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Authors: William C. Dietz
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around in order to examine the rest. But after ten-minutes of hard work Palmer had a pretty good idea of what was at hand. “I can see why Jann came after us,” the American said soberly. “Assuming the labels on the outside of those boxes are accurate—we’re standing on a small arsenal. We've got four M224 mortars, two heavy machine guns, thirty M16s, a nice selection of grenades, and a whole shit load of ammo…. But that’s not all. See those crates? The ones on the bottom? We’re talking
two
Man Portable Stinger missiles. I don’t know what something like that is worth on the black market—but it’s bound to be a lot. Maybe as much as a quarter-million each.”
“Tell me something,” Guiscard said. “Is ‘Man Portable’ the same thing as ‘shoulder launched?’ Because if it is—I think we have a use for those missiles.”
“Yes, it does mean the same thing,” Palmer replied, as his mind started to race. “And it’s worth a try. But launching a missile takes some practice…. And there’s the question of readiness. I’m no expert but I know these things rely on high-tech batteries. And who knows how long they’ve been sitting around? So there’s a real chance that if we try to fire one of those bad boys we’ll wind up looking stupid. Not to mention dead.”
Guiscard answered with a Gallic shrug. “Have you got a better idea?”
Palmer grinned. “Nope. So let’s get them down onto the ground. Maybe, just maybe, we’ll have a surprise for Police Chief Jann.”
***
The helicopter was like a desert hawk, ready to pounce at the slightest sign of movement, as the last wisps of smoke blew away. Jann was happy to see it go because the last thing he wanted was to have some good Samaritans stop and give aid to the men hiding under the bridge. And without any smoke to grab their attention there was no reason for travelers to pause as they crossed the bridge. Meanwhile, having successfully gotten one of the Land Cruisers up and running, reinforcements were only minutes away.
Such were the police officer’s thoughts as a pencil-sized hole appeared in the canopy. “What was that?” Jann inquired, as the chopper slid sideways towards the bridge.
“
That
was a bullet,” the pilot replied calmly. “He’s down there! Over to the right!”
Now Jann could see him. An indigo blue stick figure pointing a rifle up at him. The Tuareg was right next to the bridge using the side of it for cover. Jann expected the sniper to duck under the span as the helicopter began to close in on him but there was a muzzle flash followed by a loud ping as a second bullet hit the chopper. Then, as the pilot began to turn the passenger-side door towards the bridge, Jann had the opportunity he’d been waiting for. The AK-47 chattered, brass casings arced away, and the sniper was forced to duck out of sight.
***
As the men in the helicopter continued to focus their attention on Damya, Palmer and Guiscard emerged from the other side of the bridge with two fully prepped Stinger missiles loaded and ready to fire. But even though the American had served in the military, he had never been trained to fire a shoulder-launched missile, and was by no means certain that he could. And, even if he did everything right, there was a strong possibility that the weapon would be faulty. So as he brought the tube around to align it with the EC-135, Palmer was anything but confident.
But once the weapon’s trigger had been pulled, Palmer felt the reassuring recoil as the heat-seeking missile shot out of its tube, and went racing toward its target. Unfortunately the angle of alignment was such that the Saharan sun was only a few degrees away from the police helicopter. That caused the Stinger to race past the aircraft in a vain attempt to destroy the more intense heat source.
Palmer said, “God damn it to hell!” as he dumped the first launcher, and bent to retrieve the second. There were no reloads, so the geologist knew there
two
Man Portable Stinger missiles. I don’t know what something like that is worth on the black market—but it’s bound to be a lot. Maybe as much as a quarter-million each.”
“Tell me something,” Guiscard said. “Is ‘Man Portable’ the same thing as ‘shoulder launched?’ Because if it is—I think we have a use for those missiles.”
“Yes, it does mean the same thing,” Palmer replied, as his mind started to race. “And it’s worth a try. But launching a missile takes some practice…. And there’s the question of readiness. I’m no expert but I know these things rely on high-tech batteries. And who knows how long they’ve been sitting around? So there’s a real chance that if we try to fire one of those bad boys we’ll wind up looking stupid. Not to mention dead.”
Guiscard answered with a Gallic shrug. “Have you got a better idea?”
Palmer grinned. “Nope. So let’s get them down onto the ground. Maybe, just maybe, we’ll have a surprise for Police Chief Jann.”
***
The helicopter was like a desert hawk, ready to pounce at the slightest sign of movement, as the last wisps of smoke blew away. Jann was happy to see it go because the last thing he wanted was to have some good Samaritans stop and give aid to the men hiding under the bridge. And without any smoke to grab their attention there was no reason for travelers to pause as they crossed the bridge. Meanwhile, having successfully gotten one of the Land Cruisers up and running, reinforcements were only minutes away.
Such were the police officer’s thoughts as a pencil-sized hole appeared in the canopy. “What was that?” Jann inquired, as the chopper slid sideways towards the bridge.
“
That
was a bullet,” the pilot replied calmly. “He’s down there! Over to the right!”
Now Jann could see him. An indigo blue stick figure pointing a rifle up at him. The Tuareg was right next to the bridge using the side of it for cover. Jann expected the sniper to duck under the span as the helicopter began to close in on him but there was a muzzle flash followed by a loud ping as a second bullet hit the chopper. Then, as the pilot began to turn the passenger-side door towards the bridge, Jann had the opportunity he’d been waiting for. The AK-47 chattered, brass casings arced away, and the sniper was forced to duck out of sight.
***
As the men in the helicopter continued to focus their attention on Damya, Palmer and Guiscard emerged from the other side of the bridge with two fully prepped Stinger missiles loaded and ready to fire. But even though the American had served in the military, he had never been trained to fire a shoulder-launched missile, and was by no means certain that he could. And, even if he did everything right, there was a strong possibility that the weapon would be faulty. So as he brought the tube around to align it with the EC-135, Palmer was anything but confident.
But once the weapon’s trigger had been pulled, Palmer felt the reassuring recoil as the heat-seeking missile shot out of its tube, and went racing toward its target. Unfortunately the angle of alignment was such that the Saharan sun was only a few degrees away from the police helicopter. That caused the Stinger to race past the aircraft in a vain attempt to destroy the more intense heat source.
Palmer said, “God damn it to hell!” as he dumped the first launcher, and bent to retrieve the second. There were no reloads, so the geologist knew there
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