but as fragile as your bird is, we’ll need every advantage we can get.
We’ve got a little diversion planned.”
“A diversion?” the pilot asked. “Like what?”
A lighter look lit the chief’s face. “Let’s just say we’ve got some
allies we didn’t know about before,” he said carefully. “Up until now,
they’ve been only voices on the radio. But one of the things we always try
to do on a mission is to get indigenous forces to support us. Maybe not
spearhead it–they’re usually not trained enough for that–but for
something like a diversion, or harassing action, they’re damned fine.”
“Indigenous?” the copilot wondered. “But there’s nothing on that
island–not apart from the intruders and your man.”
The chief traced one finger east along the Aleutian chain, touching
several larger islands briefly. “Maybe not on that rock, but there are on
other ones. This whole chain is almost an island nation. Inuit tribes
live on most of the larger ones, and travel back and forth to the smaller
ones as needed.” He reached across the table and pulled a brown folder
toward him. “Did you guys get briefed on the native transmissions?”
Both aviators shook their heads in the negative.
“Didn’t think so,” the chief said. He handed the folder to the senior
pilot. “You’ll want to have a look at this, sir.”
The pilot read rapidly, the copilot crowding in next to him to read
over his shoulder. “Cold War trainees,” he said finally. He closed the
folder with a sharp snap. “And still in place. Who would’ve thought?”
“Nobody. And that’s the point. If the U.S. Navy forgot about ’em,
you can damn well bet the Russians did.”
“But they barely have a radio,” the pilot said. “What? You’re gonna
assault that island with shotguns?”
The chief shook his head. “No, we’re not. Fortunately, we brought
along a little extra armament.” A grim smile cracked his face. “Plus a
few fancy toys they’ve probably never seen before. Hell, we didn’t get ’em
till last year. But I’m betting those men will catch on pretty damned fast
how they work.”
The pilot shook his head doubtfully. “Aren’t you depending an awful
lot on an untrained mob?”
“Remember, they’re only there as a diversion,” the chief argued.
“Here’s what’ll happen.”
The chief spent the next ten minutes laying out the plan, covering all
aspects of the diversion, the tactical pickup, and the successful exit from
the area. When he’d finished, he said, “I don’t care what the admiral told
you, sir. Special Forces missions are always strictly a volunteer
evolution. If you’ve got any doubts about this plan, we’ll look for
somebody else to fly it. We can’t afford any weak links in this chain.”
He stared searchingly at the two aviators.
The pilot leaned back on his chair. A slow smile crept across his
face. “I think if anybody can pull this off, you can. And as for your
flight crew,” he glanced at his copilot, who nodded, “I think you’ve
already found your crew.”
“You’re sure this will work?” Batman asked.
“Yes, sir,” Huerta said gravely. “We’ve torn this plan apart every
way we can think of, and it’s our best bet for getting Sikes out. But part
of it depends on that fancy new aircraft of yours.”
Batman leaned back in his chair and sighed. “The JAST bird. I notice
it plays a heavy role in this.”
The chief nodded. “You bet. We need that high resolution look-down,
shoot-down capability. The regular Tomcat’s a pretty impressive bird, but
it’s not enough for this mission.”
Batman leaned forward and steepled his hands in front of him. “You
probably don’t know it, but we’ve got a serious problem here. The JAST
pilot who flew the bird out was medevaced early this morning.
Appendicitis.” He paused, and surveyed the dismayed expressions on the
three men’s faces. “Any RIO can run the backseat on the JAST aircraft.
The avionics are enough alike that it just takes a few hours of briefing.
But the power plant, the flight controls, and the whole performance
envelope are so different that it takes hours to get certified on it.
Other than the man who drew it out, there’s only one person on this boat