And despite the physical change in their relationship in their last two meetings, Sophia remained something of an unattainable ideal for him. That such a woman would hold him close, that he might nuzzle the smooth, freshly scented aroma of her flesh made him more capable than at any time in his memory. She had called him a magnificent lover…
“I hear them, Colonel,” Rahman said, startling him out of his reverie.
“Yes.” He heard the thrupp-thrupp of rotors.
Seconds later, the two Mi-8s and three Mi-24s — known by their NATO codenames as Hip and Hind — came hurtling out of the dark. Four Mi-28 assault helicopters — the Havoc — flew to the sides of the main group.
Two C-130H transport craft were due to arrive within the hour, to load the company’s armoured personnel carriers. Rahman had detailed six men to stay behind and accompany the mobile equipment.
“All right, Captain,” al-Qati said. “Let’s check them out and load them up.”
Rahman nodded to the lieutenants, who spun around and went in search of their platoons for last-minute inspections before embarking.
The rattle of weapons and creak of web gear behind him was obliterated by the noise of the helicopters as they hovered into place and then settled to the asphalt of the airstrip.
The First Platoon, known as the Strike Platoon and composed of his most elite soldiers, loaded first. Ahmed al-Qati stepped back and watched them file onto the runway. They were dressed in desert camouflage utilities, with steel helmets painted in sand and tan and grey. Each man carried a twenty-seven-kilogram backpack and had four one-litre canteens of water attached to his web gear. A large pouch, attached to the side of the packs, contained each man’s CW kit. The primary weapon for the platoon was the Kalashnikov 5.45 millimetre AK-74 assault rifle. One 12.7 millimetre DShK-38 heavy machine gun was also assigned to the platoon, as were RPG-7 antitank rockets and SA-7 Grail missiles for air defence.
Despite their earlier complaints, these men carried themselves well — heads up, shoulders back, proud. Lieutenant Hakim, their commander, trotted to the head of the column and assigned the nineteen men to seats in the Mi-24 assault helicopters.
The other three platoons loaded quickly aboard the Mi-8 transports.
Al-Qati reached down and picked up his pack, slinging it over his shoulder. He carried his web gear and holstered 7.62 millimetre Tokarev automatic in his left hand and headed for the lead Mi-8. Looking around, to be certain nothing was left behind, he saw only the eight parked BMD fire support vehicles awaiting their transport. He counted six men tending to them.
Clambering into the helicopter’s cabin, he found Major Shummari standing in the cabin, talking to someone over a headset.
The clatter of the twin Isotov turboshaft engines made conversation impossible. Shummari handed him a spare headset, and al-Qati removed his helmet and slipped it in place.
“All accounted for, Ahmed?” the major asked.
“I start with eighty-five, Khalil. How many will be left when we are done, do you suppose?”
In the expanding light of dawn and the red overhead light of the cabin, Shummari studied his face for several seconds before answering.
“Do you really want a response, Ahmed?”
“Please.”
“Ninety percent would be a good number.”
Al-Qati bent over to peer out the door as helicopters began taking off. Through the open portals of the cabins, he saw the men who trusted him to provide them with as much safety as was possible for professional soldiers.
He thought that Shummari was probably correct. Eight or nine of them would be carried home, it was an acceptable number in wartime, though not in peace.
He would argue his position against the live exercise yet again.
But he did not think that he would prevail.
By the evening of the following Wednesday, the first revitalized F-4 was complete. It was an E model, carrying the number N20677. If their luck held, nine-three would be finished by the next day.
While Wyatt agreed with Barr that the external appearance of the Phantoms was impressive, he was happier with what Demion and Kriswell had accomplished on the interior.
Behind the nose radome was a Hughes attack radar scanner. It fed the APG-63 pulsed-Doppler radar which had a search range of 120 miles. A network of sensors installed in various places on the fuselage and wings were coupled to an ALR-56 radar warning system. The ALQ-128 launch warning and Identify Friend or Foe system was installed. The internal countermeasures system from the F-15 was designated ALQ-135. To protect the tail, the pilot’s blind spot, ALQ-154 radar warning and AAR-38 infrared warning systems had been added.
The black box containing the programmable signal-processing computer had been mounted on the rear bulkhead in the aft cockpit. That computer processed information from the radar, and possibly from data links with an Airborne Warning and Control aircraft, then displayed the filtered information on the HUD, now mounted on the top of the instrument panel. Radar echoes from aircraft flying at similar or higher altitudes were simple, but the computer was sophisticated enough to pick up the faint returns of aircraft near the ground, eliminate the ground return, and display only the targets on the HUD. Instead of continuously looking down to check a cluttered radar screen, a busy pilot scanning the skies around him for hostile aircraft and missiles had all the information he needed directly in his line-of-sight. The HUD reported the true position of a target, along with its range and closing speed. The display also prompted the pilot when the distance to target was safe for missile firing.
The cockpit had been substantially revised. Circuit breakers, armament and radio panels, and switches were in new positions. There were two eight-inch cathode ray tube (CRT) displays set into the instrument panel.
All sixteen of the Noble Enterprises team were gathered near the front hangar door admiring their work before locking up for the night.
Barr pulled a handful of half-dollars from his pocket. He was probably the only person in the nation with a ready supply of half-dollars. He liked the heft, he said. Wyatt saw his move and said, “No, Bucky.”
“Ah, shit, Andy! We at least ought to let the God of odds become involved.”
“No way. I’ll do the first test hop in the morning. You can fly chase with the Citation.”
“How thrilling,” Barr said.
“If you get the first trial, Andy,” Hackley said, “that eliminates you from the next five.”
“That’s only fair,” Gettman agreed.
Barr passed out coins. “Let’s settle it now.”
Kriswell grabbed a coin.
“Forget it, Tom,” Barr told him. “You’ve got to land a Cessna with prop and gear intact first.”
They flipped coins in odd-man-out until they had a roster for the test flights of the remaining five aircraft: Jordan, Zimmerman, Barr, Hackley, and Gettman.
With the priority of risks settled, Hank Cavanaugh shut off the lights and locked the door, and they all crawled into the Jeeps for the drive into Ainsworth.