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Authors: Doug Beason
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that means working through Britnell.”
“Look, these mercenaries are running the assault,” Harding snapped. “They can’t fly in here unless we find a staging area. They’re the key—not Britnell. And they’re pretty dammed serious about it, too.”
“Screw the mercenaries. If they’re threatening you, then they don’t really care about the nukes. Remember why we got involved with NUFA in the first place: to get rid of the nukes. That’s the only thing that counts. Let’s do what we came to do.”
Harding slammed a hand against the wall. They remained silent for some time, staring at each other.
Jumbled thoughts roared through Vikki’s mind. The nukes, she thought. There’s nothing more important than getting rid of the nukes. If that wasn’t true, then she wouldn’t be leading Britnell on—having sex with the airhead every moment they were together.
Or Harding, as it was turning out. The sacrifices were piling up, but the end in sight seemed ever smaller, constricting.
Harding spoke with his back to her. He picked up his bags. “Do what you have to. But remember, no staging area, no raid. It’s as simple as that. I’m going to Baja.”
Wendover AFB, Utah
“So this is a Jolly Green Giant.”
The flight-suited man whirled and shot a glance at McGriffin’s name tag. “That’s right, sir. Actually it’s a highly modified Super Jolly Green. I’m Captain Manny Yarnez. I’ll be taking you up today.”
“How do you do, Manny. Bill’s the name.”
Manny returned McGriffin’s handshake with a firm grip. Red-haired and lithe, Manny’s infectious grin sparkled. The airman who had escorted McGriffin out to the flight line backed away to the staff car.
A flight-suited master sergeant who looked at least five years older than McGriffin walked around the craft, completing a preflight checklist. He nodded to McGriffin as he passed.
Manny squinted at McGriffin’s pilot wings. “Fixed wing?”
“C-17’s for thirteen years.”
Manny whistled. “Must be nice. We get our share of Globemasters through here.”
McGriffin looked wistful. “I’ve noticed.” He started to warm up to the chopper pilot.
Manny motioned for McGriffin to follow him around the craft. He walked behind the master sergeant, quickly looking over the blades and ensuring all panels were closed. Manny reached inside the cockpit and hauled out a flight log. He scanned the names and dates, then nodded to himself. “Looks like we’re in luck. She’s good for another ten hours.”
McGriffin looked along the helicopter’s side. The skin looked strange in the sunlight. It was dull black, devoid of any shine. The rotor assembly was encased in the same material. Examining the skin closer, he couldn’t even see where the sun reflected. He rubbed a finger against the fuselage; the skin was ice cold. “What have you guys painted this with?”
Ducking back around to the opposite side, Manny swung up into the craft. McGriffin hesitated, then followed. Manny said absently, “It’s a radar absorber. It cuts our cross section down to almost zero. That, the exterior design and the electronic countermeasure gear add about five hundred pounds to our weight. The drawback is that the paint also absorbs heat like crazy but doesn’t radiate it, so it heats up fast inside. That keeps us from being a sitting duck for infrared sensors, but we lose five pounds from sweating every time we fly.” He motioned for McGriffin to climb into the jump seat behind the pilot’s seat. Strapping himself in, he turned and grinned back at McGriffin.
“They’re adding all kinds of bells-and-whistles to our birds. I guess they’ve forgotten we’re supposed to be rescue. They tried to redesignate us as SH-53’s, but we nearly revolted. If they wanted stealth capability, they should have bought some more B-2’s and left us alone. But that’s politics for you.” He scanned flight line. “As soon as Lieutenant Nederman gets out here, we’ll be
“Look, these mercenaries are running the assault,” Harding snapped. “They can’t fly in here unless we find a staging area. They’re the key—not Britnell. And they’re pretty dammed serious about it, too.”
“Screw the mercenaries. If they’re threatening you, then they don’t really care about the nukes. Remember why we got involved with NUFA in the first place: to get rid of the nukes. That’s the only thing that counts. Let’s do what we came to do.”
Harding slammed a hand against the wall. They remained silent for some time, staring at each other.
Jumbled thoughts roared through Vikki’s mind. The nukes, she thought. There’s nothing more important than getting rid of the nukes. If that wasn’t true, then she wouldn’t be leading Britnell on—having sex with the airhead every moment they were together.
Or Harding, as it was turning out. The sacrifices were piling up, but the end in sight seemed ever smaller, constricting.
Harding spoke with his back to her. He picked up his bags. “Do what you have to. But remember, no staging area, no raid. It’s as simple as that. I’m going to Baja.”
Wendover AFB, Utah
“So this is a Jolly Green Giant.”
The flight-suited man whirled and shot a glance at McGriffin’s name tag. “That’s right, sir. Actually it’s a highly modified Super Jolly Green. I’m Captain Manny Yarnez. I’ll be taking you up today.”
“How do you do, Manny. Bill’s the name.”
Manny returned McGriffin’s handshake with a firm grip. Red-haired and lithe, Manny’s infectious grin sparkled. The airman who had escorted McGriffin out to the flight line backed away to the staff car.
A flight-suited master sergeant who looked at least five years older than McGriffin walked around the craft, completing a preflight checklist. He nodded to McGriffin as he passed.
Manny squinted at McGriffin’s pilot wings. “Fixed wing?”
“C-17’s for thirteen years.”
Manny whistled. “Must be nice. We get our share of Globemasters through here.”
McGriffin looked wistful. “I’ve noticed.” He started to warm up to the chopper pilot.
Manny motioned for McGriffin to follow him around the craft. He walked behind the master sergeant, quickly looking over the blades and ensuring all panels were closed. Manny reached inside the cockpit and hauled out a flight log. He scanned the names and dates, then nodded to himself. “Looks like we’re in luck. She’s good for another ten hours.”
McGriffin looked along the helicopter’s side. The skin looked strange in the sunlight. It was dull black, devoid of any shine. The rotor assembly was encased in the same material. Examining the skin closer, he couldn’t even see where the sun reflected. He rubbed a finger against the fuselage; the skin was ice cold. “What have you guys painted this with?”
Ducking back around to the opposite side, Manny swung up into the craft. McGriffin hesitated, then followed. Manny said absently, “It’s a radar absorber. It cuts our cross section down to almost zero. That, the exterior design and the electronic countermeasure gear add about five hundred pounds to our weight. The drawback is that the paint also absorbs heat like crazy but doesn’t radiate it, so it heats up fast inside. That keeps us from being a sitting duck for infrared sensors, but we lose five pounds from sweating every time we fly.” He motioned for McGriffin to climb into the jump seat behind the pilot’s seat. Strapping himself in, he turned and grinned back at McGriffin.
“They’re adding all kinds of bells-and-whistles to our birds. I guess they’ve forgotten we’re supposed to be rescue. They tried to redesignate us as SH-53’s, but we nearly revolted. If they wanted stealth capability, they should have bought some more B-2’s and left us alone. But that’s politics for you.” He scanned flight line. “As soon as Lieutenant Nederman gets out here, we’ll be
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