Line of Control - Tom Clancy [130]
"Acknowledge Gamma-Zero-Red-Eight authorization," the pilot replied.
"We are proceeding with the mission."
A moment later the pilot slid his goggles back into place.
The copilot switched the exterior lights off and replaced his own night-vision optics. Then he descended through one hundred feet to an altitude of fifty feet. He flipped the helmet-attached gun sights over his night-vision glasses, slipped his left hand onto the joystick that controlled the machine gun, and bore down on the fleeing figures.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR.
The Siachin Glacier Friday, 12:55 a. m.
Mike Rodgers's arm was hooked tightly around Apu's back as he looked out on terrain that was lit by the glow of the helicopter's light. The American watched helplessly as Nanda fell, slid, and then struggled to get up.
"Keep moving!" Rodgers yelled.
"Even if you have to crawl, just get closer to the peaks!"
That was probably the last thing Rodgers would get to say to Nanda. The rotor of the approaching chopper was getting louder every instant. The heavy drone drummed from behind and also bounced back at them from the deeply curved slope of ice ahead.
Ron Friday was several paces ahead of Nanda and Samouel was in front of him. Before the lights from the helicopter were turned off, Rodgers saw both men look back then turn and help the young woman. Friday was probably helping her to further his own cause of intelligence control or whatever he had been raving about. Right now, however, Mike Rodgers did not care what Ron Friday's reasons were. At least the man was helping her.
Friday was wearing treaded boots that gave him somewhat better footing than Nanda. As the lights went out, Friday scooped the woman up, tugged her to her feet, and pulled her toward the peak.
Though the ice was dark again Rodgers knew they were not invisible. The aircrew was certainly equipped with infrared equipment. That meant the nose gun would be coming to life very soon. Rodgers had one hope to keep them alive.
The plan required them to keep going.
An instant later the nose gun began to hammer. The air seemed to become a solid mass as the sound closed in on all sides. Rodgers felt the first bullets strike the ice behind him.
He pulled Apu down and they began to roll and slide down the incline, parallel to the icy wall.
Hard chips of ice were dislodged by bullets hitting the ice.
Rodgers heard the "chick" of the strikes then felt hot pain as the small, sharp shards stung his face and neck. Time slowed as it always did in combat. Rodgers was aware of everything. The cold air in his nose and on the nape of his neck. The warm perspiration along the back of his thermal T-shirt. The smell and texture of Apu's wool parka as Rodgers gripped him tightly, pulling him along. The fine mist of surface ice kicked up as he and Apu rolled over it. That was to be the means of their salvation. Perhaps it would still help Nanda and Ron Friday.
Rodgers stepped out of himself to savor all the sensations of his eyes, his ears, his flesh. For in these drawn-out moments the general had a sense that they would be his last.
The two men hit a flat section of ice and stopped skidding.
The fusillade stopped.
"On your knees!" Rodgers shouted.
The men were going to have to crawl in another direction.
It would take the gunner an instant to re sight the weapon.
Rodgers pulled Apu onto his knees. The two men had to be somewhere else when fire resumed.
The men were crouching and facing one another in the dark. Apu was kneeling and half-leaning against Rodgers's chest. Suddenly, the farmer clutched the general's shoulders.
He pushed forward. With nothing behind him, Rodgers fell back with Apu on top of him.
"Save Nanda," Apu implored.
The gunning restarted. It chewed up the ice and then drilled into the back of the farmer. Apu hugged Rodgers as the bullets dug into the older man's flesh. The wounds sent damp splashes onto Rodgers's face.
He could feel the thud of each bullet right through the man's body.
Rodgers reflexively tucked his chin into his chest,