But Lasko’s approach to webboards was the strangest Mike had ever seen. One time Mike had walked past when Lasko was on-line and just had to pause. He’d seen him three times that day and each time Lasko was just sitting in front of the computer, not doing a damned thing. Just… sitting, one hand on the mouse, the other on is thigh, perfectly still.
“Okay, Lasko, what are you doing?”
“Waiting for someone to post,” Lasko had answered, coldly.
Mike had visited sniper boards like Sniper.com before and noticed that there were very few “regular” posters, most of them pretty clearly not operational snipers. The regulars were always posting and chatting and debating about techniques or equipment or what their dog had eaten that was really disgusting.
But then you’d see the occasional really bizarre post. It would go something like:
Afghan Sniper: Eagle 415.
AirborneSnipe115: Good.
SFSnipe22: Strap weak.
And so on.
Lasko finally made it all clear and Mike had a sudden mental image of serious operational snipers, all over the world, sitting there waiting for the first guy to make a move. Dozens, hundreds, of hard faces waiting for the guy who made the first mistake.
Snipers were natural lurkers. That was Lasko in a nutshell.
“Aircraft’s coming in at 2230 day after tomorrow,” Mike said when they’d stepped outside. He handed Lasko a slip of paper with coordinates on it. “Six LZs. That’s where we’re inserting. The pilot is the Chief of Staff’s son-in-law. Now you know.”
“I’ve got it,” Lasko said and nodded.
“Recon only,” Mike pointed out.
“Taken care of, Kildar.”
That was what he liked about Lasko. Tell him he was going to go sit in place for a week, looking at a hopefully empty field and he was positively happy. Not quite as happy as a field full of targets and a full magazine, but close.
“Colonel, this is an advisory on an upcoming mission.”
Lieutenant Colonel Peyton Randolph, commander 1st Battalion 75th Infantry (Ranger), hated video-conferencing and wished the geeks that invented it had been still-born. Why not just use a simple telephone? It wasn’t like anybody looked you in the eye. They were always looking down at the monitor!
“Yes, sir,” he said, sitting up for the call from the SOCOM weenie. He’d been told he was getting a call from some Pentagon SOCOM bureaucrat and to just “do what you’re told.” Instead of staring at the stupid monitor, though, he looked right at the camera set on top.
“Your Bravo company is going to be going over to the country of Georgia to train with some mountain infantry over there,” the colonel said. “Because Bravo Company is jump-short they’ll jump insert but the jump will be purely administrative; the DZ will be in a secured area. The catch is that they’re going to be using third country transport due to current transportation shortages. The good news is that they’re going to be able to add an Antonov to their jump sheets and we’ll see if we can arrange Ukrainian jump wings as a bonus.”
“You’re shitting me,” Randolph said, chuckling. “Maybe I ought to strap-hang.”
“Well, if you do you’ll have to find your own way back or stay in-country for a couple of weeks,” Pierson sighed. “Air Force is really tasked out. The Bravo company commander will be given further orders but those are code-word classified. The mission may entail engagements but it is not believed that the risks on the operation will be high.”
“I just hope we’re not helping the Georgians beat up on the Ossetians,” the commander said. “That’s pretty much an internal matter, Colonel.”
“The area they are going to has some threat from the Chechens but is outside the Ossetian area,” the “Pentagon weanie” replied. “And the orders are from higher so who cares? Ours but to do or die and all that. This is only an advisory. But please recall your personnel at this time; we’re getting on short time for this.”
“Will do,” Lt. Colonel Randolph said and finally looked at the monitor. To his surprise the Pentagon weanie was looking at him out of it.
“Tell them good luck and good hunting,” Colonel Pierson replied. Then the monitor went dead.
Kacey put down the -1 for the Czech Aeroframe Corporation Hind-J “aerial ambulance” and rubbed her eyes. -1s were the manual for an aircraft discussing not only design and engineering but flying characteristics. They were the pilot’s Bible and she and Tamara had been doing their best, with a lot of assistance, to practically memorize them.
That Kildar character hadn’t been joking about “cramming.” The Czech instructors were being paid to shove as much knowledge of the Hind-J into them in as short a time as humanly possible. And her head was about to explode.
The J variant was slightly different than the D variant they’d flown lo these many years ago. It had an additional super-charger on each engine for high-altitude operations, an oxygen system, pressurized flight and crew compartment and various other bells and whistles. But what was seriously different were the engines, modified Bells built by the Czechs on contract that were 30% more powerful than the originals while being a tad lighter and smaller. That was good, in general, since the Hind-D was a bit of a pig in the air. But that also meant the aircraft had different flight characteristics. The ground training portion of the transition was about over. Since the one thing the Czechs did not seem to have was a good simulator for the craft they were going to be taking their first “familiarization” flights tomorrow. And she didn’t want her eyes bleary for that.
But she had one thing to do before she went to bed.
The Kildar had, as promised, supplied them with a satellite phone. It was a desk-top model, sort of bulky but capable of not just telephone connection but video and a limited internet pipe. For that matter, there was a whole set of controls that had something to do with a scrambler. Where the “Kildar” had gotten military grade scramblers she wasn’t going to ask, but given their mission it wasn’t too weird.
She didn’t need any of that, though, all she needed was the phone.
“Calling Chief D’Allaird finally?” Tammie asked, setting down her own -1.
“About that time,” Kacey said, dialing the number she’d finally managed to find in her address book. “Hopefully he hasn’t already left for work.”
“Hopefully he’s awake,” Tammie pointed out.
Kacey listened to the phone ring then pick up.
“837-4159. How may I help you sir or ma’am?”
Damn. Good to see some things hadn’t changed.
“Mr. Timothy D’Allaird? This is Air Force Bureau of Personnel. This is to inform you that you’ve been selected for a recall tour to points in the AOR. Further information will be arriving by mail at your home of record. Are you still resident at… ”
“Kacey, is that you?” the voice said. “God, damn, girl you almost gave me a heart-attack!”
“Hi, Chief,” Kacey said, grinning. “How they hangin?”
“Still one below the other,” D’Allaird said. “To what do I owe the honor of a call from Miss Snot-nose?”