Powers shook his head as he dismounted. The retriever looked up at him with wide eyes and whimpered. "What were you doing, dumb dog?" Powers whispered as he lowered his rifle. The dog's ribs showed and its fur was matted with brambles and dirt. It had obviously been running wild out here for quite a while.
Powers checked out the wound; the round had gone straight through and missed the bone. He tenderly wrapped a compress around the leg. Tying it in place, he scooped up the dog and placed it in the back of the humvee. So much for their buffalo idea so far. Powers drove back around and returned to his overwatch position. Maybe larger predators would be coming later.
"Are you sure they can see this? It seems so small." Merrit looked dubiously at the fluorescent tape sewn onto the top of the watch cap that Riley had handed her.
Riley nodded. "The sights in those aircraft not only can see at night, but they also give quite a bit of amplification. As long as you wear that, they'll know you're one of the good guys. That tape shows up like a beacon."
A Blackhawk helicopter settled onto the field. Riley tapped Merrit on the arm. "Let's go."
Riley shouldered the radio, tucking the end of the antenna down into his shirt, and picked up his rifle. He gestured for his team to move out, then he escorted Merrit onto the aircraft, seating her facing forward next to him. The aircraft lifted in a smooth rush of power.
Riley grabbed a headset that was hanging from the roof and put it on. "This is Chief Riley. We're all set."
The pilot answered. "Roger. I'm Captain Patrick. We're going to fly above the gunships, and we're on their freq so you can hear them talk."
As the chopper gained altitude, Riley's men rigged rappeling ropes on either side of the cargo bay. The ropes were attached to large O-bolts hanging from the ceiling, then were carefully coiled in deployment bags, ready to be used if they had to get out of the aircraft and a landing zone wasn't available. After checking the rigs, Riley turned to his team and gestured as he yelled above the sound of the blades and engines. "All right. Lock and load." Eight magazines were slammed home and the bolts pulled. The rifles were held between the knees, muzzles pointing at the floor. They were ready.
"Eagle Center, this is Nighthawk Three One. I've got movement. Location point eight klicks east of checkpoint three seven. Request permission to break pattern to investigate. Over."
"This is Eagle Center. Permission granted. Over."
Riley found checkpoint three seven on his map and spoke into the intercom to the pilot. "Let's slide on over there, sir." He felt a surge of adrenaline. First contact of the evening. Maybe the last.
"Roger," the pilot acknowledged. The Blackhawk swooped to the west, overflying the OH-6 gunship pilot. Riley could see the green and red running lights of the smaller helicopter below.
"This is Nighthawk Three One. I've got multiple targets moving west. They're under the trees. Over."
"This is Eagle Center. Roger Three One. Break. Nighthawk One Six, break pattern and support Three One. Three One and One Six switch to tac frequency one-niner-five. All other elements hold in place and move to an altitude of five hundred AGL. We might be going hot here. Over."
Looking like fireflies, the other gunships drilled up into the night sky to five hundred feet and held position while the two designated gunships paired up. Riley had his pilot switch frequency and listened to the two pilots coordinate as they closed in.
"Do you have them? Over."
"Roger. I've got you and them clear. Do you have me? Over."
"Roger. Got you in sight. I've got a clear field of fire at two hundred degrees. Over."
"I've got a two-seventy. Eagle Center, we've got multiple targets on thermals. Image is broken. They're moving under the trees. Request permission to fire. Over."
There was a brief pause and then General Williams's voice came over the airways. "This is Eagle Six. Do they look like they might be people? Over."
"Eagle Six, this is Nighthawk Three One. We can't tell through the thermals. There's too much residual heat coming off the trees to get a clear picture. If we can get them out in the open we could check them with our goggles. Over."
"Do you have any open area in the immediate vicinity? Over."
"Roger. About five hundred meters to the south we've got a field. Over."
"Use your miniguns to move your target to that field and get a positive ID. Over." "Roger."
A line of tracers roped out of one of the helicopters. Again and again it fired small bursts, herding the target in the desired direction.
"This is Three One. They're moving south. Over."
"This is One Six. I'm in position at the tree line. Over."
Riley talked to his UH-60 pilot. "Move us above One Six; over the field, so we can see the tree line." Riley took a set of night vision goggles and slipped them on. He put another set on Merrit. "Watch that tree line."
Another burst.
"This is Three One. They're just about there. Over."
"There!" Riley grabbed Merrit's arm. "See them?"
In the green glow of the goggles, shadowy figures were slipping out of the tree line. "What do you see?" Riley asked Merrit as he strained to make them out.
"I don't know. They're moving fast."
"This is One Six. Hold guns. Hold guns. I've got targets in the open. I make out six deer. Over."
Williams's voice was disappointed. "This is Eagle Six. Resume search pattern. Over."
"Take us back up, sir," Riley spoke into the intercom. The Blackhawk climbed into the sky and they settled down to wait.
Three more times they moved in as gunships picked out heat images under the trees, and each time the result was negative. As the night chill settled in and the residual heat dissipated, the thermal sights began to function better, identifying targets under the trees without having to move them out into the open. No Synbats — just deer and other animals.
By midnight the helicopters were beginning to retrace areas that had already been searched. There was the possibility that the Synbats had moved through search areas and been missed, but it was a slim one. The operations officer had even planned the refueling schedule to make sure that contiguous areas were monitored and there would be no gaps.
At five after midnight, Riley's Blackhawk swooped down and flared, wheels settling onto the grass. Riley leapt off the left side and then turned to help Merrit. His team off-loaded wearily. The aircraft lifted with a surge of wind to head for the forward arming and refuel point (FARP) that the 160th had set up in a nearby field.
"Make sure your caps are on, tape facing out," Riley ordered. Despite being at the headquarters, he was taking no chances. He walked over to the TOC with Merrit. It was not a happy group that stood in the large tent listening to the radio reports and tracking the search on map overlays. The entire park had been covered. The lair had been gone over in excruciating detail. No live Synbats had been found in the park. The perimeter defenses had reported negatively. Nothing.
"What do we do now?" Williams directed the question at General Trollers, the senior man on the ground.
Trollers was as exhausted as everyone else. "We've done about all we can do." He turned to Merrit. "Is there anyplace you think they could be hiding from the thermals?"
Merrit seemed lost in thought. "I have no idea."
Riley was listening to this exchange with a growing sense of frustrated anger. He wasn't sure what the source of his anger was. Surprisingly, he couldn't focus on the Synbats as the enemy. Even though they'd killed two of his men and all the others, including the young girl, he was beginning to realize that the Synbats were pawns in this game just as much as he was. The one at whom he could best direct his disgust was Trollers. Hossey and Williams were like Riley; they'd been caught up in the fix-it phase. Trollers, however, was responsible for the start of the project. But even Trollers was just a figurehead, Riley knew. Ultimate blame had to rest with a system that saw the need to develop something like the Synbats.