Ormack saw it and called out a warning.
"Number three's not starting," McLanahan asked. "Number six started."
"We're set to taxi," Ormack answered. "Continue the start.
Hang on. "He tapped the toe brakes to release the parking brake, scanned the engines, took hold of number four, five and six throttles and jammed them to almost full military thrust.
The Old Dog rumbled mightily but refused to move.
"She's not taxiing, we need all available engines," Ormack told McLanahan.
McLanahan kept a hand on the number seven throttle. As Ormack spoke he advanced that throttle to IDLE power.
"Seven started, three's comin up. "Three engines now 9 running at almost full power, along with three sputtering and exploding.
Ormack jammed the number-seven throttle to military, but the Old Dog still would not move.
"C'mon, you sonofabitch."
Ormack looked at the Russian halftrack, He could see the first Russian soldier pressing one hand to his ear, giving the "cut-engines" sign with his other, then slapping it back over his uncovered ear.
"Three's started," McLanahan asked. "Eight coming up."
"Get the generators on-line for the running engines," Ormack told him, keeping an eye on the Russian/ at the halftrack's gun-mount.
"Anti-icing switch on. Manifold switch closed. Hydraulic switches on.
Stabilizer trim set-" Ormack looked up from his checklists in time to see the gunner on top of the halftrack point his gun just over the Old Dog's fuselage and fire.
Ormack instinctively ducked, pulling McLanahan down.
The roar of the engines drowned out the chatter of the heavy-caliber gun and the bullets whizzing a few feet above them.
McLanahan went on with the engine start, advanced the throttle on number eight to IDLE.Both men looked up over the instrument-panel glare-shield. The lead Russian soldier was again giving them the cut-engine sign, and this time the gunner had his weapon pointed directly at the cockpit.
Ormack did not look at McLanahan as he pulled on his headset. Over interphone he called, "Everyone on interphone'@ Report by compartment."
He then brought all engine throttles to IDLE."Crew, we have a Russian armored vehicle about a hundred yards off our left wing.
They've got a machine gun. They've ordered us to cut our engines-" The HATCH NOT CLOSED AND LATCHED light on the forward instrument panel snapped on then and before either Ormack or McLanahan could react it popped out.
"What was that?"
I don't… Dave, did you open the hatch?" No reply "Luger.
Report. "McLanahan was about to unbuckle his safety belt and go downstairs but stopped when Ormack calleL out, "Luger, no."
McLanahan turned and looked outside. Wearing only his flightsuit and boots, Luger was hobbling toward the fuel truck parked near the Old Dog's left wingtip. He was carrying one of the.38 caliber survival revolvers.
Nobody could speak, only watch, horrified, as Luger stumbled, right leg flopping in the air, then quickly rolled back up to his feet and half-crawled to the fuel truck as the gunner swung his machine gun directly at Luger.
Ormack came alive, stuck the.45 caliber automatic out his left cockpit window and fired, the slug creating a bright blue spark as it ricocheted off the gun mount's armored shield. The gunner whirled his gun toward the cockpit, which provided an opening to his right side.
Luger had reached the truck, steadied his arm on the hood and emptied the revolver at the gunner. One of the slugs found its target.
"Luger. Get back here… " Luger heard Ormack, started back for the Old Dog. But another soldier appeared from behind the halftrack, lifted a rifle with a long, curved cartridge clip, fired. Luger clutched his left thigh and pitched forward.
Ormack could only fire his pistol again, forcing the Russian at the back of the halftrack to retreat, but he did not notice another soldier sliding into the machine gun mount on the halftrack.
He took aim on the Old Dog, fired.
The twenty-millimeter shells plowed through the Old Dog's left side, showering the cockpit with glass. Ormack was thrown over to the center console, where he tried to shield his face from flying glass. Pain clutched his left shoulder.
"Get down," McLanahan yelled back to Wendy and Angelina.
7, Another fusillade of bullets erupted inside the Old Dog, sparks flying as the left load central circuit breaker panel was hit. Lights flickered, exploded. One of the engines faltered.
Wendy unfastened her parachute straps and flattened herself on the deck as bullets hit her defensive-systems jammers and threat-receivers.
Abrupt dead silence. Aft, McLanahan saw the two women crawling on the upper deck beside the unconscious General Elliott.
"You two all right?"
"Yes," Wendy said, "Oh. God… Colonel Ormack McLanahan turned, saw Ormack slumped against the center console and throttle quadrant, bleeding heavily, hands covered with blood. McLanahan pulled him back into his seat, searched out the window for his partner' And then he understood why they had stopped shooting at the Old Dog. Luger was no longer lying in the snow. Somehow he had managed to crawl back to the fuel truck, had started it up and was now barreling toward the armored halftrack, whose gunner had turned the machine gun muzzle on the cab of the tank truck.
"Dave, noo Damn!The halftrack's gunner had gotten off a half-second burst at the truck, and McLanahan watched what was left of the truck's windshield explode. A moment later the truck smashed into the halftrack.
"Dave…
The tank truck's remaining fifty gallons of unusable fuel an three thousand cubic feet of kerosene fumes ignited and ripped it apart like an overinflated balloon. The halftrack did some lazy cartwheels and landed upside-down eighty yards from the blast, scattering metal and men across the parking ramp.
The noise of the six running engines seemed a purr next to the force of the blast. When McLanahan looked outside where the truck used to be, he saw a blackened crater, a smoking hunk of metal on the other side of the ramp, smoldering mounds of human flesh in the snow.
No sign of Luger.
McLanahan couldn't, wouldn't accept it. "He can't be dead can't be "We've got to get out of here," Ormack said, hauling himself straight in the pilot's seat. "Patrick, you've got to make the takeoff, I can't do it-" "But Dave… we can't leave-" "Patrick. Dave… gave us our chance. We've got to take it… " McLanahan shook his head.
"I… I can't take off, never done it before Ormack climbed out of the left seat. "Climb in. You're our buddy. Do it."
"Anadyr Control, this is Ossora one-seven-one, Elemei Seven.
Requesting landing clearance. Over."
No answer. Yuri Papiendreyov scanned his navigation instruments.
There was no error; he was only thirty miles from Anadyr Far East Fighter-Interceptor Base. Although the ba was not active someone should still be there.
Papendreyov switched his radio to the Fleet Communications frequency, the backup frequency for all Soviet air defense forces. "This is Ossora one-seven-one on Fleet Comm Alpha. One-seven-one is making an emergency approach and landing at Anadyr Airfield. Over.
No answer on Fleet Common. He set his transponder to special emergency code, activated it. Any air-defense force!
he hoped, would see his beacon before they started shooting… with an Air Defense Emergency declared for if region he'd be lucky to get near the base without finding himself under attack from his own people.