Ice Station - Matthew Reilly [168]
There was silence on the other end of the line.
After a minute, Romeo said, ‘Scarecrow, I just consulted with the Army Ranger captain out here – guy named Brookes, Arlin Brookes – and he said that he will shoot any of my men who attempt to enter the station before the SEAL team arrives.’
Schofield pulled out his printed copy of Andrew Trent’s e-mail, the list of ICG informers.
His eyes fell on one entry:
BROOKES, ARLIN F. A. RNGRS CPTN
Son of a bitch, Schofield thought. It was the same guy he had run into outside the temple in Peru. Arlin F. Brookes. ICG cocksucker.
Romeo said, ‘Okay, Scarecrow. Listen up. I may not be able to come in, but I’ll tell you something I heard about thirty minutes ago. The Wasp is sailing about 300 nautical miles off the coast, out in the open sea. After we got here, I got a call from Jack Walsh on the Wasp. About thirty minutes ago, a patrol of four Marine Harriers shot down a British VC-10 tanker plane about 250 nautical miles off the coast after the tanker tried to make a run for it.’
Schofield was silent.
He knew what Romeo was getting at.
Tanker airplanes exist for one reason and one reason only: to top up the fuel on attack planes on long-distance missions.
If a British tanker airplane had been shot down 250 miles off the coast, then it was a good bet that some-where out there, there was another British plane, an attack plane – a bomber or a fighter – that had been getting its fuel from the tanker. And it probably had orders to –
Oh, no, Schofield thought, realising. It was Barnaby’s eraser.
Like the French team’s eraser, that British fighter probably had orders to fire upon Wilkes Ice Station if Trevor Barnaby didn’t call in within a certain time.
Romeo said, ‘The Air Force has been called in. They’re sweeping the air over the ocean with AWACS birds and F-22 fighters. They’re looking for a rogue British fighter and they have orders to shoot on sight.’
Schofield fell back into his chair.
He frowned, rubbed his forehead. The world was closing in around him.
He was trapped. Totally and utterly trapped. The SEALs would be coming in soon – whether or not they realised there was nothing to be gained from this station. And even if Schofield managed to evade them after they stormed the station, there remained the possibility that Wilkes would be destroyed by an air-to-ground missile from a rogue British fighter off the coast.
There was one option, though, Schofield thought.
Go outside and surrender to Romeo before the SEALs arrived. At least that way, they would stay alive. And if Schofield had learned nothing from this whole day, it was that if you stayed alive, you still had a chance.
Schofield keyed his helmet mike, ‘Romeo, listen –’
‘Oh, shit, Scarecrow. They’re here.’
‘What?’
‘The SEALs. They’re here. They just let them through the outer perimeter. Four hovercrafts. They’re coming toward the station complex now.’
One mile out from Wilkes Ice Station an armada of hovercrafts formed a long, unbroken line. They were arrayed in a semi-circle on the landward side of the station and they were all pointed inwards – pointing in toward the station.
At that moment, however, four navy-blue hovercrafts broke through the line and glided across the ice plain toward the station. They wended their way through the outer buildings of the station complex, in no apparent hurry.
They were the SEAL hovercrafts.
Inside the lead hovercraft, the SEAL commander keyed his radio. ‘Air Control, this is SEAL team, report,’ he said. ‘I confirm previous instructions. We will not enter the station until we are sure you have the bogey.’
‘SEAL team, this is Air Control. Stand by,’ a voice on the radio said. ‘We are standing by for a report from our birds right now.’
At that very same moment, at a point 242 nautical miles out from Wilkes Ice Station, six F-22 USAF fighters rocketed over the Southern Ocean.
The F-22 is the most advanced air superiority fighter in the world, the heir to the throne of the old F-15 Eagle. But while the F-22 looks a little like the old F-15 Eagle, the F-22 has