enemies were, and what the risks were likely to be, whether it was
delivering food to Somalia or stopping the neo-Soviets in the
snow-covered mountains of Norway. This was something totally different,
however, a tangled web of crossed interests, cross purposes, and
particularly unpleasant men with guns who weren’t always pleased to see
the U.S. troops or UN peacekeepers.
“Here they come,” WO Chris Palmer called from the rear compartment.
“Finally!” Cole muttered, powering up the Black Hawk and gently feeding
the twin T700-GE-700 turboshafts, listening to the rising whine of the
rotors with a practiced ear. “Radio silent routine, people, once we’re
airborne.”
Their orders had specified staying off the radios once in the air. The
idea was to surprise Russian forces who might otherwise track them by
their radio calls.
Moments later, another helicopter flew past, an odd-looking, ungainly
beast with an elongated, rounded fuselage and prominent round windows
along the sides. The Mi-8 Hip was an old Soviet design and was seen
everywhere in this part of the world, especially for transport duty.
This one had the blue UN flag painted on its side. “Hang on, everyone,”
Cole said, and he engaged the collective, lifting the Black Hawk clear
of the dirt.
Poti spread out below, shattered white buildings crowded against the
sparkling waters of the Black Sea, a ruin that looked as dilapidated
from the air as it did from the ground. Cole could almost imagine the
stink of the place fading away as he followed the Hip toward the
northeast.
“That guy’s really traveling,” Cole said. The Hip was already a good
three miles ahead of them, a black spot just above the horizon. “Wonder
if he’s trying to make up for lost time?”
“Maybe so.” Dombrowski pulled out a map from under his seat, folded and
attached to a clipboard. “So where to today? Cha-something, they said?”
“Chaisi,” Cole replied. Another last-minute change, decided on just last
night by the team’s leaders. “Little village up in the mountains, just
outside the NFZ.”
“Outside the no-fly zone? Oh, joy. We get to play tag with Hind gunships
today.”
“None have been sighted so far,” Cole told the copilot. “In fact, from
everything I heard last night, it looks like the Russian regulars really
have pulled up and stolen away into the night. Not so much left behind
as a crust of black Russian bread. Piece of cake.”
“Shit. That just means we’re gonna be staying here, L-T! Maybe we should
scare up a Hind or two. Might mean we get pulled back to the ships.”
“I’m not sure which is worse,” Cole said. “Sleeping on those damned cots
at Tara, or being cooped up aboard a hip-pocket aircraft carrier.”
“Man, look at those mountains,” Dombrowski said, changing the subject.
One particularly rugged range was thrusting up in front of them, its
jagged brown walls only a few miles distant now. “We’re not going over
that thing, are we?”
“Nah. There’s a valley.” He pointed at the Hip, now reduced to a tiny
spot far ahead and to the right. “See? Two-seven’s headed straight for
it.”
“Christ,” Dombrowski said as the valley opened up around them. Trees
flashed past to left and right, some reaching well above the Black
Hawk’s cockpit. “Just like the trench on the Death Star in Star Wars.”
“At least,” Cole said with a grin, “we won’t have Imperial fighters on
our tail!”
He wished, though, that Two-seven would slow down a bit. He didn’t want
to get lost in these mountains, and with radio silence, he couldn’t call
the bastard and tell him to slow down.
Muttering an imprecation against all bureaucrats, Cole opened the
throttle a bit wider.
CHAPTER 7
Saturday, 31 October 0915 hours (Zulu +3)
E-2C Hawkeye Tango 61 Over the Black Sea “Bird Dog, Bird Dog, this is
Watch Dog Six-one. Do you copy, over?”
The E-2C lurched as it hit a pocket of turbulence, but Lieutenant Arnold
Brown was as oblivious to the jolt as he was to the steady drown of the
Hawkeye’s twin turboprops. He was hunched over his radar console, his
full attention focused on yellow splotches of radar returns painted
there.
“Bird Dog, Bird Dog, this is Watch Dog Six-one. Do you copy, over?” he