Defcon One (1989) Page 25

  Let's go! Wickham nudged Dimitri, then pointed downstream.

  We've got to m-move out ... get farther away.

  They're gaining on us.

  Dimitri shoved himself up to his hands and knees, crawled from under the shrubs, and focused down the river. His heart received a shock when he saw what was happening on the opposite bank.

  Come on, Dimitri, Wickham yelled softly. Move it!

  Follow me.

  Okay, Dimitri replied, looking over his shoulder at the inflatable rubber boat being placed in the water at their original point of entry into the river.

  SCARECROW FLIGHT

  The three Sikorsky Night Hawks were twenty kilometers west of Gatchina when Scarecrow Three detected two fast-moving radar blips approaching the S70s.

  Capt. James E. Jungle Jim Charbonnet decided it was time to break radio silence.

  Scarecrow Lead, Three, Charbonnet said into his microphone.

  Lead, came the brief reply from the flight leader. The pilot was concentrating on the terrain rushing under his helicopter.

  Mother-in-law at sixteen hundred, Charbonnet responded, referring to bogies approaching from the four o'clock position.

  Okay, Buchanan replied. Two and Three, go high and engage.

  Two with a copy, Pete Barnes radioed.

  Three. Charbonnet said, rechecking his armament panel.

  Buchanan looked at Higgins. How long 'til we get to Novgorod?

  Ah... Higgins punched three buttons, then waited a second.

  Fourteen minutes, Buck.

  Looks like the visibility is improving, Buchanan said, then noted the overcast. We've got four hundred, maybe five hundred over now.

  Yeah, Oaks responded. Hope the zone is cold.

  No one answered as the Night Hawk gunship raced toward Novgorod. The radar altimeter continuously chimed warnings as the S-70 oscillated above and below one hundred feet of altitude. This was contour flying on the ragged edge.

  John, double-check the A.D.F, Buchanan instructed, and go ahead and broadcast Scarecrow identification for our agents.' Now, Buck? Higgins asked. We're still a ways out.

  Can't hurt, Buchanan replied. Sooner we make contact, the better off we'll all be.

  Roger, Higgins said, then pressed the transmitter key on the discreet frequency radio. Scarecrow calling Sandman.

  Scarecrow One to Sandman.

  The copilot waited three seconds, then tried again to reach the CIA agents. Scarecrow One to Sandman.

  The receiver remained quiet, emitting occasional broken static.

  Higgins adjusted the volume.

  Try every thirty seconds or so, Buchanan ordered. We gotta have contact.

  Will do, Higgins answered, fine-tuning the radio receiver.

  Should be in range in a minute or two.

  Buchanan scanned his instruments, then looked at the soft glow under the overcast. A small town or village was providing enough light to see the bottom of the low-hanging clouds clearly.

  Light snow continued to drift slowly from the thick overcast.

  Scarecrow One was looking at the settlement, wondering whether or not the CIA agents were still alive, when his headphones came to life.

  Buck, the cat is out! Pete Barnes radioed his leader as he initiated a stem conversion to jump the Soviet helicopter gunships.

  Roger, Pistol! Buchanan replied excitedly. Pump the bastards and rejoin ASAP!

  Comin' to ya, Barnes groaned under the G-forces as he pulled up steeply, performed a wingover, then dove into an attack position on the nearest Russian gunship.

  The Soviet pilots, caught off guard by the frontal assault, countered with a steep upward spiral, oblivious to Scarecrow Three.

  Charbonnet raised the nose of his S-70, turned into and under the Soviet Mi-28 Havoc combat helos, then loosed a salvo of air-to-air missiles.

  Both Russian gunships exploded, one spiraling down in ever-widening circles. The other helicopter, trailing orange flames, plunged straight into the ground, exploding again on impact.

  Goddamn, Jungle, Barnes yelled over the radio. How about a warning next time! You almost took us out.

  Sorry, Pete, Charbonnet responded, apologetically. I forgot to holler.

  Buchanan broke in. Clear the radios and smoke it up here.

  Roger. Buck, Barnes answered. We splashed both intruders and we're on our way. Buchanan checked the INS again as Higgins continued to transmit to the CIA agents.

  Scarecrow to Sandman. Higgins waited ten seconds.

  Scarecrow calling Sandman. Copy, Sandman? Higgins waited, then tried again. Scarecrow to Sandman. Do you read, Sandman?

  Intermittent static was the only sound Higgins heard from the small transmitter.

  Blackie Oaks keyed the intercom system. Sounds like Cap'n Charbonnet got a kill.

  Steve Lincoln, sitting across from Oaks, pressed his intercom.

  Two kills, gunny.

  Buchanan interrupted. Cut the chatter. Too many distractions right now.

  Yes sir, Oaks replied in a respectful manner.

  WHITE HOUSE SITUATION ROOM

  Wilkinson watched Shcharansky tentatively accept the Moscow direct line telephone. The deputy foreign minister was clearly nervous, eyes blinking continuously.

  The Soviet ambassador, Krikor Gerasimov, normally verbal and animated, sat quietly in his chair. He hadn't said a word since the president had issued his order.

  While the White House staff and Russian officials waited for the Kremlin call to be completed, Wilkinson leaned over to the president.

  Sir, do you want the carrier air groups to launch some leverage?

  Let's see what develops from this effort first, the former carrier pilot quietly answered. If your hypothesis is correct, Zhilinkhov may use this situation to break the logjam he developed.

  Wilkinson nodded his head in agreement.

  The president suddenly snapped his fingers, then turned to Herb Kohlhammer. Get the linguist, the Russian interpreter, in here.

  Yes, sir, Kohlhammer responded, pressing a code into his console.

  She is in the waiting room.

  Shcharansky winced when a burst of Russian shot through the phone receiver. The deputy foreign minister attempted to speak several times, openly flinching at the rebukes, then loudly exclaimed that he was at the White House.

  At the White House with the president. A very upset American president.

  Shcharansky explained the extreme situation in Russian to the Soviet general secretary, then fell silent.

  The interpreter, skipping the profanity, repeated both sides of the conversation.

  The deputy foreign minister was taking a severe tongue-lashing, knowing his career was over. He, too, thought the general secretary of the Communist party, psychologically, was not a well person.

  Comrade General Secretary, Shcharansky said as forcefully as he dared,' I am making an attempt to convey the situation as it sta The telephone line went dead as a chagrined and humiliated Boris Shcharansky, former Soviet deputy foreign minister and rising political star, hung up the phone. He spoke slowly, haltingly.

  The general secretary will comply ... with the wishes of the United States.

  No one responded as the two Soviets, now standing, placed their coats over their arms.

  The president stood up, followed by the rest of the White House staff, then spoke to the Soviet delegates.

  Thank you for your efforts, gentlemen. You may have made a significant contribution. The president, unsmiling, stepped forward to shake hands with the Russians. Thank you, again.

  Both Russians nodded in acknowledgement, then quietly walked out the door.

  Well, the president exhaled, then sat down, we'll see what the next few hours bring.

  Wilkinson and Cliff Howard, hearing the vice president gasp, turned to see what was happening. An Army lieutenant colonel, serving as a White House aide, was conferring with Blaylocke.

  His face was a grim mask of pain.

  The presiden
t, noticing the exchange, spoke to his vice president.

  What is it, Susan?

  Blaylocke thanked the officer, then turned toward the president as the aide left the room.

  Gentlemen, you better have a seat. I have some bad news to report. No one said a word, including the president, as everyone sat down.

  We have lost the shuttle, Blaylocke said, squeezing one hand with the other. Columbia crashed into the water off southern California. They are launching search and rescue efforts at this time, but the SAR people, and NASA, don't have much hope of finding any survivors.

  The president sat back and closed his eyes. Fifteen seconds elapsed before he opened them again, turning to the secretary of defense.

  Cliff, I want the Navy to sink the three Soviet submarines off the coast of Florida.

  Kohlhammer and Howard, both shocked, tried to respond at the same time.

  The secretary of state deferred to Howard.

  Mister President, the general secretary is backing off. I am not sure we want to send the wrong message at this crucial time.

  Yes, the president said, staring into Howard's eyes, and Zhilinkhov knows our shuttle crashed because he ordered it attacked, along with the Tennessee, the Virginia, and our fighter planes. Order the attack.

  DIMITRI AND WICKHAM The snow had begun to fall more heavily as the two CIA agents struggled along the edge of the riverbank. Slipping, stumbling, and occasionally falling, the operatives slowly distanced themselves from the group of spetsnaz commandos in the inflatable raft.

  Overhead, the Russian gunship helicopters continued to orbit in ever-widening circles. Their spotlights looked like dancing luminous spheres, darting at times, against the dark overcast.

  Wickham, feeling sluggish, slipped and fell sideways on his limp right arm. Stifling a loud groan, the American felt Dimitri trip over his legs, then watched him fall headfirst down the muddy embankment.

  The opposite side of the river was teeming with Soviet special forces troops, each carrying a powerful flashlight or spotlight.

  Dimitri lay completely exposed to the light beams arcing randomly back and forth across the partially frozen river.

  Oh, God, Wickham pleaded in frustration and weariness, please help us.

  The CIA agent first crawled, then slid down the muddy slope of the riverbank, inadvertently kneeing Dimitri in the side.

  Fortunately, Dimitri was only frightened by the unexpected fall, not hurt.

  As the two men struggled back up the slippery incline, Wickham was startled to hear his miniature radio receiver transmit a message.

  Sandman, do you read Scarecrow? There was an urgency in the voice.

  Do you copy. Sandman?

  Hurry, Dimitri, they're here! Wickham encouraged the young agent to move up the embankment faster, so they could conceal themselves and communicate with the rescue helicopters.

  Scarecrow calling Sandman, Higgins called, annoyance in his voice.

  Come in. Sandman.

  Buchanan looked at his copilot, then spoke without using the intercom.

  If they aren't there ... Shit! We may get gamahooshed for nothing.

  Yeah, Higgins keyed the intercom, they may already be dead, and we're

  going

  We're going' into a trap, Buchanan finished the grim statement for his friend.

  Scarecrow One to Sandman! Higgins said into the radio.

  Copy, Sandman?

  Wickham pulled on Dimitri's coat sleeve as hard as he could with his left arm. The young operative finally struggled over the lip of the riverbank and rolled under a clump of low shrub trees.

  Both agents could clearly hear the excited barking of dogs in the inflatable boat. The Russians were almost across the river, slowed only by thin ice along the bank. Time was rapidly running out for the two CIA operatives. The Russians were closing fast, aided by the highly trained attack dogs.

  Wickham tugged at the combination radio/homing beacon, folded out the antenna, flipped the automatic direction finder to the on position, then transmitted over the radio.

  Scarecrow, Scarecrow, this is Sandman, over! Wickham's voice quivered from the freezing cold and adrenaline rush through his body.

  Sandman! the surprised voice responded immediately.

  Stand by one.

  We can't stand by! Wickham angrily transmitted back.

  We're surrounded by Russians!

  Okay, Sandman, Higgins radioed, we've got a sweet beacon. Hang on.

  We're seven out and rapidly closing on your position.

  Wickham could hear the sound of the engines and beat of the rotors over the radio. He turned the volume down as far as it would go. The American agent knew the real worry was the Soviet gunships.

  The senior agent turned to Dimitri and spoke reassuringly.

  Seven m-miles out. Three minutes at the outside. Sweet Jesus, w-we're going to make it! We're going to make it, Dimitri.

  Wickham, using his left arm in a backwards motion, slapped the young agent across the shoulders in a gesture of friendship and elation.

  Dimitri, half smiling, tears streaming down his cheeks, turned to Wickham. W-we're going home, we're going home, he choked.

  Snap out of it, Dimitri! Wickham ordered, then continued.

  Take off your coat and get ready to run. Your s-sole mission is to concentrate on getting into the chopper, okay?

  Y-yes, Dimitri replied, shaking violently, that's all I want to do.

  Wickham looked down the river at the inflatable raft. They had reached shore and the two dogs were leaping from the boat to the muddy edge of the river.

  Wickham pressed the radio transmit key again.

  Scarecrow, Sandman. Urgent!

  Copy, Sandman, Higgins instantly replied. Go!

  Be advised, Wickham paused, counting, there are approximately forty, maybe fifty, ground troops around us, plus two helicopters.

  Wickham waited, without hearing anything, not even an acknowledgement, for ten, then fifteen seconds.

  Say type of helicopters, Higgins said.

  Gunships. Havocs, I believe, Wickham responded. I think they're low on fuel. Wickham looked up at the Russian Mi-28 crossing the river.They've been out here for quite a while.

  Good, Higgins replied. Hang in there. Sandman. We're almost there! We're tryin' to, Wickham said, watching the six advancing spetsnaz troops and their dogs.

  Chapter Sixteen.

  SCARECROW FLIGHT

  Buchanan and Higgins rapidly scanned the A.D.F, then back to the INS.

  The A.D.F needle pointed straight ahead, not wavering.

  The inertial nav showed 3.4 nautical miles to the rendezvous point.

  Buchanan glanced at Higgins with a look of resignation, then pushed his intercom switch. This is for real, guys. Don't screw the pooch.

  You got it, skipper, Oaks replied, looking at Lincoln, the

  paramedic-turned-door gunner.

  Buchanan leaned toward Higgins. Ask Sandman his exact position, and see if he can describe the disposition of the ground pounders, Buchanan said, as he started slowing the agile Night Hawk.

  Sandman, Scarecrow, Higgins radioed, watching the mileage wind down in the INS.

  While Higgins awaited the information from Wickham, Buchanan talked to the other pilots and crews over a separate radio.

  Scarecrow Flight, listen up! Buchanan ordered the other two command pilots. I'm slowing to ninety knots at this time, going to approach from one mile upriver. We've got two gunships and approximately fifty grunts on top of our troops.

  Two, Barnes replied in clipped fashion.

  Three! Charbonnet responded, highly charged from the airborne engagement.

  Two, you jump the gunships, Buchanan ordered, and Three, you strafe the troops.

  Two, Barnes replied, rechecking his cannon.

  Three will take the troops, Charbonnet responded, adding power to close on his leader.

  Two, you break off now and hit the gunships broadside, Buchanan instructed his
old friend.

  Copy, Buck, Barnes said. Here we go.

  Three, you stick with me and keep their heads down while I go in, Buchanan ordered Scarecrow Three.

  Right on your tail, Charbonnet replied.

  Higgins pressed the intercom switch. Most of the troops are on the east side of the river between the road and the riverbank.

  Beautiful, Buchanan replied. Are the gunships in the air or on the ground?

  Our man says they're airborne, apparently circling the area at a leisurely pace, Higgins answered, then remembered the important part of the message. The Spock confirmed there are two of them, but they're on the opposite side of the river from the planned pickup point.

  How the hell did that happen? Buchanan didn't wait for an answer, knowing it was category three information at this stage of the rescue.

  We'll just have to grab 'em the best way we can. I may not be able to land, so we better prepare to haul 'em in from a hover or use the ladder.

  Yeah, no problem, Higgins answered. Ah ... one other detail.

  Buck. They've got troops and dogs closing on them on their side of the river.

  Jesus! Buchanan replied. This is turning into a major cluster-fu The pilot's statement was cut off as Scarecrow Two, traveling at a high rate of speed, flashed into view spewing cannon shells at the Russian helicopters.

  Buchanan and Higgins were stunned, not expecting Barnes to engage the Russian gunships as quickly as he had. The sky seemed to glow brightly under the overcast as various weapons opened up amid the confusion.

  We're coming up to the river now, so let's pick it up, Buchanan radioed Charbonnet.

  ' Three is accelerating. Got you in sight, Charbonnet replied as he lowered the nose of his Sikorsky to gain more speed.

  I've got the river.

  Scarecrow Two rocketed between the two Soviet helicopters in a hail of ground fire.

  Okay, Jim, check your switches, Buchanan ordered. I'm going' to need a lot of suppression.

  We're hot, Charbonnet responded, rechecking his arming switches. I see the major concentration of troops.

  Buchanan keyed his intercom. Gunny, you engage the troops on the far side of the river while Steve handles the guys closing on our agents.