Assault on Alpha Base (15 page)

McGriffin dropped to the ground. They’d be watching if someone was in them. He started crawling toward the HH-53 he had just passed. He kept his shotgun in front of him, moving across the asphalt.

A roar almost knocked him flat. A fourth helicopter whirred over not thirty feet from the ground. McGriffin rolled over to his back and swung his shotgun up.

Pumping two quick blasts into the chopper, the recoil rammed into his stomach. It felt like a sledgehammer hit him.

Glass crashed around him and he heard the helicopter’s engine cough.

The chopper tilted over to the side and slipped sideways through the air. The pilot tried to straighten the listing craft, but overcorrected.

The chopper rotated to the opposite side. A blade struck the ground, throwing the helicopter to the side. It ripped into a fifth helicopter that sat rotating its blades.

McGriffin scrambled backward on his heels and the back of his hands, dropping the shotgun as the two choppers burst into flames. Black smoke roiled from the burning helicopters. Instantly, the smoke rose and exposed the fire.

Fire engines pulled up to the first row of HH-53’s. Shouts pierced the air. A gang of firemen, all dressed in silvery heat-resistant suits, strained while pulling out a series of hoses from the trucks. Soon, white foam started covering the burning helicopters.

McGriffin held up a hand to the blaze, shielding his face, wondering if there was anyone still out there. A chill swept through him as he imagined more people waiting to steal the choppers. Manny trotted up and knelt beside him.

“Great shot. Remind me to never have you on the ground when I’m airborne.”

McGriffin struggled to an elbow. He looked around the rows of helicopters. No one moved except for the firemen.
Was that all of them?
He grimaced as he tried to get up, but failed. “How long does it take to start a chopper?”

“About two minutes, skipping checklists—one minute for the auxiliary power unit and another for the engines. You can only do that a couple of times, though, before you have to replace the whole unit.”

Struggling to his feet, McGriffin grabbed Manny’s arm.

“Then let’s go. We’ve got to get to Alpha Base.”

“With what? Do you want to hitchhike?”

“In a helicopter!”

Manny looked incredulous. “What? It’ll take more than an hour to file a flight plan, get a crew chief out here, and go through the checks.”

“We don’t have an hour.” McGriffin waved an arm at Alpha Base in the distance. Thuds from distant explosions filled the air. “What do you think is going on out there?”

Manny wet his lips. “I was afraid you’d ask that.” Manny’s eyes widened. He shot a glance at the collection of helicopters still sitting on the landing pad. “What do we do when we get there?”

McGriffin started moving for the helicopters. When Manny turned to follow, they both broke out running. McGriffin wheezed, “We’ll decide when we come to it.”

The firemen had just started spraying the second to last row when McGriffin and Manny arrived. McGriffin approached the choppers cautiously, just in case someone was on board …

Two rows back was an intact HH-53, the alert bird. Manny sprinted toward the craft. Reaching the chopper, he flung open the door and swung up into the pilot’s seat. He groaned and stepped from the craft. “Shrapnel’s in the control panel.”

McGriffin squinted through the night. Fires bathed the pad in low light, flickering from the burning helicopters. Fumes rose from row after row of smoking metal; acidic smells filled McGriffin’s nostrils. It looked like a blue-gray vision of hell.
Was there anybody else still out there?

Manny’s voice came from two rows down. “Over here—I’ve found a good one!”

McGriffin reached the craft. He stepped lightly on the supports and climbed aboard. Sitting in the right-hand seat, he reached for the straps as Manny quickly ran over a checklist.

“Fuel, oil pressure—jeez, I hope this thing holds together.” A moment passed. “Keep your fingers crossed. I’ve never flown one of these alone.”

“What?!”

Manny punched at buttons. “Relax. Every rotorhead has this fantasy.”

“Just a minute.” McGriffin squinted at the helicopter in front of them. A lump sat underneath the fuselage. He unbuckled and scrambled down the side of their craft. He disappeared for a moment, then his head popped back into view. He held up a satchel and peered cautiously inside. “What the—it looks like plastique.”

Manny jumped back in his seat and shivered. “Holy crap! Get rid of it! That’s the last thing we need.”

“Roger that.” McGriffin ran over to the side and gently placed the satchel down.

As McGriffin climbed on board, he said, “It looks like the explosive slipped off the bottom of the helicopter. I bet they planted them and meant to destroy every chopper they didn’t take.”

Manny reached for the radio and clicked the mike. “Tower, this is unscheduled HH-53 requesting permission for VFR takeoff.” Waiting a scant second, he switched through the channels. “No traffic at all.” He flipped a series of switches to the left of the radio and tried the microphone again. “Nope. Even the secure channels are down. At least I tried.

“Ready?” Manny glanced over at McGriffin. Without waiting for McGriffin to answer, he punched at the APU. A shrieking whine built up, winding from low bass to a high shrill. Manny intently watched the dials, counting to himself.

Just as McGriffin thought his head was going to explode from the noise, Manny pushed a succession of buttons and reached down to his right. He muttered to himself: “Number one.” The left engine coughed, then started screaming. “Two.” McGriffin watched Manny count to thirty. The helicopter pilot then said, “Two,” and the other engine came to life. He reached to the top of the cockpit. “Release rotor blades … and advance engine—pull pitch: hold on!”

The HH-53 seemed to leap up into the air, leaving the concrete in a dizzy elevator ride. The ground drew away from them. Dozens of fire fighters turned their heads skyward, their faces reflecting the glow of the smoldering fires.

Manny tilted the craft toward Alpha Base.

As they approached, McGriffin strained to see what was going on. The flashes grew brighter. Smoke and fire covered the ground. “They’re under attack!” He motioned for Manny to see. “That’s the barracks and command post. It looks like a bomb hit them.”

Debris covered Alpha Base. Most of the searchlights were out. Burning buildings belched smoke, adding to the gloom. Overturned jeeps and trucks lay scattered throughout the complex, victims of mortars and bazooka rockets. McGriffin squinted at the bunkers burrowed in the vast crater. Every so often a dark object would sprint in between the storage units.

McGriffin pointed to a bunker near the fence. A long dark vehicle squatted just inside the crater. A gaping hole bore straight through the fence to where the vehicle sat. “Try and get a closer look. Swing around the side of that bunker.”

Manny swung the helicopter around, tipping to the side. As they rounded the bunker, McGriffin spotted someone pointing a rifle up to their chopper.

“Pull back—he’s going to shoot!” McGriffin pushed back in his seat. As Manny jerked the craft up, a jeep came from behind a bunker. The person on the ground swung around and shot point-blank at the vehicle. By the time the person turned back around, Manny had already pulled the helicopter up.

McGriffin drew in a breath. “Let’s get some altitude.”

Manny responded by increasing the rate of climb, pulling the Jolly Green well up into the night sky. An explosion on the ground rocked their craft.

“What was that?”

Manny responded by bringing the craft up faster. Alpha Base receded below them, dwindling in size until they were nearly a mile up. Manny took the craft into a slow circle, keeping Alpha Base in the center.

McGriffin took a quick inventory of their weapons: two pistols and a shotgun. “Do you have any guns on board?”

“We’re rescue choppers, remember? Not special ops. The only thing close are two flare guns in back.”

McGriffin leaned forward and grabbed at the microphone.

Manny looked over to him. “What do you think we should do?”

“Notify someone.”

Manny flipped through the frequencies. Nothing. “Who? With my HF out, what do you want me to do—yell? Who can we contact?”

“I don’t know. Anyone. We’ve got to
do
something.” McGriffin slouched back in his seat.

McGriffin tapped at the microphone. “Did you try Guard?” He referenced the emergency UHF radio channel.

“Yeah. No one there.”

McGriffin tried for himself. After several minutes of picking up static and garbled transmissions, he slammed the mike against the console. “We must be smack in the center of null. Where’s your MILSATCOM?”

Manny reached to the console and flipped a series of switches. “Try it now.”

McGriffin keyed the radio. “Mayday, mayday. This is Wendover reporting a Broken Arrow. I say again, Wendover reporting a Broken Arrow: nuclear emergency. Can you read?”

A voice came over the radio. “Stand by one, Wendover. We copy and are ready to verify. Please transmit your verification code.”

The radio went silent. McGriffin turned white. Manny frowned at him. “Go ahead. Give it to them.”

McGriffin wet his lips. “I don’t have it.”

“What do you mean you don’t have it? Command post has standard verification codes for secure transmissions—I know, I’ve worked there before. They change weekly. Go ahead and tell them.”

“Please verify Broken Arrow, Wendover.”

“I
forgot.
Chief Zolley took care of all classified traffic …” His voice trailed off as he realized the weakness of his excuse. McGriffin looked hopefully to Manny. “What about your codes? Can’t we use the codes you fly with?”

“We pick up those codes only when we fly. Besides, they change
daily.”

“Wendover, we are breaking off your link on my count: three, two—”

“Wait, wait. This is Major William McGriffin, serial number 341-92-9116FR, commander of the Wendover command post. Alpha Base is under attack from unknown forces. They are breaking into our nuclear weapons storage bunkers.”

“Wendover, we
have
to have verification. Now—”

“You don’t understand! I am not at my command post. I’m in an HH-53 approximately one mile above Alpha Base. The command post was attacked during an assault on Alpha Base. We have to get some help out here.”

A calmer voice came over the radio, replacing the first person they talked to. “Major McGriffin, you have sixty seconds to convince me that you’re who you say you are. You’d better speed out, mister, because I’ll lose my patience if you’re playing games with me.”

Speed out.
He hadn’t heard that term since he was a cadet.
Great, just what I need. Some bogie who probably thinks he’s still on Wing staff.
He leaned into the mike. “Try raising Wendover—every communications channel on the base is down. Go ahead, try it.”

Thirty-five seconds passed before the voice came back. “All right, so we can’t raise Wendover. We’re checking your background and should have a reply within the hour—”

“That’s too long! They’ll be gone by then!”

The voice on the other end of the secure link drew in a breath. “Then what the hell do you want me to do? Wendover’s out in the middle of nowhere.”

McGriffin spoke quickly. “Get a squadron of F-16’s out here from Hill. It’s not over half an hour away. They could stop the helicopters from airlifting the nukes out of Alpha Base.”

It sounded like an argument was taking place on the other end. Muffled voices came over the airways. The link cleared up and the voice sounded strained. “Major McGriffin, if I’m going to relay this without proper verification, I’m going to need some sort of proof you’re who you say you are. We’ve alerted STRATCOM and the NEST team for you—”

“I gave you my serial number. What the hell else do you want? All you have to do is check with any outfit that monitors Alpha Base.”

“And I told you we’re checking that out. Now convince
me.”

McGriffin slumped back in his seat. The super Jolly Green Giant’s blades made a sound that dug into his gut. Below him flames and smoke still broiled up from Alpha Base.
Wasn’t there anything he could do?
He started to retort when it hit him.

A Colorado cuckoo
—
of course, the guy’s a grad!
After
all these years, graduating from the Blue Bastille finally helped him out. He clicked the mike excitedly. “You said something a minute ago: speed out.”

The voice came back cautiously. “Maybe I did. What about it?”

“What squadron were you in?”

Silence. Then, “Three.”

“Before or after it became professional?”

“What the hell are you doing—” The voice stopped, then came back slowly. “I see. All right, McGriffin. What was Three’s nickname and why did they change it?”

“It
was
‘Thirsty Third,’ but the Comm decided drinking was unprofessional and changed it to ‘Cerberus Three.’“

A full minute passed. “You’ve just about convinced me, McGriffin. But that was something someone could have dug up by doing their homework. Give me one more thing that even a
touri
wouldn’t know.”

McGriffin racked his brains. There had to be something that he would have done, or said, or read, as a cadet that no one outside the Wing would know … especially touri, or tourists, as the cadets called them.

Finally he remembered something from his Doolie year, but it was dated. And completely distasteful.

He clicked his mike. “Uh, I do have something, but it’s pretty sexist.”

The voice sighed. “If things are as bad as you say, do you really think I’m going to be worried about being politically correct?”

Turning red, McGriffin drew in a breath and started singing:

“She was a virgin in her freshman year, she was a virgin with her conscience clear;

She never smoked or drank or had it yet
—
she was the idol of her campus you can bet!

And then she met that guy from the Academy,
that was the end of her virginity.