"Dave, we're done refueling. Let's go."
Two local militiamen in long, gray-green greatcoats, black fur caps and carrying forty-year-old bolt-action rifles came into the caretaker's office, made a quick check of the small flightfine building, hurried outside.
The squad leader called out to the halftrack. Sergeant Gazetii waved them back inside and turned on Serbientlov.
"There is no one here, caretaker. I would not like to be in your shoes when Comrade Chief Constable Vjarelskiv gets his hands on you."
Sweat broke out on Serbientlov's face despite the bitter cold of the early morning. "They were here… I swear-" "Show me this fuel tank and the truck, caretaker," Gazetii said. The halftrack rumbled down the road paralleling the deserted.snow-choked flightline and taxiway. A few minutes later they had pulled to a stop outside the fence surrounding the large white tank.
"This is the tank?" Gareth said emerging from the steel interior of the armored haiftrack. "A tank of heating oil?What would your terrorists want with a tank full of heating oil?"
"I don't know," Serbientlov said in exasperation. "But they forced me at gunpoint to fill the tank truck. I narrowly escaped with my life.
They had three guards on me and… a couple machine guns, but I escaped" Comrade Sergeant. "One of the militiamen pointed to tracks in the deep snow.
Gazetii studied them carefully.
"Fairly fresh And then, he heard it… the fused roar of a jet aircraft engine in the distance. He turned to Serbientlov. "Is that an aircraft?I didn't know you had aircraft here this time of year?"
Serbientlov listened, then blanched. "But we don't have a aircraft here.it… it must be the terrorists… English terrorists.
Gazetii waved his men back into the halftrack and directed them down the flightline toward the noise.
Angelina had just slipped off the Old Dog's right wingtip to the roof of the Zadiv panel truck. McLanahan was back on top of the Old Dog's fuselage just behind the ejection-hatch cover scraping snow and dirt off the center-wing-tank fuel cap a: replacing the cap. Luger, half-dragging his right leg, was pulling the fuel hose back toward the tanker truck.
Wendy had jumped out the belly hatch of the Old Dog to look for her fellow-crewmembers when she saw a large, square vehicle roll to a stop just around the end of one of the hangars surrounding their parking spot.
Her heart stopped. It was a Russian armored vehicle, with a Russian soldier sitting behind a shielded gun-mount.
"Patrick…"Wendy pointed her finger at the vehicle. "Over there "Yanimnogah simye," Gazetii swore as the halftrack driver stomped on the brakes. "Shto etah?" What he and the other saw in the dim three-month-long twilight was a huge, black unearthly winged creature with a long pointed nose and large ungainly wings.
"Etaht samalyot?" one of the militiamen asked. "I've net seen a plane like that before."
"It has no markings, no insignia," another asked. "It must be some kind of experimental aircraft "That's it," Serbientlov insisted.
"That's their plane, that's the plane that that the terrorists almost forced me into.
You've got to stop them. Destroy it-" "Control yourself, Serbientlov.
" Gazetii jumped out of the half-track. "What if it's one of our experimental aircraft?We have them, you know. Corporal, contact Chief Constable Vjarelskiv. Tell him we have an unidentified aircraft parked on the center parking ramp on the base. I am going to talk to the crew. Everyone else stay here.
Luger tossed the hose as far as he could away from the Old Dog's wheels. "Pat, Angelina. We've got us some company."
Angelina had already heard Wendy's warning and spotted the half-track.
She quickly climbed down off the Zadiv and sprinted for the Old Dog's belly-hatch. McLanahan screwed the tank cap closed, then slid down the fuselage to the right wing. When he saw a Russian soldier emerging from the half track he slid across the wing to the leading edge between the two engine nacelles, shimmied over the edge and dropped to the snow.
Hearing Wendy's warning, Ormack stopped strapping the nearly unconscious Elliott into an upper-deck crash-seat, jumped into the left seat, looked out the left cockpit window and saw the halftrack.
"Goddamn, " he shouted over his shoulder, hoping his voice would carry.
"Wendy, get everyone on board. "He then slapped the wing flap switch to full DOWN and double checked the fuel panel, opening the fuel supply from the fuselage tanks to the engines. He moved the number-four engine throttle to ninety percent power, leaned across the co pilot's seat and put the engine number-five starter-switch to START, using engine bleed-air from the running number-four engine to spin the turbine on the number-five engine. When that engine's RPMs moved to fifteen percent he jammed its throttle to eighty-five percent to begin pumping fuel into the engine's ignition-chamber.
A thunderous bang reverberated through the Old Dog, and the right wing shuddered. Ormack scrambled over to the right "Visa cockpit window.
The entire number-five engine was engulfed in smoke. He checked the engine instruments. The RPMs of that engine were slowly increasing but wondrously there was no indication of fire. Another loud bang and the engine RPMs stopped at forty percent.
The HATCH NOT CLOSED AND LOCKED light on the front-instrument panel snapped off, and a moment later Wendy reported everyone was aboard.
"Get Patrick up here," Ormack called out, and McLanahan came scrambling up to the cockpit to see General Elliott in his emergency web seat, forehead and face dripping fresh sweat, head lolling back with fever.
"He's out of it," Ormack asked. "Get up here. I'll fly the plane from the left seat. You get in the co-pilot's seat monitor the instruments."
McLanahan hesitated" McLanahan!"
Patrick shook himself.stepped carefully around Elliott. Just before climbing into the co-pilot's seat he reached down, retrieved Elliott's.45 caliber automatic from his holster. "Can we start the rest of the engines?" he said, looking at the gauges.
"Not yet. When number five reaches forty-five percent switch off its starter and switch on three, six.seven and eight. Move the throttles up to IDLE when each engine RPM reaches fifty percent. Watch the fire lights-that kerosene has been giving us some hard ignitions."
McLanahan nodded and watched number five RPM gauge, a finger on the starter switch.
Ormack opened the left-cockpit window. The Russian soldier was now advancing on the Old Dog, more cautiously than before the engines were started. He did not hear Ormack open the sliding window.
"He's still coming," Ormack said. McLanahan pulled the automatic from his jacket pocket and tapped Ormack's shoulder with it. Ormack turned, saw the gun. "If we start a firefight here "We may not have any choice."
Ormack nodded, took the gun, keeping it out of view. McLanahan pointed at the number five RPM gauge. "RPMs are up to forty-five. Number five starter off. Starting three, six, seven and eight. "The Russian militiaman walked right up to within fifteen yards of the Old Dog, toward the left cockpit window, pistol holster in clear view on his waist but his weapon still in it. When he heard the number three engine start to spool up he drew his right index finger across his throat.
"He wants us to shut down," Ormack said. He shook head at the soldier.
The militiaman drew his finger across his throat several more times.
"Patrick, we're running out of time There were several loud bangs on both wings this time, and the Old Dog began to buck and rumble as if its insides had been seized by a coughing fit. The Russian soldier backed away several feet as a cloud of blue-black smoke from the number three engine hit him.
Continue the start," Ormack yelled. Clouds of smoke began to enter the cockpit through the open window. "Move the generator switch on number five engine from RESET to RUN."When he next saw the Russian soldier he was back beside his halftrack shouting orders inside. Suddenly another soldier appeared at the machine-gun mount on top of the halftrack. A moment later he was handed a large machine gun, which he began bolting into its armor-plated mount.