Pirate - Duncan Falconer [10]
Stratton stepped from the van as an aviation fuel truck drove away. After the senior officer’s brief explanation of the flight – basically what not to touch and what to do in the event of an emergency – the man handed him a helmet and life vest and invited him to climb the ladder into the back seat of the dull-grey fighter. Stratton nodded to the pilot, who was already aboard. After a brief exchange the canopy closed and the engines roared as the bird rolled off the skirt.
As the pilot taxied the fighter, he called in to the tower and received clearance to go. He turned the F-16 on to the runway and fired the thrusters. Stratton’s seat had been lowered to reduce the effects of the g-force but the take-off acceleration was exhilarating even for him. Especially since all he could see were the clouds through the polycarbonate bubble canopy. Once they were airborne, the pilot raised Stratton’s seat back up and after climbing to thirty thousand feet, they shot through the skies at around fifteen hundred mph, more than double the speed of a commercial jet.
After a while looking at nothing but clouds below and blue sky everywhere else, Stratton nodded off. Until a strange noise woke him. For a few seconds he wondered where the hell he was. A long tube with a bulbous end was hovering above him outside the cockpit. The far end of the tube was attached to the back of a large aircraft above and in front of them. The F-16 was being refuelled, a new experience for Stratton and he watched it with interest.
Three hours after leaving DC, five hours quicker than a Boeing 747, the fighter craft touched down at Mildenhall Air Base in Norfolk and Stratton got taken to an MoD civilianised Gulf jet, where he met Hopper, Prabhu, Ramlal and the ops team who were to give them the detailed briefing and provide the specialised equipment they needed.
Six and a half hours later the aircraft landed in Salalah, Oman, and after that the team rode in a Toyota Land Cruiser heading for the Yemeni border, which they crossed to follow the coastal road all the way to Riyan.
2
Flickering lights coming from the village snapped Stratton out of his reverie and he leaned his elbows on the edge of the wadi to look through a night-vision monoscope. Two Suburbans were making their way between the houses in his direction. It had to be their target departing the rendezvous.
He looked over at Hopper, who was on his knees holding the wire. The last house in the village looked about a thousand metres away. The vehicles would cover the distance in a couple of minutes on the rough road. The first vehicle emerged from between the perimeter houses and into the open, the second one close behind it, their headlights bouncing as they came over the undulating ground.
Stratton placed three small gas grenades on the top of the wadi and slid a hand inside his jacket to touch his holstered P226 pistol. It was a subconscious check. The weapon was already loaded. He had been ready for a fight from the moment they crossed the border into Yemen.
He looked once again at Hopper. ‘You a happy man, Hopper?’ he called out.
‘I will be when we’re on our way home.’
Stratton should have expected such a reply. He would bet fifty quid that Hopper was thinking about his family even then. But he took a moment to ask himself what he would feel like if he had the ideal girl waiting for him to get home.
Headlights suddenly appeared, coming from the coastal highway, and flashed across their position. It was a vehicle speeding along the track towards the village and the two Suburbans.
Stratton and Hopper dropped to the bottom of the wadi just before the vehicle, some type of 4×4, tore by, kicking dirt and stones into the wadi and on top of them. They knelt