AIRSPACE OVER SOUTHWESTERN MEXICO
0446 ZULU
Dare looked at the disposition of forces display superimposed on the glass cockpit display and noted the apparent escape plan of the fleeing Ka-50. He was not about to allow that to happen.
"What're you cookin' up, Iron Horse?" Bull Gaspar asked.
Dare pointed at a choke point several miles ahead of the Black Shark's position. Beyond that point, the river was meandering across a wide shallow valley and would be very difficult to engage it there as it was an agile and formidable advisory.
"We'll box him in here. Have Lucky drive him to us with her Griffins."
"He keeps breaking the laser lock from Manta. What are you gonna use on him?"
Dare rolled Eagle One to 135ยบ of bank and pushed the nose down aggressively as he turned south.
"Radar missile or gun kill from the front. That is, if Jill can't nail his butt with a Stinger first."
"Sounds like a plan. You do know he has a gun, too?"
"Most of 'em do. It's what keeps it interesting."
Dare released the inter phone switch and moved his left thumb down to the radio position on the red rocker switch.
"Eagle Three, Eagle One."
"Go ahead, Iron Horse," Jill replied as she topped the intervening ridge and saw the computer depiction of the Ka-50 in the valley ahead. "Talley ho the Shark."
"Fox and hound to the choke point, one o'clock, six miles. Push him with your Griffins. Stinger if able, over."
"Eagle One, Eagle Three copies. In pursuit," Jill acknowledged as Glenn Haug pointed at the area terrain display.
"It should work if he doesn't reverse on us," Glenn said in his usual dry tone.
"You think he's gonna reverse? He doesn't even know we're here."
"Girl, he knows. Why do you think he's been jinking like a turpentined cat?"
"He's got laser sensors?"
"He has everything Russian petrodollars can buy. Russian, French and Israeli technology."
"I thought the French and Israelis were our allies!"
"Funny how that works out, huh? By the way, range to target, one point five miles."
"Gonna close it up to one mile and try a Griffin at max range," Jill advised.
"Won't touch him if he keeps braking lock."
"I know. May have to light him up with the G2 Bore sight."
Jill banked hard right to stay inside the canyon as it narrowed and the river cascaded over a hundred foot waterfall. It would have been quite a scenic trip in daylight and peacetime, but outside the ultramodern cockpit, the black night reigned supreme. Neither pilot in either aircraft would have dared to chance flying the canyon without the aid of FLIR or radar mapping and computer generated topography.
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Monday, June 27, 2011
Monday, June 13, 2011
EXCERPT from "Black Eagle Force - Sacred Mountain" - Chapt. 13
All eight engines spun at their max power settings as Mike clawed for altitude.
"Come on, baby you can do it, " Mike encouraged the little bird as it rocketed up the rapidly rising terrain with less than four feet clearance. We are gonna make it!
The computer generated terrain map on the primary screen took real time accurate radar imagery from Manta and created a view comparable to a flight simulator's depiction of the world. A small orange chevron shaped flying wing represented the aircraft and a curved magenta band out in front represented the projected flight path when descending or climbing. As Eagle Four neared the crest of the caldera, the image of a western juniper appeared above the magenta line.
"Tree!" both pilots exclaimed a quarter second before the Skycar® smashed into the four hundred year old gnarled trunk.
Both right nacelles were ripped off; the aircraft snapped violently to the right for a half second before the vertical stabilizer straightened it back. Mike pulled the two left side throttles to idle and fired the dual parachutes, sending the rocket deployed chutes out of their storage compartment mounted atop the fuselage. The drogue chutes quickly opened, followed a second later by loud pops as the mains caught air and yanked the still speeding craft to a near halt.
"Son of a bitch! Son of a bitch!" Mike cursed his performance. So damned close! We almost made it!
The damaged Eagle Four swung three times in the huge white chute before it settled down just below the top of the far side caldera rim.
"D, I wanted to..."
"Want to has nothing to do with it!" Maria shot back. Damned ground pounder tried to splatter my ass all over this mountain.
"I'm, uh, I'm …" Mike was at a loss for words.
"Sorry? That what you're trying to say? Sorry? Most useless word in…"
"All right, already. Got your point. I screwed up. Let's shut this sumbitch down and go see if we can do something—if that's all right with you," Mike said with determination.
"First smart thing you've said all day," Maria grumbled.
Before he turned off the battery, Cowboy keyed the microphone and made the one transmission he had hoped he never would have to make.
"Mike Charlie, Eagle Four."
"Eagle Four, go," replied Kit as he looked at the display and noticed for the first time that Cowboy's blue icon was stationary.
"Eagle Four is down, no injuries."
"Mike Charlie copies, be advised rescue pickup in two-five mikes with Eagle Five."
"Negative pickup, Mike Charlie, will assist Raptors as required."
Kit processed the unexpected news. Half his engaged attack air assets were down and now one crew was refusing rescue. He knew Cowboy had been awarded two silver stars in a Marine Corps ground unit and his WSO, Double D, had passed Marine Officer Training before her commission and flight training, but neither was equipped with the latest Raptor gear. All they had were their flight suits and survival weapons. The decision to assist the Raptors was not a wise one.
"Eagle Four, Mike Charlie."
Silence met his transmission. Kit began to become a little irritated.
"Eagle Four, Mike Charlie, over."
Again there was no response to Kit's radio call. Kit looked at Blaze seated at her weapons station to his left. The beautiful redhead shook her head and shrugged.
"That's Mike."
Kit pressed the transmit bar on his console gain.
"Cowboy, Mike Charlie, answer me, dammit!"
Mike had turned the battery switch off on Eagle Four after his last transmission. He removed his helmet and then he and Maria sat in the dark for a full ten seconds before he spoke.
"You coming, or what?"
"You don't think I'm gonna sit here and wait do you?" she shot back.
Mike fished the small plastic container of camo face paint out of the lower left zippered pocket on his survival vest. He pulled a small black Mag light out of the pocket on his left flight suit sleeve, twisted it on and placed it in his mouth. With the light shining on his face paint , he pried the top open and exposed the three colors of black, brown and green. Mike took his index and middle finger and dabbed them into the black and brown, and then, using the mirror mounted in the case top, applied the paint to his cheeks and forehead in long streaks. Satisfied with his artwork, he turned to Maria.
"Come here, D."
"What?"
"Don't argue. Your face'll shine like a new dollar. Makes a great target."
Reluctantly, she turned and faced the impatient Marine. He shined the flashlight on her neck as he began to apply the cammo grease. In less than a minute he was finished. She grabbed the mirror and checked out his handiwork.
"My God, I look like Geronimo!" she exclaimed.
"Nah, if you were Apache, I'da used red and yellow—Check your weapon, lock and load, girl. We're wastin' time."
She snapped the plastic cover on the face paint compact and handed it back to Mike. He had hit the switch to the entry door mechanism and it was already halfway up. A cold breeze blew in, reminding them both of the altitude at which they had crashed.
"We better get moving if we're gonna stay warm," she said.
"Point," he concurred as he stood up and stepped back out of the seat.
Maria pulled her Sig 250 pistol out of its holster on the lower left side of her vest. She pointed it toward the floor and pulled the slide back fully then released it. A shiny 40 cal S&W round popped out of the magazine and into the chamber as the slide slammed into battery. She dropped the hammer with the lever on the left side in front of the grip panel then stowed the pistol back in its holster and secured the Velcro retention strap.
Mike stepped back into the craft after standing in the cold wind for a few seconds.
"Hand me my helmet cap. Pretty nippy out there."
Maria reached over and snatched Mike's black cotton liner used to prevent hot spots from long periods of wearing the heavy helmets. It wasn't much protection, but it was better than nothing. The two reached the top of the rim where they could see the remains of two burning tanks. Flickering flames illuminated the area intermittently. Mike surveyed the caldera with his small binoculars, but could not spot any Raptors. The Lizard cloaking function worked as advertised.
"What's your plan, General Custer?" Maria asked.
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"Come on, baby you can do it, " Mike encouraged the little bird as it rocketed up the rapidly rising terrain with less than four feet clearance. We are gonna make it!
The computer generated terrain map on the primary screen took real time accurate radar imagery from Manta and created a view comparable to a flight simulator's depiction of the world. A small orange chevron shaped flying wing represented the aircraft and a curved magenta band out in front represented the projected flight path when descending or climbing. As Eagle Four neared the crest of the caldera, the image of a western juniper appeared above the magenta line.
"Tree!" both pilots exclaimed a quarter second before the Skycar® smashed into the four hundred year old gnarled trunk.
Both right nacelles were ripped off; the aircraft snapped violently to the right for a half second before the vertical stabilizer straightened it back. Mike pulled the two left side throttles to idle and fired the dual parachutes, sending the rocket deployed chutes out of their storage compartment mounted atop the fuselage. The drogue chutes quickly opened, followed a second later by loud pops as the mains caught air and yanked the still speeding craft to a near halt.
"Son of a bitch! Son of a bitch!" Mike cursed his performance. So damned close! We almost made it!
The damaged Eagle Four swung three times in the huge white chute before it settled down just below the top of the far side caldera rim.
"D, I wanted to..."
"Want to has nothing to do with it!" Maria shot back. Damned ground pounder tried to splatter my ass all over this mountain.
"I'm, uh, I'm …" Mike was at a loss for words.
"Sorry? That what you're trying to say? Sorry? Most useless word in…"
"All right, already. Got your point. I screwed up. Let's shut this sumbitch down and go see if we can do something—if that's all right with you," Mike said with determination.
"First smart thing you've said all day," Maria grumbled.
Before he turned off the battery, Cowboy keyed the microphone and made the one transmission he had hoped he never would have to make.
"Mike Charlie, Eagle Four."
"Eagle Four, go," replied Kit as he looked at the display and noticed for the first time that Cowboy's blue icon was stationary.
"Eagle Four is down, no injuries."
"Mike Charlie copies, be advised rescue pickup in two-five mikes with Eagle Five."
"Negative pickup, Mike Charlie, will assist Raptors as required."
Kit processed the unexpected news. Half his engaged attack air assets were down and now one crew was refusing rescue. He knew Cowboy had been awarded two silver stars in a Marine Corps ground unit and his WSO, Double D, had passed Marine Officer Training before her commission and flight training, but neither was equipped with the latest Raptor gear. All they had were their flight suits and survival weapons. The decision to assist the Raptors was not a wise one.
"Eagle Four, Mike Charlie."
Silence met his transmission. Kit began to become a little irritated.
"Eagle Four, Mike Charlie, over."
Again there was no response to Kit's radio call. Kit looked at Blaze seated at her weapons station to his left. The beautiful redhead shook her head and shrugged.
"That's Mike."
Kit pressed the transmit bar on his console gain.
"Cowboy, Mike Charlie, answer me, dammit!"
Mike had turned the battery switch off on Eagle Four after his last transmission. He removed his helmet and then he and Maria sat in the dark for a full ten seconds before he spoke.
"You coming, or what?"
"You don't think I'm gonna sit here and wait do you?" she shot back.
Mike fished the small plastic container of camo face paint out of the lower left zippered pocket on his survival vest. He pulled a small black Mag light out of the pocket on his left flight suit sleeve, twisted it on and placed it in his mouth. With the light shining on his face paint , he pried the top open and exposed the three colors of black, brown and green. Mike took his index and middle finger and dabbed them into the black and brown, and then, using the mirror mounted in the case top, applied the paint to his cheeks and forehead in long streaks. Satisfied with his artwork, he turned to Maria.
"Come here, D."
"What?"
"Don't argue. Your face'll shine like a new dollar. Makes a great target."
Reluctantly, she turned and faced the impatient Marine. He shined the flashlight on her neck as he began to apply the cammo grease. In less than a minute he was finished. She grabbed the mirror and checked out his handiwork.
"My God, I look like Geronimo!" she exclaimed.
"Nah, if you were Apache, I'da used red and yellow—Check your weapon, lock and load, girl. We're wastin' time."
She snapped the plastic cover on the face paint compact and handed it back to Mike. He had hit the switch to the entry door mechanism and it was already halfway up. A cold breeze blew in, reminding them both of the altitude at which they had crashed.
"We better get moving if we're gonna stay warm," she said.
"Point," he concurred as he stood up and stepped back out of the seat.
Maria pulled her Sig 250 pistol out of its holster on the lower left side of her vest. She pointed it toward the floor and pulled the slide back fully then released it. A shiny 40 cal S&W round popped out of the magazine and into the chamber as the slide slammed into battery. She dropped the hammer with the lever on the left side in front of the grip panel then stowed the pistol back in its holster and secured the Velcro retention strap.
Mike stepped back into the craft after standing in the cold wind for a few seconds.
"Hand me my helmet cap. Pretty nippy out there."
Maria reached over and snatched Mike's black cotton liner used to prevent hot spots from long periods of wearing the heavy helmets. It wasn't much protection, but it was better than nothing. The two reached the top of the rim where they could see the remains of two burning tanks. Flickering flames illuminated the area intermittently. Mike surveyed the caldera with his small binoculars, but could not spot any Raptors. The Lizard cloaking function worked as advertised.
"What's your plan, General Custer?" Maria asked.
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