Eagle Station

Suddenly Brad spotted columns of smoke curling up out of the woods ahead of them. Simultaneously, the Rustler’s threat-warning system went active — bracketing three distant green-brown specks. It identified them as a Russian Ka-52 helicopter gunship and two Mi-8 troop transports. They were clattering just over the treetops, circling low above the rising smoke. More threat icons blazed across the horizon, highlighting another wave of enemy helicopters much farther out, but definitely coming this way. He shook his head in disbelief. “Christ, it looks like we’re headed straight into a pitched battle. So much for the subtle approach.”

Reacting fast, Nadia brought the XCV-70’s forward-looking passive thermal sensors online. In fractions of a second, the aircraft’s computer analyzed the data it was receiving and transferred the resulting images to one of her MFDs. “I count two downed helicopters and the wreckage of one ground vehicle.” She hesitated. “It could be the team’s van.”

“Hell,” Brad said, feeling sick. “We’re too late.”

“Maybe not,” Nadia said quickly. She leaned forward, zooming in on another faint thermal image their sensors had just picked up. Whatever it was, it was headed toward the LZ, weaving back and forth at high speed between the trees. Was that some kind of motorcycle?

A com icon flashed urgently in the corner of her left-hand display. She stabbed at it. “Scion aircraft, this is Sam Kerr,” a familiar voice gasped through their headsets. “I’m coming as fast as I can… But Marcus and Davey aren’t with me…. I don’t know if they’re alive or dead.”

Brad made an instant decision. “We’re go for landing,” he snapped. He clicked the intercom. “Ian, you’d better get set. We’re coming in hard and fast. And the LZ is about to turn hot.”

“So I guessed,” Major Schofield replied crisply from the troop compartment. The Canadian special forces expert sounded cool — almost as though he’d just heard they were arriving at a vacation resort. “I’ll be ready to move the second you drop the ramp.”

Nadia swore under her breath. “Gówno. Shit.”

“More trouble?” Brad asked, entering a short command on one of his own displays. He’d just instructed his flight computer to configure the aircraft for a short-field rough landing.

“New Russian radio transmissions,” she told him. “That gunship pilot is claiming they killed at least two enemy agents. He says they were trying to escape in a vehicle his gunner destroyed with rocket fire.”

Brad grimaced. That made Sam Kerr the only survivor of the Scion covert ops unit.

Another quick control press on his stick selected a touchdown point at the western edge of the clearing. Obediently, his computer drew a glowing line across his HUD — giving him a visual cue. They were about three nautical miles out.

He throttled back more. Losing speed fast, the Rustler slid lower. Hydraulics whirred as computer-directed control surfaces opened. The muted roar from their four turbofan engines diminished. “Sixty seconds.”

“Vrazheskiy samolet v pole zreniya!” he heard a Russian pilot yell over the radio circuit. “Enemy aircraft in sight!”

Nadia looked out her side of the cockpit, seeing the Ka-52 swinging toward them. “Hostile inbound!”

Focused entirely on the clearing rushing up toward them at nearly two hundred knots, Brad could only spare a single glance at his threat display. “That guy’s not carrying air-to-air missiles.”

Nadia shook her head decisively. “He has antitank missiles and a 30mm cannon. And we will be a sitting duck once we are on the ground.” Her fingers flashed across her displays. “Weapons control transferred to my station.”

“Make it fast,” he warned. “I’m getting ready to lower the gear.”

Nadia nodded. The moment that happened the Rustler’s computer would automatically lock out all their offensive weapons. No sane aircraft crew wanted to risk firing a missile right through their own landing gear.

An image of the Russian gunship, now approximately five miles off their starboard wing tip, appeared on one of her MFDs. The glowing brackets highlighting the Ka-52 flashed red and a shrill, warbling tone sounded in her headset. “Target locked on.” She tapped a missile-shaped icon. “Fox Two!”

Bay doors whined open. Instantly, an AIM-9X Sidewinder heat-seeking missile dropped out into the open air. The Sidewinder’s solid rocket motor ignited before it had fallen more than a few feet… and it streaked out from under the Rustler — already curving hard to the right as it homed in on the Ka-52 at nearly two thousand miles per hour.

Alerted to the missile launch by his own sensors, the Russian pilot did his best to evade. The Ka-52’s long nose dipped as it banked into a tight turn. Flares tumbled away from under the wildly maneuvering enemy helicopter, each a miniature sunburst against the bright blue afternoon sky.