The report didn't indicate what unit the aircraft was from, only that eight soldiers were known to be on board.