Everyone rushed to the trucks, and, one by one, the Tangos confirmed by radio they were ready to continue on their escape route.
Alex took her seat in Tango One, and checked the GPS. Only a few more minutes until they turned south, heading for the LZ. She noticed a message from Tom, arrived just seconds earlier. It read, “Russian helos closing in, ETA two minutes.”
Really? That was not happening… It was about time they caught a goddamn break. She felt tears of frustration burn her eyes. There was no way they could take on three armed helicopters attacking them, drones or no drones. They were low on ammo, the drones were busy with the rest of the Russians catching up from behind; it was just hopeless.
She directed the driver to turn right, and leave the main road. Maybe their chances would be better if they dumped the trucks and scattered everyone in the forest, to continue to the LZ on foot. But they had a lot of wounded, and some of the people couldn’t walk. Some of the people had been shot; no, that wasn’t going to work.
As they turned, she saw an explosion toward the coast; a large ball of fire erupted, illuminating everything around it for a short while, then continuing to burn. She texted Tom, who watched them via satellite, “What was the explosion ENE of us?”
His reply came in immediately. It read, “Your friends took out a radar station called Red Partisan. All good.”
That was logical. Probably Eagle Nest preferred radar darkness to having to fight the entire Russian Army over their rescue.
Then her radio came to life again.
“All call signs, this is Eagle Nest. We see three enemy helos approaching fast. Moving to intercept.”
“Copy that, Eagle, you saved the day.”
Maybe they’d caught that break after all.
They drove south on an unpaved, bumpy road that followed the edge of the forest. Behind them, the drones still engaged the remaining Russian vehicles, and Alex had counted two more explosions since they had taken the turn onto the unpaved road. Probably they were finishing off the remaining trucks filled with Russian soldiers.
She swallowed uncomfortably, thinking for a minute of all the Russians who were losing their lives that night. Then she thought of what might have happened to all the passengers and crew if they’d been recaptured by the Russians. That was what war was all about… One had to kill to survive. They hadn’t started that war; the people who took XA233 had started it. V had started it. She and her team were there to end it.
She checked her GPS again, seeing they were approaching on the left, the flat, rocky clearing she had chosen for the landing zone. They were there… they had made it.
Now all they had to do was survive for another forty minutes or so.
She spoke into her radio.
“All Tangos, we’re here. Instruct your passengers to disembark, walk south for a few hundred yards, not more, and take cover behind the tree line.”
“Copy that, Alpha,” Lou’s voice responded, almost cheerfully. Hope was a wonderful thing.
She hopped off the truck and stretched her legs, feeling the tension ease a little. She looked toward the rest of the trucks, and nodded, satisfied, seeing how they arrived, one by one, killing their lights and cutting their engines.
The distant roar of jet engines caught her attention, and she looked toward the northern sky. In the distance, she could see the sky light up occasionally, as Eagle Nest’s forces engaged the enemy.
She climbed in the back of Tango One and handed Blake her phone.
“We’re here, we’ve made it. We have a ride home. Tell your pilot to get out.”
…65
Dylan Bishop ended the brief conversation with his boss with a long sigh of relief. He wasn’t very brave; he had to admit. He was just a guy who liked to fly planes, nothing more. His charismatic nature, combined with his excellent record of achievement as a pilot had gained him the cushy, generously compensated job of personal pilot for the banking magnate, Blake Bernard.
Cushy until now, that was. Mr. Bernard’s typical outings were mostly business trips to a variety of American cities, or, in some cases, leisure outings to destinations like Ibiza or Paris. But Russia? With 500 pounds of guns and ammo onboard? That was scary.
Dylan shuddered. He was glad it was over; he wasn’t cut for that kind of stuff. His boss had told him to get out of there, and he wasn’t going to waste another minute. Deciding on the quickest, most superficial preflight check of his career, he hopped out of the plane and quickly circled it, removing the wheel blocks and the air intake covers. He moved fast, feeling the tingle of fear chilling his blood and creeping up his spine. He ran his hands quickly on the wings’ edge of attack, making sure no dents had appeared. Nothing could be wrong with the plane anyway; he hadn’t left it for a minute since they had arrived, too terrified to set foot outside the eerily quiet hangar. No one had even come close to it since they had landed.
The Phenom had enough fuel to make it to Japan, and was ready for takeoff. He closed and locked the aircraft’s door, securing it for departure. Then he took his seat, buckled his harness, and did a quick instruments check before starting the engines. He smiled with relief as the engines revved to life. Everything was going to be fine; he was way past ready to leave that godforsaken, creepy place.
Unseen, engulfed in the darkness shrouding the hangar, a man sneaked quietly toward the landing gear with a block of plastic explosive in his hand. He almost swore aloud when the plane’s engines came to life, startling him. He crouched lower, and nearly fell when the plane started rolling. He was running out of time.
The plane started moving faster. He attached the PVV-5A explosive to the wheel strut while walking next to it. Then running next to it. He barely managed to roll the tape around the block of explosive a couple of times, and inserted the detonating pin while wholeheartedly running right behind the Phenom’s wheel, panting hard, barely able to keep up with the accelerating plane.
Then he stopped running, breathing hard; the job was done. In a few minutes, the PVV would detonate, taking the Phenom out of the sky in a raging blaze of fire. That was his plan, and he never failed.
Just as the Phenom took off, the poorly attached PVV block fell off the plane’s landing gear and hit the ground a few yards from where the man stood, short of breath, watching the plane soar. Upon impact, the explosive detonated, sending pieces of burning concrete high in the air, and leaving a smoldering crater behind. Khabarovsk Airport was gone.
The Phenom surged and retracted its landing gear, already too far from the explosion to be impacted in any way. Immediately after that, Dylan changed the heading, eager to leave Russian airspace as soon as possible. As the plane turned, he noticed the blaze on the ground, where the airport had been.
“Holy shit,” he said, wiping the sweat off his forehead with a trembling hand, “that’s what I’d call a timely departure.”
…66
Alex walked along the tree line, heading back toward Tango One. That’s where the wounded were, and that’s where she wanted to go, to check on Sam and Blake. She started to feel how tired she was. She had difficulties breathing; a strong, sharp pain in her sternum keeping her from filling her lungs with air.
Probably most of the excess adrenaline and cortisol in her blood were gone by now. The wonderful chemicals that kept her body focused on survival and blocked her pain receptors were dropping to more normal levels, allowing her to feel the hurt from her injuries. Her head pounded, the dull throbbing centered around the cut on her forehead. Her chest hurt with every breath, probably a couple of cracked ribs were to blame for that. She vaguely remembered the explosion at the hangar where they’d found the missing plane; it felt like centuries had passed since then.