The Persona Protocol - By Andy McDermott Page 0,122
and froze.
The Hind was coming back.
33
Cut Off
Sevnik was in the gunner’s seat, finger on the cannon’s trigger as he surveyed the scene below on the hooded gunsight screen. It had been many years since he had flown in actual combat, attacking rebels in the Second Chechen War, but he had not forgotten how to fight.
‘Come right three degrees,’ he told the pilot in the seat behind him. Unlike earlier models of the Mi-24, which had a rotating turret, the 30mm autocannons on this machine’s nose were fixed and required the entire aircraft to be lined up on its target. The chopper banked gently. ‘Hold.’ He switched the gunsight’s mode to infrared, the cold landscape becoming a dark grey with hot white spots revealing the Americans al-Rais had warned him about.
Two of the spots were at the shore end of the jetty. The line showing where the cannon shells would impact ran right over them. ‘Move in.’
Small flashes of light on the IR display. The Americans were shooting at him! An act of pure desperation: even if they scored a hit, the gunship’s armour was impervious to anything smaller than a .50-calibre round.
His finger tightened on the trigger, ready to fire . . .
Something flicked through his peripheral vision – not on the screen, but outside the cockpit canopy. The pilot reacted in surprise. ‘What—’
The helicopter shuddered as something hit the engine intakes above the cockpit and exploded.
‘What the hell?’ shouted Baxter as fire and smoke burst from the Hind’s upper fuselage. Debris dropped into the water. The gunship banked sharply, turning away from the pier and crossing the shoreline to drop behind the trees to the south. ‘We didn’t hit it that hard!’
Tony knew what had happened. ‘Kyle! Was that you?’
No answer. Kyle had used the UAV’s self-destruct to make a kamikaze attack on the helicopter – but with the drone destroyed, they had also lost its communications relay. Their headsets, and Adam’s earwig, only had limited range and power. Transmissions to the op centre aboard the plane were now blocked by the hills.
‘Sounds like it’s landing,’ said Baxter. The rumbling slap of the Hind’s rotors changed in pitch as it moved into a hover. ‘We’re gonna be outnumbered any minute!’
‘Adam!’ shouted Tony as two scurrying figures approached. ‘Can you fly the plane?’
Adam jumped down into the cover of the jetty, Bianca following. ‘Touch and go,’ he said.
‘What does that mean?’ Baxter demanded.
‘It means we’ll either go, or we’ll touch something – very hard.’
‘Make it the first one,’ said Tony. He glanced at the Beriev. ‘How long will it take to get that thing moving?’
‘I can do an emergency start-up quickly enough – it’s getting it into the air that’ll be tricky.’
‘Get aboard,’ Tony ordered. He called out to the others. ‘Everyone give Adam cover!’
‘Bring Qasid,’ Adam told him.
‘It’s too risky,’ Baxter objected. ‘If we waste time moving a prisoner while under fire, it’ll get someone killed!’
Tony was silent for a moment, then nodded to Adam. ‘We take him with us,’ he announced. Baxter was about to protest, but he cut him off. ‘No arguments – get him on that plane.’
Adam gave Tony a nod of thanks, then rose. The Hind had landed somewhere on the other side of the woods. The Russian soldiers would be here in a few minutes – but al-Rais was already somewhere much closer. Even without the terrorist leader’s persona, Adam knew he would try to stop the Americans from leaving with the RTG.
No sign of him, though. ‘Okay, I’m ready.’
‘Good luck,’ said Tony.
Adam jumped up on to the jetty – and ran.
Despite some of the covering snow and ice being cleared by the men carrying the RTG, the surface was still slippery. The tip of the Beriev’s starboard wing reached halfway back along the hundred-foot pier. He passed it, skirting a dead terrorist. If al-Rais were going to take a shot, it would be now—
A sharp crack of gunfire – but he had already ducked. The bullet snapped over him and punched a hole in the Beriev’s fuselage.
More shots, these from a G36 as a teammate opened fire on the terrorist leader’s position. Boots skidding over the old planks, Adam threw himself through the open hatch into the Be-200’s cabin. He rolled into cover – and hit something hard and heavy.
The RTG. The nuclear battery squatted inside its protective frame, secured to the deck by thick straps. The core’s green paint was cracked and flaking, exposing the metal of the casing.