He jammed the SOCOM pistol into its holster and snatched up one of the RPGs, surprised at how heavy it felt. He threw the launcher’s sling over his head and left shoulder, with the launch tube lying vertical across his back. He lumbered across the scaffolding to the ladder, grabbed onto it with his right hand, allowing his left arm to hang at his side. Gasping for air, he painfully hoisted himself up, one rung at a time, fighting against the helicopter’s rotor wash, which blotted out all sound around him.
At the top of the ladder, he pulled his weight onto the platform and fell over onto his side. Landing on his left arm, he felt the sting of the bullet fragments compressed beneath his weight. He rolled over, came up on all fours, and then propped himself up onto one knee.
The helicopter lifted, two hundred feet overhead now, steadily gaining altitude.
Avery struggled with the fourteen pound, four foot long rocket launcher. He took three sluggish tries before finally getting the RPG into position, with the wooden heat shield set on his shoulder.
He’d never fired the RPG-7 before, but he thought it couldn’t be too damned difficult, if every amateur Third World terrorist, insurgent, and pirate were capable. He thought this should be an easy target, long as he didn’t pass out before he took the shot.
Looking through the optical sight, he angled the launcher skyward, fought to hold it still. He acquired the helicopter as it arced around, turning into the west, presenting its tail rotor to him. He fought to keep the tiny red dot centered over the moving target, and he hesitated, wanting to make sure the target stayed in his sights and that he didn’t waste the shot.
Finally, he hit the trigger.
The RPG bucked in his hands, and he felt the heat of the back blast when the launcher’s booster ignited the gases and shot the high explosive anti-tank rocket out of the tube at nearly four hundred feet per second.
Unable to support the launcher’s weight a second longer, reeling from the recoil, Avery’s left arm sagged. The launcher rolled from his grasp and clattered against the steel deck, rolled away from him.
He wouldn’t get a second shot.
His eyes followed the thick gray contrail of smoke through the sky and into the rear undercarriage of the helicopter, beneath the tail boom and between its rear wheels.
The HEAT warhead detonated on impact. Shards of searing, jagged metal shrapnel shredded the engine and fuel lines and ripped through the passenger pod, slicing, eviscerating, and burning anyone strapped inside, blowing out the glass of the cockpit and cabin windows.
The Ka-226 dipped, carried forward by its own momentum even as it lost altitude. Nose-first, it collided against the rocky hillside. Each blade snapped off against the ground in a shower of sparks as the rotor continued spinning around. The burning, smashed fuselage rolled down the hill, bouncing off boulders and smashing against crevices. When it finally came to a stop against a thick, steep outcropping of rocks seventy feet later, at the bottom of the hills, the Kamov resembled a burnt and mangled aluminum can. Flames reached the ruptured fuel tank, kicking off a secondary explosion that engulfed the remains of the fuselage, and a dense column of black, oily smoke carried sixty meters into the sky.
At the sound of boots on metal rungs, someone else coming up the ladder, Avery spun fast around and drew the Mk 23 in his shaky right hand. He wasn’t ready for another fight, didn’t rate his chance of survival high.
He pointed the SOCOM pistol toward the top of the ladder.
His hands wavered, and his vision blurred.
A head rose over the edge of the platform, entering his sights.
But it was only Poacher.
Avery relaxed his finger over the trigger and dropped his weapon hand, letting it hang at his side.
“The site is secure,” Poacher said. He helped Avery onto his feet, noticing the gunshot wound. Poacher immediately searched his vest for gauze, disinfectant, and a roll of bandages.
“Where’s Aleksa?” Avery asked. “Did you find her?”
“Aleksa is safe. She’s with Flounder and M-Bird. She keeps asking about you. Reaper took a hit, but he’s okay. The render-safe team is en route to retrieve the HEU. Mockingbird is planting the beacons so the F-16s can hit this place after we exfil.” Poacher looked at the top of the drifting high tower of smoke, and his eyes followed it down to its source. “Nice shot.”
Avery didn’t speak as Poacher dressed his wound. Blood dribbled down the length of his forearm, off his fingertips, and collected in a puddle on the metal surface beneath his foot. He averted his gaze back to the wavering flames below.