In one section of the hangar, an Iron Wolf ground crew swarmed over the black, batwinged XCV-62 Ranger, checking the stealth STOL transport’s engines, avionics, and other systems. Off to the side, Whack Macomber and Captain Ian Schofield were putting together an assortment of small arms and other weapons. Schofield and four of his most experienced recon troopers were going along to act as a close-in protection force for the Ranger while it was on the ground inside Russia. And over in the far corner, Charlie Turlock was supervising a team of technicians who were hard at work readying two of the squadron’s remaining CID combat robots.
Brad spotted Nadia Rozek standing at the foot of the ladder Charlie was using. The dark-haired Polish Special Forces officer had her hands planted firmly on her hips. She also had an obstinate, thoroughly exasperated expression on her face.
“Uh-oh,” he murmured.
Martindale saw where he was looking and winced. “Let me guess,” he said. “You didn’t tell her?”
“I was going to,” Brad said, trying very hard not to sound like a kid explaining that his dog really had wolfed down his homework. “But other high-priority stuff kept coming up.”
Nadia swung toward him as he came up. “Charlie says that she is piloting one of the CIDs, instead of me.” Her eyes flashed angrily. “This mission is important to my homeland and to the entire alliance. It is my duty as a Polish officer to participate in this attack! Besides, you know very well that I have significant battle experience in these machines!”
Gracefully, Charlie slid down the ladder and dropped lightly onto the hangar floor. “Hi, Brad. Mr. Martindale,” she said coolly. “I’ve tried telling Major Rozek the assignments are set, but she insists on bucking the question up to higher authority — which I guess in this case would be you, right? Since this is your plan and all?”
Brad nodded. Don’t turn and run, he told himself. That would be cowardly. Besides, the way his ribs still ached, Nadia would just catch him in the first few meters. “Ms. Turlock is right, Nadia. I need you as my copilot and systems operator for the Ranger. No one else can do the job. No one else in the world has the flight time or experience with the bird that you do.”
“I can do both,” Nadia insisted stubbornly. “The CIDs will only go into action once we’ve landed. And I can have the machine up and running in minutes.”
“And what happens if you get killed or wounded in the fight?” Charlie said, not sugarcoating it. “CIDs aren’t invincible, after all. Then Brad’s stuck on his own trying to fly that aircraft out through an alerted Russian air-defense network. Hey, believe me, I get why you want to be in at the sharp end. Kicking Gryzlov’s computer goons in the gonads should be sweet. But this is about sound tactics and focus. Putting our copilot into ground combat only adds another risk factor to the chances of mission failure.”
Smart woman, Brad thought. Focusing on what was best for the mission was the surest bet to disarm Nadia’s fierce combativeness and otherwise almost unyielding sense of patriotism and national honor.
Sure enough, though she still appeared irritated, Nadia also looked a bit more thoughtful.
It was time for him to chime in, Brad decided. “This is going to be a tough flight,” he said. “Basically, our only chance to penetrate Russian airspace undetected is to go in really low and stay low most of the way — and do the same on our way out. That’s nearly seventeen hundred nautical miles round trip. And low-altitude flying eats fuel fast, so we’re gonna be operating right at the outside edge of our endurance. Which means I need to put everything I’ve got into keeping the Ranger flying right down the zone.” He shook his head. “If we get jumped, I need you there beside me, running our defenses. Otherwise, we’re toast.”
Nadia grimaced, knowing he was right. As a stealth transport aircraft, the XCV-62 carried no offensive weapons — no air-to-air missiles, bombs, or even guns. Its defenses consisted entirely of the SPEAR system, chaff and flare dispensers, and two ADM-160B miniature air-launched decoys fitted in a small internal bay.
“Besides, Whack and I have fought as a team before, in Iran and Iraq and a bunch of other godforsaken places,” Charlie went on. “So we know each other’s moves inside out and that boosts our combat efficiency.”
This time, Nadia bobbed her head slightly, though it was a grudging, very reluctant nod. “Perhaps, you are right,” she said stiffly, through gritted teeth. “Though I wish—”
“Ms. Turlock, what on earth are you doing to these Cybernetic Infantry Devices?” Martindale interrupted, sounding appalled. He was staring up at the two twelve-foot-tall CIDs, which looked even more spindly and skeletal than usual. The Iron Wolf techs were busy removing whole sections of hexagonal-shaped thermal tiles and the wafer-thin electrochromatic plates layered over them.
Charlie shrugged. “We’re stripping their thermal-adaptive camouflage and chameleon camouflage systems.”
“And why in God’s good name would you do that?” Martindale demanded. “Right before an attack on a heavily defended Russian base?”
“For three reasons,” Charlie said patiently. She held up one finger. “Number one, because of snow. Have you seen the most recent satellite photos of that area, Mr. Martindale?” He nodded. “Then you know, sir, that the whole area is practically hip-deep in snow right now,” she said. “And the one thing those really nifty chameleon systems cannot do is hide footprints.”
“Oh,” the gray-haired man said, sounding flummoxed.
Charlie nodded. “Yeah. Oh. See, I don’t care how dumb your average Russian sentry is, I kind of figure the sight of a bunch of big footprints appearing in the snow will clue him into the fact that something bad is going down. Which brings me to reason number two.” She held up a second finger. “It’s cold there. Really, really cold.”
“As in too cold for the CID’s thermal-adaptive tiles to function efficiently,” Martindale guessed, frowning now.
“Yep,” she said. “There’s no way we can cool the tiles down to match those external temps. Not without draining the CID’s power supply in minutes.”
“And your third reason?” Martindale asked.
“Weight,” Charlie said simply. She shrugged her slender shoulders. “See there’s no way we can expect a field resupply mission on this gig. Even if the terrain and tactical situation allowed it, there’s no room for one of those handy little Wolf ATV cargo carriers in the Ranger. So Whack and I are going to have to hump in every bit of ammo, spare batteries, and all the other gear we’ll need right from the get-go. Dumping the camouflage systems nets us the extra load-carrying capacity we require.”
“Captain McLanahan?” a voice called across the hangar.
Brad turned and saw an Iron Wolf communications specialist trotting toward him. “What’s up, Yeats?” he asked.
“This signal came in by radio,” the specialist answered, handing him a message flimsy. “We just finished decrypting it.”
Puzzled, Brad took the sheet. They were at a base with multiple secure telephone and data links. Why would anyone fall back on radio to send a message here? His eyes widened slightly as he read the signal.
He looked back up at the communications tech. “You’ve authenticated this?”
Yeats nodded. “Yes, sir. It checks out.”
Nadia moved closer to him. “What’s going on, Brad?”
“This is an urgent signal from President Wilk,” he said, raising his voice slightly so the others could hear. “There’s a new Russian cyberattack in progress. Cell-phone, Internet, and landline communications networks all across Poland and the rest of the AFN are crashing.”