I was impossible to effectively reduce the helicopter’s radar signature; flying more than a few feet off the ground would make it visible to any powerful active radar. The NOTAR helped funnel its heat signature, however, making if difficult to detect with infrared gear. It was relatively quiet as well, and could cruise at just over 170 knots; its top speed was beyond 220, though no one was entirely sure, due to the performance limits placed on the engines until the overheating problems were solved.
The Quick Bird couldn’t quite keep up with the Osprey, which cruised around four hundred knots, nor did it have the range of the Pave Low or even the ubiquitous Blackhawk, but the little scout was clearly an improvement over the AH-6 Special Forces-optimized Little Bird, and that was high praise indeed. Easily transportable by cargo plane, two had been packed inside “Quickmover,” the MC-17 that brought Danny and his team to the Philippines. Without breaking a sweat, off-loading them at the Philippines Air Force base had taken the crew less than ten minutes.
Danny glanced at the paper map in his lap, trying to correlate it and the satellite snaps he had on his clipboard with what he was seeing out of the bubble of the helo cockpit. The southeastern islands of the Philippines were pristine jewels of unfettered nature, wild amalgams of jungle, volcano, and desert island. The Quick Birds’ destination sat on the side of one of these gems, now less than five minutes away. Somewhat overgrown, the base had served as first a Japanese, and then an Allied, airport during World War II. Afterwards, it had seen use as a reserve and emergency airstrip and then a remote training area, its concrete ran nearly 2,500 yards, more than enough for the Megafortresses to land and take off — once the jungle was cleared away and steel mesh put down to even out the rough spots.
“There it is,” said the help pilot, pointing ahead. “We got that spot at the north end we’ll try for, Cap,” said the pilot.
“Good,” said Danny. The satellite photo seemed to show about seventy-five yards of clear area at the northern end, but even without pulling up his binoculars, Danny could see there were thick vines covering a good portion of it.
“Couple of clear spots I think,” added the pilot, dropping his airspeed to hover.
“Let’s survey the area before we land,” said Danny. “I know you don’t have too much fuel, but I’d like to get a feel for the terrain first.”
“Not a problem,” said the pilot, radioing the second helo.
The airstrip edged out over the sea, paralleling a cliff that hung over a rock-strewn, sandy beach. The light-blue water revealed it was partly protected by coral reefs. Just to the south was a jutting stone, an oddly shaped piece of yellow rock that would provide a good point for one of their radar surveillance units. A road had once wound into the jungle near the southwestern end of the strip; from the air it seemed almost entirely overgrown.
Though it wasn’t visible, a village lay about seven miles to the south, at the extreme tip of the island. According to their briefing papers, there were less than a hundred people there. The rest of the island was uninhabited.
“All right, let’s get down and get to work,” Danny told the pilot.
The Quick Bird managed to find a clear spot on the gray-brown concrete big enough to land nearly side by side. Gear off-loaded, the two choppers tipped forward and rose, leaving Danny and his six men alone with a collection of flamethrowers, buzz saws, and other jungle-removing gear.
“All right, we have forty-five minutes before the helos get back with the rest of our gear,” Danny told his men. “Half hour after that, the mesh for the runway should start arriving, powder and Bison, I want a landing area hacked out so the helos can get down without breaking our stuff. Nurse, you and Jonesy do a perimeter sweep south and west. Pretty boy, Blow — you guys do the same north and east. No chances, okay? I’ll set up the com gear.”
Powder picked up one of the four flamethrowers they’d brought to burn off the undergrowth, and hoisted the pack onto his backk.
“Hold off on that, Powder,” Danny told him. “Don’t go starting fires until we have firebreaks and everything else in place.”
“Just making sure it works, Cap,” said Powder, flicking the trigger. The device didn’t light at first, and Danny half-worried that the sergeant would set himself on fire before he got it going. “Woo — what I’m talking about,” said Powder as a long red flame jetted from the nozzle.
“Sometimes I swear to God I’m a goddamn kindergarten teacher,” said Danny, shaking his head.
“Powder never made it to Kindergarten, Captain,” said Bison, taking out the chain saws. “Got left back in preschool.”
Powder put the flamethrowers back down. He took one of the large chain saws Bison had laid out and fueled. “Wait till I get this little humdinger goin’, Cap. Gonna call me Mr. Jungle.”
“Mr. Jungle Rot, more like it,” said Bison.
“Just get going,” Danny told them. “I want enough space for the MH-17 to land before nightfall so we can get the trailer in.”
The trailer was an RV adapted for use as Whiplash’s mobile command post.
“This is what I’m talkin’ about,” said Powder, revving his saw.
Zen could see the two Sukhois on his long-range scan as he approached. They were flying a figure-eight pattern over the aircraft carrier task force, their patrol circle never more than twenty miles from the surface ships. Unlike an American battle group, there was no radar plane aloft, and the carrier would be vulnerable to an attack by any aircraft equipped with American Harpoon missiles or even Exocets, which, at least in theory, could strike from about twenty-five miles away. Of course, the Chinese were probably counting on the radars in the Su-33’s to pick up approaching aircraft before they were in range to attack, a not unreasonable expectation — unless the aircraft attacking were American.
The Flighthawks were not equipped for surface attack, and the Megafortress was not carrying AGMs; nor were they authorized to attack the Chinese, or any ship for that matter. If they were, the Chinese would be out one pocket carrier. The stealthy Flighthawks began turning at five miles from the carrier, still undetected by any of the screening radars. Zen split the Flighthawks, riding Two ahead of Quicksilver and trailing with One, just in case the Sukhois finally got curious. But they didn’t.
“Two helicopters operating with the carrier,” reported Collins, who as analyzing some of the signal intelligence and magnified visual information they’d gathered.
“Probably looking for subs,” said Ferris.
“Torbin, do you have a plane near eight-four-zero, mark, three-two? Over that atoll” asked Ferris.
“Uh, something way down south there, beyond our range — probably just a bleep or an echo,” said the radar-intercept specialist. Zen could hear him punching the keys at his station. “Nothing. I’ll keep an eye on it.”
“No ships there,” said Collins.
“Probably just a weird flake out,” said Ferris.
They continued south, tracking over the mostly empty ocean. Zen tried to stay sharp by having the Flighthawks change positions, but this was a long and boring patrol, especially after the long flight to get out here.
“Okay, we have two ships traveling together, cargo containers. Tankers beyond that,” said Collins finally, feeding Zen the coordinates. He put Hawk Two in trail behind Quicksilver, then took One into a shallow dive toward the two freighters. Traveling roughly a mile apart, the ships were stacked with cargo containers, trailers that could be ferried by truck of train once ashore. The containers could carry just about anything, and it was impossible to tell from the air what they held.
Hawk One nosed through some thin clouds, continuing downward through three thousand feet. He could see an Australian flag flapping at the rear of the tanker about three fourths of a mile away. He slid his right wing up slightly, gliding over the starboard side of the vessel, the belly video cam freezing on the ship. Collins, meanwhile, checked all of the ships against their listing, keeping track of what was down there.