Blackwell quickly discarded his cumbersome arm sling and grabbed the nearest M-16, then belly-crawled to the entrance. He cautiously peered above the kick panel and ducked when a mortar shell made a hit on the hangar.
"Holy shit!" Lex gasped as he scrambled behind the tabletop. "They scored a direct hit on the hangar. We've gotta make it to the foxholes!"
"Not yet," Palmer shouted over the ear-splitting machine-gun fire. "Hang on a minute!"
Spencer waited for a lull in the fighting before he decided to venture from behind the desk. He crawled to the field security radio while Allison hurriedly snatched her rifle and rejoined the pilots.
"Nick, we better make a run for it," Blackwell declared as another hail of gunfire erupted.
"We can't go outside right now," Palmer shouted above the crackling fusillade of automatic-weapons fire. "They'll rip us apart before we get twenty feet!"
Their mouths turned dry while Spencer yelled into the Command Post radio. Gunnery Sergeant Salvador Rodriguez barked orders in return.
A series of thundering concussions pounded the operations building as mortar rounds rained on the hangar and adjacent sleeping quarters. Spencer cursed and tossed the handset down when a barrage of shells lashed the Quonset hut. He sprawled on the floor a second before a spray of shells riddled the wall.
"The CO — Gunny Rodriguez says we have to withdraw!" Spencer flinched when two rounds smashed into his desk. "We're being overrun!"
Smelling the stench of his damp flight suit, Brad Austin closed his eyes and captured a mental image of Leigh Ann. How was he going to be able to contact her? Maybe the C-123 pilots would do him a favor and tell her where he had been taken for medical treatment.
An unexpected shudder ran the length of the fuselage. Brad suddenly opened his eyes and let his questioning glance slide to Elvin Crowder. He could tell by the tormented look on the crew chiefs face that something was wrong.
Before Austin could speak, another solid vibration ran through the airframe. His adrenaline, which had slowly begun to ebb, shot through his system with renewed vigor. What the hell is happening?
Brad gestured to Crowder when another tremble convulsed through the helicopter.
"What's wrong?"
The grizzled gunner reached for the overhead and leaned down. "We're losin' oil at a perty fair clip."
Crowder moved to the open hatch and peeked out to see if the UH-34 was still emitting white smoke. The telltale vapor had completely disappeared. He stepped back to Brad.
"The engine is probably dry, 'cause we ain't trailin' no more smoke."
Austin silently nodded. The forced landing and harrowing rescue had left him badly shaken. Now, after surviving that ordeal, he had to face the possibility of another forced landing. Without a second helicopter, Brad knew their chances of being rescued before they were captured were nonexistent.
He cringed inwardly, remembering a downed air-force pilot who had had his rescue helicopter shot out from under him. He and the SAR crew had been plucked from certain imprisonment by a gutsy Air America pilot.
A succession of tremors wracked the helicopter, marking the final minutes of flight.
Brad struggled to sit up, pushing himself upright by sheer will. "How much longer… to the field?"
Crowder shrugged and opened a pouch of chewing tobacco. "Don't much matter, if the motor ain't runnin'."
Reaching for a loose M-16, Nick Palmer flipped off the safety and inched toward the screened door. A deafening explosion knocked him backward into Blackwell, Allison, and Spencer.
With their ears ringing, the foursome stared through the dust at a cavernous hole in the wall. They could see the twinkle of muzzle flashes as the Pathet Lao boxed the compound with a curtain of red-hot steel.
"We've got to make our way," Lex shouted above the explosions and chaos, "to the one-twenty-three."
Palmer and Spencer looked through the smoldering hole in the wall. The cargo pilots had already started one engine and were taxiing toward the runway. Nick watched while the individual fire teams from the perimeter safety unit made an orderly retreat toward the C-123.
The twin-engine transport, which was configured to carry sixty-one passengers, would be overloaded if the majority of the evacuating personnel boarded the aircraft.
"Let's make our move," Spencer said boldly, and raised to one knee, "while we still have some cover fire from our troops."
Allison turned and looked at him with wide-eyed contempt. "We can't leave until the helo lands. You can't leave them here to die."
Palmer interrupted Spencer's reply. "Allison, we'll work our way toward the airplane — using the foxholes — and hope the helo gets here before the cargo plane takes off "
She was outraged as fire flashed in her eyes. "Nick, of all the people I would have thought—"
"Goddamnit, Allison," Palmer blurted in frustration, "we can't sacrifice an entire plane packed with human beings for four people. They'll have to find another place to set down."
"Allison," Spencer said hastily, "we can't afford the risk of having everyone annihilated. We've got to get on the plane while we can."
She gave him a defiant look and crawled toward the communications room.
With a knot tied in his stomach, Rudy Jimenez watched the cylinder-head temperature peg at the top of the scale. The oil pressure registered zero, and he could smell the hot engine as the helicopter began to shake.
Come on, sweetheart… don't give up yet.
He left the power set, fearing any abrupt change might cause an immediate engine failure. He watched the altimeter begin to unwind as the screaming engine ground itself to pieces.
Something flashed in the distance and caught his attention. Smoke was rising from the general area of Alpha-29. Jimenez was about to call the airfield when Allison's voice exploded in his headphones.
"Rudy, we're under attack! How far away are you?"
"Five minutes, if the engine holds together." He could feel the vibrations becoming more violent. "We won't be able to provide any cover fire."
"We're being overrun — everyone is evacuating the base," Allison yelled over the crackle of gunfire. "Land next to the cargo plane!"
Jimenez was horrified. If the UH-34 held together long enough to reach the airfield, would he be forced to land in the middle of the enemy troops?
He started a shallow descent to gain some speed. -I've got the field in sight."
"Hurry, Rudy! We can't hold on much longer!"
The odor of the overheated engine was beginning to sting his nostrils. "We're almost there!"
"I'm signing off, Rudy," Allison exclaimed, and crawled back to the overturned table. She stared Spencer in the eye. "Cap, we aren't leaving them."
Nick Palmer swung around at the same time another mortar round exploded next to the building. "It may not be our choice to make." She gave him a quizzical look. "What do you mean?"
Nick saw Lex Blackwell glance at him. "Allison, when the last person the pilots can see is on that airplane, they're going to be shoving the throttles through the instrument panel… trust me."
"He's right," Lex added, and flattened himself on the floor when a round ricocheted through the room. "They aren't gonna be takin' roll call."
Chapter FORTY-THREE
Brad studied the Spartan interior of the lumbering helicopter, noting that everything was buzzing from the continuous vibration. The shaking fuselage was even rattling the machine gun and ammunition belt. If the engine blows, I hope this thing can autorotate.
He watched Elvin Crowder speak into his lip mike. The crew chief swore over the loud banging and turned to Austin.
"They're retreatin' from the strip."
Brad experienced a pang of fear. It seemed that somehow they were not destined to make it to safety. "Our security troops are pulling out?"