Apache Dawn - - (classic fiction .TXT) 📗

to his first days during The Great Pandemic, spent in the medical checkpoint in Fort Worth. He’d just left his home and some doctor on the bus had hassled him about why he hadn’t been sick and why he hadn’t told anyone. Then the needles started coming at him and they didn’t stop for what seemed like weeks. He shuddered inwardly at the thought of going through that blood-letting ceremony again. But it had to be done.

Now it was Denny’s turn to nod. “Well, that’s good.”

“Only problem,” Captain Alston said, frowning, “is that we’re almost out of fuel for our helicopters. And now, there’s at least a battalion of Russians downslope in Salmon Falls, between us and safety.”

“Why don’t you just go around Salmon Falls?”

Captain Alston looked at Denny with something along the lines of indignation on his face. “Because we’re Rangers. We go through the enemy, not around them. We’re not in the damned Navy. Besides, we don’t have the fuel. They’ll pick us off as we try to get past them.”

Chad snorted, then coughed to cover himself when Captain Alston and Denny both looked at him. He cleared his throat. “So, what are you going to do about me?”

“Cap, we got a signal here!” called out Deuce. He pointed with a soiled cleaning cloth at the radio sitting on the map table.

Captain Alston held up a finger to Chad: hold on. He raced over and grabbed the radio, listening to the sound of broken static before he keyed the mic. “Come in, any unit this net, this is Hammer 2, Actual, over.”

More static. He tried again. Still more static. Chad’s hopes fell along with the faces of everyone in the little sanctuary.

Then, “—again, please. Hammer—” More static. “—come in!”

Captain Alston regarded his troops with a grin. “I say again, this is Hammer 2, Actual, over!”

The static cleared and a strong voice powered through across countless miles of airspace. “Damn glad to hear your voice, son. This is Watchtower, Actual. How copy?”

Captain Alston’s eyebrows went up. “Five-by, Watchtower.” He asked for authentication codes and was rewarded with a request for his own.

“Who’s Watchtower?” whispered Denny as Captain Alston and the mysterious voice on the radio shared their authentication codes and confirmed identifications.

“Oh, just the commanding General of the Army. Nobody important…” replied Zuka with a casual wave of his hand.

“Give me a sit-rep, son, while we still have a secure comm-link.”

“Yessir,” said Captain Alston. The pilots all stood around the map table, grinning like kids on Christmas morning.

“Sir, we have what appears to be at least three companies of Russian foot mobiles occupying the town below us…” He glanced at the map on the table before continuing. “Grid Charlie-Niner, One-Kilo-Bravo-two-four. They have at least two BTRs and possibly some mobile SAM sites. We are bingo fuel—repeat bingo fuel—and at present time, have only enough for one vehicle to get about three hundred miles. We're at the end of our rope, sir, as far as food and ammo. I've been in worse places before, but not many.”

“You’re not going anywhere.” The gruff voice sighed.

Captain Alston looked at the assembled helicopter pilots. The Black Hawk pilot looked at the others and then nodded at the Ranger. Captain Alston spoke, “That about sums it up, sir. We fuel the ‘Hawk and two Apaches, or all the Apaches and not the Black Hawk. Or any combination you can think of, but we’re not fueling all the birds. And it doesn’t really matter, because from what we can tell, we can’t reach more than a few small airstrips from here, anyway. Odds of finding enough fuel to keep going are getting slim.”

A long silence. Then, “Is the package secure?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Listen, son, I may get in hot water over this—the kind that puts you before a military tribunal or firing squad…but the President…he doesn't seem to have it all there anymore. Something is definitely going on but I'll be damned if I know what.”

Captain Alston looked at his men with a confused look on his face.

“At any rate, I pulled every favor I had trying to get you a Skyhook. You'll need to assign one man to accompany the package, if I can retask it. I hear these things can be kind of hairy.”

Captain Alston frowned and looked at Chad. “No SPIE rig, sir?”

“Negative. There's no long-range helicopters available, and you don’t want to even try and set up a midair refuel right now, if you catch my drift. No, the only thing we can grab on short notice to get you out is going to be fixed wing. But I did find a Horny-Herc. It's a Coast Guard trainer, but it's the only thing I can do to extract the package on short notice. We should know within the hour. We’ve got to coordinate with the Air Force to get fighter coverage and with comms the way they are, it’s taking longer than I’d like.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Understand, this will be a one-shot deal. If this fails, we may not have time for another option. Your little stunt with the Russians yesterday has them all riled up. They want to storm that mountain you’re on and wipe the whole thing off the map.”

Captain Alston looked at Denny. “Sir, that wasn't us; it was a civilian action. We arrived after…”

“So, it's true then? There's a resistance? Good. At least there’s some red-blooded Americans left out there.” Another pause.

Chad wondered if the signal had been lost. Then the general came back. “The President assures me that he put enough pressure on Moscow to keep you out of hot water, but local authority—meaning some Russian general—is in control and who the hell knows if Ivan will listen to the Kremlin.”

“Sir, I thought the Russians were only allowed on the coastal cities back east? At least, that’s what they’re saying on all the EAS broadcasts.”

There was a slight pause before the voice returned. “You're right. They shouldn't be here at all, son. It's a crying affront against God himself, is what it is. But, that’s out of our hands and the Russians are denying there’s any forces west South Carolina, anyway.” The general sighed. “It’s a complete Charlie-Foxtrot.” Static crackled again over the radio.

“What’s a Charlie-Foxtrot?” whispered Denny.

Chad shook his head. “No idea, but it sounds bad.” Zuka chuckled next to them.

“Roger that, sir. What are my orders?”

“Son, get that package delivered at all costs, then handle the situation as you see fit until we can resupply, reinforce, or exfil you and your men.”

“Roger that, sir.”

“You hear me CFB, Ranger: I will not tolerate losses to your team over this situation. Do what it takes to stay alive until we can sort things out and get your unit out of there. If everything goes as planned, the Skyhook rig will be delivered to your location at 1530 Zulu tomorrow. The Horny-Herc will make the drop, circle once, and return for pickup when the balloon goes up. How copy?”

Captain Alston grinned. “Hammer 2, Actual, copies all.”

“Godspeed, Hammer 2. Watchtower, Actual, out.”

Chad watched as Captain Alston put his hands on his hips and rolled his head on his shoulders. A few cracks later, the Ranger sighed. “Well, how about that,” he muttered, staring the radio. After a moment, he turned to look at his men, his gaze lingering on Chad the longest.

“You all heard the general.”

“Hooah,” was uttered from the Rangers in unison. The pilots looked on with grim faces. Chad was beginning to feel like someone who didn’t know the inside joke.

“Any questions?”

Chad raised his hand. “What, uh, what exactly did he mean by that Skyhook thing?”

“And what’s a Horny-Herc?” asked Denny.

Deuce laughed. “You're going on the rollercoaster ride of a lifetime, pal.”

“Don't worry, Mr. Huntley, one of us will be going with you,” said Captain Alston. “Skyhook is a…unique…method the CIA developed for getting spooks out of bad situations in a hurry. Back in the ‘50s.” He turned to the squad sniper. “Tuck, you're the only one who's actually done this before in the field. Want to fill Mr. Huntley in?”

“Sure, sir. Basically, a C-130 Hercules cargo plane—your Horny-Herc,” he said to Denny, “will swoop over this mountain at a hundred feet or so and drop off a box. In the box will be a harness and a long rope attached to a…well…it’s like a weather balloon, see? There’s a helium bottle, too. You put on the harness, connect the rope to the balloon and you—then inflate the balloon with the helium.” He raised one hand.

“The balloon goes up as the plane circles around.” The other hand made a circle around the first. “When it’s up a hundred feet or so, the plane flies in low. There’s this set of horns, like a giant ‘V’ sticking off the front of the plane.”

“Ah, Horny-Herc,” said Denny. “I get it.” His face was deadpan and Chad had to fight the urge to laugh.

“The plane targets the balloon,” continued Tuck. He held up his hands demonstrating the maneuver. “They’re aiming for the rope to slide right up in between the horns. The rope slaps the belly of the aircraft, gets snagged by the crew in the back, and as the plane flies off, you fly up.”

Chad's mouth opened. “Wait, like, up into the sky you go? On a rope? Dragged by an airplane?” He looked around at the grim-faced Rangers. “Are you kidding me? Isn't that thing going hundreds of