Three Kings

“The British call him Popski,” said Fedorov, and he made the introductions, surprised to see Orlov inside the KA-40, as he had not selected him for this mission.

Troyak smiled at the name, but his discerning eye saw more in this man than he seemed on the surface. There was a weathered texture on the man, the product of long days and nights in the desert, and his features were well sculpted by time for his age, his face browned by the sun. Yet his eyes held a warmth that seemed very engaging when he looked at you, a softer soul behind that wrinkled face. He seemed to be taking everything in, the men, their equipment, the activity in the helo bay, and of course, the KA-40 where it sat beneath those long, drooping counter rotating props. There was just a touch of amazement in his expression, though he said nothing. Simply offering a firm handshake. Then Fedorov briefed them on the mission.

“A plane carrying an important British General has gone down in the desert-General O’Connor. We have every reason to believe that he has survived the crash landing, and that the Italians might be out looking for the crash site even as we speak. Our mission is to locate the plane and find this man. He must not be captured. In ten minutes I want to be airborne in that helicopter with this man here, Sergeant Troyak, and a select squad of his choosing.”

“And what about me,” said Orlov from the back of the helo where he was still fussing with the Oko panel cables. “Someone has to sort out this mess on the Oko panel. I’ve only just got the damn thing cabled. We’ll need to test it once we get airborne and then initialize the infrared module.”

“You know this equipment, Orlov?”

“Sure, it’s the one thing I studied well enough to actually learn in the Tech school. Then I decided it was easier to just become Chief of Operations.”

The Marines laughed at this, and Fedorov smiled.

“Besides,” said Orlov. “I can fly this thing too. An extra pilot is always handy. Yes?”

Fedorov had read Orlov’s report from the Zeppelin mission, and he had been pleased with the results. Yes, another man who could pilot the KA-40 would be a good idea, so why not, he thought.

“Very well, I’ll clear it with Admiral Volsky. It’s one thing to have the ship’s Captain on an away team. The Admiral can fill my shoes easily enough, but who’s going to knock heads together if you come along, Chief?”

It was soon decided that Orlov could be spared, and so the team was set and the men were mounting up minutes later. The quiet, pudgy man with the black beret entered the main cabin with the pilot and co-pilot in the front seats; Orlov and Fedorov were on the three seats just behind them. Troyak selected nine other Marines for the security detail, which made for fifteen passengers. Much bigger than the older KA-27, this helo could carry up to 24 men in total, though this was the typical mission load. Troyak’s squad was “heavy” this time, as they did not know what sort of opposition they might encounter on the ground. The men had assault rifles, two machine guns, a mortar, grenade launcher and a Ilga hand held SAM. Two men carried lighter RPGs instead of the heavier anti-armor weapons they had taken to Siberia, but they were more than capable of defeating any armor they might encounter. Fedorov explained that if they did encounter anything, there would be no real armor to speak of at this time in the war, and the light shoulder fired RPG-30 could blast through 600mm of armor with its shaped tandem charge.

Popski took a keen interest in the weapons the Marines were carrying, particularly the machine guns, which he eyed with a look approaching envy on his face.

“That looks to be one fine weapon there,” he said, pointing atZykov’s assault rifle, which gave the corporal just the perfect opportunity to expound on its virtues.

“Bizon-2 SMG,” he said handing the gun to Popski. “High impulse Makarov rounds in a helical sixty-four round magazine-”

“Very good in a firefight,” Troyak had heard the litany many times before, and he finished it off for Zykov. “Particularly at close quarters.”

Yet Zykov was not deterred. He could see the light inPopski’s eyes as he looked at the machine guns, which were really the only weapons he ever respected in the work he did in the desert. “That one there is good for ranged suppressive fire- Pecheneg Bullpup7.62mm.”

“Yes? And what about the rest? What’s that slung off the back of that pack?”

“Auto-grenade launcher. Great area denial weapon. It’ll pop off these little cherries thirty at a time.” He held up a small grenade, a wry grin on his face. He was obviously enjoying his little session with the visitor, a bit smug in his thinking that no weapon of this era could ever match his own.

As they took off, Popski smiled with delight. “Amazing,” he said to Fedorov. “Where can I get one of these? It beats my oldPisspot Model-A for getting around, and then some.”