Once the Team secured gear and weapons inside the cargo bay, they carried in the boat. Seat belts snapped closed as the men settled on a continuous row of fold-down jump seats. They all glanced toward the forward section, seeing a gunner standing behind his .50 cal, repositioning the 27' link-belt to the right side, and finally adjusting a Starlighter scope.
Crew Chief Phil Brenner handed each man a small box of foam earplugs, then he approached Grant. "Sir, you might want to wear this. It'll make communicating with me and Lieutenant Anderson a helluva lot easier."
"Thanks," Grant said, as he took the helmet, then put it on and adjusted the wire mouthpiece. "Listen, is it okay if we leave our rucksacks on board?"
"Sure."
In the cockpit, Anderson leaned over his armrest, looking toward the cargo bay. "You all ready back there?!"
"Good to go!" Grant answered, giving a thumb's up.
Anderson opened the throttle completely, increasing the speed of the rotor. He pulled up slowly on the collective, effectively changing the pitch of all rotor blades by the same amount simultaneously. Depressing the left foot pedal, he kept pulling up on the collective. The chopper got lighter on its the wheels, then slowly left the ground. Anderson nudged the stick forward.
The rush of wind and vibrations throughout the cargo bay intensified as the chopper flew through the center corridor and into the French Sector. Turning north, Anderson adjusted their course, skirting along the Soviet Sector.
Pilot and co-pilot looked through NVGs, seeing nothing but darkness. Looking through the Starlighter scope, the gunner very slowly pivoted the machine gun, watching for any sign of Soviet or East German aircraft. Opposite him, Crew Chief Brenner had on NVGs, looking out the starboard window.
Team A.T. sat quietly, every man focused on the mission. They planned, approved, revised, planned, approved, over and over. Now it was almost time to put everything into action. In their minds they pictured where they were headed: the beach, then a 1.5 mile trek through forest and open country. Their target, though, remained obscure. An unknown number of buildings, homes. Barracks were indistinguishable. An armory for weapons disguised as … what? What, if anything, could be hidden in old bunkers? Maybe German or Soviet howitzers?
Grant heard Anderson's voice. "Captain Stevens, five miles to DZ."
"Roger." Grant leaned toward Adler, talking above the noise. "Five miles to DZ!" Word went from man to man.
A.T. adjusted throat mikes, letting the earpieces hang inside the front of their sweaters. Black watch caps were pulled lower.
"Over LZ," Anderson reported to Grant. The sound of the chopper changed, vibrations increased, as it began its descent. A motor whined as the ramp lowered. The noise and wind intensified.
Getting ready to release seat belts, A.T. looked toward the opening. Pitch black. Feeling the tilt of the chopper, they waited.
Brenner came closer, holding onto a bar above the windows, running the length of the cargo bay. "We'll watch for your signal, sir! Good luck!"
Grant gave him the helmet, then extended his hand, shaking Brenner's with a firm grip.
The team released their seat belts, stood and prepared for departure, as water started rushing over the ramp. Adler was the first one in the boat, assuming the position as coxswain, ready to lower the props into the water. The rest of the Team scurried in, kneeling in the bottom of the boat, holding onto a rope circling the gunnel. Brenner gave the boat a final shove as it began floating off the ramp. Once the boat was clear, he waited for Grant's signal, then he contacted the pilot. Immediately the chopper began its ascent, with water pouring off the ramp. It disappeared into the darkness, flying low, flying without any lights, heading for the small island.
A.T. flipped down NVGs, adjusted earpieces, straddled the gunnel and began paddling to shore. Grant was at the port bow, opposite Novak, who had his laser-guided rifle poised and ready. Slade and Stalley were starboard, Diaz and James port. Paddling in unison, with precision, strength, and silence, they guided the boat toward the beach, while Adler kept one hand on the tiller, ready to fire up the engine if they had to haul.
On shore, tree branches swayed in the eight knot wind, water lapped against the shore. There was nothing but darkness from east to west along this section of Poland's coast.
The men started slowing the boat's forward motion when they were 100 yards off the beach, gradually bringing it to nearly a complete stop. Novak looked through the AN/PVS high-powered scope (passive night vision) attached to his rifle. The scope was specifically designed for night ops — a Starlighter.
"Clear so far," he reported.
Then quietly, they paddled slowly east, staying parallel to the beach, while Novak searched. Turning the boat around they headed west, going through the same process.
"Clear," Novak whispered. "No eyes on us."
"Any guard towers?" Grant asked.
"Negative, but can't see beyond trees."
"How wide's that beach?" Grant asked softly.
"Twenty-five, maybe thirty yards max."
Grant looked over his shoulder at the men. "No tides here. Once the boat's hidden, we're gonna have to make our footprints disappear. Be prepared to act."
All they could hope for was that guards who may have been posted along this stretch of beach had been reassigned to larger cities or ports where there was more civil unrest.
A.T. couldn't delay any longer. Grant held up his arm, and made a motion forward.
Novak continued looking through the scope, scanning the entire beach, as the men stroked like hell, propelling the boat toward shore.
They carried the boat across the beach then concealed it within the trees; footprints were brushed over with pine branches. With Slade as pointman, Team A.T. moved quietly through the forest.
Heading south, they followed an old trail strewn with leaves and pine needles, until it broke off in two directions. They continued south, brushing aside low, leafy bushes, ferns, avoiding twigs, pinecones, anything that could make a sharp sound. A slight rustling of leaves overhead was all that disturbed the silence.
Slade pressed the PTT. "Clearing, twenty yards."
The men caught up to him. Ahead was nearly a half mile of open ground before they reached any cover.
Crouching low, staying together, they edged closer to the clearing. Finally, getting down on a knee, they focused on the entire area.
Grant whispered, "DJ, scope the area east, Frank, west. Five minutes." The two quietly went toward their objectives.
"Mike, see any lights anywhere?" Grant whispered.
"Negative," Slade answered.
Novak slowly moved the rifle, while looking through the scope. "Negative. Kinda creepy."
"Yeah," Grant said, "but remember, within a hundred mile radius all inhabitants were relocated and homes razed."
"Isn't there a road somewhere close?" Adler asked.
"According to the map, there should be one running parallel to the coast about a half mile ahead. We've gotta cross it before the next forested area."
Diaz and James returned at the same time. "What'd you find?" Grant asked.
"Didn't see or hear anything," Diaz responded.
James gave a thumb's down. "Nothing moving, no lights, but I did see an unmanned guard tower about 200 yards from here. Looks like all extra men may have been reassigned."