Firefox Down

'ETA of leading helicopter, three minutes fifty.'

'Shit,' Moresby breathed.

'Sir — we've found it — '

'What is it?'

'ETA — three minutes.'

'Piece of sheet metal — looks scorched — it's folded like a bit of cardboard, sir. Wedging the door. Have to be careful with it — '

'Then be bloody careful!' He looked at Gant. 'Some debris from one of your military encounters, old man,' he said with forced and unfelt lightness. Gant merely nodded.

'Get me an update on the Bardufoss weather,' he said into the R/T.

'Sir.'

'I hope to God it stays no worse than it is,' Moresby murmured. 'Because, if you can't get in there, I wouldn't guarantee the vehicle for a longer distance!'

'Two hundred miles-you think I'll be safe two hundred miles away?"

'It's Norway, old man — '

'So?'

Moresby's finger flicked at his moustache. A noise of levering, and scraping, twisting metal, came from aft of them on the port side. Gant shuddered.

'Be bloody careful!' Moresby yelled.

'ETA of leading helicopter, two minutes forty,' the radio operator announced.

'Where's that weather update?'

'Coming, sir — '

Gant heard Buckholz's voice over the R/T organising the loading of the two Lynx helicopters with the Norwegian personnel who had been engaged in the operation. Women, children and allies first, he thought with bitter humour. Waterford's constant radio chatter was a muffled background, since he had left his R/T open. He had perhaps forty-five men. The three big MiLs coming behind the leading, unarmed reconnaissance helicopter and flanked by the two gunships, would be carrying perhaps forty or fifty troops each. Fewer than that only if they were bringing heavy equipment or light vehicles. Waterford dare not make the first move, even to protect the Firefox. He had to get the airplane out — ! If he managed to take off, Waterford's men could melt into the landscape, avoiding all contact with Russian troops.

'I have to get her out,' he repeated aloud.

'Weather, sir — '

'Yes.'

'They're closing Bardufoss in five minutes, sir. Within ten, they say, no one could get in.'

'OK,' Gant replied in a small, tight voice. He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he saw Moresby staring at him.

'Where to, laddie? Mm — where will you take her when you get in the air?' It was not sarcasm; rather defeat.

'If I have to — all the way.'

'What?'

'You heard me. All the fucking way, man! UK or bust!' He tried to grin.

'I wouldn't advise that, Gant. Anything, everything — could go wrong. Try to get into Bardufoss — I really am serious about that…'

'ETA of leading helicopter — one minute.'

'For Christ's sake, you buggers, hurry it up!' Moresby raged.

'Sir, we're having to be very careful to avoid more damage- it's really wedged in tight.'

'Then cut the bloody thing into smaller pieces!'

'You have maybe two minutes or a little more — unless they hold back until the leading helicopter's done some spotting,' Gant announced.

'Don't tell me…'

'Maybe we can bank on an attempt to capture the airframe more or less intact?'

'You think so?'

'It depends on one thing,' Gant replied. 'Who's now in command of the operation. If it's still Vladimirov, he'll think he has a chance. If it's politicians — then kiss goodbye to your asses! They'll be blown out from under you.'

'It's coming, sir- OK- yes, it's free, sir!'

'ETA, thirty seconds

'Change to hot refuelling,' Gant snapped as Moresby rammed home the circuit breaker and the light on the panel disappeared. 'Thank God,' he sighed.

'Hot refuelling?'

'Have to now. I want to be ready to move at any moment I choose.'

'How full do you want the tanks?'

'I've got sixty percent capacity now.' Gant shook his head. 'Just keep filling them up.'

Gant glanced up, his body slightly cowered in the pilot's couch, his arm half-raised as if to shield his eyes or protect his face. He could hear the noise of the helicopter rotors.

Men had paused, as they crossed the ice towards the two helicopters, and were looking up. Visibility was closing in, heavy as a blanket. The far end of the lake was already obscured. It had begun to snow; big flakes pattering against the cockpit sill, on the shoulders 6f hi$ pressure suit. He fitted his helmet once more, and plugged in his oxygen supply and the jackplug for the thought-guidance system.

The ugly MiL-24, probably unarmed to increase its speed, appeared like a squat beetle above the clearing. Gant cursed their lack of Blowpipe missiles. Even had they possessed them, he doubted whether Waterford would have opened fire first.

The MiL drifted out over the lake, over the two Lynx helicopters and the unarmed Harrier. Gant could see Thorne's helmet raised to watch it. The gunship floated above the Firefox, as if taunting her,

Moresby's voice instructed his technicians. 'Hot refuelling. Let's get one of the fuel cells close to the wing, along with the pump unit. I want everyone clear of the front intakes, and well clear of the tailpipes. An arc of men with extinguishers — ' He glanced at Gant, but addressed no words to him. ' — on either side of the aircraft. And keep alert!' Then he turned to Gant. 'You listen to me over the landline. I'm staying well clear, thanks very much. Keep your engine power as low as you can, but not below generator power level…' Gant nodded. 'Good.'

Gant watched the technicians rolling one of the huge rubber fuel cells towards the aircraft and abeam of the starboard wing. He heard the connections made with the hose nozzle and the tank. Then the technicians retired. Moresby, standing perhaps a dozen yards away, signalled him to start the engines. The noise of the MiL above them pressed down upon him. The helicopter had been there for twenty seconds, perhaps half a minute. The main force was a minute behind it now. When they saw the engines ignite, having seen the fuel cell coupled, they would guess at hot refuelling and know he was speeding up the preparations for take-off. Would they still wait, when that was reported, or would they move in — ?

He could not expect any more time, whoever controlled events. The Firefox was a sitting target they would not be able to resist. He switched on the master start, pressed the start button and turned on the high-pressure cock.

Behind him, halfway down the fuselage, there was the sound of a double explosion; the discharge of a shotgun's two barrels. In the mirror, he saw the two rolls of sooty smoke drift into the air. He heard the whirring of the turbines as they built up. He switched in the fuel booster pump, and eased the throttles forward. The rpm gauges mounted to twenty-eight per cent. He eased the throttles back as far as he dared, and steadied them. Both huge Turmansky turbojets roared steadily. He grinned with relief. Moresby hand-signalled his team to recommence pumping.

'Thank God,' Moresby said.

Waterford appeared a little distance from the Firefox, at the edge of the clearing. He raised his planklike rifle, and fired several three-shot bursts at the hovering, shifting MiL. Immediately, the gunship flicked away over the trees. Waterford spoke into Moresby's microphone. 'Fucking tourists!' Then he added, 'OK, Gant — they'll be back in force in a couple of minutes at the outside. What they do then will depend on what you're doing. Good luck.' Immediately, he walked away, re-checking the disposition of his marines.

Gant watched the fuel gauges. When should he tell them to stop? When should he end the risk of hot refuelling? How much spare fuel capacity would he require?