Clear and present danger - Tom Clancy [109]
"Well, we just invaded a friendly foreign country," Willis noted as they went "feet dry" north of Tolu. They used their low-light instruments to search for vehicular traffic, which they were also supposed to avoid. Their course track was plotted to avoid areas of habitation. The six-bladed rotor didn't make the fluttering whops associated with smaller helicopters. Its sound, at a distance, wasn't terribly different from turbopowered aircraft; it was also directionally deceptive - even if you heard the noise, it was hard to figure where it came from. Once past the Pan American Highway, they curved north, passing east of Plato.
"Zimmer, LZ One in five minutes."
"Right, PJ," the flight engineer replied. It had been decided to leave Bean and Childs on the guns, while Zimmer handled the dropoff.
It must be a combat mission. Johns smiled to himself. Buck only calls me that when he expects to get shot at.
Aft, Sergeant Zimmer walked down the center of the aircraft, telling the first two squads to unbuckle their safety belts and holding up his hand to show how many more minutes there were. Both captains nodded.
"LZ One in sight," Willis said soon thereafter.
"I'll take her."
"Pilot's airplane."
Colonel Johns orbited the area, spiraling into the clearing selected from satellite photos. Willis scanned the ground for the least sign of life, but there was none.
"Looks clear to me, Colonel."
"Going in now," Johns said into the intercom.
"Get ready!" Zimmer shouted as the helicopter's nose came up.
Chavez stood up with the rest of his squad, facing aft to the opening cargo door. His knees buckled slightly as the Sikorsky touched down.
"Go!" Zimmer waved them out, patting each man on the shoulder to keep a proper count.
Chavez went out behind his captain, turning left to avoid the tail rotor as soon as his feet were on the dirt. He went ten steps and dropped to his face. Above his head, the rotor was still turning at full power, holding the lethal blades a safe fifteen feet off the ground.
"Clear, clear, clear!" Zimmer said when he'd seen them all off.
"Roger," Johns replied, twisting the throttle again to lift off.
Chavez turned his head as the whine of the engines increased. The blacked-out helicopter was barely visible, but he saw the spectral outline lift off and felt the dirt stinging his face as the hundred-knot downwash from the rotor subsided, and stopped. It was gone.
He ought to have expected it, but the feeling came to Chavez as a surprise. He was in enemy territory. It was real, not an exercise. The only way he had out - had just flown away, already invisible. Despite the fact that there were ten men around him, he was momentarily awash in a sense of loneliness. But he was a trained man, a professional soldier. Chavez grasped his loaded weapon and took strength from it. He wasn't quite alone.
"Move out," Captain Ramirez told him quietly.
Chavez moved toward the treeline in the knowledge that behind him the squad would follow.
11. In-Country
THREE HUNDRED MILES away from SSG Ding Chavez, Colonel Félix Cortez, formerly of the Cuban DGI, sat dozing in el jefe's office. El jefe, he'd been told on his arrival several hours before, was occupied at present - probably entertaining a mistress. Maybe even his wife, Cortez thought; unlikely but possible. He'd drunk two cups of the fine local coffee - previously Colombia's most valuable export crop - but it hadn't helped. He was tired from the previous night's exertions, from the travel, and now from readjusting yet again to the high altitude of the region. Cortez was ready for sleep, but had to stay awake to debrief his boss. Inconsiderate bastard. At least in the DGI he could have submitted a hastily written report and taken a few hours to freshen up before normal office hours began. But the DGI was composed of professionals, and he'd chosen to work for an amateur.
Just after 1:30 in the morning he heard feet coming down the corridor. Cortez stood and shook off the sleep. The door opened, and there was